For Thanksgiving, I wanted to list the things that I was thankful for, but I always feel awkward doing that. I'm most thankful for my family, and our health. But everyone is thankful for these, and it makes me sound as though I have nothing else in my life that I can even remotely begin to be thankful for so I mention the things that everyone does just so that I have something to list.
That's not it at all.
I am reminded so very, very often that health concerns should probably be a major part of our lives with Micah, and they're just not. We're grateful. And humbled that God has chosen us to be so blessed.
Our kids are absolutely wonderful. Really. My teen aged daughter and I are best friends. We share everything. There is no fighting or attitude or backtalk. I'm not exaggerating. My boys are so content with small things. Topping Luke's Christmas list are Hot Wheels and paper to make books with. Josh has taken up hunting and trapping this year and spends his time in the great outdoors learning responsibility and commitment. Micah is happy when his siblings are around.
Our kids have the biggest hearts. They're polite to their elders. They are spoken highly of by their teachers.
We're so blessed.
So yeh, I'm thankful for my family and our health. And I really, really mean it because I've seen too many other families who don't have what we do. At this time of Thanksgiving, we are reminded yet again how much God has blessed us with.
Thank You, Lord.
Reading Past the Cliche
Environmentally Friendly
Micah has definite ideas of how he likes to watch television. In the mornings, it's with a bowl of applesauce and cereal. In the afternoons it's with Woody acting out the parts. Sometimes Jesse or Buzz have to get involved because there are so many parts to act out. In the evenings, when it's dark outside and mama is trying to make dinner, it's with the lights off.
You don't mess with the boy when he turns lights off.
Or so he thinks.
Sometimes I let him live in his dark fantasy world and cook by the tiny little light over the stove. (For some reason, he's never spotted this one. Maybe because as far as lights go, he knows it's lame.) Other nights I simply tell the boy No.
It's a take and a give, and completely depends on whether or not I feel like taking up the good fight.
The other night as we were heading out the door, scrambling in the narrow mud room to find matching shoes to wear, Micah silently declared it Dark O'Clock. Just as I was gearing up to fight the darkness, Daddy spoke up.
"He sure likes to save energy, doesn't he? That's our boy, going Green."
Well, that's one way to look at it.
Nailing Things Down, Checking Things Off
I bought an official Disney autograph book for the official Disney trip. It's cute n'at. We set the oversized (read: hugemongous) pen with it so that we had the set together for the trip. Micah spied them, thought the official Disney autograph book needed some autographs, and obliged. Every few pages is liberally scribbled upon. While I'd love to be peeved over this (oh, the money we paid!) I have to be grateful that the boy who wants nothing to do with writing, coloring or drawing actually took initiative on that front. Way to go, son. You make your mad mama proud.
(Dear Blogger Spellcheck, n'at is a real word. Welcome to the greater Pittsburgh area.
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Micah had an ENT appointment tonight to follow up on his brand new ear tubes. The good news is that they're in there. (I'm not sure what the doctor expected. I mean, they do come out quickly, but 3 weeks?!) The bad news is that he's had thick, yellow drainage from his one ear since their placement. I took this as a good thing because their job is to get rid of that stuff. Job done! The doctor didn't seem to share my enthusiasm.
She took a swab to culture and said she'd get back with me after 72 hours on what it turned out to be. (For those who are counting, that would be Thanksgiving Day.) We were prescribed antibiotics to clear it up. She's just hoping it's (insert rapidly shaking hands at this point) nothing. I have no idea why it didn't occur to me to ask what, exactly, she was expecting it to be. I guess we may or may not find out.
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Becky started school at home today. We had to call the Cyber Headquarters no less than two times just to get started. Color us really, really stupid.
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I had a big order of shirts over the weekend, which directly translates into the fact that Christmas is on hold. I got the decor out and there it sits. The living room looks like a forest. I may or may not need intervention on the tree front. I also may or may not get things decorated this week. I'm going with if Becky has time, it'll get done. If you were smart, you'd go with that, too. I am getting shirts done, though. See me sew! (Virtually, of course.)
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The Cold of Death has me firmly in it's grip. It's accompanied by a severe outbreak of zits. I'm pretty sure that H1N1 doesn't exhibit that symptom so I should be good. I'm so very close to 40, people. At what point do the pimples go away? If I were to retain some of my youth, why couldn't it be perkier boobs or something a whole lot more appealing than pus filled growths?
The universe has a wicked sense of humor.
By No Fault Of My Own
After the Fall Formal, I was a designated chauffeur for the junior high girls, shuttling them from the dance to the restaurant. I packed a book in my purse, hoping to avoid the other mom-chauffeurs and be anti-social as I relaxed for an hour or so alone. My plan didn't work; I was spotted by another mom as I stepped from the van and was asked to sit with her and her husband as we waited for the girls and their dates to wind down the night. Shortly after being seated, another mom joined us in our booth to round out a quartet.
We talked about our school years and how the styles are coming back around to haunt us. We discussed the mullet (Lord, send a memo to Somerset that it's time to let it go, Amen) and rednecks (i.e., ourselves) and school teachers. Somewhere in the course of conversation I realized that I don't know anyone. I don't know the kids in our school except for the ones my own children are friends with. I don't know the teachers or custodians unless the kids have brought them to my attention. I don't know the old man on Main Street that's a little creepy. And I don't know the parents of the kids at school.
We discussed school, and boyfriends of the girls, and what went on between so and so and why they broke up. The other parents were speculating on this theory and that. And I realized that I knew what they were talking about. I knew who was dating whom, and what went on between those girls, and why he broke up with her. And in a blinding flash of illumination I said aloud, "do your girls not talk to you?"
Three heads snapped to stare at me. Six eyes looking at me as though I spoke a different language. Questions hanging above heads were visibly stating, "she can't mean what she just said. It's impossible." And in a weird turn of events, it was the other parents trying to fit in and pretend that they weren't the odd ones out. It was the other parents scrambling to make sense of the conversation and attempt to know what I was talking about. It was the other parents trying to cover for the fact that they don't have the best-friend relationship with their daughters that I do.
I'm humbled. What did I do right in this great game of parenting to deserve such trust and respect from my teen aged daughter? I take no credit for the fact that my daughter and I are best friends. I simply enjoy it. I can't see the future, and the teen years that stretch out before us, so for now I thank my God that we have what we do. And pray that we only grow closer, my daughter and I.
Ah, Thursday
Gosh, this week rocks. For some odd reason, I am getting things done. That's a rarity around here.
This morning I had a gift wrapping gig at the elementary school for a few hours. That is an interesting way to spend time. One kid wrapped three gifts for Grandma, and that was it. I asked if he wanted to specify which Grandma they were for, but he didn't. His poor mother and father got zilch from the school-sponsored store, but Granny made out like a bandit. Another girl wrapped a gift to herself because she just likes to open gifts. Heh. Don't we all? Maybe I'll take her lead on that this holiday season.
This gift is for Daddy, this is for Becky, here is one for each of the boys, and the rest are all Mommy's. Merry Christmas to me!
When Becky came home from school I started on her gown. I took time out to assemble dinner, then time out to eat dinner, and some more time out to Twitter and converse with the family, and then presto! the gown was done. I should seriously be on Project Runway. And Micah would be the model. He had to try the gown on at every fitting just like Becky did. He especially liked the bubble effect at the bottom. It inspired him to twirl in front of the mirror. I should probably make him his own gown. It would be his favorite Christmas present.
Josh was late getting back from checking his traps, which of course means that he got something. It was the smallest opposum known to mankind and still considered an adult, and completely deemed throw-out-able by the trapping guru the boys rushed it to this evening to show it off. I'm proud of their commitment and enthusiasm on the trapping thing.
Luke, being true to his weirdo nature, spent a portion of the evening writing down every word that Becky and her BFF said. Once his paper was filled (after asking the girls to slow down a few times) he deemed it a masterpiece. Have I mentioned that the boy is weird? He is. We love him for it.
And tomorrow Christmas breaks forth from the attic. The clean house will never know what hit it.
Wednesday with Micah
Today we got the floor finished. Done, people. You won't be hearing any more about it, and I know you're jumping for joy because which one of you really cared to begin with? Yeh, that's what I thought.
Wednesday is Mommy and Micah day, wherein I pick up my boy from school, we snarf down a quick take-out lunch, and head to speech therapy. One day we have hopes that all this schlepping and fast food will work it's magic and help our son talk.
Our tiny town has a new visitor, and it's enthralled Micah like nothing else can. Jackson's tribute is an elephant, assumably made of fiberglass, and is very much life sized. As we pull up to the intersection where this statue stands, Micah starts craning his neck and oohing and aaahing. Once he actually sees it, every single person in the van has to personally acknowledge that Micah has seen it before he'll let it rest. His smile goes on for a few more miles.
Today I had to stop at the Art Center, where the elephant happens to be standing, and Micah was beside himself with glee. He said e-e-e. (If you'd have been there and heard it with your own ears, you would know without a doubt that the boy said elephant.) Amazing. All those years of speech therapy and all we needed was an elephant in our yard to motivate him to speak.
When I returned Micah to school, his teacher said that he had a really good morning. He insisted on doing his seat work all by himself with zero help from her whatsoever. Mr. Independent scored well below Good Job, but we are all in agreement that compliance in the school work realm trumps good grades any day. My boy. He's growing up.
This evening Micah played in the dryer again. It's the best appliance ever. There was laundry in the dryer, and bless his wee heart, he tried putting it in a basket for me. The tiny little basket that hangs on the side of the sink to hold dog shampoo. All of one shirt and two socks fit in there. The rest were tossed on the floor. It's the thought that counts, though, right? It's also more than the other kids would have done.
