Wow, has this last week been a whirlwind. 8 days ago Mark accepted a call to be Director of Worship at Christ Memorial Lutheran Church in St. Louis, Missouri. And we frantically began to clean, spruce up, and pack. Mark mostly got the "sprucing up" part, and I got the cleaning and packing. And packing and cleaning. And more cleaning. And a little more packing.
And between Tuesday and Friday we got the house ready to put on the market. Which included spending about 6 hours on Thursday cleaning the grout on our tile floor. And had me vowing never to get a tile floor again. About half of our house is tile. I had a homemade solution that really does a good job of cleaning the grout, but not without some elbow grease. And a little gadget slightly larger than an electric toothbrush. And me, sitting or kneeling on the floor, and having to go to the sink about every 4 or 5 tiles to rinse out the sponge. Pretty much like doing 6 hours of the thigh master. And then being crestfallen when I finished and saw there was a pasty coating across the floor, which didn't come off on the first, second, or even third steaming. I was disheartened.
There was also about 4 hours on Friday morning scrubbing shower and tub. And more thigh master.
And there were windows to clean. And clean again. I hate streaks. Our living room is basically 2 sliding glass doors and a big plate glass window. They give a spectacular view of our pool and yard, which I love. but did I mention streaks?
Brianna helped (a lot) by cleaning and packing her room, packing up a bunch of pictures, and pitching in when the grout cleaning looked like fun. (That ended about 20 minutes later when it no longer looked like fun). Matt mostly hung out in his room on the computer, trying to pretend like we weren't moving, and trying not to be spotted lest we give him a job to do.
By Friday afternoon we were out of time, and said, "it'll have to be good enough." Our realtor had arrived as well as the professional photographer. We headed out to the movies and dinner, and they took some amazing pictures. You may have seen them on facebook. We couldn't believe our house looked like that.
And by 9 pm Friday, we were live...our house was listed.
Saturday the calls started coming, as Mark headed to work, Lyric went into her kennel, and the kids and I did what we could to get out of the house. Not the easiest thing when it's 107 degrees outside. We had 4 showings on Saturday. We had 5 more on Sunday, and more trips around town. By Sunday evening, I was exhausted. And pretty ready to be done.
Sunday evening our realtor texted us. We had an offer. She set up an appointment Monday at 1 pm to present it to us. By the time she arrived we had two offers, both pretty similar. We countered both, and waited for a response. By Tuesday we had our response. One buyer had removed the offer, not due to the counter, but to some unforeseen circumstances. So we were down to one offer, which we accepted, at full asking, but with some closing costs. And with a contingency, which makes us a little nervous, but we know God's got it all.
So now we are in the inspection period. Hopefully all will go smoothly. Not much is within our control.
Over and over in the last few days we have heard, "God is really showing you he wants you to move." And while I do believe that God has told us to move to St. Louis, I think the lightning speed of everything isn't necessarily confirmation of that. More, I see it as an example of God's graciousness and love. He could just as easily have allowed us to sweat out this moving thing, not sent us a buyer so quickly, and had another plan for things we needed to learn about trust during this move. (He still may, if the buyer's house sale falls through). Several people I know have been moved by God to a different location and not had their house sell right away. It in no way was confirmation that God didn't want them to go. Instead, he was saying "Trust me."
We have indeed heard God's voice telling us the way we should go...the lightning speed of the home sale (so far) is just an added bonus.
"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it.'" (Isaiah 30:21)
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
Vision
6 years ago, I think to the week, I was having some vision problems. I had gotten new contacts, but they didn't fit my eyes properly. Intense pain and scratched corneas ensued, and a couple weeks without contacts...just when Mark and I were headed to the Virgin Islands for an anniversary trip (and to check another National Park off our list). This is about as close as I've come to a natural disaster (unless of course you count the big LA earthquake, or hurricanes Rita or Ike)...and I was NOT happy. I HATE my glasses. The way I look in glasses, the way I see in glasses, the inconvenience of glasses, everything. The new contacts arrived the day after we left for our trip. So we took the trip and I wore the glasses. (But took them off whenever we took photos). And I had a great time, despite the big chip on my shoulder.
Less than a week after returning, I headed on my first mission trip to Africa, an eye care mission trip. I decided with all the trouble I had just had, that I ought to wear the glasses to Africa too. I certainly didn't want to experience any more of these difficulties in a foreign land, and since I'd had the contacts less than a week, I wasn't sure if my eye problem would occur again. So, off I went to Africa, again with the glasses I hated.
And God used the whole glasses thing as a huge teaching opportunity for me, a lesson I would not have experienced if I had been wearing my contacts. Especially about being thankful for things that I just took for granted for 35 years, like my glasses. And I also had a good laugh about the man who got glasses correcting his 20/200 vision (the same as mine...it means you cannot read the big E), and asked me, "should I wear these when I drive?" Think about that the next time you go driving in Kenya.
Anyway, I was thinking about that experience again the last couple of days for a few reasons. First, several friends posted on facebook recently about an object lesson at church. I said I loved a good object lesson, until I was the object, and then I object. And I remembered this particular lesson, in which I was the object, and I was objecting, until God opened my eyes to the lesson he had for me. And then I was thankful.
Oddly enough, the object lesson my friends were posting about had to do with specks and logs in the eye...
The second reason I was thinking about it, is because I'm having eye issues again. A week of irritation that I attributed to a very high pollen count, a couple days without wearing my problems, er contacts, and I thought the problems were over. But today while I was driving Brianna to school the problem came back and then some. Finally decided to see the eye doc. Anyway, the doc was out, so I had a sub (whom I loved, and wished he was my doctor). He said there was no debris in my eye (no logs or specks), gave me some drops, and 2 options. (Actually, they're not options, as I don't get to choose between the chicken and the beef). In scenario A my eyes are irritated, and with the drops they'll be better when I go back to see my doctor tomorrow. In scenario B it's something else, and it won't go away on it's own...whatever that means, which I'm not dwelling on for now. Either way, I see the doc tomorrow. I'm hoping for scenario A, since I don't like the way "won't go away on it's own" sounds.
Meanwhile, I'm waiting to see how God is going to use this as an object lesson. Besides, I've got these $600 glasses that I got in September to only wear at night when I took my contacts out...it's about time they see the light of day.
Less than a week after returning, I headed on my first mission trip to Africa, an eye care mission trip. I decided with all the trouble I had just had, that I ought to wear the glasses to Africa too. I certainly didn't want to experience any more of these difficulties in a foreign land, and since I'd had the contacts less than a week, I wasn't sure if my eye problem would occur again. So, off I went to Africa, again with the glasses I hated.
And God used the whole glasses thing as a huge teaching opportunity for me, a lesson I would not have experienced if I had been wearing my contacts. Especially about being thankful for things that I just took for granted for 35 years, like my glasses. And I also had a good laugh about the man who got glasses correcting his 20/200 vision (the same as mine...it means you cannot read the big E), and asked me, "should I wear these when I drive?" Think about that the next time you go driving in Kenya.
Anyway, I was thinking about that experience again the last couple of days for a few reasons. First, several friends posted on facebook recently about an object lesson at church. I said I loved a good object lesson, until I was the object, and then I object. And I remembered this particular lesson, in which I was the object, and I was objecting, until God opened my eyes to the lesson he had for me. And then I was thankful.
Oddly enough, the object lesson my friends were posting about had to do with specks and logs in the eye...
The second reason I was thinking about it, is because I'm having eye issues again. A week of irritation that I attributed to a very high pollen count, a couple days without wearing my problems, er contacts, and I thought the problems were over. But today while I was driving Brianna to school the problem came back and then some. Finally decided to see the eye doc. Anyway, the doc was out, so I had a sub (whom I loved, and wished he was my doctor). He said there was no debris in my eye (no logs or specks), gave me some drops, and 2 options. (Actually, they're not options, as I don't get to choose between the chicken and the beef). In scenario A my eyes are irritated, and with the drops they'll be better when I go back to see my doctor tomorrow. In scenario B it's something else, and it won't go away on it's own...whatever that means, which I'm not dwelling on for now. Either way, I see the doc tomorrow. I'm hoping for scenario A, since I don't like the way "won't go away on it's own" sounds.
Meanwhile, I'm waiting to see how God is going to use this as an object lesson. Besides, I've got these $600 glasses that I got in September to only wear at night when I took my contacts out...it's about time they see the light of day.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
It All Changes
It all changes. When the child is yours and not just some annoying student in your classroom. Who never seems to turn in an assignment. But on the rare occasion that they do it's well done and insightful. Who seems not to care about grades. Whom you are sure should be kept out of sports until they get their grades up. Whom your husband keeps saying is great in the band classroom but you just aren't seeing it.
And then your child is the one coming home with a failing report card. And they don't turn in their work even when you sat with them watching them complete it. Who HATES to read. Who lives for sports, and you're pretty sure if it weren't for the team they are on, you'd never even be able to get them to go to school, and certainly taking them off the team should be the motivation they need, but the threat of it doesn't improve the grades.
And the frustration grows and grows, especially for the mom for whom an A- was just about the same as an F. And the guilt about what kind of lousy parent am I?
And you finally seek help. And get a diagnosis. ADHD. And of the 9 markers (6 would be a positive diagnosis), your child has a score of 9. Fine time to get a perfect score.
And you realize your child has been in over their head for some time now, but it's finally gotten so deep that even on their tippy-toes they can no longer get a breath of air, and they can no longer pass on the basis of their good looks and charming personality.
And then you see a chart that shows the ADHD iceberg (only 1/8 of an iceberg is visible above the surface). And the visible signs of ADHD-Inattentive are: disorganized, doesn't follow through, doesn't pay attention, is forgetful, doesn't seem to listen, distractible, makes careless mistakes, loses things, doesn't do school work. And you say "Yup" for every one of them.
But beneath the surface are other symptoms like impaired sense of time (doesn't judge passage of time accurately, loses track of time, often late, doesn't have skills to plan ahead, difficulty estimating time required for tasks, etc); and low frustration tolerance (difficulty controlling emotions, short fuse, emotionally reactive, etc); not learning easily from rewards and punishment (repeats misbehavior, may be difficult to discipline, less likely to follow rules, must have immediate rewards, long term rewards don't work); and sleep disturbances (doesn't get restful sleep, can't fall asleep, can't wake up, late for school, irritable, morning battles with parents).
And you say "Yup" to all of those too.
And you know for certain that they are not stupid, and they are not lazy, but it's the neurotransmitters in their brain that are not working correctly.
And you feel like a huge weight has been lifted from your shoulders because it's not you, and it's not even them. And you know you have a long way to go, and a lot of hard work ahead, but it doesn't seem as hopeless anymore.
And you read this, "Let's not forget the positives...we've got to recognize our strengths and special talents. Many of us have a wonderful zest for living and have high energy. Life is never dull when we're around. We often have creative ideas and unique ways of thinking about things. We can also hyperfocus and work on projects much longer than most people. In fact, sometimes, we become so engrossed in our projects that we lose all track of time."
And you think, "Yup!"
And then your child is the one coming home with a failing report card. And they don't turn in their work even when you sat with them watching them complete it. Who HATES to read. Who lives for sports, and you're pretty sure if it weren't for the team they are on, you'd never even be able to get them to go to school, and certainly taking them off the team should be the motivation they need, but the threat of it doesn't improve the grades.
And the frustration grows and grows, especially for the mom for whom an A- was just about the same as an F. And the guilt about what kind of lousy parent am I?
And you finally seek help. And get a diagnosis. ADHD. And of the 9 markers (6 would be a positive diagnosis), your child has a score of 9. Fine time to get a perfect score.
And you realize your child has been in over their head for some time now, but it's finally gotten so deep that even on their tippy-toes they can no longer get a breath of air, and they can no longer pass on the basis of their good looks and charming personality.
And then you see a chart that shows the ADHD iceberg (only 1/8 of an iceberg is visible above the surface). And the visible signs of ADHD-Inattentive are: disorganized, doesn't follow through, doesn't pay attention, is forgetful, doesn't seem to listen, distractible, makes careless mistakes, loses things, doesn't do school work. And you say "Yup" for every one of them.
But beneath the surface are other symptoms like impaired sense of time (doesn't judge passage of time accurately, loses track of time, often late, doesn't have skills to plan ahead, difficulty estimating time required for tasks, etc); and low frustration tolerance (difficulty controlling emotions, short fuse, emotionally reactive, etc); not learning easily from rewards and punishment (repeats misbehavior, may be difficult to discipline, less likely to follow rules, must have immediate rewards, long term rewards don't work); and sleep disturbances (doesn't get restful sleep, can't fall asleep, can't wake up, late for school, irritable, morning battles with parents).
And you say "Yup" to all of those too.
And you know for certain that they are not stupid, and they are not lazy, but it's the neurotransmitters in their brain that are not working correctly.
And you feel like a huge weight has been lifted from your shoulders because it's not you, and it's not even them. And you know you have a long way to go, and a lot of hard work ahead, but it doesn't seem as hopeless anymore.
And you read this, "Let's not forget the positives...we've got to recognize our strengths and special talents. Many of us have a wonderful zest for living and have high energy. Life is never dull when we're around. We often have creative ideas and unique ways of thinking about things. We can also hyperfocus and work on projects much longer than most people. In fact, sometimes, we become so engrossed in our projects that we lose all track of time."
And you think, "Yup!"
Friday, July 26, 2013
Letting Her ...
If you've seen me lately, you might have noticed bite marks on my tongue. Before your mind goes there...they would be from me biting my tongue to help me not say what I want to say to my daughter. You see, I'm in the process of letting her...letting her be who she wants to be. And who she wants to be is definitely not me. Although...
...She wants to cook. And the way she cooks is not the way I cook. (I use a recipe, I clean as I go, I don't really experiment...)
...She wants to sew. Without a pattern. Without following directions. Without my help, thank you very much. Except occasionally to thread the machine, which still seems to have her stumped.
...She wants acrylic nails. Despite the fact that every time she asked, I said no. I said they're expensive to have, and a lot of work, and time, and money to keep up with (relatively speaking, for someone who has no income stream). I had acrylics for awhile, a couple of decades ago. When I was young, and single, and taught but also worked at Domino's Pizza for some extra disposable income. And I decided they weren't worth the time and the money. And that awful smell in the salon.
Anyway...The day after school got out in May, she had a friend over. She asked if they could go get a manicure. We have a nail place just around the corner, so I said okay, I would drop them off and they could walk home. 2 hours later when they weren't yet home I got a phone call from her, saying they'd be leaving in a few minutes. Wow, I thought, there must have been a long wait...Until they arrived home, and she showed me her nails. She had gotten acrylics. "Don't they look pretty mom?" she said. "But you didn't have permission" I responded. "Yeah, but don't they look great?" "but you didn't have permission," I said again. And then I let it go. After all, it's her money.
But a week later (having repolished them about 5 times) she started volleyball camp. On the second day of camp they worked on setting. She came home saying, "I hate these nails. I want to get rid of them." and off she went. Quite a while later she emerged, still hating her nails, for some reason mad at me. (For some reason, it's always my fault) I asked if she wanted me to find out how to remove them. And so I went online, found some websites with instructions. I knew I could take her back to the salon, but I wanted her to live with her decision, rather than for me to solve her problem. Too impatient to wait the time that the website suggested with her fingers in nail polish remover, she took matters into her own hands. When next I saw her, she was prying the nails off with a paring knife. I held my tongue, and prayed that she wouldn't slice her finger off. An hour or so later she emerged, nail free.
Several days later she was on a trip with her friend in Southern Cal. She called one evening and she told me that the next day they were getting their nails done. "Acrylics?" I asked. No, "I'm never ever ever ever ever ever going to get those again. They were horrible." "Yes!" I whispered to myself on the other end of the line. Successful mothering.
...She wants purple hair. Just dipped on the ends. Please mom. Please. Please. After she asked a few times, I finally agreed... when she could pay for it. So...when they go to camp they always get some money at the camp store, for ice cream snacks, etc during the week, and a souvenir tshirt or something if they want. Anything they don't spend they get to keep. Brianna saved almost the entire amount. So after camp, the first thing she did when she got to a store, was buy a purple hair dye kit.
I thought she had told me that they were temporary. But the instructions said first to bleach the hair. Oy. That's not what I wanted to hear. I've never even dyed my hair, let alone bleached it and colored it purple. Unless you count that one summer a couple of decades ago (Hmmm, I think it was at the same time when I had the acrylic nails...when I was about 25...not 12) when I used lemon juice and sunlight to lighten my hair.
Anyhow...Yesterday was the big day. Probably the hardest thing about this was knowing that if she didn't like it, somehow it would be my fault. And it was permanent. And her hair doesn't grow that fast. And she is incredibly beautiful, even without dying her hair. But after having her read the instructions, then read them again, then tell me what she had read, the process began. Midway through the bleaching she finally called me and asked me for help. Which I gave.
And when she was done bleaching the bottom 3 inches of her hair, I thought, hmmm, not bad. Better than I had expected. Kinda cute. And she thought so too... (yes! Successful mothering...) and she wasn't sure if she still wanted to cover the bleach part with purple, hoping for an ombre effect (dark to light). Finally she decided to just do the tips in purple. (Less hair to cut off if she didn't like it) And we finished the job. without getting purple on any of the furniture, or walls, or floors. (Yes! successful mothering again). And I think she likes it.
And now the job is done. The purple is barely visible. And I keep wondering what she'll come up with next. And how long I'll have to bite my tongue. (So far she still thinks tattoos are stupid...)
...She wants to cook. And the way she cooks is not the way I cook. (I use a recipe, I clean as I go, I don't really experiment...)
...She wants to sew. Without a pattern. Without following directions. Without my help, thank you very much. Except occasionally to thread the machine, which still seems to have her stumped.
...She wants acrylic nails. Despite the fact that every time she asked, I said no. I said they're expensive to have, and a lot of work, and time, and money to keep up with (relatively speaking, for someone who has no income stream). I had acrylics for awhile, a couple of decades ago. When I was young, and single, and taught but also worked at Domino's Pizza for some extra disposable income. And I decided they weren't worth the time and the money. And that awful smell in the salon.
Anyway...The day after school got out in May, she had a friend over. She asked if they could go get a manicure. We have a nail place just around the corner, so I said okay, I would drop them off and they could walk home. 2 hours later when they weren't yet home I got a phone call from her, saying they'd be leaving in a few minutes. Wow, I thought, there must have been a long wait...Until they arrived home, and she showed me her nails. She had gotten acrylics. "Don't they look pretty mom?" she said. "But you didn't have permission" I responded. "Yeah, but don't they look great?" "but you didn't have permission," I said again. And then I let it go. After all, it's her money.
But a week later (having repolished them about 5 times) she started volleyball camp. On the second day of camp they worked on setting. She came home saying, "I hate these nails. I want to get rid of them." and off she went. Quite a while later she emerged, still hating her nails, for some reason mad at me. (For some reason, it's always my fault) I asked if she wanted me to find out how to remove them. And so I went online, found some websites with instructions. I knew I could take her back to the salon, but I wanted her to live with her decision, rather than for me to solve her problem. Too impatient to wait the time that the website suggested with her fingers in nail polish remover, she took matters into her own hands. When next I saw her, she was prying the nails off with a paring knife. I held my tongue, and prayed that she wouldn't slice her finger off. An hour or so later she emerged, nail free.
Several days later she was on a trip with her friend in Southern Cal. She called one evening and she told me that the next day they were getting their nails done. "Acrylics?" I asked. No, "I'm never ever ever ever ever ever going to get those again. They were horrible." "Yes!" I whispered to myself on the other end of the line. Successful mothering.
...She wants purple hair. Just dipped on the ends. Please mom. Please. Please. After she asked a few times, I finally agreed... when she could pay for it. So...when they go to camp they always get some money at the camp store, for ice cream snacks, etc during the week, and a souvenir tshirt or something if they want. Anything they don't spend they get to keep. Brianna saved almost the entire amount. So after camp, the first thing she did when she got to a store, was buy a purple hair dye kit.
I thought she had told me that they were temporary. But the instructions said first to bleach the hair. Oy. That's not what I wanted to hear. I've never even dyed my hair, let alone bleached it and colored it purple. Unless you count that one summer a couple of decades ago (Hmmm, I think it was at the same time when I had the acrylic nails...when I was about 25...not 12) when I used lemon juice and sunlight to lighten my hair.
Anyhow...Yesterday was the big day. Probably the hardest thing about this was knowing that if she didn't like it, somehow it would be my fault. And it was permanent. And her hair doesn't grow that fast. And she is incredibly beautiful, even without dying her hair. But after having her read the instructions, then read them again, then tell me what she had read, the process began. Midway through the bleaching she finally called me and asked me for help. Which I gave.
And when she was done bleaching the bottom 3 inches of her hair, I thought, hmmm, not bad. Better than I had expected. Kinda cute. And she thought so too... (yes! Successful mothering...) and she wasn't sure if she still wanted to cover the bleach part with purple, hoping for an ombre effect (dark to light). Finally she decided to just do the tips in purple. (Less hair to cut off if she didn't like it) And we finished the job. without getting purple on any of the furniture, or walls, or floors. (Yes! successful mothering again). And I think she likes it.
And now the job is done. The purple is barely visible. And I keep wondering what she'll come up with next. And how long I'll have to bite my tongue. (So far she still thinks tattoos are stupid...)
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Nightcrawlers
Since we moved to Arizona and I became unemployed (outside the home), I've taken on two jobs...pool boy and dog walker. The pool boy job has been pretty simple until now, but is starting to be a bit more challenging now that summer is upon us. As for the dog walks, she generally gets two a day. The first is in the mornings after everyone goes to school. Most evenings, Mark and I take the dog on a walk after dark, usually just before of after the kids go to bed. It's good to talk and debrief our day, and for the dog to get out before bedtime. She's come to expect it. Now, if I go into the bedroom after dinner she starts to do the happy dance, assuming that I'm getting my shoes on, and then we're going to walk.
We have a standard route in the evening, with a few variations, and Lyric knows the route well. She's not happy when we turn back early to skip one of the loops. She looks at me as if to say, "seriously? You're only giving me half a walk?" as she pulls to the left while we turn back right. But some days, that's the way it is.
Since our routine began, Mark and I regularly see a man ouside his home doing yard work. Unusual since as I said, it's dark. I think we first noticed him at Christmas, when he set up a light display that went about 50 feet into the air...a Christmas tree outline with an angel in it. We didn't think it was so strange then, since we thought maybe he just wanted to see what the lights really looked like, and you can only tell that when it's dark.
Since then, we've seen him outside gardening, working on his car, and doing general maintainance on the house and yard. I've come up with a couple theories about this man. First I thought he must do shift work, so he's sleeping when we're all awake, and then has to do the work in the evenings. Then I thought maybe he had that disease where he was "allergic" to sunlight, and had to be outside at night. Last night when we passed him, I joked that perhaps he was a vampire, and could only be out at night.
But today, I think I figured it out. He's a NightCrawler. It's officially too hot to take the dog for a walk at 8:30 am. By the time I get home a half hour later, I'm sweaty and exhausted. I told Mark last night that I'm going to have to take her when I get up, but I didn't this morning because I realized, though I'm a early morning riser, I have absolutely no desire to take the dog on a walk before I've had my morning coffee, a bit of the news, and lounged around for a bit.
But as the summer temps begin to heat up, (and it's not yet May 15) I think I am realizing that I'm going to need to be a NightCrawler, too. The local weather guy has started giving this warning, "It may be great when you leave in the morning to exercise, ride your bike, run, climb a mountain trail, etc, but by 7 am it's 80 degrees, but 10 am it's 90 degrees, and by noon it's 100" Oy!
I think the only way the dog is getting two walks is if they are both in the dark. And I think the job of pool boy is getting more appealing...if I can clean the pool from in the pool. It's Arizona, and Summer's here!
We have a standard route in the evening, with a few variations, and Lyric knows the route well. She's not happy when we turn back early to skip one of the loops. She looks at me as if to say, "seriously? You're only giving me half a walk?" as she pulls to the left while we turn back right. But some days, that's the way it is.
Since our routine began, Mark and I regularly see a man ouside his home doing yard work. Unusual since as I said, it's dark. I think we first noticed him at Christmas, when he set up a light display that went about 50 feet into the air...a Christmas tree outline with an angel in it. We didn't think it was so strange then, since we thought maybe he just wanted to see what the lights really looked like, and you can only tell that when it's dark.
Since then, we've seen him outside gardening, working on his car, and doing general maintainance on the house and yard. I've come up with a couple theories about this man. First I thought he must do shift work, so he's sleeping when we're all awake, and then has to do the work in the evenings. Then I thought maybe he had that disease where he was "allergic" to sunlight, and had to be outside at night. Last night when we passed him, I joked that perhaps he was a vampire, and could only be out at night.
But today, I think I figured it out. He's a NightCrawler. It's officially too hot to take the dog for a walk at 8:30 am. By the time I get home a half hour later, I'm sweaty and exhausted. I told Mark last night that I'm going to have to take her when I get up, but I didn't this morning because I realized, though I'm a early morning riser, I have absolutely no desire to take the dog on a walk before I've had my morning coffee, a bit of the news, and lounged around for a bit.
But as the summer temps begin to heat up, (and it's not yet May 15) I think I am realizing that I'm going to need to be a NightCrawler, too. The local weather guy has started giving this warning, "It may be great when you leave in the morning to exercise, ride your bike, run, climb a mountain trail, etc, but by 7 am it's 80 degrees, but 10 am it's 90 degrees, and by noon it's 100" Oy!
I think the only way the dog is getting two walks is if they are both in the dark. And I think the job of pool boy is getting more appealing...if I can clean the pool from in the pool. It's Arizona, and Summer's here!
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
If At First You Don't Succeed...
...and your mom makes you try, try again...you might have a good time.
Maybe...
But meanwhile, your mom will be incredibly stressed out, wondering if this is the worst vacation plan ever.
To the top of the story...
For Spring Break, Mark and I decided to try taking the kids skiing. We thought Brianna, being the natural athlete, would take to it quickly and absolutely love it. We were a bit concerned that Matt, with a tendancy to quit when the going got tough, might not enjoy it, and would throw in the skis, so to speak. So we prepped him, saying everyone falls when they're learning, etc., and that you just have to laugh at your mistakes and try again. And I told him about the first times I went skiing, back in high school. And about how I didn't really know how to stop, except by falling. And about the time when I went down the mountain (hill really, after all it was northern Ohio) and couldn't stop, and took out the skiers waiting in the lift line (including my school ski club sponsor, Mr. Aufdemberge), and finally stopped about a foot from the half frozen river at the bottom of the hill. And I got up and skied again. But apparently I didn't tell Brianna.
So, we told the kids we were going skiing, and Brianna shrieked in delight. I mean blood-curdling scream of joy. While I was driving. Fortunately I kept the car on the road. They were both thrilled and excited, though Matt really wanted to snowboard instead. But we talked him into skiing, partly because Brianna didn't want to go to a lesson without him.
So snow day arrives. (By the way, we had beautiful, spectacular snow weather the couple days before the trip, and the snow in the mountains was fantastic, for Arizona spring skiing). And to make a long story a little less long, we get the kids signed up for ski school, get them to their class, and then Mark and I head up the slopes. Where I find that I'm not really at all comfortable going fast. Not that I ever really liked speed, but now I just want to leisurely go down the mountain. Which we do, and it's fun, and I start to get my ski legs back, and then we wait for the kids to get out of their lesson.
When we ask them how it went, they both say great, I love skiing, etc. Still wanting to see how they are doing, I go up the "pony slope" (they called it a bunny slope when I was a beginner), and I head down the mountain with Brianna. Only she's a bit out of control, and falls as she tries to make her first turn. She tells me she doesn't like it, and wants to quit. I talk her into another run, and her second fall is worse than the first. And, "I hate skiing, and I'm never going to do this again." She takes her equipment off, and heads off. Mark goes with her while I take Matt, who's doing quite well for a beginner, up the mountain to some green slopes.
Matt does well for a beginner (way better than me my first several times), but of course falls several times on the way down the mountain. But he perseveres and does a few more runs. Meanwhile, Mark has gotten Brianna back on the pony hill to try a few more times. She's slightly better with him ("Dad's way better helping me than you, mom"), but still falling a bunch.
This, by the way, is the girl who decided to potty train one day, and was done. (I know, TMI). She decided one day to ride a two-wheeler, and did. She decided one day that she would overhand serve in Volleyball, and she served 5 aces at her first game. From her first talking days, it was "I do myself."
Now we've finished the first of our two days of skiing, Matt wants to snowboard tomorrow (we agree to let him try it), and Brianna is saying she hates skiing. Mark talks her into taking another lesson on the second day. But when it's time to get up in the morning, I can't even really get her out of bed. Finally succeeding at that, I get her into the car to head to the mountain, but she covers her head with her blanket and "sleeps." When we arrive at the slopes, somehow we get her out of the car and up to the desk to register for ski school (reminding her that she told Mark yesterday that she would.) But she keeps saying, i don't want to go to ski school. I don't want to go on the mountain. I just want to stay on the pony hill. You can't make me go. We sign her up anyway.
As Matt heads off to his snowboard lesson, Brianna keeps telling me "you can't make me go. I hate skiing. I'm never skiing again, etc." And, "You're pretty much forcing me to do this you know." (and I'm thinking we could be charged with child abuse or child endangerment) We (Mark) manage to get her in the class with 13 and up (that's the class she was in the day before with Matt), because she doesn't want to go in the "Kiddie Corral". and we're pretty sure that if forced she will never speak to us again. Fortunately the person in charge bends the rules, and the instructor Dave (a WONDERFUL, seasoned instructor...probably in his late 60s or even 70s) takes her into his group.
Mark and I leave and head off for an hour and a half skiing on the other side of the mountain. Before we go, Mark grabs my hand and we pray for her instructor and her attitude. We have a couple of fantastic runs, (on the green slopes) and then head back to the kids. They're still finishing up their lessons when we return, but we spy Brianna at the top of the hill with instructor Dave. Then she makes a run down the hill. And does a couple wonderful turns. And gets to the bottom of the hill with a huge smile on her face. And when she meets up with us she wants to take a break for lunch, take a couple more runs at the bunny hill, and then "go down the mountain."
And we do. And she does. And she falls, and gets up, and smiles, and does it all again, and again, and before I know it she's asking if we can stay another day, and when we come skiing next time...
And I thank God for instructor Dave, who worked with her in a way she would accept. And helped her get some confidence. And helped her get down that hill. And Mark saw him a little later, and thanked him for taking Brianna in his class and saving our vacation.
(sorry, can't get the pictures to turn...)
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Flying the Friendly Skies
For Christmas Mark gave me a trip back to see my friends in Texas. He intuitively knew I don't need more stuff, I just need my friends. So he arranged for me to head to Texas for 5 days with friends. I know, he's great like that.
In the process of planning the trip he called a friend to see if my old Tuesday morning Bible study ladies (sorry ladies, you're not that old) would be meeting, knowing that I would probably want to see them too. They were, but during the call Natalie (the friend) offered a "buddy pass" to fly standby, saying it would otherwise go unused as it expired at the end of January. My husband, ever the bargain hunter (my kids would say "cheap") took her up on it, and my trip was set.
We have been undeserving recipients of many buddy passes from our friends who work for the airlines based in our old hometown. The first time was the first day we flew to Houston. Mark's father had died while we were travelling, and we were met with that news at the airport, but also with two buddy passes to fly the next morning to Buffalo NY. On several occasions Mark flew on a buddy pass to see his mom in times of crisis during the next years. Then, when Mark's mom and my dad died three weeks apart two summers ago, once again we were saved from exhorbitant last minute flight fees with buddy passes. Praise God for our friends, and for their generosity.
This is the first time I can remember that I used a buddy pass purely for pleasure. The thing about a buddy pass is that you fly on standby, and you are on the bottom of the totem pole, or in this case the waitlist. So I arrived early (4:45 am) for my 6 am flight to Houston. Only the plane was full and I had to wait for the next flight, a little after 8 am. Now I was third on the waiting list but made it on the flight without problem.
Once in Texas I enjoyed 5 days visiting with friends, who graciously shuttled me around the state and in some cases let me disrupt their children's sleeping habits and bedrooms to give me a place to stay. Before I knew it, it was time to return to Phoenix. And that's when things got interesting.
The night before the flight Natalie looked on the company website and saw that the flight I was hoping to take was oversold by 6 seats, and there were 13 people on standby (I think I was #12)...Not much chance of catching that flight, she said, and because it was so oversold, the flights the rest of the day would probably also be backed up, and even into the next day. Yikes. Things were not looking good.
I wasn't willing to concede. I'd just go to the airport and wait. I don't mind sitting around and reading for a couple hours. Natalie said she'd take me to the airport and would be shopping at a nearby store when I was ready for her to come and pick me up to bring me back to try again the next day. She didn't think I had a shot of getting on that flight.
I may not have had a shot, but I did have a prayer. As I waited, at the very crowded gate, the first thing I noticed was that it was time to board but it wasn't. As it continued to be delayed they announced that the crew was changing a seat cushion or cover. (I will guess that someone had to use the little bag in the seat back during the previous flight...)
Finally, about an hour late, the flight began to board, and the gate agent began calling names from standby. Then I noticed he was calling some people two and three times. Since by now all sections of the plane had boarded, there were few people at the gate. He called about 4 different names, but each time, no one went forward. Finally he called a name, and a man jumped up, delighted to have a seat. It appeared the plane was about to leave when the gate agent closed the access to the plane. The second gate agent was walking down the jetway.
Noticing me standing waiting, the last one left, the gate agent called me over. It seems someone had checked in, but hadn't boarded. The second agent was going to board the plane and see if he had perhaps somehow slipped by without getting his ticket scanned. "do you want to wait at the end of the jetway, just in case? If he's there, you'll have to come back." Yes, I said, feeling a bit like I was walking the plank.
As I waited, I prayed that the man wasn't on the plane. The baggage guy, who was waiting at the end of the jetway to get gate-checked bags, looked at me. "Standby?" he said, and I nodded. "I hate that wait," he said. I smiled and told him I was praying that the other guy wasn't here. Moments later the second gate agent came off the plane and said, "You're on," took my ticket, and the baggage handler took my bag, and I was on board, just as the flight attendant was telling people it was time to turn off their laptops and electronic devices. I had a couple quick texts to send, to Natalie and to my husband, telling them I made it.
My best guess is that because of the delay, several of the people ahead of me on stand-by decided to give up the wait. Maybe they could make it out later that day, or just change their flight plans. As for the man who checked in but never boarded, I'm guessing he may have been thirsty and headed to the lounge. His following headache was my blessing...and I'm praising God for flight delays. The airline's ontime record may have suffered, but I'm not complaining. Smile. And welcome to the friendly skies. Where we fly on a wing...and a prayer.
In the process of planning the trip he called a friend to see if my old Tuesday morning Bible study ladies (sorry ladies, you're not that old) would be meeting, knowing that I would probably want to see them too. They were, but during the call Natalie (the friend) offered a "buddy pass" to fly standby, saying it would otherwise go unused as it expired at the end of January. My husband, ever the bargain hunter (my kids would say "cheap") took her up on it, and my trip was set.
We have been undeserving recipients of many buddy passes from our friends who work for the airlines based in our old hometown. The first time was the first day we flew to Houston. Mark's father had died while we were travelling, and we were met with that news at the airport, but also with two buddy passes to fly the next morning to Buffalo NY. On several occasions Mark flew on a buddy pass to see his mom in times of crisis during the next years. Then, when Mark's mom and my dad died three weeks apart two summers ago, once again we were saved from exhorbitant last minute flight fees with buddy passes. Praise God for our friends, and for their generosity.
This is the first time I can remember that I used a buddy pass purely for pleasure. The thing about a buddy pass is that you fly on standby, and you are on the bottom of the totem pole, or in this case the waitlist. So I arrived early (4:45 am) for my 6 am flight to Houston. Only the plane was full and I had to wait for the next flight, a little after 8 am. Now I was third on the waiting list but made it on the flight without problem.
Once in Texas I enjoyed 5 days visiting with friends, who graciously shuttled me around the state and in some cases let me disrupt their children's sleeping habits and bedrooms to give me a place to stay. Before I knew it, it was time to return to Phoenix. And that's when things got interesting.
The night before the flight Natalie looked on the company website and saw that the flight I was hoping to take was oversold by 6 seats, and there were 13 people on standby (I think I was #12)...Not much chance of catching that flight, she said, and because it was so oversold, the flights the rest of the day would probably also be backed up, and even into the next day. Yikes. Things were not looking good.
I wasn't willing to concede. I'd just go to the airport and wait. I don't mind sitting around and reading for a couple hours. Natalie said she'd take me to the airport and would be shopping at a nearby store when I was ready for her to come and pick me up to bring me back to try again the next day. She didn't think I had a shot of getting on that flight.
I may not have had a shot, but I did have a prayer. As I waited, at the very crowded gate, the first thing I noticed was that it was time to board but it wasn't. As it continued to be delayed they announced that the crew was changing a seat cushion or cover. (I will guess that someone had to use the little bag in the seat back during the previous flight...)
Finally, about an hour late, the flight began to board, and the gate agent began calling names from standby. Then I noticed he was calling some people two and three times. Since by now all sections of the plane had boarded, there were few people at the gate. He called about 4 different names, but each time, no one went forward. Finally he called a name, and a man jumped up, delighted to have a seat. It appeared the plane was about to leave when the gate agent closed the access to the plane. The second gate agent was walking down the jetway.
Noticing me standing waiting, the last one left, the gate agent called me over. It seems someone had checked in, but hadn't boarded. The second agent was going to board the plane and see if he had perhaps somehow slipped by without getting his ticket scanned. "do you want to wait at the end of the jetway, just in case? If he's there, you'll have to come back." Yes, I said, feeling a bit like I was walking the plank.
As I waited, I prayed that the man wasn't on the plane. The baggage guy, who was waiting at the end of the jetway to get gate-checked bags, looked at me. "Standby?" he said, and I nodded. "I hate that wait," he said. I smiled and told him I was praying that the other guy wasn't here. Moments later the second gate agent came off the plane and said, "You're on," took my ticket, and the baggage handler took my bag, and I was on board, just as the flight attendant was telling people it was time to turn off their laptops and electronic devices. I had a couple quick texts to send, to Natalie and to my husband, telling them I made it.
My best guess is that because of the delay, several of the people ahead of me on stand-by decided to give up the wait. Maybe they could make it out later that day, or just change their flight plans. As for the man who checked in but never boarded, I'm guessing he may have been thirsty and headed to the lounge. His following headache was my blessing...and I'm praising God for flight delays. The airline's ontime record may have suffered, but I'm not complaining. Smile. And welcome to the friendly skies. Where we fly on a wing...and a prayer.
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