Fitting

Ow. Skater Girl had five teeth extracted yesterday because there's not room in her mouth for all of them to fit. Eighteen hours later, our girl was back in the chair with her mouth wide open. Those newly spacious gums have been joined by brackets and wires on the remaining teeth. The application of full braces hard on the heels of the extractions were not originally scheduled quite so close together. The appointments were supposed to be a couple of weeks apart, but the orthodontist's computer somehow had the day of the braces installation listed as, "Available," though that was untrue since the date fell in the midst of the doctor's vacation. (Oops.) With skating competitions in June and July, the decision was made to cram the treatment into a whopping day-and-a-half.
This is good for skating, even though it means Wednesday afternoon through Sunday off the ice. (The dentist said so yesterday.) Even with explanations of dry socket (yuck), Skater Girl was already attempting to bargain herself back into the rink tomorrow. Her theory is that it would surely be okay to skate as long as she doesn't jump or spin. Eesh. Fortunately, her new skates came in yesterday (8 weeks to manufacture the boots!), and she will have her first fitting tonight. That may satisfy her jones for all things skating-related at least for today, and the promise of next week's accelerated training schedule with a competition on the 17th should cover the following week.

Web MD

Middle Child has a complaint. She's been directed by Dr. Mom to take ibuprofen, ice, and rest. Dr. Mom also suggested a consult with the orthopedic doctor and physical therapist. Despite all that disregarded advice, Middle Child used the internet to self-diagnose herself with shin splints. She shared the diagnosis with her mother last night explaining that shin splints could lead to stress fractures. She also proceeded to list the appropriate treatments for those with shin splints: ice, rest, NSAIDs, evaluation by a physician, and possibly physical therapy. Really?!

Busted

Mmmkay. Middle Child was perhaps unaware that her romance with Perfect was a blog topic. As she climbed into the mom-mobile after school today, she stated, "K. and I spent most of the period in Spanish today reading your blog." Uh-oh. Knowing I was busted, but choosing to avoid acknowledgment for a few more minutes, I asked her what they thought. They thought it was funny that Middle Child's mom googled, "pasty", with unfortunate results. She also observed that it was interesting to see how a parent's perspective is different from one's own  point-of-view. Then she let her poor mother off the hook by commenting on the selection of Perfect's pseudonym with a grin.

Transference

The Boy has made his initial school transfer to our area. We're still waiting for word about which credits will be accepted for transfer. In his self-paced program, he was a senior in standing needing only one and a half credits to graduate. Our local district has a different set of requirements (no technology course required, but two years Foreign Language required and three years preferred) for graduation. In the meantime, he has taken almost every possible Social Studies, Math, and Science course available at any level which will make it difficult to concoct a full day's schedule of classes if he needs to continue through next year to complete his credits.
The benefit of delaying his graduation until 2013 is to have the full graduation with the same class he entered kindergarten with in 2000. That means ordering formal announcements and senior photos, walking across the stage to receive his diploma with peers, and all the general pomp and circumstance surrounding the milestone. There is definitely an up side to delay in this instance. On the other hand, he's already earned some college credit. Rejoining the high school population after working at his own pace and gaining experience with college level courses has limited appeal. With a desire to get a job, the high school diploma and flexibility of a college schedule could make The Boy more attractive to potential employers as well. Either way, he is looking forward to finding the rhythms of a new routine.

For the Girl Who Wants Nothing

Ah, in response to queries regarding Perfect's observance of Middle Child's birthday, here's the story: Perfect tried to determine what Middle Child desired for her birthday gift. She was less than forthcoming. He sought our help, but the mister and I were also at a loss because she professes to want for nothing. This is not a sorry state, but it does hamper the gift-giver. The mister and I were fortunate to have an iPod with more storage for music and apps than her previous model tucked away for her. Since Perfect was aware of our surprise, the mister and I gave in to conjecture that he might choose an accessory or iTunes to go along it.

Her birthday arrived, and her first act was to be downstairs a little after six in the morning with the front door wide open. When the inevitable questions regarding this odd behavior were put to her, Middle Child revealed a vase holding a dozen perfect pink roses. Perfect had nudged her via text minutes before suggesting she check out the front porch. (Smart to leave his special delivery and be gone before messaging her since she's possessed of bed head and would be horrified to find him standing at the front door when she's yet to change out of her pajamas.) Nestled amongst the flowers, she discovered a handmade birthday card. There's a relative certainty that her birthday could hardly have started off better.
Fast forward through one of the few school days when she had nothing yucky to report, and Perfect was back again to join the family for a Chinese food (her favorite) dinner to be followed by a terrible serenade of a cookie cake afire. He arrived with yet another gift accompanied by the second uniquely created card for our girl's big day. A talented artist, he drew her a rose and framed it for presentation. The guy's got style.

Pasty

Note to Self: It's a bad idea to enter, "pasty examples," as a Google search. Next time, just go with, "pasty recipes."

Faces

                       I love these faces.

Questioning

Last night, the Waits came to dinner. Despite a coffee with Laura during one of Skater Girl's Saturday workshops and a trip to the rink for the Waits offspring to skate, there was much to catch up on and discuss. Even with the evaporation of hours, it seems like we scarcely touched the tip of the conversational iceberg. Not unlike a doctor's appointment, there were many questions regarding their ministry in Puerto Lempira that went unasked as well as tidbits about their family, daily life, and mutual friends and acquaintances. (That can all be fodder for e-mail and blog surfing in the future.) The dangers of too little time, and the best sort of visit that leaves one wishing for more at the close.

One of those intriguing topics with Laura was her questioning why people sometimes feel the need to trot out justifications for purchases, possessions, behaviors, etc. with her. (Ah, my humble friend...) She isn't the sort of puffed-up person to recognize how the comparable lack of material things in the family's life challenges those who know them. It's not that they do not wish for, enjoy, or acquire stuff, but they did sell everything to head off to the relative wilds in service to others. Shedding the creature comforts and excesses inherent in an area that has been relatively unscathed by the recent economic downturn is going to bring about some justification. Justification not born of any real or imagined judgment on Laura's part necessarily, but out of questions that one might ask oneself when faced with the cost in time, money, and energy to maintain the suburban dream while seeking Christ.

This opinion is formed of experience in giving consideration to life and priorities between their home and our own. Having known the family in their American Dream achieving days and experiencing some of the trepidation felt by Laura regarding the transition to their big adventure, there is much to admire in the changes they chose to embrace on discovering God's call. Comparison of the relative cost of a child's sponsorship providing education and basic necessities to the far more frivolous expenses of a pretty dress for Middle Child or the scheduled time devoted to the rink with the fluid daily work of Reach Out Honduras helps to put our use of resources in a perspective that can be lost in the bounty of Plenty. By living with Enough (or less), the Waits gift our family (and apparently others) with the opportunity personal examination in a light that can bring about purposeful giving, personal appreciation of what one possesses, and temperance of excess.

Good News

Good News:
1. I'm not pregnant. (I know you were sweatin' that one.)
2. Tornadoes failed to carry off our house, and the termites have yet to take it down.

Speaking of good news, Sunday was Easter. We dressed up, went to church, and then crept around the side of the local nursery to take pictures with the daughters muttering about, "... getting busted," for being there when the business was closed. We were in the parking lot- hardly breaking and entering. We were not arrested, or even interviewed, for trespassing though there were two patrol cars in the very next parking lot. (Living dangerously!) Still, in keeping with the times, we should definitely post the pictures of our illicit visit online.

Easter Dress... and to the back left... stacks of mulch.

I see the woman she is becoming so clearly in this image.

This is what the mister and Perfect did while the assorted females were dress shopping.

Okay, so the last one wasn't part of our wild (*cough*) photo shoot at the nursery. It also has nothing to do with Redemption, Easter, or Jesus. Oh, wait... the ladies were shopping for Easter dresses. So, there you go.

Deja Vu

The final week of March, 2000 was memorable. My feisty Mammy passed away on that last Sunday on the mister's and my sixth wedding anniversary. The very next day, we discovered a termite infestation in Old House. On the heels of the termite news, we loaded up our littlies and hit the road headed to West Texas for Mammy's memorial ahead of strong storms causing tornadoes to touch down around the metro area. That particularly disastrous week ended with an allergic reaction that landed me in the E.R. Seriously.
Then again, that E.R. visit resulted in a batch of labs based on symptoms that seemed unrelated to the allergic reaction, but might have been a result of the stress of the preceding days. The results led to our family doctor opting to make a phone call on Saturday, April 1st that was no joke rather than waiting for Moday to let his nurse report the findings. All of the tumult ended with the (Surprise!) news that we were expecting Skater Girl.
This week we have Middle Child's BFF#1 staying with us after a death in her family over the weekend had her parents leaving the state for the service. Yesterday, I noticed a weird thing on the wall next to the fridge. Today, I whacked at the thing with the mister looking on in case I needed to run screaming. Sure enough, the whacking revealed (Crud. Crud. Crud.) termites hiding in the wall of New House. I scheduled the termite guy to come visit Thursday since I'll be stuck home for my infusion anyway. (The same infusion that I have an allergic reaction to every time. Awesome.) We're currently monitoring tornadoes touching down in the metro area.
Who knows... the way things are going, I'm developing a certain level of concern that I could make medical history winning myself and my doctor a place in the medical journals by turning up pregnant despite a hysterectomy.

Backtracking

Yesterday I was almost early for breakfast with friends. I say, "almost," because I stopped the car to add a few songs to a play list. (New Car plays my iTunes through the speaker. This is brilliant. Maybe even better than airbags because I use it more. That opinion will probably be reversed if I ever do have occasion to use those air bags. Anywho.) After adding to that playlist, I looked up to discover it had somehow been a half hour. And I was now late.
Since this is not really a new thing, the friends were not shocked. They were very gracious about my tardiness. No one pointed out how incredibly inconsiderate it is to be late. We had a lovely breakfast, and then they headed off to work and physical therapy while I walked down to the Hallmark store to pick up cards for the April birthdays and anniversaries. My "Cope" and "Encouragement" cards were also depleted, so there was a desire to re-stock the Sucks-to-be-You stationery. Armed with the calendar that lives in my phone, it was a relatively quick shopping trip.
With a little time to spare, I made a call to my Dad to see how a doctor's appointment had gone the day before while heading over to the market for produce. The call was short, but the shopping was excellent. Blueberries for $.88. (Be still my heart...) A rainbow of peppers on sale. Oooh, and Pink Lady apples... The pineapple smells yummy. All sorts of good things made it to the check out to be hauled out to the car.
Except that my newly awesome play list didn't kick in... and my phone was nowhere to be found even though I knew I had it since the conversation with my Dad ended after I walked into the market. Back in the store, retracing the path back through the check stand produced nothing. Wandering through the produce trying to remember if I used both hands to inspect the pineapple or pick through the blueberries produced more nothing. Finally, the workers putting out still more fruit and vegetables asked if I needed help. One headed off to see if a phone had been turned in while the other explained to me how to use the GPS tracking feature to find my missing piece of technology. Fortunately, the explanation was short-lived since someone had in fact turned in my phone.
Back at the car, I found a host of messages and missed calls. Not only had I left my phone somewhere in the market, but my reusable coffee cup was still at the Hallmark store. (This is the real reason why I have a reward card there... it's listed under my phone number.) The Hallmark ladies had been trying to call so I could return for my cup of now cold coffee. Backtracking seemed to be the order of the day.
It was likely nothing short of a miracle that I managed to remember the way home, though "Where Is My Mind," (added during that little pre-breakfast stop) was an entirely appropriate song to have playing along the way.

Drip

Don't cry over spilled milk. Really? That saying fails to take into account the extensive splatter pattern of a full 8 oz. cup of milk escaping the hand of a child to bounce off the floor. "So-and-so spilled milk, but she's cleaning it up..." is not what a mom wants to hear first thing in the morning- especially prior to the consumption of coffee. This is a fairly regular occurrence, and that regularity makes each subsequent spill seem worse than the last.
Downstairs, the child in question was miserably attempting to sop up milk dripping from cabinets and appliances as well as pooled around her on the tile. In one of those moments guaranteed to garner Mother of the Year, I snapped at her to let me take care of the mess. Milk was everywhere. She stood aside with an expression the mister says would have been appropriate at the scene of someone who had killed off a beloved grandmother by misadventure.
Fifteen minutes later the milk was off of every surface visibly affected, and others were wiped down just-in-case, because milk dries to the consistency of shellac. By that time, we needed to hit the carpool lane. Skater Girl accepted help getting into a raincoat and covering a diorama (due yesterday) in a plastic bag to protect it as a sign of parental remorse. We headed out into the rainy morning, and made it to the drop off just before traffic began to line up. She seemed cheerier after receiving an, "I love you! Have a better day!" just before exiting the car to make a run for the school.
On the drive home, the possibilities for avoiding more incidents like this one without depriving a growing child of her daily dairy intake occupied my thoughts. I wonder if she's too old for a sippy cup? After all, her mama's afflicted by the same tendency to spill. Except that my Super Power typically manifests itself with coffee. (Thankfully, I drink it black which is easier to clean up than that doctored with milk or sweeteners.) As a result, reusable ceramic coffee cups with silicone lids have become all the rage at our house. While I can still spill despite the lids, the mess has been greatly minimized. Yes, sippy cups just might be the answer if such things can be found in patterns not suited to the toddler set.