Yea for:
--my front porch and especially the swing
--grass-straw dust on the breeze
--being married to Paul for 21 years
--the brother who offered to teach Paul's class last night so he could take me out for our anniversary
--Torero's in Harrisburg. Hbg has about four convenience stores, two espresso stands, and a little pizza place. Not real out-for-supper places. Then along came this nice little Mexican restaurant with great food.
--another evening home alone
--cellular phones. I know, I know, they are such an intrusion and they speed up the pace of life so much and all that. But: I can reach my husband during harvest.
--the book my friend Arlene loaned me: Approval Addiction, by Joyce Meyer
--my vibrant petunia pots hanging along the porch
Nay for:
--my approval addiction
--forgetting more than I remember
--my sickly rose bed. Some short-sighted person planted it on the other side of the grapevine so I can't see it from the house all summer and forget to keep it up.
Quote of the Day:
"If you go somewhere when it's dark, you'll come home with some kind of food."
--Steven, who saw another take-out container of leftovers in the fridge this morning
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Time Alone
I am home alone.
Paul, Amy, and Emily are teaching vacation Bible school. Ben, Steven, and Jenny are attending VBS. Matt is working at the warehouse.
I haven't been home alone for this long since...well, since...let me see--I honestly can't remember when I was last home by myself. I'm guessing it's been years.
Last night a friend came to visit and soon after she left I got a visit from my cousin Glenn Yoder and his family from Missouri that I hadn't seen since Grandma's funeral in 1988. That was a treat, but so is this.
This evening, I went on a walk, took a bath, watered the flowers, and started cutting out a dress for Emily.
And I still have about an hour to go. My doctor told me I need to take care of myself. This ought to qualify.
Quote of the Day:
"Ewww. Yuck. Gross. Nasty. Revolting."
--Emily, about taking some old food to the compost pile
Paul, Amy, and Emily are teaching vacation Bible school. Ben, Steven, and Jenny are attending VBS. Matt is working at the warehouse.
I haven't been home alone for this long since...well, since...let me see--I honestly can't remember when I was last home by myself. I'm guessing it's been years.
Last night a friend came to visit and soon after she left I got a visit from my cousin Glenn Yoder and his family from Missouri that I hadn't seen since Grandma's funeral in 1988. That was a treat, but so is this.
This evening, I went on a walk, took a bath, watered the flowers, and started cutting out a dress for Emily.
And I still have about an hour to go. My doctor told me I need to take care of myself. This ought to qualify.
Quote of the Day:
"Ewww. Yuck. Gross. Nasty. Revolting."
--Emily, about taking some old food to the compost pile
Sunday, August 07, 2005
LFH and HTW
My Letter from Harrisburg for August is available here.
And a few thoughts on Husbands Treating Wounds: when I told a group of my friends about Steven hurting his hand, most of them assumed that I let Paul take care of binding the wounds because they always turn the bloody projects over to their hubbies. Well, honestly, it no more occurred to me to have Paul take care of that injury than it would occur to Paul to have me check out that funny noise in the van engine.
Odd how we divide up the duties without really thinking about it.
Incidentally, I know a woman who raised four children and never once pulled out a sliver. She always had her husband do it. Wow. Can't imagine.
Quote of the Day:
"It doesn't take much to be Emily's knight in shining armor."
--Matt, after Emily saw a huge fly in the pantry and SCREEEEAMED, and he came and killed it
And a few thoughts on Husbands Treating Wounds: when I told a group of my friends about Steven hurting his hand, most of them assumed that I let Paul take care of binding the wounds because they always turn the bloody projects over to their hubbies. Well, honestly, it no more occurred to me to have Paul take care of that injury than it would occur to Paul to have me check out that funny noise in the van engine.
Odd how we divide up the duties without really thinking about it.
Incidentally, I know a woman who raised four children and never once pulled out a sliver. She always had her husband do it. Wow. Can't imagine.
Quote of the Day:
"It doesn't take much to be Emily's knight in shining armor."
--Matt, after Emily saw a huge fly in the pantry and SCREEEEAMED, and he came and killed it
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Steven's Hand
How hard it is to see a child suffer.
Two nights ago we attended a descendants-of-Orval-Smucker picnic in Halsey and came home after dark. Steven came to my van door and asked what he should take inside (what a sweetie) and as he did so he put his left hand on the door frame. Amy didn't see him and shut the sliding door right on his hand.
Any of my other kids would have screamed so loud the neighbors would have come running, but Steven just gasped and doubled over in pain. I grabbed his hand and we ran inside, dripping blood in a trail across the kitchen floor.
He hardly made a sound as I cleaned and bandaged his hand, but these big tears kept rolling down his cheeks which made it far more agonizing for me than if he would have hollered and yelled.
His first two fingers are still stiff and swollen today but the wounds are scabbing and everything is looking better.
The good thing in all this is that it was one more stitch binding us as mother-and-son.
Quote of the Day:
"The difference between me and Emily at this stage is that I was strong-willed and logical, and Emily is just strong-willed."
--Matt
Two nights ago we attended a descendants-of-Orval-Smucker picnic in Halsey and came home after dark. Steven came to my van door and asked what he should take inside (what a sweetie) and as he did so he put his left hand on the door frame. Amy didn't see him and shut the sliding door right on his hand.
Any of my other kids would have screamed so loud the neighbors would have come running, but Steven just gasped and doubled over in pain. I grabbed his hand and we ran inside, dripping blood in a trail across the kitchen floor.
He hardly made a sound as I cleaned and bandaged his hand, but these big tears kept rolling down his cheeks which made it far more agonizing for me than if he would have hollered and yelled.
His first two fingers are still stiff and swollen today but the wounds are scabbing and everything is looking better.
The good thing in all this is that it was one more stitch binding us as mother-and-son.
Quote of the Day:
"The difference between me and Emily at this stage is that I was strong-willed and logical, and Emily is just strong-willed."
--Matt
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Jenny's Conscience
How do you deal with a child with a too-sensitive conscience?
When Jenny does something wrong she feels bad completely out of proportion to the offense. Yesterday she and I were out in the garden and she accidentally pulled out part of a tomato plant, thinking it was a weed. She confessed in tears, hugged me, apologized, hugged me again, cried some more. And later, despite all my reassurances, she again told me she was so sorry before she went to bed.
This is a stark contrast to some of her siblings who I would have sworn/affirmed didn’t even have a conscience at her age. I could scold, explain, punish, and talk til the cows came home and it wouldn’t matter to them that they had hurt someone else or their property.
I was starting to conclude that a conscience must be something that kids inherit from dads and not moms, since none of my children had my hyper-sensitive conscience issues and could have used a little bit in my opinion.
But now Jenny is acting like this.
Quote of the Day:
“Mom, when cats are eating a mouse, there’s always this sound that sounds like you when you eat bread.”
--Jenny
(Ok, I know my jaw clicks when I eat but I didn’t know it was THAT bad.)
When Jenny does something wrong she feels bad completely out of proportion to the offense. Yesterday she and I were out in the garden and she accidentally pulled out part of a tomato plant, thinking it was a weed. She confessed in tears, hugged me, apologized, hugged me again, cried some more. And later, despite all my reassurances, she again told me she was so sorry before she went to bed.
This is a stark contrast to some of her siblings who I would have sworn/affirmed didn’t even have a conscience at her age. I could scold, explain, punish, and talk til the cows came home and it wouldn’t matter to them that they had hurt someone else or their property.
I was starting to conclude that a conscience must be something that kids inherit from dads and not moms, since none of my children had my hyper-sensitive conscience issues and could have used a little bit in my opinion.
But now Jenny is acting like this.
Quote of the Day:
“Mom, when cats are eating a mouse, there’s always this sound that sounds like you when you eat bread.”
--Jenny
(Ok, I know my jaw clicks when I eat but I didn’t know it was THAT bad.)
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Garage Saling Notes
A couple of weeks ago I took Emily and three of her friends garage saling. This was Emily’s choice of a birthday adventure and was intended to also provide fodder for my next article.
The article didn’t come together in the same mysterious way that sometimes pudding or jello simply won’t gel. My notes seemed to be all about girls snapping at each other. But Amy thought I should post something from the notes anyway.
Ok.
We get in the van and Emily whips out her notebook. “I wanna read you my latest dream.”
The others groan.
Emily, undaunted, reads.
They laugh.
“Now I wanna read you my latest story.”
More groans.
She reads.
They laugh.
Mysterious phrases followed by wild laughter:
“It’s a ghoooost.”
“I got your email about Mudd.”
“Remember to wash your socks today.”
Me: dear me.
“Why do they say a dog is a man’s best friend?”
“It should be a woman!”
Stephanie C. starts a story on Belt Line Road and has said “like” 14 times before we reach Hwy. 99.
Me: Dear me.
It is hot. Very hot. The sun glares off all the garage sale stuff and it’s hard to focus. The girls descend on each sale like hens to the feeder and the old ladies look at them and smile or look flabbergasted.
They admire old gloves, old clothes, anything impractical.
SC tells of the time she answered the phone and thought it was Arlene so she said, “Yessss. Whaddaya want THIS time??” and here it was Emily and Stephie’s grandma.
Emily shrieks. “Is that a stinkbug??”
Bethany: No wonder you stink.
Emily pinches her.
Bethany: I’ll chuck you in the creek.
Me: Dear me.
An arm jabs in front of me just as a Willamette Ag truck passes. “KURT!! Hey KURT!” yells SC.
Who’s that?
Kurt! He works with my dad!
Him? He’s old!
He has some cute kids, like, boys.
The other girls imitate her for a few miles. “Kurt! Hey Kurt!”
Stephie: You’re mean.
Bethany: Yeah, it’s my hobby.
Me: Dear me.
Bethany: Emily, knock it off. Your fingernails are not trimmed enough! You’re making marks on me!
SC: I used to bite myself, like, in church, to make marks on my arm.
Me: Dear me.
At one point the girls snatch the notebook out of my lap and write their own version of things:
Dorcas: goes driving full spede over the curb when driving out of the gas station. Then she goes creaming over the curb at dairy Qween.
SC finds a denture container in the free box. She gets it for her mom.
It is very hot.
At DQ, the girls walk to the door and Stephy S. gives the door a hard push and then notices the sign that says “PULL”
They slam each other’s handwriting on the way home and suddenly we pass a pasture and they burst into a chant: Four. White. Horses. Standingbyariver. Hey. Hey. Etc
They have a staring contest.
Me: Dear me.
We get home and they all go swimming.
I relax with a tall glass of iced tea.
Quote of the Day:
“Whew!”
--me, after I survived an afternoon of garage saling with four girls, taking them to the Deep Hole, sending them through the shower after they swam, feeding them, and getting them to the scrapbook party in Halsey where I delivered them all safely back to their moms
The article didn’t come together in the same mysterious way that sometimes pudding or jello simply won’t gel. My notes seemed to be all about girls snapping at each other. But Amy thought I should post something from the notes anyway.
Ok.
We get in the van and Emily whips out her notebook. “I wanna read you my latest dream.”
The others groan.
Emily, undaunted, reads.
They laugh.
“Now I wanna read you my latest story.”
More groans.
She reads.
They laugh.
Mysterious phrases followed by wild laughter:
“It’s a ghoooost.”
“I got your email about Mudd.”
“Remember to wash your socks today.”
Me: dear me.
“Why do they say a dog is a man’s best friend?”
“It should be a woman!”
Stephanie C. starts a story on Belt Line Road and has said “like” 14 times before we reach Hwy. 99.
Me: Dear me.
It is hot. Very hot. The sun glares off all the garage sale stuff and it’s hard to focus. The girls descend on each sale like hens to the feeder and the old ladies look at them and smile or look flabbergasted.
They admire old gloves, old clothes, anything impractical.
SC tells of the time she answered the phone and thought it was Arlene so she said, “Yessss. Whaddaya want THIS time??” and here it was Emily and Stephie’s grandma.
Emily shrieks. “Is that a stinkbug??”
Bethany: No wonder you stink.
Emily pinches her.
Bethany: I’ll chuck you in the creek.
Me: Dear me.
An arm jabs in front of me just as a Willamette Ag truck passes. “KURT!! Hey KURT!” yells SC.
Who’s that?
Kurt! He works with my dad!
Him? He’s old!
He has some cute kids, like, boys.
The other girls imitate her for a few miles. “Kurt! Hey Kurt!”
Stephie: You’re mean.
Bethany: Yeah, it’s my hobby.
Me: Dear me.
Bethany: Emily, knock it off. Your fingernails are not trimmed enough! You’re making marks on me!
SC: I used to bite myself, like, in church, to make marks on my arm.
Me: Dear me.
At one point the girls snatch the notebook out of my lap and write their own version of things:
Dorcas: goes driving full spede over the curb when driving out of the gas station. Then she goes creaming over the curb at dairy Qween.
SC finds a denture container in the free box. She gets it for her mom.
It is very hot.
At DQ, the girls walk to the door and Stephy S. gives the door a hard push and then notices the sign that says “PULL”
They slam each other’s handwriting on the way home and suddenly we pass a pasture and they burst into a chant: Four. White. Horses. Standingbyariver. Hey. Hey. Etc
They have a staring contest.
Me: Dear me.
We get home and they all go swimming.
I relax with a tall glass of iced tea.
Quote of the Day:
“Whew!”
--me, after I survived an afternoon of garage saling with four girls, taking them to the Deep Hole, sending them through the shower after they swam, feeding them, and getting them to the scrapbook party in Halsey where I delivered them all safely back to their moms
Thursday, July 28, 2005
A Good Place to Grow Up
Not long ago a visitor paused in our front yard and looked around. She took in the old-fashioned house with a big white porch, the homemade swing set in the yard, the green grass, and the trees and said, “Do your children appreciate growing up in such an idyllic setting?”
“No,” I said, “they don’t. But someday they will.”
I have a feeling that ten or fifteen years from now one of my children will be teaching in some inner city or immunizing children in a dusty village overseas, and suddenly they’ll get this incredible appreciation for growing up where they did, where the creek beckoned on hot summer days, the water flowed clean and delicious from the tap, and the kids slept outside on the trampoline all summer long with no danger beyond the cat pouncing on them at 3 a.m.
We are very blessed.
Quote of the Day:
“I can put up my hair in exactly 12 seconds.”
--Emily, who wraps her long hair around her wrist, twists it once, and skewers it with a plastic chopstick. Her Aunt Lois took an hour to put up her hair at this age, Paul says.
“No,” I said, “they don’t. But someday they will.”
I have a feeling that ten or fifteen years from now one of my children will be teaching in some inner city or immunizing children in a dusty village overseas, and suddenly they’ll get this incredible appreciation for growing up where they did, where the creek beckoned on hot summer days, the water flowed clean and delicious from the tap, and the kids slept outside on the trampoline all summer long with no danger beyond the cat pouncing on them at 3 a.m.
We are very blessed.
Quote of the Day:
“I can put up my hair in exactly 12 seconds.”
--Emily, who wraps her long hair around her wrist, twists it once, and skewers it with a plastic chopstick. Her Aunt Lois took an hour to put up her hair at this age, Paul says.
Monday, July 25, 2005
New Blogs
They keep popping up like mushrooms--check out these:
Paul's sister Rosie talks about mothering and lots more at Joyful Noise.
And Matt's friend Justin who works a seed-sacking shift at our warehouse, has a blog called Kilted Blogger.
Paul's sister Rosie talks about mothering and lots more at Joyful Noise.
And Matt's friend Justin who works a seed-sacking shift at our warehouse, has a blog called Kilted Blogger.
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