Weights and Measures

I may be making this harder than it has to be. Or the assorted airlines may be trying to drive me insane. (Alert: possible conspiracy theory) I finally tired of cutting back and forth between tabs featuring multiple airlines' baggage limits on-line yesterday. I opted to cut and paste the ever-so-slightly varying requirements from the assorted airlines onto a single page. (Well, one and a half pages, but at least all the information is in one place!) Once the United, US Airways, and Lufthansa baggage weights and measurements were all together, I found it less challenging to determine what size bags could be packed and how to spread the contents' weight across several bags for the flights to Poland.
If we stick to purses that are tote bags, a carry-on no greater than 45 linear inches (length + height + width), and a single suitcase that is smaller than 62 linear inches everything should be just fine. (Otherwise, we face the ugliness of fees for overweight or additional baggage. No thanks.) I can take my cane without forfeiting a bag, and (thanks to my fascination with tiny things) travel-sized packages of everything under the sun to meet our every possible need. Time to go step off and on the bathroom scale with and without suitcases with an eye toward 43 pound suitcases and 16 pound carry-on baggage to stay well under the stated limits...

Head Over Heels

Yikes. Erin has achieved flight unsuccessfully. Thankfully the human cannonball had her bike helmet strapped on her head. We were coming around a nice long curve at high speed on our bikes when she had the slightest bobble. She over corrected from her bobble into a full-blown wobble before the bike went out from under her. As the bike slid away across the concrete, Miss Erin continued her forward motion. Her head hit the concrete with her feet in the air before her little body flipped over to pull her full weight down onto her arm and hip.
It was a sickening moment. She didn't yell. She didn't give one of her trademark wailing screams. That did not reassure me as I was disentangling myself from my own bike to stumble toward her. I gave an initial check of her head, neck, and back before picking her up. (Like I know what I'm looking at?!) Evan rode after Don, and Katie rode to the home of some friends who live nearby (but were not home) in hopes of help. I was staggering down the street with a slightly shocked, pale, sweating seven-year old in my arms when a vaguely familiar mommy appeared on her driveway to ask if we needed help.
Erin didn't really register when we entered the some-time elementary coach's house to clean her scrapes because she was still freaked-out from her abortive flight and a bleeding elbow. Once she was a bit more with-it, she developed a case of shy so we headed back outside as Katie rode up to report that she had reached Don by phone, and he was on his way. The coach sent her kids to retrieve our bikes from the middle of the street while telling Erin that her tale of woe would be a good example for the other kids at school re: the necessity of wearing a helmet.
The rest of the cavalry arrived a few minutes later. Don came around the corner in the truck with Evan leading the way on his bike. We loaded Erin and her bike into the truck for the ride home. The bigger kids and I rode back home where we found Erin laying on the couch with ice on her ouchies. She'll be spending the remainder of the evening resting, and Evan has a doozy of a story to mark his first ride on his newly replaced bike. I'm still not 100% certain we won't end up in the kiddie E.R., but I am reserving judgment until Erin's injuries have been iced for a little bit longer.

Elementary Momfest

Our elementary school went over the top to help the first graders show some love for their mommies. A musical program on Thursday night complete with poetry recitations and limited sign interpretation by the children (all dressed in their "Sunday best") kicked off Momfest '08. Each mom received a single, red, long-stemmed rose from her lovey to cap off the performance.

This morning the same group of mommies trickled into the building's front doors 45 minutes before the official start of the school day. In addition to last night's program, we were all invited back to attend a Readers' Theatre of I'll Love You Forever and enjoy a light breakfast served by our children.

Erin welcomed me to her classroom, and seated me at her table which was prepared with a portrait of me as seen through her eyes. (I have orange hair and blue eyes.) A precious paper tissue flower was presented as a corsage, and "Mom Packets" filled out in sweet, childish handwriting described each mommy from her child's perspective. (There were conveniently posted Kleenex boxes about the room.) Jumbo hand-made cards with promises of chores to be done and extra-good behavior and a laminated book mark with a mommy poem completed the extravaganza of this celebration of mommies.

Behave

The boy's bike literally fell apart on the way to school yesterday. This was not particularly surprising since our 125 lb. son was cruising along on a bike the same size as his seven-year-old sister's... We have been hoping daily to replace the busted bike that we knew was at the end of its usable life.
Unfortunately, the boy has had a series of behavioral issues that have prevented us from providing a new bike (or even a used one) because we can't really reward him on a day when we discover he has forged a permission slip, blatantly lied to us, or some other act of willful disobedience has occurred. Don and I keep hoping we will have a day when Evan manages to avoid any discipline issues so we can set him up with new wheels.
Evan actually knows that Mom and Dad want to replace his wonky two-wheeler with a new and improved bike for his riding pleasure. Yet he still continues to foolishly get himself into situations that are going to result in our feeling that we cannot replace the busted bike because such an act would reek of reward.
Maybe today will be the day because there's a very cool bike that practically has his name written on it just waiting...

Budding Author

"Budding Author" is the nickname a friend proffered for her eldest son on a favorite blog. Her choice of words describes Miss KT well, so I'm borrowing them. Our Budding Author is currently working to produce a fantasy fiction of epic proportions. It's something of a Harry Potter in the 'burbs except the boy's name is Scott. The hero is an orphan aged 11--- sound familiar Potter fans? Scott lives in a house that's been derelict for almost a decade, and no one knows who he is or that he lives there with his dog.
She opens her tale with a chapter full of suspense and mystery about just who our hero might be, and by chapter three we find him breaking and entering to steal food for himself and his dog only to be apprehended by the police and a grumpy grandmotherly type. In a spoiler, I heard that he will be able to stop time thanks to an ultra-mysterious (Mystery is a theme she likes.) rock. KT hasn't finished that chapter yet so I'm stuck waiting to see how Scott will get out of the fix he was in last night. It will be interesting to see where she takes the fellow and what sort of adventures are next for him...

Not Too Busy

A friend commented recently that she sees me as a "fireman" who is always ready to come running when others need anything. I just ate that up! It's exactly what I want to provide. It's a thrill to get a call or see an e-mail come aross from someone who needs a favor, wants to chat, or has some other something that I can offer them. It's a disappointment when I have a conflict that prevents me from saying "Yes!" in an instant.
I do periodically say "No". The hope is to rarely back out or leave someone hanging because I genuinely strive to let my yes be my yes, and my no be my no. I was tickled at myself the first shot out of the barrel in fulfilling this "yes" and "no" thing.
I literally yelled "No!" in response to the discovery that agreement to provide a dozen homemade cupcakes to show appreciation for a group of volunteers had somehow morphed into sixty single-serving treats at 6:00 p.m. the night before they were needed for delivery prior to 9:00 a.m. The poor gal giving me the news of my extended commitment was definitely taken aback by the force of my response. I didn't make any cupcakes at all, and I was downright gleeful about my dereliction.
The goal is to have simple tasks take on the aspect of an offering before the Lord. While not even close to total success, my attitude is so much more cheerful when this motivation lies behind my actions and words. As a work in progress, there are going to be fumbles and whoopsies along the way. The bloopers and periodic episodes of not-so-nice are part of life's learning curve. Sanctification, if you will. Everyday is full of opportunities for that loving your neighbor thing. Hopefully, I'm on the right track!

Blood Type?

This morning I will go up to the hospital because I need to list my blood type on a medical information form for Operation: Prayer SURGE. I did not think this would be difficult information to find. Shows what I know!
Last week I phoned the assorted MDs. I figured that after all the surgeries, the births of three babies, and the blood transfusions one of the assorted 'ologists would have my blood type on file. I thought wrong. Even the OB who delivered lovely Little Bit, performed several other surgeries on me, and eventually had to order transfusions following a nasty bit of post-op internal bleeding does not have a record of my blood type. (Um. Didn't she need that for the transfusion?!) I figured if all the doctors were not helpful, maybe the nursing agency that handles my IVIG would have it. Nope.
So I called in the big guns. I called my Mom. She had no idea. She was guessing in the AB arena. My Dad phoned later to say he had unearthed his blood type and it was not as previously believed, but was instead the O+ that my IVIG nurse and I were speculating to be my likely blood type. I'm going to try the hospital's medical records this morning. Theoretically, they should have that on file somewhere...
If not, then I have two remaining options: I can go pick up a lab slip for blood typing or I can just pick a blood type to write-in on the health forms for Great Commission Ministries to keep on file for the Poland trip. I'm hoping the hospital records will confirm the O Positive I strongly believe to be correct.

Squirrel

Last summer we had the most irritating squirrel in the world living in our back yard. He was a Bad squirrel. I called him...mmm...well, "Ballsy". (The name was due to this particular squirrel's rather blatant super-sized male parts and his behavior toward both the people and the 150+ pounds of canines in our yard.) I despised that squirrel. (Grrr. Bad squirrel.) Ballsy would hang out in the crape myrtle behind the house chittering at our dogs and swooping just low enough for them to think they had a chance at catching him only to leap with great acrobatic skill into the live oak--- and out of reach. He seemed to derive pleasure from running along our fence with a certain arrogance as our poor dogs barked impotently from behind the sliding glass door. When Ballsy was particularly awful to my sweet doggies, I would go out and throw rocks at the nasty little rodent. He chittered at me, too. Impudent wee beast that he was, Ballsy eventually tagged himself a female to join in his doggy-taunting games. It was a long summer with Ballsy who also developed the destructive habit of chewing on our house's siding.
I began to speed up when driving down the street as a squirrel ran out into the road rather than slowing down to let the creatures cross. (I never hit one, but I still sped up.) The sight of roadkill became reason for a Grinchy grin to spread over my face when the critter in question was a nut-brown, bushy-tailed, tree-hopping sort of vermin. The children were collectively appalled because the creature in question was so "cute". They saw God's creation. I saw a little devil. I pointed out that the spiders, wasps, and ants that we capture and/or squish were all God's creations, too. Not my finest Mommy moment, but there it was...
Late in the season, I was out pacing around the backyard while talking on the phone. I was thrilled and amazed to see a hawk cruising along over the fence line. I have never seen one flying quite so low. What should my wondering eyes behold, but that this magnificent creature is hauling it's dinner along. I cackled into the phone, and chased along seeking another view of the magnificent hunter's dinner. Sure enough, that birdie had caught ol' Ballsy unaware. Hee. So much for that mean little squirrel, and "WOW!" how often does a gal get to see a bird like that up close? I am not unaware of the irony present in my tale of Ballsy--- and particularly Ballsy's end.

'Stache

The boy was leaning over the edge of the couch talking with me when I saw it. Initially, I hoped it was a horrible trick of the light. Nope. There were long blond hairs that had sprouted like Jack's magical beans in a favorite fairy tail. It got worse. I had him tilt his head while I carefully examined his upper lip. There were 1/4" long, dark hairs over the corners of his lips. Heh?
When did the boy sprout this 'stache? It cannot possibly have happened overnight. I really do not think it was there yesterday.
After closely examining his face to his mixed reaction of delight (It must be real for Mom to be checking it out.) and disappointment (Why does it have to go?), I announced that we were going to the store for some non-girly-scented shaving gel and razors that were not fuchsia with lavender scent. I was really wishing that Don was home. I contemplated waiting for him, but the idea of those hairs over my son's lip demanded action. Now.
Evan and I hopped in the truck to go pick up some depilatory supplies that didn't reek of pre-teen girl. I was still talking to God about how this was really a Daddy thing when I saw Don drive past us going the opposite way on the street. We turned back to the house to pick up Don. He came out of the house having already been informed by the girls that their brother had grown a moustache out of nowhere (and that Mom was feeling decidedly prejudicial toward said facial hair).
We set off again to procure the necessary supplies to rid my son's face of the latest signs of impending doom... er, puberty. Since I am the pickier consumer in my marriage, I had more to do with the actual selection of hair-removal products than Don, but I was glad he was present in case some creepy guy question came up. We purchased the boy's razors and shaving gel and headed back home so Don can demonstrate the use of said items.

Reece's

I've been carrying a bag of Reece's Pieces around in my bag. I was waiting for just the right reason to eat them. The moment arrived last night. E.T. was on T.V. and there were Reece's Pieces trivia questions in the commercial breaks. That seemed like the ideal time to break out the baggie of candy-coated peanut-buttery goodness. Mmmm. Reece's Pieces.

ohbutno

For those unfamiliar with the term, it describes those moments when you just really think "That cannot possibly be." The boy is currently in an "ohbutno" phase. On Sunday, he failed to comprehend why he was in trouble for the failed "Let's hide our Gameboys so we can play them during the week!" scheme. Since it did not succeed, there should be no consequences (in his mind). On Wednesday night, we had a similar episode that was also related to our household rule of not playing video games during the school week. The boy turned on the Wii. He made the distinction that he did not play the Wii, but he did admit to turning it on while he thought about playing. So our family now has another nit-picky rule: No turning on or hiding video game components with the idea of possibly considering playing them during the times when the game players are off-limits. (How dumb is that rule? FYI- All of the seemingly overly particular rules in our household have origins of this nature.)
Last night Evan asked if he could take the Wii to school with him today. Umm. No. (I am of the firm opinion that video games should not mix with classroom time, and the school's Code of Conduct backs me up on this one. We make one exception at the request of a teacher. Evan has one class period where he has a certain amount of freedom, and we have agreed to the teacher's offered weekly reward of Gameboy play time for fifteen minutes on Friday.) Evan was asking to take the Wii instead of the Gameboy for his reward time. I said no because the Gameboy is sufficient to fill the fifteen minutes of play allowed, and the Wii would be a nightmare to replace if it were lost or damaged.
Imagine the response the boy received when he called home this morning to ask me to bring him the component of the Wii that he forgot. Just so we are fully clear I will repeat myself. Evan called home this morning to ask that I bring him the component to a video game player that he accidentally left at home after being told that he could not take said player to school. I replied that I would not be bringing the missing piece, but that I would most certainly be up at school in five minutes to pick up the Wii from the front office where it had best be waiting. Grrr.
The Wii was waiting in the office when Don and I arrived. Evan was not waiting in the office. He has some sense.

Forties

The day has been sandwiched between breakfast and a dinner to celebrate two different ladies' fortieth birthdays. I met up with Lisa for a celebratory Birthday breakfast (that was also our regularly scheduled Poland-planning breakfast meeting) as soon as the kiddies were all out the door. (We are now only two weeks from our departure!) I had a gift for Lisa thanks to Shelley's genius (Shelley remembered exactly where Lisa liked to get her nails done.).
The night before our breakfast, I made a flying trip over to said nail salon with Lisa on the phone. (Yes, I was driving while taking on the phone. I assure you it is safer than when I am driving and talking to my kids.) I pull into a parking space at 7:35 only to see the sign on the door stating that the salon closes at 7:30 on weeknights. Argh! I get off the phone with Lisa and make a dash for the salon.
Before the nice fellow inside can say, "We're closed.", I blurt out that I only want a gift certificate with a series of "Oh, please, please, please" attached on both ends. The man grins, laughs, and pulls out his gift certificate book. Whew! I pay the nice man, return to the car, and realize that I cannot keep Lisa's gift a surprise if I explain my abrupt exit from an otherwise pleasant conversation. Hmmm.
I call Lisa back as I head out of the parking lot toward home. I then proceed to tell her how clueless I am about beauty professionals. We have a great laugh at my expense because I have been out chasing after a gift certificate for a friend who is turning forty with a surprise party the following night. (I had been, too. The lady just wasn't going to be available for me to pick that gift certificate up until the following day.) Lisa is cracking up as I explain what I think hair and nail services cost in the earliest moments of my gift search. I am thinking I will ask for a gift certificate for a specific service only to discover that service is far more valuable than I thought. The hair lady danced a nifty little jig to avoid hurting my feelings while trying to educate me on these matters. I was impressed that the words "naive" and "cheap" never once left her mouth.

You may be wondering about Lisa's gift certificate, but Lisa didn't have a clue because she had the benefit of the extended version of the above commentary. Needless to say, Lisa was both surprised and pleased to see the certificate entitling her to a little pampering at her favorite salon. We had a great breakfast, still are not clear on our Poland plans, and Lisa has a special treat to look forward to later. What's not to love?
This afternoon, following Lisa's breakfast, I made a run to the hair salon favored by the other gal turning forty. The hair lady was not going to be in the shop until 3:00, and the salon was fully thirty minutes away. I raced back home because Don and I needed to drop Katie off for guitar at 5:00 and head on to the Surprise party that started at 5:30. Don ran through the shower while I slapped on some make-up and change my shirt. We hopped in the car with Katie to head off to celebrate the second fortieth birthday of May Day.