The berry thing (see previous post) was funny at first.
Then the boy admitted that he had put the berries in there ON PURPOSE to see what it felt like. He showed Oz what they were (hackberries, so thankfully not poisonous), too.
Then... M2 'fessed to doing the same thing.
I dug two berries out of her ear, and there are at least two still in there.
I have lemmings for children. The learning curve around here is astounding. It will amaze me if they survive to adulthood with all senses intact.
Ugh.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
A... BERRY interesting day...
M1 had his 8-year-old well-child visit today.
We went in, the nurse got his vitals (56-1/4" tall and 84 lbs., just in case you're interested), and he changed into the gown that we all know and hate.
The doctor came in, chatted with him, checked his reflexes, peered down his throat, and then...
Then...
THEN...
She checked his ears.
And started laughing.
I'll take laughter over a concerned look, but I wanted to know if she'd care to share the joke??
The boy had BERRIES in his ears. He claims he mentioned this to me, but I'll be darned if I remember hearing anything about it. He also claims he didn't put them in there on purpose, but...
The doctor dug out the first berry, checked the canal again, and just about died when she realized there was ANOTHER berry behind the first. That one wasn't coming out. Neither was the one in the opposite ear. We tried lavage, and that did diddly squat.
When the first berry came out, the boy peered at it. It was a dark purple, almost black, with some wax around it.
"Huh," the boy said, "it wasn't that color when it went in. It was red then."
*pause*
Oh, my.
The doctor, nurse, and I all had a good laugh about Berry Boy. When I called the ENT to set up an appointment to get the remaining two (?) berries out, the receptionist started laughing, too.
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I shouldn't find this so amusing... but I do."
I couldn't help but understand. Who runs around with berries in their ears? It reminds me of that kid from 'The Worst Christmas Pageant Ever' who, the story ran, wound up with a tree growing out of his ear.
The ENT receptionist DID ask if anything seemed to have sprouted.
It's just been that sort of day...
We went in, the nurse got his vitals (56-1/4" tall and 84 lbs., just in case you're interested), and he changed into the gown that we all know and hate.
The doctor came in, chatted with him, checked his reflexes, peered down his throat, and then...
Then...
THEN...
She checked his ears.
And started laughing.
I'll take laughter over a concerned look, but I wanted to know if she'd care to share the joke??
The boy had BERRIES in his ears. He claims he mentioned this to me, but I'll be darned if I remember hearing anything about it. He also claims he didn't put them in there on purpose, but...
The doctor dug out the first berry, checked the canal again, and just about died when she realized there was ANOTHER berry behind the first. That one wasn't coming out. Neither was the one in the opposite ear. We tried lavage, and that did diddly squat.
When the first berry came out, the boy peered at it. It was a dark purple, almost black, with some wax around it.
"Huh," the boy said, "it wasn't that color when it went in. It was red then."
*pause*
Oh, my.
The doctor, nurse, and I all had a good laugh about Berry Boy. When I called the ENT to set up an appointment to get the remaining two (?) berries out, the receptionist started laughing, too.
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I shouldn't find this so amusing... but I do."
I couldn't help but understand. Who runs around with berries in their ears? It reminds me of that kid from 'The Worst Christmas Pageant Ever' who, the story ran, wound up with a tree growing out of his ear.
The ENT receptionist DID ask if anything seemed to have sprouted.
It's just been that sort of day...
The Birthday Post
The boy's birthday has come and gone, and he's been 8 for five days now. He likes eight. I think I'll be able to handle eight as long as the sarcasm doesn't get out of hand. I can't really fault him for that one; I'm a tad sarcastic myself. But there are times and places for everything.
He had a great birthday. As always, it seems to get stretched out over a long period of time. It started a week before his birthday when we went out and got him a desk and chair for his room. He's already using the chair to spin in. We moved a lamp from my room to his room since Oz and I hadn't used it for YEARS, and it matches well and provides plenty of light for him to see by. I suspect long stints of building Legos and/or snap circuits and/or K'Nex are in his future.
Then my dad dropped by the night before M1's birthday with this. And a target. And a promise of more arrows to follow.
They spent a good amount of time working on the finer points of archery.
Both my dad and M1 were pleased as punch when he actually hit the target. He's a pretty good little archer! He promised my dad he'd go hunting with him someday. I find this ironic considering that he's vegetarian right now, but who knows if it'll last. Maybe, maybe not. I'm not worried either way.
When he got up on the morning of his birthday, he got to open the other gift from Daddy and I. I've had a Nintendo DS gathering dust in a basket for a year or two now, and I decided it was time to pass it on. We got M1 a couple of new games to go with it, specifically MarioKart and Lego Indiana Jones, and he was thrilled. Of course, he's already lost the DS due to sneaking it when I had asked him to put it away for a while, but I'm trying to impress upon him that if he's going to own these electronic devices he so dearly desires, he's going to have to learn to be responsible with them and monitor his own behavior. Wish us all luck on that one!
Later that day, we set up the tent in the back yard.
M1 pretended he was imprisoned behind the doors of the porch so he wouldn't have to help too much...
... and M2 flipped her Diva switch to 'on' and worked that magic the way only she can.
Then M1's friends J and F showed up (they're identical twins), and they all ran around like crazy while their foil packets of vegetables and cube steak (well, except for M1) grilled. The smell was heavenly.
M1 officially turned 8 by blowing out the candles on his mini-cupcakes.
He got his wish, too.
Roach cupcakes. Mmmmmm..... and of course I let the kids eat as many of them as they could stuff into their mouths, because that's what birthday parties and sleepovers are all about, right??
We came inside, changed into pajamas, and M1 opened the presents from his friends. He got a journal and a pop-up science book. He really loved them both, and they both now reside in a space in his desk that he has reserved for such things.
They watched part of Iron Man 2 before taking a break to go roast marshmallows over the remains of the fire. I have to give my husband TONS of kudos for this birthday. He set up the tent, watched the kids while the twins' mom and I made the packets and chatted, did the marshmallow roasting with them, supervised most of the movie, and was just a ton of help all around. It's the first time he's really participated that actively in a birthday party before, and the kids ate it with a spoon... and so did I.
After the movie ended, us moms decided it was time to call it a night. The boys all piled into the tent and M2 claimed M1's bed for the night since it's bigger and she wanted me to sleep with her as a special treat away from the boys. The boys were still awake at midnight and were up before 8 a.m. and were tired as all heck the next morning, but I think they all had fun.
And that, of course, is the whole point of a birthday party, no matter how small it may be!
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Add another one to the list...
Earthquake.
That's right, folks. Oklahoma is no longer just the place where the wind just comes sweepin' down the plain. That'd be far too easy. We now have had, in the past couple of years, the following natural disasters:
1. Heat waves. Those go without saying.
2. Ice storms. These occasionally cause us to go for a week or more without electricity, which I don't recommend, especially if you have a deep freeze full of meat or a fish tank full of fish.
3. Tropical storm leftovers from the Gulf. Hermine was the latest.
4. Floods/flash floods. See #3, though these happen more often.
5. Blizzards. Like the one we had last Christmas Eve, which made for a FANTASTIC white Christmas where I didn't actually have to go anywhere or entertain anyone, which is my goal for this year, too. I just haven't worked out how to convince the family that this notion isn't just a notion.
6. Tornadoes. Those go without saying, too.
7. Road construction. OK, OK, so it's a manmade disaster, but it's definitely a disaster. Anyone around here, if asked, will be more than willing to have a good rant about this particular asinine and interminable process.
8. Earthquakes.
Now, historically speaking, Oklahoma averages about an earthquake a week, but they're hardly ever felt.
Till this year.
This year alone, I can think of more than half a dozen instances where earthquakes have been felt by humans and hit the news. They're all down near this 'new'(?) fault line near Oklahoma City, so I've never felt them that I'm aware of, though I swear there are times when I feel the couch shake and wonder. But then again, we have train tracks near our house that occasionally cause the windows to rumble, so I can't be sure, and I've never tried to correlate one to the other.
Today, though, was different.
Last night the kids decided they wanted to go spend the night at Grandma's house. M1 picked up the phone and called and asked if they could come and got the okay. Never mind that they'd be missing a trip to the pumpkin patch this morning; Grandma's house well and truly trumped that. I couldn't argue with a trip to see family, could I? So they packed up their bags, they left, and I spend the rest of the evening alternating my time between the couch and the bathroom with the migraine from Hades that caused me to spend a good chunk of time offering the contents of my digestive system to the porcelain goddess. In short, it was a miserable evening. I finally woke up from my mostly unconscious state on the couch just long enough to stagger to bed. I think Oz slept elsewhere, though I'm not entirely sure. I was completely out until about 9 a.m., when all of a sudden I sat straight up in bed, wide awake, and watched the dresser, bed, and TV stand shake.
Now, my first thought was "cat" because Hermes loves to jump up on top of the dresser, which is about 6-1/2 feet tall, and then when he decides to get down, sometimes he launches himself onto the bed. But he was nowhere to be seen, and how could that make the TV stand shake, too? He's a solidly built cat, but he's not THAT heavy.
My second thought was "earthquake," but since I'd never felt one before, I dismissed that, too. Which left me with a puzzle that I didn't feel the need to sort out since a shower was more pressing. Thank heaven for shampoo and hot water and soap.
Anyway, I got myself up and around, released the chickens from their coop, poured a giant cup of coffee and helped myself to a cinnamon roll, and sat down to finish a library book. IN PEACE. It was lovely. Silence is golden.
I finished the book and decided to check and see how Facebook was doing, because I'm an addict and can't live without being connected to my friends. Facebook is an enabler.
THAT was when I realized that it WAS an earthquake that I'd felt. Egad. I can't decide whether to be excited that I actually felt an earthquake or worried that they seem to be getting stronger. Right now, excited is winning. I reported my experience to the USGS on their web site and am now pondering the necessity of going down into the storm shelter to make sure it didn't sustain any damage. It was an EARTHquake, after all. And what, I wonder, does one do when one lives in a land where the earthquake could, in theory, collapse the tornado shelter??
That's right, folks. Oklahoma is no longer just the place where the wind just comes sweepin' down the plain. That'd be far too easy. We now have had, in the past couple of years, the following natural disasters:
1. Heat waves. Those go without saying.
2. Ice storms. These occasionally cause us to go for a week or more without electricity, which I don't recommend, especially if you have a deep freeze full of meat or a fish tank full of fish.
3. Tropical storm leftovers from the Gulf. Hermine was the latest.
4. Floods/flash floods. See #3, though these happen more often.
5. Blizzards. Like the one we had last Christmas Eve, which made for a FANTASTIC white Christmas where I didn't actually have to go anywhere or entertain anyone, which is my goal for this year, too. I just haven't worked out how to convince the family that this notion isn't just a notion.
6. Tornadoes. Those go without saying, too.
7. Road construction. OK, OK, so it's a manmade disaster, but it's definitely a disaster. Anyone around here, if asked, will be more than willing to have a good rant about this particular asinine and interminable process.
8. Earthquakes.
Now, historically speaking, Oklahoma averages about an earthquake a week, but they're hardly ever felt.
Till this year.
This year alone, I can think of more than half a dozen instances where earthquakes have been felt by humans and hit the news. They're all down near this 'new'(?) fault line near Oklahoma City, so I've never felt them that I'm aware of, though I swear there are times when I feel the couch shake and wonder. But then again, we have train tracks near our house that occasionally cause the windows to rumble, so I can't be sure, and I've never tried to correlate one to the other.
Today, though, was different.
Last night the kids decided they wanted to go spend the night at Grandma's house. M1 picked up the phone and called and asked if they could come and got the okay. Never mind that they'd be missing a trip to the pumpkin patch this morning; Grandma's house well and truly trumped that. I couldn't argue with a trip to see family, could I? So they packed up their bags, they left, and I spend the rest of the evening alternating my time between the couch and the bathroom with the migraine from Hades that caused me to spend a good chunk of time offering the contents of my digestive system to the porcelain goddess. In short, it was a miserable evening. I finally woke up from my mostly unconscious state on the couch just long enough to stagger to bed. I think Oz slept elsewhere, though I'm not entirely sure. I was completely out until about 9 a.m., when all of a sudden I sat straight up in bed, wide awake, and watched the dresser, bed, and TV stand shake.
Now, my first thought was "cat" because Hermes loves to jump up on top of the dresser, which is about 6-1/2 feet tall, and then when he decides to get down, sometimes he launches himself onto the bed. But he was nowhere to be seen, and how could that make the TV stand shake, too? He's a solidly built cat, but he's not THAT heavy.
My second thought was "earthquake," but since I'd never felt one before, I dismissed that, too. Which left me with a puzzle that I didn't feel the need to sort out since a shower was more pressing. Thank heaven for shampoo and hot water and soap.
Anyway, I got myself up and around, released the chickens from their coop, poured a giant cup of coffee and helped myself to a cinnamon roll, and sat down to finish a library book. IN PEACE. It was lovely. Silence is golden.
I finished the book and decided to check and see how Facebook was doing, because I'm an addict and can't live without being connected to my friends. Facebook is an enabler.
THAT was when I realized that it WAS an earthquake that I'd felt. Egad. I can't decide whether to be excited that I actually felt an earthquake or worried that they seem to be getting stronger. Right now, excited is winning. I reported my experience to the USGS on their web site and am now pondering the necessity of going down into the storm shelter to make sure it didn't sustain any damage. It was an EARTHquake, after all. And what, I wonder, does one do when one lives in a land where the earthquake could, in theory, collapse the tornado shelter??
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The Belated Birthday Post
My son - my baby boy and the little person who turned me from a woman into a mom - turned 8 yesterday. I meant to get on here earlier, but time and children got away from me. Please accept this as a belated substitute.
-----
Dear Son,
You made me a mom. I remember the day well. It was gray but not cold outside. I don't know why, but I kept hoping the weather would turn cold, or snow, or do something to commemorate the day. It didn't seem to me that it could possibly be a 'normal' day. Not with my baby coming into the world.
You had no intentions of being born, because you had no inclination to interact with humanity. Now that I know how your brain works, I understand why. Oz and I had gone to a restaurant for dinner the night before, excited and scared about what the next day would bring.
I vaguely remember you being born.
I definitely remember the minute your daddy and the nurses and grandmothers told me you had 12 fingers and 12 toes, and I remember that everyone was worried that I would see those as a problem, as my fault, as something 'wrong' with you. Instead, I only loved you more for your specialness. You were my baby boy whose bald head glowed red in the evening haze, and nothing could change that!
I've loved watching you grow. Even during the difficult times, you've been a delight.
Your imagination blossomed early. You loved to dress up, even if you didn't have a name for what you were.
Your goal has always been to make people smile. You love it when you get a joke or a prank over on Daddy and I and we laugh. It doesn't happen often, because you have a unique sense of humor that causes you to laugh a lot at things that other people wouldn't find funny, but YOU understand the joke, and that makes me happy. Might I suggest British humor? I can't wait to introduce you to Monty Python. I suspect you and John Cleese would get along charmingly, vegetarians and tall people that you both are or will be.
You love it when I join in the fun, too.
You've always had a smile for everyone, too. You don't always know why you're smiling, though, so a genuine smile and laugh out of you is completely infectious. You are one of those people who have the special gift of lighting up an entire room when you come into it. You can inspire others to action. I hope that you can channel this to positive means as you get older!
Your eyes are powerful tools. You don't often make full eye contact, but when you do, there's a pull there, a plea, something that brings people into your own special world. Your eyes are beautiful.
You're not afraid to be silly...
or charming...
... or totally at ease with yourself and the world. You definitely don't worry about what anyone else thinks, and that's a good thing!
That never-fear and never-say-die attitude is one of my favorite things about you. You're not afraid to try something new, and you believe in doing the unexpected. You love to experiment, and while that gets you in trouble from time to time (the wall is still not to have holes in it, son!), I admire your spirit.
You've always gone full speed ahead into what ever project you've decided to undertake...
... whether it's experimenting in mud...
... seeing what you can make animals do...
... trying out kindergarten...
... making a snowman without ANY help, thank you very much...
... cooking new recipes for the family...
... or, as of two nights ago, testing your hand at archery.
I'm proud to be your mom. I'm proud of all you are, all that you have been, and all that you will be. I don't worry about your future, because you are such a strong person. I can only hope that you will continue to be who you are.
Nothing else would ever do.
Love,
YOUR MOM
Friday, October 8, 2010
Being Use...less
I have absolutely nothing of any importance to say or share this evening. Except for the fact that my son is now the proud owner of a set of snap circuits (from my mom) and a beginner compound bow with three arrows (from my dad). Twelve more arrows are on the way. And it couldn't be important at all that my afternoon was spent making miniature cupcakes topped with things that look remarkably like roaches but are, in fact, created with dates, caramels, M&Ms, and chocolate icing. Pictures to follow tomorrow, of course.
The children spent their day being children. Mostly that means that they spent the day trying to figure out how to get out of wearing pants when they were supposed to and whining about not having pants when they were all in the laundry. They also might have successfully de-limbed a good chunk of a pine tree in an effort to create a 'hidey hole.' Who knew that between an 83-pound 8-year-old-tomorow and a 56-pound 5-1/2-year-old, limbs 3-4 inches across can be stripped from a healthy, solid tree? Live and learn.
I also learned that yellow jackets can climb your leg and feel remarkably like a cat tail rubbing across your shin until you look down and shake it off because you're freaking out thinking it's a spider, and then the thing FLIES across the room which causes still MORE freaking out because OMG flying spider.
The bottom of a plastic coffee mug can come in handy when yellow jackets land on your kitchen window and you have nothing else handy.
Tomorrow, my son turns 8. M2 is jealous because his birthday is first and that's just not fair in her world. She's also quite upset because he's not having a party, and by party I mean inviting 15+ children over to shriek and run around the house and yard with crafts and games planned out. M1 is quite happy with having his two best friends over to (theoretically) spend the night in the back yard in the tent. They are also going to make foil food packets and grill them. Boy Time Extraordinaire.
They might also watch Iron Man 2 if they can settle enough.
It's hard to believe it's been eight years since I became a mom, but THAT is another post for tomorrow. When I have a Mike's in my hand and boys rampaging through the house.
The children spent their day being children. Mostly that means that they spent the day trying to figure out how to get out of wearing pants when they were supposed to and whining about not having pants when they were all in the laundry. They also might have successfully de-limbed a good chunk of a pine tree in an effort to create a 'hidey hole.' Who knew that between an 83-pound 8-year-old-tomorow and a 56-pound 5-1/2-year-old, limbs 3-4 inches across can be stripped from a healthy, solid tree? Live and learn.
I also learned that yellow jackets can climb your leg and feel remarkably like a cat tail rubbing across your shin until you look down and shake it off because you're freaking out thinking it's a spider, and then the thing FLIES across the room which causes still MORE freaking out because OMG flying spider.
The bottom of a plastic coffee mug can come in handy when yellow jackets land on your kitchen window and you have nothing else handy.
Tomorrow, my son turns 8. M2 is jealous because his birthday is first and that's just not fair in her world. She's also quite upset because he's not having a party, and by party I mean inviting 15+ children over to shriek and run around the house and yard with crafts and games planned out. M1 is quite happy with having his two best friends over to (theoretically) spend the night in the back yard in the tent. They are also going to make foil food packets and grill them. Boy Time Extraordinaire.
They might also watch Iron Man 2 if they can settle enough.
It's hard to believe it's been eight years since I became a mom, but THAT is another post for tomorrow. When I have a Mike's in my hand and boys rampaging through the house.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
'Tis the Season
Halloween is nigh! The skinny black cat that scales my china cabinet like it's a fabric-covered couch (which it isn't) has informed me so.
The calendar has, too, but who pays attention to the calendar? That would remind me that there are only 78 days till Christmas, and I don't need to know that. It just adds to the mental pile of compost that is growing in my head. I'm just hoping someday all this poo will become useful.
What I really need to know is that there are 25 days till Halloween and three days till my son's birthday. That's the important stuff.
I love Halloween. I love the pagan roots, I love the idea that there is a day when spirits can connect with loved ones (a la Dia de los Muertes), I love the origins of trick-or-treating in a revelry of triumph over the Devil before All Saints' Day... the whole shebang. The best part is that nobody trick-or-treats at my house because we live in an area sans sidewalks, so I never have to worry about missing kids, and we can all go out together as a family.
And I *REALLY* love decorating.
It's kind of an obsession with me. I have a ton of Halloween decor, but every year I feel the need to add something new.
So a month or so ago, I went to Yankee Candle* and spent entirely too much money on things like this. Isn't it darling??
I also picked up the 'blood'-dripping candles to go with my black leaves and light-up jack-o-lanterns and ghostie. The ghostie is M1's favorite decoration. He thinks it's his. I think he's wrong. In LOLcat speak, I have informed him that all Halloweens are belong to me. He simply raised an eyebrow.
I also may have a thing for candles. The candy corn is real. Oz hates that he is not allowed to touch it until after the holiday is over. If I let him at it, he'd have it emptied every day or two, so I just let him get extra bags of candy corn while he waits for this to become available.
This is one of my favorite displays this year. One of three. Honestly, this is the best year of Halloween decorating I've ever had. I usually hang the fake blood on the window opposite this mirror in the dining room, but it didn't seem right to me. So I put it on the mirror this year, topped it with the leaves, and then told M1 to go rummage through my makeup and find some red lipstick. Unfortunately I had tossed my hooker lipstick in the trash when I was purging a few months ago, but I think this sufficed. The kids are still trying to figure out what 'REDRUM' means. I'm not telling. When they're old enough to read "The Shining," then they can learn. No sense scaring the pee out of them before it's necessary.
I love my front porch display this year, too. The pumpkin lights you see at the bottom of the stairs extend almost all the way out to the driveway. There are spiders that light up hanging on the wall, cling ghosts on the screen door (M2's favorite part of decorating), a broom by the door with a sign above it saying, "BEWARE!" and of course the tombstone. Mr. Pumpkin up by the glider does light up, and the ghost on the left can be turned on for sound activation, at which time he flies across the porch. Now all I need are a few *real* spiderwebs to crop up. It'll happen. It always does. We get monster spider webs around here.
Last but definitely not least are my Department 56* figurines. I was taken with them when I visited my friend Bridgette up in Indiana a couple years ago and bought my first house. This year Oz and my mother have given me three more between them. I'm in decorating heaven. I can't wait to get a few more small items to flesh out the display. Here's a sampling of what I have:
 |
| The 'Pumpkin Lane' sign was blank originally, but it already had a name on it when I purchased it off of eBay. I have no problems with that because I like it! |
 |
| My first/original purchase. A flickering light inside and bats that spin around the top add tons of personality to this haunted house. |
 |
| This piece has been discontinued, yet Oz found it for me. The roof glows green when the lights are turned on! |
 | ||
I love having a school. Love the belfrey.
|
*Yankee Candle and Department 56 have never heard of me. But if they hear of me now and want to send me free stuff, I'd be okay with that.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Stop! Family time.
I learned the other day that Oz, while he did take a few German classes, did not actually learn words that would enable him to interpret the phrase, "Halt! Hammerzeit!" and, ergo, did not understand the giggles that particular phrase elicited from me.
A couple weeks ago, Oz's dad and stepmom came down from upstate Pennsylvania to visit. It had been a while since we had gone up to visit and much longer than anyone else had seen them, so we all spent as much time as possible together. On their last Saturday here, we all got together at Oz's grandmother's house for a family barbecue.
Part of the job of Oz's brothers was to make fun of Oz for his stepmom's injuries. See her hand? That's the tip of the iceberg. She fell off a step leaving our house on Monday and hurt her wrists, fingers, knee, leg, ankles... you name it, she probably injured it. Bless her heart, she didn't let on a word to us about all the damage until Thursday because she didn't want Oz to be upset. All he knew was that she had fallen. She's a sweetie.
Oz's dad is a good man. He's always so proud of all his boys and loves his grandbabies. And he's the cameraman.
Here's Grandma talking to M2 about purses and gifts and all things girly. Grandma always has something up her sleeve for her kiddos. She is the only person whom M2 will listen to when she gets her fit on, so we love Grandma dearly.
Gotta have a picture of the brothers. Oz is the oldest, on the left. Then comes the guy in the striped shirt, the guy in the red shirt, and last but definitely not least, the guy in the gray shirt. Bocce was the name of the game this time. Last time, it was horseshoes. Somewhere in one of the houses, a rugby ball lives although I think the boys haven't broken that out in years.
Brothers will be brothers, and family is family, even if we do only get to really get everyone together once every couple of years!
A couple weeks ago, Oz's dad and stepmom came down from upstate Pennsylvania to visit. It had been a while since we had gone up to visit and much longer than anyone else had seen them, so we all spent as much time as possible together. On their last Saturday here, we all got together at Oz's grandmother's house for a family barbecue.
Part of the job of Oz's brothers was to make fun of Oz for his stepmom's injuries. See her hand? That's the tip of the iceberg. She fell off a step leaving our house on Monday and hurt her wrists, fingers, knee, leg, ankles... you name it, she probably injured it. Bless her heart, she didn't let on a word to us about all the damage until Thursday because she didn't want Oz to be upset. All he knew was that she had fallen. She's a sweetie.
Oz's dad is a good man. He's always so proud of all his boys and loves his grandbabies. And he's the cameraman.
Here's Grandma talking to M2 about purses and gifts and all things girly. Grandma always has something up her sleeve for her kiddos. She is the only person whom M2 will listen to when she gets her fit on, so we love Grandma dearly.
Gotta have a picture of the brothers. Oz is the oldest, on the left. Then comes the guy in the striped shirt, the guy in the red shirt, and last but definitely not least, the guy in the gray shirt. Bocce was the name of the game this time. Last time, it was horseshoes. Somewhere in one of the houses, a rugby ball lives although I think the boys haven't broken that out in years.
Brothers will be brothers, and family is family, even if we do only get to really get everyone together once every couple of years!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Why Retirees Move South
That frost advisory the meteorologists issued last night wasn't a joke. I should have turned on the heater before I went to bed to get that stinky first-use funk out of the air, but that would have required foresight, which is clearly something I lack.
I'm not all that great about thinking ahead sometimes.
The kids had a fun time in the van this morning watching the above-dash thermometer drop like a rock. *INSIDE* the garage, it was 64 degrees. By the time we got to the end of our street, about a mile away, the thermometer read 39. It came up to 44 by the time we got to the school and dropped back down to 39 when we got home.
Hm.
That sort of temperature change explained a lot to me in terms of why our daffodils always bloom and our blackberries always ripen a week or two later than everyone else's. I'd never thought about the fact that I kind of live in a tiny little valley as having that much of a difference, but maybe I'm wrong.
Wrong, you say?
It's been known to happen!
I have never, ever been a big fan of cold weather, though, and as I'm getting older, I'm realizing why.
My hands cease to function.
Typing this now, while the house is being heated to 68 degrees (yes, I'm stingy like that, and the thermometer will remain at that temperature for the duration of winter, no matter how much Oz gripes... maybe), my right hand is stiff. It's been that way since my high school days when we had to be outside, no matter what the temperature, at 7 a.m. for band rehearsal. Thick gloves aren't an option when you're playing flute. The rest of us used to hate the trombone section for getting to wear gloves that actually kept their hands warm while the rest of us suffered (at least until Friday nights, when they had to wear the uniform gloves like the rest of us... bwa ha haaaaa). But I remember being completely unable to separate my fourth and fifth fingers on my right hand for a good 45 minutes every morning due to cold. My greatest fear was that the director would call on me to play and I wouldn't be able to hold the E-flat key on the flute without also hitting the third-finger key. I certainly couldn't take notes in history afterward.
I broke that right fourth finger sometime in elementary school (I think that one was due to a basketball hitting it right on the end during a pool party; it's either that or a basketball hitting it on the end in gym class, but I'm pretty sure that was my left pinkie), and it's never been quite the same since those two fingers were taped together. There's still a little bit of a weird bend at the end where the break was. Gotta love scar tissue.
At any rate, I hate the cold. Despise it. I also hate humidity, but I'll take that and 100+-degree heat over being cold any day. People (Oz) tell me I can always add layers, but that's not true! I can't make pie with gloves on, and pie is an essential part of fall. I can't go pee with five layers of clothing on my bottom. I can't shower clothed (though thankfully, the bathroom heater helps me not to turn instantly into an icicle after that particular daily episode). I don't like having to bundle up to go out to the mailbox, and I'm really not looking forward to running out each evening in subfreezing weather to close up the chicken coop.
And we don't have a fireplace.
Details, man.
I can now add "don't like having stiff hands" to my list of dislikes about cold weather.
I also don't like feeling old, but that's pretty much the same thing. I fear arthritis. I don't know for sure that that's what this is, but even if it's not, it's no bueno.
Maybe I'll make like the hummingbirds and butterflies and Canada geese and robins and all the other animals of superior intelligence and move south for the winter. Someone text me when it's time to move back north. Maybe my hands will be thawed by then.
I'm not all that great about thinking ahead sometimes.
The kids had a fun time in the van this morning watching the above-dash thermometer drop like a rock. *INSIDE* the garage, it was 64 degrees. By the time we got to the end of our street, about a mile away, the thermometer read 39. It came up to 44 by the time we got to the school and dropped back down to 39 when we got home.
Hm.
That sort of temperature change explained a lot to me in terms of why our daffodils always bloom and our blackberries always ripen a week or two later than everyone else's. I'd never thought about the fact that I kind of live in a tiny little valley as having that much of a difference, but maybe I'm wrong.
Wrong, you say?
It's been known to happen!
I have never, ever been a big fan of cold weather, though, and as I'm getting older, I'm realizing why.
My hands cease to function.
Typing this now, while the house is being heated to 68 degrees (yes, I'm stingy like that, and the thermometer will remain at that temperature for the duration of winter, no matter how much Oz gripes... maybe), my right hand is stiff. It's been that way since my high school days when we had to be outside, no matter what the temperature, at 7 a.m. for band rehearsal. Thick gloves aren't an option when you're playing flute. The rest of us used to hate the trombone section for getting to wear gloves that actually kept their hands warm while the rest of us suffered (at least until Friday nights, when they had to wear the uniform gloves like the rest of us... bwa ha haaaaa). But I remember being completely unable to separate my fourth and fifth fingers on my right hand for a good 45 minutes every morning due to cold. My greatest fear was that the director would call on me to play and I wouldn't be able to hold the E-flat key on the flute without also hitting the third-finger key. I certainly couldn't take notes in history afterward.
I broke that right fourth finger sometime in elementary school (I think that one was due to a basketball hitting it right on the end during a pool party; it's either that or a basketball hitting it on the end in gym class, but I'm pretty sure that was my left pinkie), and it's never been quite the same since those two fingers were taped together. There's still a little bit of a weird bend at the end where the break was. Gotta love scar tissue.
At any rate, I hate the cold. Despise it. I also hate humidity, but I'll take that and 100+-degree heat over being cold any day. People (Oz) tell me I can always add layers, but that's not true! I can't make pie with gloves on, and pie is an essential part of fall. I can't go pee with five layers of clothing on my bottom. I can't shower clothed (though thankfully, the bathroom heater helps me not to turn instantly into an icicle after that particular daily episode). I don't like having to bundle up to go out to the mailbox, and I'm really not looking forward to running out each evening in subfreezing weather to close up the chicken coop.
And we don't have a fireplace.
Details, man.
I can now add "don't like having stiff hands" to my list of dislikes about cold weather.
I also don't like feeling old, but that's pretty much the same thing. I fear arthritis. I don't know for sure that that's what this is, but even if it's not, it's no bueno.
Maybe I'll make like the hummingbirds and butterflies and Canada geese and robins and all the other animals of superior intelligence and move south for the winter. Someone text me when it's time to move back north. Maybe my hands will be thawed by then.
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