More Wordless Wednesdays here.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
Randomness on Monday Afternoon
Whew!
Just peeking in from the sick house to throw some sort of an update out there. Last week Nate was struck with The Plague which resulted in him remaining unconscious for almost two days straight. (Sleeping, not a coma or anything) As his stomach bug passed, my sinuses began their biennial pregnancy induced revolt. It's so fun how this always happens when I'm NOT allowed to take Nyquil. I love the stuff and would drink it straight from the bottle and sleep through the whole ordeal if I could, but alas, unborn child and everything. So I toughed it out armed with only Kleenex and breathe-right nose strips and large spoonfuls of butter cream frosting straight from the can. Don't the old wives always say "starve a fever, feed sugar to a cold?" I thought so. I'm going with it.
Because she was feeling left out, Gemma, who was on antibiotics for an ear thing, decided to have an allergic reaction to the pink stuff. It runs in the family starting with big sister Noelle. The last two kids to react have waited until day seven or eight of their prescription. When it happened to Caedmon, we were just sure it was the chicken pox despite his vaccinations. This time we were a little older and a little wiser and I recognized what was happening right away. She looked terrible, her whole little body was covered in red spots. It has slowly faded, but she still looks like she has the hydra-phobie, which is what we call every illness in honor of poor Old Yeller.
I'm a little less sniffley today, which is a good thing since the frosting is long gone. I have spent the morning laundering. I just wrapped up the fifth load of regular clothes and I'm ready to move on to the bedding. Good times. I also did a great job of covering up how techno-impaired I am. This morning the internet was down. I did all the right nerdy things that a good techno nerd is supposed to do, unplugging the modem, unplugging the router, rebooting the computer. Nate has taught me well. I finally resorted to calling our cable provider and waited on hold for fifteen minutes. She then instructed me to do all the things I had already tried, unplugging everything blah, blah, blah. But this time I noticed that when she had me unplug just the modem, the lights were still on and flashing. All the previous times I had been unplugging something else that wasn't the modem, who knows what, just not the modem. Hey, it's a whole tangled mess of cords back there, how was I supposed to know! Lo and behold, once I found the correct cord, it worked and I was up and running in two short minutes. "Oh wow! Thanks!" I exclaimed into the phone. I never told her that I had been doing it wrong the whole entire time. Promise me you won't tell Nate. How embarrassing. I guess I'm just a techno poser.
Back to the laundry and also to finding a substitute for the frosting. There has to be something else equally healthy around here, and I am determined to find it.
Just peeking in from the sick house to throw some sort of an update out there. Last week Nate was struck with The Plague which resulted in him remaining unconscious for almost two days straight. (Sleeping, not a coma or anything) As his stomach bug passed, my sinuses began their biennial pregnancy induced revolt. It's so fun how this always happens when I'm NOT allowed to take Nyquil. I love the stuff and would drink it straight from the bottle and sleep through the whole ordeal if I could, but alas, unborn child and everything. So I toughed it out armed with only Kleenex and breathe-right nose strips and large spoonfuls of butter cream frosting straight from the can. Don't the old wives always say "starve a fever, feed sugar to a cold?" I thought so. I'm going with it.
Because she was feeling left out, Gemma, who was on antibiotics for an ear thing, decided to have an allergic reaction to the pink stuff. It runs in the family starting with big sister Noelle. The last two kids to react have waited until day seven or eight of their prescription. When it happened to Caedmon, we were just sure it was the chicken pox despite his vaccinations. This time we were a little older and a little wiser and I recognized what was happening right away. She looked terrible, her whole little body was covered in red spots. It has slowly faded, but she still looks like she has the hydra-phobie, which is what we call every illness in honor of poor Old Yeller.
I'm a little less sniffley today, which is a good thing since the frosting is long gone. I have spent the morning laundering. I just wrapped up the fifth load of regular clothes and I'm ready to move on to the bedding. Good times. I also did a great job of covering up how techno-impaired I am. This morning the internet was down. I did all the right nerdy things that a good techno nerd is supposed to do, unplugging the modem, unplugging the router, rebooting the computer. Nate has taught me well. I finally resorted to calling our cable provider and waited on hold for fifteen minutes. She then instructed me to do all the things I had already tried, unplugging everything blah, blah, blah. But this time I noticed that when she had me unplug just the modem, the lights were still on and flashing. All the previous times I had been unplugging something else that wasn't the modem, who knows what, just not the modem. Hey, it's a whole tangled mess of cords back there, how was I supposed to know! Lo and behold, once I found the correct cord, it worked and I was up and running in two short minutes. "Oh wow! Thanks!" I exclaimed into the phone. I never told her that I had been doing it wrong the whole entire time. Promise me you won't tell Nate. How embarrassing. I guess I'm just a techno poser.
Back to the laundry and also to finding a substitute for the frosting. There has to be something else equally healthy around here, and I am determined to find it.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
The Countdown
Topping the charts this week on Laundry Pile radio are these hits:
#10. "Left Handed Girl in a Right Handed World" by Ambidextrous by Necessity
#9. "Boot Scootin' to the Ruggy" by Mom and the Wet Socks
#8. "Carbolicious" by Pan o' Brownies
#7. "Hips Don't Lie" by Trimester Two
#6. "How to Scrub the Toilet" by The Spray
#5. "It's Not Over" by Jammie Clad Toddlers
#4. "Blow That" by Puffs Featuring Lotion
#3. ""It Ends Tonight" by Just Two More Bites
#2. "Before He Cheats" by Study that Spelling
#1. "Wind it Up" by No More Caffeine at Bedtime
#10. "Left Handed Girl in a Right Handed World" by Ambidextrous by Necessity
#9. "Boot Scootin' to the Ruggy" by Mom and the Wet Socks
#8. "Carbolicious" by Pan o' Brownies
#7. "Hips Don't Lie" by Trimester Two
#6. "How to Scrub the Toilet" by The Spray
#5. "It's Not Over" by Jammie Clad Toddlers
#4. "Blow That" by Puffs Featuring Lotion
#3. ""It Ends Tonight" by Just Two More Bites
#2. "Before He Cheats" by Study that Spelling
#1. "Wind it Up" by No More Caffeine at Bedtime
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Check Her Out
She's going to be famous and make tons of money soon. My friend Hannah took some photos of my kids recently and I love them. (The photos, not the kids. Wait, of course the kids. I love them both, the kids and the photos. There. ) I was so excited because I am getting really sick of dragging my kids to "portrait studios" who capture that cheesy posed look. Hannah captured my kids in thier own space. You can check out her photography site here. She's awesome.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Search Party of One
For a couple of years, we lived in North Dakota. It was a couple of years too long. Although I met dear friends there, and it was where we spent the first few precious years of our marriage, I do not understand why anyone would choose to live there. The sub-zero temperatures. Plugging your car in at night. The wind. Why? WHY?! I do have many fond memories of living in married student housing and then later, the ghetto. One of my not so fond memories was the year of all the blizzards.
Now there are plenty of blizzards in North Dakota every year, but this year was special. There were gobs and gobs and gobs of blizzards. During one particular blizzard, a college aged boy left a frat party and tried to walk home. He never made it. The newspapers and all of the tv channels covered the story non-stop and they put out search parties to find him. I'll never forget hearing them describe how the searchers walked all over campus with long steel poles, poking them into the snow drifts, trying to find the body. They ended up finding him the next spring, in a van that was in long-term parking for the winter.
Ok, that was really morbid and kind of a downer.
I was reminded of that story on Sunday morning before church. As I dressed and combed and fed and ironed everyone inside the warm house (I didn't actually iron anyone, I iron their clothes. You know what I meant.), I kept peeking out the window at Nate. It had snowed the night before and he had just finished using the snowblower on the driveway and was going to shovel off the sidewalk and steps and deck. He was going to. If he could find the shovels. The kids had played with them a few times the days before and had *cough* "forgotten" to put them away. No one remembered where in the yard they had last seen them. And so here was Nate, shuffling across the yard in a perfect grid pattern, in search of the missing shovels. The perfect blanket of snow, now permanently marred by his boots, hid his precious tools below. He searched and searched for over an hour, but in vain. He never found them. It was a Laundry Family mystery.
When we returned, there beside our garage was one of our beautiful orange shovels. We all shrieked with joy. It seems it had found it's way into our neighbor's driveway and when she cleared her snow, lo and behold, an extra shovel! Nate was so ecstatic, he did a belly flop, church clothes and all, into the nearest snowbank. He's a crazy man.
Now the kids are officially banned from playing with the shovels. Unless they are actually using them to shovel the driveway, which they just might find themselves doing for the rest of the winter as punishment. Because we are mean like that.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Disposable Salvation
You know, I have come to realize how much I enjoy going to the doctor's office alone. It doesn't matter if the visit involves painful procedures, invasions of privacy, or *gasp* the scale. What matters is that I go there by myself. It is a retreat, a getaway. It is easy. It is worth getting a sitter for.
Today Gemma needed shots.We were overdue for her 15 month old immunization, not to mention the 18 month ones. She is now 19 months old. So I took the three littles and off we went. It's probably a good thing the visit wasn't for me because nothing raises my blood pressure quite like bringing my children to the doctor's office. No matter how I prepare them with discussions on obedience and manners, nothing can distract them from the wonder and awe of this medical establishment. From the moment the doors slide open and we walk through, it is a matter of survival for me. I must come out of that building sane.
So today I started out with distraction via books and cute posters on the wall. We talked about the cartoon fish with swords and hammers for noses. As we waited we read about puppets going to the doctor and that we didn't need to be afraid of the "s" word. Shot. But it wasn't enough. "What does this do? Where is the bathroom? How come when I stand here, the doors slide open? What is the rubber thing on the wall behind the door? What happens when I touch it? What's inside this door?" And on and on and on.
Finally the nurse came and called us back. I was relieved, containment was in sight. But alas, no. "What is this? What is that? What is in this drawer? Lets all climb on the exam table. What are these stirrup things for mom? Can I look in your ear with the little flash light? What are these gloves for? Why is this trash can red and why does it have needles inside?" I resorted to bribery with candy. We sat in silence as I ever so slowly handed out Sweetheart candies to each of them, one at a time. The only words were mine, reading the message on each heart before rationing it to it's doom. Be mine, first kiss, cool. These were the words of my temporary salvation. The doctor came and the partners in crime were distracted by all the poking and prodding happening to their sister. The doctor (who is the father of four children himself) could quickly tell that we needed reinforcements and he pulled out the disposable gloves. For the next few minutes he and I sat there, blowing them up into chicken shaped balloons for my three little monkeys. The thumb made a pretty good beak and all four fingers stuck straight up like a comb on the head of a rooster. We used pens and drew eyes to complete the fowls' faces. The poultry had brought peace. The end was in sight.
After the visit was over and I was gathering our things and putting on coats, I noticed the standard "well child care for this age" sheet sitting out for me. Despite the fact that she was now 19 months old, they had laid out the 15 month old sheet for me to take home. I did what I do with all of those papers, I stuck it in my purse to be thrown away as soon as I walked in my door. It seems wrong to throw it away there in the office, but blah blah blah, I've read it all before. As I grabbed it from the countertop, one particular line jumped off the page at me. In bold letters: Avoid Choking and Suffocation and the first bullet point underneath was "keep all plastic bags, balloons, and small hard objects out of reach." And then I laughed out loud at the irony.
It was the chicken balloons that had saved me.
Today Gemma needed shots.We were overdue for her 15 month old immunization, not to mention the 18 month ones. She is now 19 months old. So I took the three littles and off we went. It's probably a good thing the visit wasn't for me because nothing raises my blood pressure quite like bringing my children to the doctor's office. No matter how I prepare them with discussions on obedience and manners, nothing can distract them from the wonder and awe of this medical establishment. From the moment the doors slide open and we walk through, it is a matter of survival for me. I must come out of that building sane.
So today I started out with distraction via books and cute posters on the wall. We talked about the cartoon fish with swords and hammers for noses. As we waited we read about puppets going to the doctor and that we didn't need to be afraid of the "s" word. Shot. But it wasn't enough. "What does this do? Where is the bathroom? How come when I stand here, the doors slide open? What is the rubber thing on the wall behind the door? What happens when I touch it? What's inside this door?" And on and on and on.
Finally the nurse came and called us back. I was relieved, containment was in sight. But alas, no. "What is this? What is that? What is in this drawer? Lets all climb on the exam table. What are these stirrup things for mom? Can I look in your ear with the little flash light? What are these gloves for? Why is this trash can red and why does it have needles inside?" I resorted to bribery with candy. We sat in silence as I ever so slowly handed out Sweetheart candies to each of them, one at a time. The only words were mine, reading the message on each heart before rationing it to it's doom. Be mine, first kiss, cool. These were the words of my temporary salvation. The doctor came and the partners in crime were distracted by all the poking and prodding happening to their sister. The doctor (who is the father of four children himself) could quickly tell that we needed reinforcements and he pulled out the disposable gloves. For the next few minutes he and I sat there, blowing them up into chicken shaped balloons for my three little monkeys. The thumb made a pretty good beak and all four fingers stuck straight up like a comb on the head of a rooster. We used pens and drew eyes to complete the fowls' faces. The poultry had brought peace. The end was in sight.
After the visit was over and I was gathering our things and putting on coats, I noticed the standard "well child care for this age" sheet sitting out for me. Despite the fact that she was now 19 months old, they had laid out the 15 month old sheet for me to take home. I did what I do with all of those papers, I stuck it in my purse to be thrown away as soon as I walked in my door. It seems wrong to throw it away there in the office, but blah blah blah, I've read it all before. As I grabbed it from the countertop, one particular line jumped off the page at me. In bold letters: Avoid Choking and Suffocation and the first bullet point underneath was "keep all plastic bags, balloons, and small hard objects out of reach." And then I laughed out loud at the irony.
It was the chicken balloons that had saved me.
Monday, January 15, 2007
I Am From
Thank you everyone for all of your sweet birthday wishes. You know, I have been feeling a little reflective as I turn 30 this year. I did this "I Am From" writing exercise awhile back. Nothing is as precious as fond memories, so I wrote another as a birthday present to myself. The true gift was the smile that came to my face as I relived my childhood in my mind.
I Am From.
I am from worn hardwood floors, from Astro vans, and homemade granola stored in Tupperware containers.
I am from knee deep alfalfa wet with dew and the obsolete outhouse, covered in wild roses.
I am from a coveted asparagus patch growing in our ditch, from straight lines of sweet corn and the dust that billowed behind me as I ran barefoot down the rows. From a barrel full of oats and the delicious smell of my horse after he had been brushed down. From baby kittens born among the hay bales.
I am from cutting a Christmas tree from the woods and a deep love for dessert, from Keith and Chris.
I am from artists and homesteaders. From "What does the music tell you?" and "It's time for sleepy time".
I am from Methodist and Lutheran church pews. From baptisms in the river and Dad silently reading his bible over a bowl of cereal.
I am from a bitter cold January morning the day I entered the world, from the frequently requested candy covered train cake, from cookbooks with recipes marked with a star to be made again.
I am from the mischievous pony who hijacked it's small riders and took them to the lowest tree branch to be clotheslined. From the family baseball games behind the shed, bases one through three being nothing more than the trunks of apple and plum trees. From terrifying sledrides down the icy driveway and from miniature dachshunds.
I am from black and white photos of my stunning Grandmothers with their tiny waists. From senior portraits hung proudly on the dining room wall and yellowed pictures of toothless kindergarteners lining the staircase.
I am from knee deep alfalfa wet with dew and the obsolete outhouse, covered in wild roses.
I am from a coveted asparagus patch growing in our ditch, from straight lines of sweet corn and the dust that billowed behind me as I ran barefoot down the rows. From a barrel full of oats and the delicious smell of my horse after he had been brushed down. From baby kittens born among the hay bales.
I am from cutting a Christmas tree from the woods and a deep love for dessert, from Keith and Chris.
I am from artists and homesteaders. From "What does the music tell you?" and "It's time for sleepy time".
I am from Methodist and Lutheran church pews. From baptisms in the river and Dad silently reading his bible over a bowl of cereal.
I am from a bitter cold January morning the day I entered the world, from the frequently requested candy covered train cake, from cookbooks with recipes marked with a star to be made again.
I am from the mischievous pony who hijacked it's small riders and took them to the lowest tree branch to be clotheslined. From the family baseball games behind the shed, bases one through three being nothing more than the trunks of apple and plum trees. From terrifying sledrides down the icy driveway and from miniature dachshunds.
I am from black and white photos of my stunning Grandmothers with their tiny waists. From senior portraits hung proudly on the dining room wall and yellowed pictures of toothless kindergarteners lining the staircase.
If you would like to write an I Am From of your own, you can find the form here.
Hijacked!
Disclaimer: The following post is brought to you by Heth's husband. Heth's husband...because when you really need a dorky husband, Heth's husband is here.
So, why did I hijack my wife's blog you ask? Because today, January 15th, is her
BIRTHDAY!!!
That's right, on this day in 1977, my wife was born. Today she leaves the 20's in the dust and bravely trods onward into her 30's!
Chime in and wish her a happy birthday...and wish me luck because I know I am in huge trouble for this.
So, why did I hijack my wife's blog you ask? Because today, January 15th, is her
BIRTHDAY!!!
That's right, on this day in 1977, my wife was born. Today she leaves the 20's in the dust and bravely trods onward into her 30's!
Chime in and wish her a happy birthday...and wish me luck because I know I am in huge trouble for this.
Friday, January 12, 2007
The Book One.... A Meme
This one has been floating around for awhile and I don't think I've ever done it. Chris tagged me, and I'm always game for a meme. Good times.
1) Grab the book closest to you
2) Open to page 123, go down to the fourth sentence
3) Post the text of the following 3 sentences on your blog
4) Name the author and book title
5) Tag three people to do the same
Ok, the closest book to me is "Men's Ministry in the 21st Century". It kind of reminds me of Duck Dodgers in the 24theth Century. Ok, get serious Heth. Here is what the book says.
"Someone has said the best things to invest your life in are the things that will outlast it. People certainly fit that category. So how will you spend your time?"
I guess that doesn't just apply to men now does it? Wisdom for both genders. Chew on it for a little while.
I'm tagging three people who need to get back to the old blog thing. Come on, this is as easy as it gets:
Andrea, Natalie, and Haleigh.
1) Grab the book closest to you
2) Open to page 123, go down to the fourth sentence
3) Post the text of the following 3 sentences on your blog
4) Name the author and book title
5) Tag three people to do the same
Ok, the closest book to me is "Men's Ministry in the 21st Century". It kind of reminds me of Duck Dodgers in the 24theth Century. Ok, get serious Heth. Here is what the book says.
"Someone has said the best things to invest your life in are the things that will outlast it. People certainly fit that category. So how will you spend your time?"
I guess that doesn't just apply to men now does it? Wisdom for both genders. Chew on it for a little while.
I'm tagging three people who need to get back to the old blog thing. Come on, this is as easy as it gets:
Andrea, Natalie, and Haleigh.
Household Tip #52
If you have boys, and if one or more of them is potty training, you might just want to go ahead and by a yellow bathroom rug. Because the "standing up thing"? That takes a while to learn. Just so you know.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Just Humor Me Ok?
It's national delurking week. I know this is going to stretch some of you waaaaay beyond your comfort zones, but please? It can be your little gift to me and you don't even have to wrap it. I would love to know who is reading and how you found me. If you don't have a blogger account, just choose "other" and tell me who you are. I swear, it's not going to hurt. Just poke your head in a give a little wave.
*edited to add: This goes for all you regular commenters too. Don't think you are off the hook for this one. It's like a mini roll call and I want to hear from everyone.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Schooled by Toddlers
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Ninja
So far today Jack has been caught smuggling from the kitchen:
- A chocolate truffle with a bite out of it, in his fist
- A bottle of sprinkles, wrapped tightly in his shirt
- A box of pistachio pudding, tucked away in a lunch box
There was also the incident in the church parking lot this morning. Picture me, holding a toddler and three bags containing various crafts, in a dead sprint chasing Mr. Defiant around the building. It seems that "everyone to the van" really means, "run as fast as possible the opposite direction while laughing".
Three is the new Two. As in Terrible.
Further Explanation
I just never feel right about actually typing words on Wordless Wednesday, wouldn't that be breaking the rules? But I suppose the photos in the previous post need a little commentary.
We were actually trying to put a huge pop up tent back in the teeny little bag that it came in. The directions make it look easy, fold here and here and then just twist your wrists and voila!, it's in the bag, but actually executing those same moves results in nothing but frustration. You can see that I strategically manned the directions sheet and I put Nate in the "hands on" role, because bossing someone around is a whole lot more fun. You can also see that I did actually end up getting involved for a bit, but that didn't go well. My mom could feel the love, so she captured those precious moments for us to remember forever.
The tent eventually made it back into the bag and then into the box that it came in. We hesitate to bring it up from the basement where we are hiding it from the kids. Once we pop that baby open, we need to be ready for it to be a permanent fixture in our house. And let me just emphasize that it is a very, very large tent. I can stand up in it. I think maybe all of our kids could sleep in it. I'm pretty sure it will take up all available floor space in which ever bedroom we put it up in. But gosh, it's going to be a lot of fun. If it looks that big to me at 5' 7", I wonder how it looks to our littlest anklebiters. Probably like a mansion.
We were actually trying to put a huge pop up tent back in the teeny little bag that it came in. The directions make it look easy, fold here and here and then just twist your wrists and voila!, it's in the bag, but actually executing those same moves results in nothing but frustration. You can see that I strategically manned the directions sheet and I put Nate in the "hands on" role, because bossing someone around is a whole lot more fun. You can also see that I did actually end up getting involved for a bit, but that didn't go well. My mom could feel the love, so she captured those precious moments for us to remember forever.
The tent eventually made it back into the bag and then into the box that it came in. We hesitate to bring it up from the basement where we are hiding it from the kids. Once we pop that baby open, we need to be ready for it to be a permanent fixture in our house. And let me just emphasize that it is a very, very large tent. I can stand up in it. I think maybe all of our kids could sleep in it. I'm pretty sure it will take up all available floor space in which ever bedroom we put it up in. But gosh, it's going to be a lot of fun. If it looks that big to me at 5' 7", I wonder how it looks to our littlest anklebiters. Probably like a mansion.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Monday, January 01, 2007
Ten
A decade. How can it seem so short and so long all at the same time?
Noelle turned ten years old this morning, the only one of our kids that wasn't born at night. All legs and arms with a big toothy grin, she has changed so much this year. She's looking older and less like a little girl. When I measured her today, I wasn't surprised at all that she had grown a full two inches since she last stood against the growth chart. Her jeans have been telling me that all year. They scream "high water". It's tricky to find a size twelve in length but a size six around the belly button. Thank heaven for adjustable waist.
A couple of days ago, out of the blue, Noelle told me that she had decided what her birthday wish would be. No amount of pleading could get it out of her. "If I tell, it won't come true." Last night as we sat around the table playing Battleship, Camryn announced that it was snowing. We had suffered through a brown Christmas, never getting the white we had hoped for. But now here it was, the magical kind with big flakes that float slowly to the ground as silent as can be. It had snuck up on us, unexpected. Noelle grinned. "I guess I get to think of a new wish for when I blow out my candles tomorrow, my first one already came true."
And she does have an in with the Big Guy Upstairs. The prayers of our little ten year old are powerful. Since she was very small, we have marveled at her spiritual maturity that goes far beyond her actual years. She soaks up scripture and grasps deep concepts more than we expect that she should. Her heart is in tune with His.
Happy Birthday Noelle.
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