Friday, December 3, 2010
Oh I So Love Cheesy Christmas Movies
On Snowflakes and Tantrums
“Remember, this program is for Santa, so if you’re naughty, Santa will see and he won’t come on Christmas,” I said to Natalie as we settled down into some chairs. We were at Tommy’s school, all set to watch his Christmas program, and I was worried that Natalie wouldn’t behave.
It’s just....okay, she’s good a lot of the time. But she has her moments. And these moments seem to occur in public. I could picture her running up to the stage like that kid did in the movie Parenthood. I could see her pushing down the Christmas tree or maybe even grabbing it while shouting, “It’s mine!” Then she’d struggle to pull it off the stage and all the audience would see was the tree bobbing across while I was off to the side going, “Natalie! For the love of God! Drop the tree!”
So yeah, I lied and told her that Santa wouldn’t come if she didn’t listen. I know the experts frown on saying stuff like that, but those experts aren’t stuck raising two kids alone for a year.
“The elves will bring me presents then,” Natalie replied in a haughty tone as she smoothed down her ultra adorable gingerbread skirt. She may act like a total brat at times, but at least she’s well dressed.
“The elves work for Santa so no they will not,” I said simply, moving my legs inward so another family could slide past.
“They WILL!” Natalie snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, a move that she mastered when she was only one. Funny, I thought it was cute then (“look Tom, look at how she’s crossing her tiny arms over her tiny chest!”) but now I panic when I see her arms folded like that because shouting usually follows.
“Just behave. Okay? Just sit down, watch the singing, and everything will be great,” I said.
“I WILL!” Natalie barked. “I WILL, I WILL!”
The family in front of us turned and frowned. What? The program hadn’t even started yet. And ew, the father totally had a nose hair poking out from his left nostril.
“Thank you,” I said, my teeth clenched. It was times like those when I wished I could afford a nanny. Then I could have been like, “Inge, if Natalie acts up, please remove her from the room so I can stay and watch my son.”
“Mommy,” Natalie said sweetly, about five minutes before the show was supposed to start. “I have to pee.”
“It’s about to begin,” I answered.
“I have to PEE!”
Nose Hair Dad turned around again. I hope his wife got him a set of clippers for Christmas.
“Natalie, it’s just, I’m not sure when Tommy’s class is set to sing and I don’t want to miss it and—”
“I have to pee.” Natalie emphasized this by gripping her crotch.
I took Natalie’s hand and led her to the bathrooms. Naturally, she didn’t do a thing. We rushed back and settled back down.
“Why does she always have to see the bathrooms?” Tommy complained. He was sitting with us, because his school isn’t that big so there was no room for all the students to stay separate from everyone else.
“Good question, Tommy,” I said right as a kid plopped down beside us.
“Who are you?” the strange kid asked me. “Hi Tommy.”
It took all my willpower not to say, “Who are YOU?” Instead I said, “I’m Tommy’s Mom.”
He blinked at me. “Oh. I thought you were the babysitter. Hey, why doesn’t Tommy talk that much in school? I’m in his class and he barely says a thing.”
I saw Tommy’s face turn red and my heart squeezed a bit. How do you explain Aspergers to another child? How do you explain that Tommy doesn’t really understand the purpose of small talk and only speaks when he’s passionate about the subject?
“He talks when he has something to say,” I explained.
Tommy dug into his pocket and pulled out a snowflake that he cut out from paper. Some of his designs are impressive and they seem to be his latest obsession. So it was no surprise when Tommy told the kid, “Look what I made for Anna.”
The kid snorted. “You like Anna?”
Tommy looked confused. “Yes.”
The kid laughed. “You LIKE Anna?” I could see exactly where this was going. Tommy didn’t understand that the kid was implying that Tommy like liked the girl. To Tommy, he liked Anna as a friend and didn’t understand what this kid meant. It’s just another thing he struggles with, understanding this social world that he’s a part of.
“Anna is his friend,” I cut in. “He wanted to make a snowflake for his friend.”
The kid opened his mouth to say something but then the program started so he shut it.
Natalie did not want to stay in her seat. She kept doing this:
“I’m swimming,” she said.
“Please get in your seat,” I hissed.
“I’m swimming,” she insisted. “I can’t sit down because I’m swimming.”
I took deep breaths and counted to ten. I’ve never had my patience tried so much by one kid. With Tommy, he was always hyper, but I worried more about him because he wasn’t talking, because he wasn’t interacting, because he was so behind than the other kids his age…
Tommy eventually went up:
Natalie thankfully sat down on my lap.
“That’s my brother,” she said proudly. “That’s my brother up there.”
Then when it was all over, she did not want to leave.
“Natalie,” I said. “Let’s put on your jacket so we can go.”
And she did this:
Yes. That’s her PLUGGING her ears, pretending that she couldn’t hear me.
“Santa isn’t coming then,” I said.
So she cried and said that yes, Santa was coming.
“Put on your jacket then. Mommy wants to go home and watch Grey’s Anatomy. I’ve had a very long day.”
“Come on Natalie, you’re so loud all the time,” Tommy chimed in.
This insulted her.
“Tommy. Please. You aren’t helping,” I said.
“Why are you yelling at me?” he griped.
“I’m not. I’m just—” I rubbed my temples. When Tom comes back, I’m taking a weekend for myself. “Natalie. Put your jacket on now. I am the parent, and you will listen to me.”
Natalie, whose moods can dissipate in a matter of seconds, sighed and went, “Okay then.”
“I want to go home and make more snowflakes,” Tommy said excitedly. “Do you want one?”
He’s already made me ten.
“Sure, Tommy,” I agreed.
After all, aren’t all snowflakes different?
It’s just....okay, she’s good a lot of the time. But she has her moments. And these moments seem to occur in public. I could picture her running up to the stage like that kid did in the movie Parenthood. I could see her pushing down the Christmas tree or maybe even grabbing it while shouting, “It’s mine!” Then she’d struggle to pull it off the stage and all the audience would see was the tree bobbing across while I was off to the side going, “Natalie! For the love of God! Drop the tree!”
So yeah, I lied and told her that Santa wouldn’t come if she didn’t listen. I know the experts frown on saying stuff like that, but those experts aren’t stuck raising two kids alone for a year.
“The elves will bring me presents then,” Natalie replied in a haughty tone as she smoothed down her ultra adorable gingerbread skirt. She may act like a total brat at times, but at least she’s well dressed.
“The elves work for Santa so no they will not,” I said simply, moving my legs inward so another family could slide past.
“They WILL!” Natalie snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, a move that she mastered when she was only one. Funny, I thought it was cute then (“look Tom, look at how she’s crossing her tiny arms over her tiny chest!”) but now I panic when I see her arms folded like that because shouting usually follows.
“Just behave. Okay? Just sit down, watch the singing, and everything will be great,” I said.
“I WILL!” Natalie barked. “I WILL, I WILL!”
The family in front of us turned and frowned. What? The program hadn’t even started yet. And ew, the father totally had a nose hair poking out from his left nostril.
“Thank you,” I said, my teeth clenched. It was times like those when I wished I could afford a nanny. Then I could have been like, “Inge, if Natalie acts up, please remove her from the room so I can stay and watch my son.”
“Mommy,” Natalie said sweetly, about five minutes before the show was supposed to start. “I have to pee.”
“It’s about to begin,” I answered.
“I have to PEE!”
Nose Hair Dad turned around again. I hope his wife got him a set of clippers for Christmas.
“Natalie, it’s just, I’m not sure when Tommy’s class is set to sing and I don’t want to miss it and—”
“I have to pee.” Natalie emphasized this by gripping her crotch.
I took Natalie’s hand and led her to the bathrooms. Naturally, she didn’t do a thing. We rushed back and settled back down.
“Why does she always have to see the bathrooms?” Tommy complained. He was sitting with us, because his school isn’t that big so there was no room for all the students to stay separate from everyone else.
“Good question, Tommy,” I said right as a kid plopped down beside us.
“Who are you?” the strange kid asked me. “Hi Tommy.”
It took all my willpower not to say, “Who are YOU?” Instead I said, “I’m Tommy’s Mom.”
He blinked at me. “Oh. I thought you were the babysitter. Hey, why doesn’t Tommy talk that much in school? I’m in his class and he barely says a thing.”
I saw Tommy’s face turn red and my heart squeezed a bit. How do you explain Aspergers to another child? How do you explain that Tommy doesn’t really understand the purpose of small talk and only speaks when he’s passionate about the subject?
“He talks when he has something to say,” I explained.
Tommy dug into his pocket and pulled out a snowflake that he cut out from paper. Some of his designs are impressive and they seem to be his latest obsession. So it was no surprise when Tommy told the kid, “Look what I made for Anna.”
The kid snorted. “You like Anna?”
Tommy looked confused. “Yes.”
The kid laughed. “You LIKE Anna?” I could see exactly where this was going. Tommy didn’t understand that the kid was implying that Tommy like liked the girl. To Tommy, he liked Anna as a friend and didn’t understand what this kid meant. It’s just another thing he struggles with, understanding this social world that he’s a part of.
“Anna is his friend,” I cut in. “He wanted to make a snowflake for his friend.”
The kid opened his mouth to say something but then the program started so he shut it.
Natalie did not want to stay in her seat. She kept doing this:
“I’m swimming,” she said.
“Please get in your seat,” I hissed.
“I’m swimming,” she insisted. “I can’t sit down because I’m swimming.”
I took deep breaths and counted to ten. I’ve never had my patience tried so much by one kid. With Tommy, he was always hyper, but I worried more about him because he wasn’t talking, because he wasn’t interacting, because he was so behind than the other kids his age…
Tommy eventually went up:
Natalie thankfully sat down on my lap.
“That’s my brother,” she said proudly. “That’s my brother up there.”
Then when it was all over, she did not want to leave.
“Natalie,” I said. “Let’s put on your jacket so we can go.”
And she did this:
Yes. That’s her PLUGGING her ears, pretending that she couldn’t hear me.
“Santa isn’t coming then,” I said.
So she cried and said that yes, Santa was coming.
“Put on your jacket then. Mommy wants to go home and watch Grey’s Anatomy. I’ve had a very long day.”
“Come on Natalie, you’re so loud all the time,” Tommy chimed in.
This insulted her.
“Tommy. Please. You aren’t helping,” I said.
“Why are you yelling at me?” he griped.
“I’m not. I’m just—” I rubbed my temples. When Tom comes back, I’m taking a weekend for myself. “Natalie. Put your jacket on now. I am the parent, and you will listen to me.”
Natalie, whose moods can dissipate in a matter of seconds, sighed and went, “Okay then.”
“I want to go home and make more snowflakes,” Tommy said excitedly. “Do you want one?”
He’s already made me ten.
“Sure, Tommy,” I agreed.
After all, aren’t all snowflakes different?
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Early American Spy Lydia Barrington Darragh
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It is said that on the night of December 2, 1777, Irish-born Philadelphia nurse Lydia Barrington Darragh (1729-1789) potentially saved lives for General George Washington's Continental Army, when she overheard the British planning a surprise attack on Washington's army for the following days.
On Second Street in Philadelphia, directly opposite the headquarters of Sir William Howe, the British commander, lived a Quaker couple, William & Lydia Darrah. Howe’s adjutant general took over part of the Darrah home for his quarters. On December 2, 1777, he advised Lydia to send all her family to bed early, apparently in anticipation of a meeting to be held at their home. At this time, Philadelphia was occupied by the British.
When Howe's headquarters proved too small to hold meetings, he often commandeered a large upstairs room in the Darraghs' house. Although uncorroborated by contemporary written evidence, family oral history relates that Mrs. Darragh regularly would eavesdrop & take notes on the British meetings from an adjoining room & would conceal the notes by sewing them into her coat before passing them onto American troops stationed outside the city.
On the evening of December 2, 1777, Darragh overheard the British commanders planning a surprise attack on Washington's army at Whitemarsh, Pennsylvania, for December 4 & 5.
The morning after the British meeting in her home, determined to get word to the patriots, 48-year-old Lydia crossed the street to Howe’s headquarters & requested a pass to go to a miller at Frankfort to obtain flour. With the pass, she went through the British lines, left her bag to be filled at the mill, and then hurried northward, and delivered her warning.
Lydia then returned to the mill, paid for her bag of flour, and re-entered the city, unsuspected. The forewarned Washington intensified his patrols. She never made the story public during her lifetime, & her daughter told people about her heroism after her death.
The British did march towards Whitemarsh on the evening of December 4, 1777, & were surprised to find General Washington & the Continental Army waiting for them. After three inconclusive days of skirmishing, General Howe chose to return his troops to the relative safety of Philadelphia.
.
It is said that on the night of December 2, 1777, Irish-born Philadelphia nurse Lydia Barrington Darragh (1729-1789) potentially saved lives for General George Washington's Continental Army, when she overheard the British planning a surprise attack on Washington's army for the following days.
On Second Street in Philadelphia, directly opposite the headquarters of Sir William Howe, the British commander, lived a Quaker couple, William & Lydia Darrah. Howe’s adjutant general took over part of the Darrah home for his quarters. On December 2, 1777, he advised Lydia to send all her family to bed early, apparently in anticipation of a meeting to be held at their home. At this time, Philadelphia was occupied by the British.
When Howe's headquarters proved too small to hold meetings, he often commandeered a large upstairs room in the Darraghs' house. Although uncorroborated by contemporary written evidence, family oral history relates that Mrs. Darragh regularly would eavesdrop & take notes on the British meetings from an adjoining room & would conceal the notes by sewing them into her coat before passing them onto American troops stationed outside the city.
On the evening of December 2, 1777, Darragh overheard the British commanders planning a surprise attack on Washington's army at Whitemarsh, Pennsylvania, for December 4 & 5.
The morning after the British meeting in her home, determined to get word to the patriots, 48-year-old Lydia crossed the street to Howe’s headquarters & requested a pass to go to a miller at Frankfort to obtain flour. With the pass, she went through the British lines, left her bag to be filled at the mill, and then hurried northward, and delivered her warning.
Lydia then returned to the mill, paid for her bag of flour, and re-entered the city, unsuspected. The forewarned Washington intensified his patrols. She never made the story public during her lifetime, & her daughter told people about her heroism after her death.
The British did march towards Whitemarsh on the evening of December 4, 1777, & were surprised to find General Washington & the Continental Army waiting for them. After three inconclusive days of skirmishing, General Howe chose to return his troops to the relative safety of Philadelphia.
.
The Love Affair
Books.
I love them.
I have many, many books.
But I had to get rid of some.
See, since we’re military, we only get a certain amount of weight to move with. If we go over that, we pay. Books tend to get heavy when they multiply. So I knew that some had to find a new home.
And this pained me.
“Just get rid of the ones you haven’t read in awhile,” Tom said over Skype. He doesn’t understand my love for books because the man doesn’t like to read. I know. I don’t understand how a person cannot love reading either.
“I can’t do that! Some of the books that I haven’t read in awhile, I love,” I exclaimed.
Tom rolled his eyes. “You can’t love them all.”
“I do!”
I made it my goal to get rid of at least ten books. Yes, it’s a small number. But still. It was a beginning. Plus, the base library was accepting donations since they were having a big book sale.
I stood in front of my bookshelf. It was like my books were all, “Don’t get rid of me!” I felt almost guilty as I started placing some in my box. I almost wanted to write to the author of the book and say, “You’re a fabulous writer; I’m just running out of weight.” And space. My bookshelf is bursting with books.
I managed to find TWELVE books to get rid of.
I proudly told Tom on Skype and showed him the bookshelf.
“Um,” he said. “It looks basically the same.”
“What do you mean? I got rid of TWELVE books!”
“You can hardly tell.”
“Sure you can! Remember how two books were on top of this row? Now there is only one book. Go me.”
“I’d be more impressed if you got rid of fifty books,” Tom said.
FIFTY!
“I got rid of TWELVE and I’m proud of myself,” I answered, lifting my chin high.
“Try fifty and get back to me.”
That never happened. I did find one more book I felt I could part with (THIRTEEN!) and then I headed for the library.
I gripped the box of books to my chest like they were my children and walked in. I found a worker and said that I had books for donation. Her face lit up. “Fabulous!” She started to paw through them. I guess I could have left, but I wanted to make sure she’d treat them well. It pains me when I see abused books. Like when people fold down the corner of a page to keep their spot? I actually wince and want to offer to buy them a bookmark.
“These are all wonderful,” she mumbled. “Some are even hardback. Actually,” she lifted one up. “I don’t think we have this book. We might put it in circulation for the library.”
That made my heart happy. Imagine, one of my books, from my bookshelf, making it into the library to make hundreds (maybe thousands) of people happy.
“So they’ll be…okay,” I said stupidly.
Since she was a librarian, I think she understood. “They will,” she assured me. “Don’t forget about our book sale coming up.”
And here’s the ironic thing: I may have gotten rid of thirteen books.
But watch me buy thirteen at the book sale.
Books.
They are my weakness. I can’t help it.
I love them.
I have many, many books.
But I had to get rid of some.
See, since we’re military, we only get a certain amount of weight to move with. If we go over that, we pay. Books tend to get heavy when they multiply. So I knew that some had to find a new home.
And this pained me.
“Just get rid of the ones you haven’t read in awhile,” Tom said over Skype. He doesn’t understand my love for books because the man doesn’t like to read. I know. I don’t understand how a person cannot love reading either.
“I can’t do that! Some of the books that I haven’t read in awhile, I love,” I exclaimed.
Tom rolled his eyes. “You can’t love them all.”
“I do!”
I made it my goal to get rid of at least ten books. Yes, it’s a small number. But still. It was a beginning. Plus, the base library was accepting donations since they were having a big book sale.
I stood in front of my bookshelf. It was like my books were all, “Don’t get rid of me!” I felt almost guilty as I started placing some in my box. I almost wanted to write to the author of the book and say, “You’re a fabulous writer; I’m just running out of weight.” And space. My bookshelf is bursting with books.
I managed to find TWELVE books to get rid of.
I proudly told Tom on Skype and showed him the bookshelf.
“Um,” he said. “It looks basically the same.”
“What do you mean? I got rid of TWELVE books!”
“You can hardly tell.”
“Sure you can! Remember how two books were on top of this row? Now there is only one book. Go me.”
“I’d be more impressed if you got rid of fifty books,” Tom said.
FIFTY!
“I got rid of TWELVE and I’m proud of myself,” I answered, lifting my chin high.
“Try fifty and get back to me.”
That never happened. I did find one more book I felt I could part with (THIRTEEN!) and then I headed for the library.
I gripped the box of books to my chest like they were my children and walked in. I found a worker and said that I had books for donation. Her face lit up. “Fabulous!” She started to paw through them. I guess I could have left, but I wanted to make sure she’d treat them well. It pains me when I see abused books. Like when people fold down the corner of a page to keep their spot? I actually wince and want to offer to buy them a bookmark.
“These are all wonderful,” she mumbled. “Some are even hardback. Actually,” she lifted one up. “I don’t think we have this book. We might put it in circulation for the library.”
That made my heart happy. Imagine, one of my books, from my bookshelf, making it into the library to make hundreds (maybe thousands) of people happy.
“So they’ll be…okay,” I said stupidly.
Since she was a librarian, I think she understood. “They will,” she assured me. “Don’t forget about our book sale coming up.”
And here’s the ironic thing: I may have gotten rid of thirteen books.
But watch me buy thirteen at the book sale.
Books.
They are my weakness. I can’t help it.
Wednesday Hodgepodge on Thursday
1. What is the most interesting thing you've done in the last year? Crossed Michigan off of my list. I now am only lacking 2 of the United States to have all 50.
2. What is your most meaningful family heirloom?
I actually have two....one that is mine....I have my grandfather's old tater bug mandolin. I am starting mandolin lessons....but Frank got me an A-style mandolin to learn on. I don't know if the tater bug would hold up.
...and one that is mine and Franks. When Frank asked me to marry him....my engagement ring was his mom's. It is such a special piece. Every time I put it on I feel as if Frank's mom is with me.
3. What food festival would you most like to attend?
I want to go to an Oktoberfest. The real one in Germany but will settle for the one Ms. Marty talks about in Cullman.
4. Snow...do you love it or is it considered a four letter word where you live?
I live in Alabama....when it snows here....life stops. I love to look at snow. Especially when we don't have school. There's just something about the disruption of the schedule, drinking hot chocolate, and the peacefulness of it all that I truly do love. Driving in it....not so much.....but I prefer snow to ice.
5. Can you ski? Do you ski? Are you any good?
I tried to ski once many years ago. I never got off of the bunny slope either. I really did not like it. I did not have control.....and it does nothing for me. I did however, like the buttered rum in the lodge by the fire....that was pretty nice.
6. What quality in your spouse or best friend are you most thankful for?
His kindness. Frank is one of the kindest people I know. I wish you could see him around the residents at the nursing home....and small children at church....sometimes I feel like I could bust with pride when I see him hug one of them....or better yet....pray with one....it is so touching.
7. Describe the coziest spot in your home.
Let me see....when it is past 9 at night...there's my bed, which I absolutely love to crawl into. Prior to 9 at night....there is the couch in the den. I have a sherpa throw and that couch...and it is like there are drugs in the couch...I am out like a light. I especially like it when I am watching cheesy Christmas movies...and the tree lights are on.
8. Insert your own random thought here.
Do you do bows on your packages? If you do...are they the stick on kind...or do you do your own? I do use the stick on ones....to complete a concept.....but for the most part....I make my own bows and have for years. I love making bows. I even go to a friends house and make bows for her! I enjoy the heck out of creating a bow.
Have a great Thursday!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
A Parenting Tip
Reason 4908234908 why children should NEVER been given pixie stix.
Don’t worry. She turned around and ran right back inside. But still. Hello?
Happy New Birthday Randy
What a day Tuesday was. It was the day the stem-cell transplant was to take place and Amanda was burning up Caring Bridge posting so we would all know what was going on. We have all been holding our breath and praying fervently for this day...and here it was....I can only imagine what Amanda was going through. About 2:30 we got a post saying the transplant was delayed due to bad weather in Atlanta. About 3 we got one that said it was on the ground and the transplant would take place at 5 Georgia time. I called on my way home about 4 Central time and it was going to be around 6. At 5:55 she called me again and said...it was 6 for sure....and it would take about 3 hours. There would be a nurse with him through the entire procedure and the doctor would be in and out during the process. At 9:30 my friend Mary called and said she had just gotten an update on her Blackberry but could not open it....so I rushed to my computer to pull up the latest news....and this is what we got.
I sat at my computer, held my phone so Mary could hear the latest news, and cried. You see when you have a transplant...you get a second birthday....Randy is something else...he was born, born again in Christ...and now has been born again...again....talk about special. As I have told you all before he IS a very special man. He has been a rock in this family for many years and for many of us. The nurse on the video said that he now gets two birthday presents....and you know what....I will be delighted to give him a birthday present twice for the rest of our natural lives....it would be my honor. Thank you for your special prayers and I ask you to continue to pray for them as this process continues and his body begins to heal completely...100 days.... Our God is Awesome!
I sat at my computer, held my phone so Mary could hear the latest news, and cried. You see when you have a transplant...you get a second birthday....Randy is something else...he was born, born again in Christ...and now has been born again...again....talk about special. As I have told you all before he IS a very special man. He has been a rock in this family for many years and for many of us. The nurse on the video said that he now gets two birthday presents....and you know what....I will be delighted to give him a birthday present twice for the rest of our natural lives....it would be my honor. Thank you for your special prayers and I ask you to continue to pray for them as this process continues and his body begins to heal completely...100 days.... Our God is Awesome!
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