Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Ordered
It's done! It's off to print...it's ordered! I can't even believe it. Thank you to Gail and Lelle for proofreading...and proofreading...and proofreading! :) And for your enthusiasm and support!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Forward
In the summer of 2007, while going through some family mementos with my brother, Kevin, and my sister, Jessica, we happened upon a folder with one simple word in my mother’s handwriting, “Manuscripts” tucked in with all of our school papers, health records, and old Christmas cards.
It literally took my breath away to open the folder and see a delicately typed page with the words “Slices Of Life” typed, and under them, the byline with my mother’s name, Diane Jenkins Jersey. I had no idea that my mother had been working on a book! Without telling my siblings of my plans, I decided right there and then to make my mother’s dream a reality, and publish her book.
It’s been a beautiful and touching journey to read the words of my mother, some of them in her own writing, about her perspective on our family’s life. “Slices of Life” she called them. She wrote stories about all the different stages of her life, in a way that only she could have. It has been such a gift to get to know my mother better, and to fall in love with her all over again. I hope you love them, and her, as much as I do.
- Jeannine Michele Jersey, proud daughter
It literally took my breath away to open the folder and see a delicately typed page with the words “Slices Of Life” typed, and under them, the byline with my mother’s name, Diane Jenkins Jersey. I had no idea that my mother had been working on a book! Without telling my siblings of my plans, I decided right there and then to make my mother’s dream a reality, and publish her book.
It’s been a beautiful and touching journey to read the words of my mother, some of them in her own writing, about her perspective on our family’s life. “Slices of Life” she called them. She wrote stories about all the different stages of her life, in a way that only she could have. It has been such a gift to get to know my mother better, and to fall in love with her all over again. I hope you love them, and her, as much as I do.
- Jeannine Michele Jersey, proud daughter
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Testimony
Good morning. My name is Diane Jersey. Our family moved here four years ago from Annapolis, Maryland. My husband, Dave works for UPS in Philadelphia. My daughter, Jeannine, is a freshman at Penn State – main campus. My son, Kevin, is a senior at East High School. My daughter, Jessica, is in seventh grade at Fugett Middle School.
I am the fourth of five daughters, originally from Kansas City. My dad’s job with the FAA required us to relocate every year that I was in elementary school. I don’t remember this as being too difficult or traumatic. We always became involved in a local church, wherever we settled. The church was an anchor in our lives.
I really appreciated that spiritual foundation, more than ever this past year. Without my faith in God, and the support of my church and family, I don’t know how I could have made it through this year.
In August of 1993, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. My treatment would include 3 months of chemotherapy, a modified radical mastectomy, 3 more months of chemotherapy and then, 6 weeks of radiation. Prior to treatment, I had a bone scan, heart scan, chest x-ray and various blood tests. Each test came out clear! This gave us hope that the cancer was localized. Praise the Lord!
As people began to hear of my illness, wonderful things happened. I received cards, flowers, food and phone calls from all over the country. There was such an outpouring of love and support that I couldn’t help but feel uplifted.
My husband accompanied me to every test, doctor appointment and treatment. I believe he would have gone in my place, if that would have been possible. I will always be grateful for his support. Alan Brown came and prayed with us at the hospital on the day of my biopsy. He, Barbara and Pat also stayed in frequent contact throughout my treatment. Always encouraging and cheerful, they visited me after my surgery, as well.
I can count many blessings throughout this year. My medical insurance is certainly something to be grateful for! My team of doctors is all thoroughly competent, and wonderfully upbeat and compassionate individuals. My neighbors and friends provided countless meals, phone calls and cards of encouragement.
There were many times that God was obviously at work in my life this past year. For example, during chemotherapy, if your white blood count goes very low, you are vulnerable to infection, which may require hospitalization for IV antibiotics. During one cycle, I was precariously close to being hospitalized. My fever inched up and up. Coincidentally, my Bible Study Group from Annapolis was meeting that evening. They called to see how I was doing and promised to pray that my fever would go down. Almost immediately, it did! Never doubt the power of prayer!
Another unexpected occurrence was the need for a blood transfusion. My red blood cells were not strong enough to sustain me through surgery. Although my husband and daughter were willing to donate blood on my behalf – they are both A-positive. I needed O-positive blood. The rest of my family lives in Texas, so their help was not an option. Without a moment’s hesitation, one of my oncology nurses donated blood for me that very day. We contact Alan Brown, here at Grove, and within hours, he had recruited additional donors from our church. Words cannot express my gratitude to those people! I felt so much better with my new blood!
My mother passed away the day after Thanksgiving in San Antonio, Texas. Once again, God was working my life. I was at a good point in my treatment, so I was able to attend her funeral. On of my mother’s friends, who she affectionately called her “Guardian Angel” whispered to me at the service, that she knew about my “little problem” and would continue to pray for me. I was deeply touched.
Without a doubt, this has been the most challenging year in my life. However, it has also been the most faith affirming. No matter what has happened. God has provided the strength and grace to get through it. One of my favorite Bible verses is “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not unto thine own understanding.” I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I do know that God will guide me through it all.
I am the fourth of five daughters, originally from Kansas City. My dad’s job with the FAA required us to relocate every year that I was in elementary school. I don’t remember this as being too difficult or traumatic. We always became involved in a local church, wherever we settled. The church was an anchor in our lives.
I really appreciated that spiritual foundation, more than ever this past year. Without my faith in God, and the support of my church and family, I don’t know how I could have made it through this year.
In August of 1993, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. My treatment would include 3 months of chemotherapy, a modified radical mastectomy, 3 more months of chemotherapy and then, 6 weeks of radiation. Prior to treatment, I had a bone scan, heart scan, chest x-ray and various blood tests. Each test came out clear! This gave us hope that the cancer was localized. Praise the Lord!
As people began to hear of my illness, wonderful things happened. I received cards, flowers, food and phone calls from all over the country. There was such an outpouring of love and support that I couldn’t help but feel uplifted.
My husband accompanied me to every test, doctor appointment and treatment. I believe he would have gone in my place, if that would have been possible. I will always be grateful for his support. Alan Brown came and prayed with us at the hospital on the day of my biopsy. He, Barbara and Pat also stayed in frequent contact throughout my treatment. Always encouraging and cheerful, they visited me after my surgery, as well.
I can count many blessings throughout this year. My medical insurance is certainly something to be grateful for! My team of doctors is all thoroughly competent, and wonderfully upbeat and compassionate individuals. My neighbors and friends provided countless meals, phone calls and cards of encouragement.
There were many times that God was obviously at work in my life this past year. For example, during chemotherapy, if your white blood count goes very low, you are vulnerable to infection, which may require hospitalization for IV antibiotics. During one cycle, I was precariously close to being hospitalized. My fever inched up and up. Coincidentally, my Bible Study Group from Annapolis was meeting that evening. They called to see how I was doing and promised to pray that my fever would go down. Almost immediately, it did! Never doubt the power of prayer!
Another unexpected occurrence was the need for a blood transfusion. My red blood cells were not strong enough to sustain me through surgery. Although my husband and daughter were willing to donate blood on my behalf – they are both A-positive. I needed O-positive blood. The rest of my family lives in Texas, so their help was not an option. Without a moment’s hesitation, one of my oncology nurses donated blood for me that very day. We contact Alan Brown, here at Grove, and within hours, he had recruited additional donors from our church. Words cannot express my gratitude to those people! I felt so much better with my new blood!
My mother passed away the day after Thanksgiving in San Antonio, Texas. Once again, God was working my life. I was at a good point in my treatment, so I was able to attend her funeral. On of my mother’s friends, who she affectionately called her “Guardian Angel” whispered to me at the service, that she knew about my “little problem” and would continue to pray for me. I was deeply touched.
Without a doubt, this has been the most challenging year in my life. However, it has also been the most faith affirming. No matter what has happened. God has provided the strength and grace to get through it. One of my favorite Bible verses is “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not unto thine own understanding.” I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I do know that God will guide me through it all.
When You Go Back Home Again
Although I was born in Kansas City, Kansas, my family moved from there to Oklahoma City when I was in second grade. We then moved to Sumter, SC, Fort Walton Beach, FL, and then, to the suburbs of Washington DC. Ultimately, my dad retired from this job with the FAA and relocated to San Antonio, TX.
All of us kids had been born in Kansas City, as had my parents and all of their siblings. We have wonderful memories of family get togethers. There were always numerous aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins in attendance.
My dad built a house in Kansas City right about the time I was born. He drew up the plans himself. His dad and his brothers helped him build it. My aunts helped with the interior painting and wallpapering. It was a modest 3-bedroom bungalow, but to us it seems like a castle – our family fortress.
After we moved, we’d go back to visit occasionally, but the visits became fewer, the older we became. It turned out that nearly 30 years had passed since I’d been there. My sister Jane called from her home in West Virginia. My Aunt Marty was in a hospice in Kansas City and she wanted to visit her one last time. She asked me to accompany her. So, I drove from my home in West Chester, PA to Baltimore, MD. We flew out of BWI Airport on a Thursday afternoon and stayed through the weekend. It’s a trip I’m very glad I made.
I was surprised that we did recognize some places. Our cousin, Mitzi, took us around the first day to kid of help us get our bearings. She talked non-stop, filling us in on a lot of family history that we didn’t know, and taking us to see the houses our relatives had lived in, churches we had attended, the cemetery were our grandparents were buried. She even brought a Polaroid camera to take photographs for us.
My grandmother’s house was in sad disrepair. The whole neighborhood was pretty run down. We remembered happily skipping down to the corner to Mr. Thomas’s store to buy penny candy. The store was no longer there. We remembered shimmying up to the top of a stop sign pole beside the house. The pole is a lot shorter. (Of course, we are a lot bigger now.) We remembered doing the laundry with Grandma out on the back porch in an old fashioned wringer washing machine. The porch was not there. The present owners are in the process of building a deck.
The house my dad built was for sale. Of course, we wanted to buy it immediately, to preserve that part of our family history, but that would be impractical. Since the house was unoccupied, we peeked in the windows, remembering our bedroom where the bunk beds were placed, the stockings hung on the fireplace at Christmas, sing-a-longs at the piano in the living room, making homemade ice cream out on the screened-in porch and other memories. We drove up the hill to visit with our childhood friend, DeDe’s, mother who still lived there. She was so surprised to see us, but happily recounted tales of backyard barbecues, and neighborhood talent shows we staged in her backyard every summer.
At my Aunt Marty’s apartment we went through boxes of old photographs. We would take some of them over to the nursing home and she would identify people in the pictures and reminisce about the occasion for the picture being taken. I think it was as much fun for her, as it was for us!
It wasn’t easy to leave. There was such a blanket of unconditional love and acceptance, we wanted to go on being “the girls”, and not to have to return to our hectic “real” lives. It was overwhelming to realize that we’ll never see our Aunt Marty again.
How I wish my own children would have this opportunity to “go back home again”. We’ve moved around several times, so I don’t know where they would call home. Perhaps it’s a different place for each of them. Perhaps home, in this day and age, is just where you are for the moment. All I know is, just like Dorothy in the Wizard of OZ, “there’s no place like home” for me!
April 19, 1994
All of us kids had been born in Kansas City, as had my parents and all of their siblings. We have wonderful memories of family get togethers. There were always numerous aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins in attendance.
My dad built a house in Kansas City right about the time I was born. He drew up the plans himself. His dad and his brothers helped him build it. My aunts helped with the interior painting and wallpapering. It was a modest 3-bedroom bungalow, but to us it seems like a castle – our family fortress.
After we moved, we’d go back to visit occasionally, but the visits became fewer, the older we became. It turned out that nearly 30 years had passed since I’d been there. My sister Jane called from her home in West Virginia. My Aunt Marty was in a hospice in Kansas City and she wanted to visit her one last time. She asked me to accompany her. So, I drove from my home in West Chester, PA to Baltimore, MD. We flew out of BWI Airport on a Thursday afternoon and stayed through the weekend. It’s a trip I’m very glad I made.
I was surprised that we did recognize some places. Our cousin, Mitzi, took us around the first day to kid of help us get our bearings. She talked non-stop, filling us in on a lot of family history that we didn’t know, and taking us to see the houses our relatives had lived in, churches we had attended, the cemetery were our grandparents were buried. She even brought a Polaroid camera to take photographs for us.
My grandmother’s house was in sad disrepair. The whole neighborhood was pretty run down. We remembered happily skipping down to the corner to Mr. Thomas’s store to buy penny candy. The store was no longer there. We remembered shimmying up to the top of a stop sign pole beside the house. The pole is a lot shorter. (Of course, we are a lot bigger now.) We remembered doing the laundry with Grandma out on the back porch in an old fashioned wringer washing machine. The porch was not there. The present owners are in the process of building a deck.
The house my dad built was for sale. Of course, we wanted to buy it immediately, to preserve that part of our family history, but that would be impractical. Since the house was unoccupied, we peeked in the windows, remembering our bedroom where the bunk beds were placed, the stockings hung on the fireplace at Christmas, sing-a-longs at the piano in the living room, making homemade ice cream out on the screened-in porch and other memories. We drove up the hill to visit with our childhood friend, DeDe’s, mother who still lived there. She was so surprised to see us, but happily recounted tales of backyard barbecues, and neighborhood talent shows we staged in her backyard every summer.
At my Aunt Marty’s apartment we went through boxes of old photographs. We would take some of them over to the nursing home and she would identify people in the pictures and reminisce about the occasion for the picture being taken. I think it was as much fun for her, as it was for us!
It wasn’t easy to leave. There was such a blanket of unconditional love and acceptance, we wanted to go on being “the girls”, and not to have to return to our hectic “real” lives. It was overwhelming to realize that we’ll never see our Aunt Marty again.
How I wish my own children would have this opportunity to “go back home again”. We’ve moved around several times, so I don’t know where they would call home. Perhaps it’s a different place for each of them. Perhaps home, in this day and age, is just where you are for the moment. All I know is, just like Dorothy in the Wizard of OZ, “there’s no place like home” for me!
April 19, 1994
Anchor’s Aweigh!
The North Carolina coast was beautiful! The sand was sparkling white. The water was warm, clear and green. The area we had chosen for our summer vacation was relatively undeveloped, uncrowded, peaceful and serene.
We were sharing a vacation house with another family. This particular day, the men and children had ventured out to water ski. The women stayed at home to relax, read and do needlework.
The men took turns driving the boat and water-skiing. Then, the two youngest passengers decided they’d prefer to dig in the sand, so my husband, Dave, took them ashore and stayed there to supervise them. Our friend, Scott, remained on the boat to teach the older children how to water ski.
After one unsuccessful attempt, the two line became entangled in the propeller. Dave shouted instructions to Scott from shore. Turn off the engine! Drop the anchor! Jump in the water and untangle the line!
Scott obediently followed all of Dave’s directions. Unfortunately, the anchor wasn’t tied to the boat. Realizing this, Dave dove into the water and frantically attempted to rescue the sinking anchor. Scott emerged from underwater having successfully disentangled the ski rope, but wondered why Dave was now in the water, too. Of course, they were unable to locate the anchor, so they gathered all their crew members and headed for home.
The song “Anchor’s Aweigh” has a new meaning in our family!
We were sharing a vacation house with another family. This particular day, the men and children had ventured out to water ski. The women stayed at home to relax, read and do needlework.
The men took turns driving the boat and water-skiing. Then, the two youngest passengers decided they’d prefer to dig in the sand, so my husband, Dave, took them ashore and stayed there to supervise them. Our friend, Scott, remained on the boat to teach the older children how to water ski.
After one unsuccessful attempt, the two line became entangled in the propeller. Dave shouted instructions to Scott from shore. Turn off the engine! Drop the anchor! Jump in the water and untangle the line!
Scott obediently followed all of Dave’s directions. Unfortunately, the anchor wasn’t tied to the boat. Realizing this, Dave dove into the water and frantically attempted to rescue the sinking anchor. Scott emerged from underwater having successfully disentangled the ski rope, but wondered why Dave was now in the water, too. Of course, they were unable to locate the anchor, so they gathered all their crew members and headed for home.
The song “Anchor’s Aweigh” has a new meaning in our family!
Saturday, November 10, 2007
I Hate Barbie Dolls
I always said that my children would never own one of these dreadful creatures. Frankly, I’ve never understood the doll’s popularity. It doesn’t make the least bit of sense to me to give a little girl a skinny, little 11 ½ inch doll with boobs and expect her to be able to dress and undress it easily. I can’t even do it.
A well meaning “friend” insisted that my daughter’s life would not be complete without a Barbie doll, so she gave her one on her fifth birthday. Soon, Barbie began accumulating a sizeable wardrobe. Eventually, the original Barbie was joined by other members of the Barbie family: Ken, Skipper, Barbie that blinks, Barbie with growing hair…I can’t remember all the fabulous, fluffy names. But, the interesting things was that my daughter only played with these dolls when other playmates initiated the idea. Barbie never fulfilled any big fantasies or dreams for my daughter. She was a source of irritation and frustration. The clothing was difficult to get on and off. Worse of all, the arms, legs and/or heads came off fairly easily, and this is very upsetting to a child!
Why do we encourage this aggravation? My vote is for nice, big, cuddly baby dolls. If toys are for teaching, why not instill loving and caring attitudes with baby dolls, rather than emulating rock stars with “Barbie and the Rockers” and all that paraphernalia that goes along with that? Children only get one chance to be children. Can’t we help them enjoy it by making sensible toys?
A well meaning “friend” insisted that my daughter’s life would not be complete without a Barbie doll, so she gave her one on her fifth birthday. Soon, Barbie began accumulating a sizeable wardrobe. Eventually, the original Barbie was joined by other members of the Barbie family: Ken, Skipper, Barbie that blinks, Barbie with growing hair…I can’t remember all the fabulous, fluffy names. But, the interesting things was that my daughter only played with these dolls when other playmates initiated the idea. Barbie never fulfilled any big fantasies or dreams for my daughter. She was a source of irritation and frustration. The clothing was difficult to get on and off. Worse of all, the arms, legs and/or heads came off fairly easily, and this is very upsetting to a child!
Why do we encourage this aggravation? My vote is for nice, big, cuddly baby dolls. If toys are for teaching, why not instill loving and caring attitudes with baby dolls, rather than emulating rock stars with “Barbie and the Rockers” and all that paraphernalia that goes along with that? Children only get one chance to be children. Can’t we help them enjoy it by making sensible toys?
The Single Most Memorable Holiday I’ve Ever Had
I was finishing my senior year at the University of Maryland. I worked part time as a bank teller, and I was particularly pleased with myself for having accumulated enough money to buy presents for all my family in Texas. As Christmas time approached, I received a note from my parents, telling me how proud they were of me, for going to school, working, as well, and saving enough money to pay for my plane ticket home to San Antonio. WHAT!!! Wherever did they get the idea I was going to do that?! Should I actually use my savings to purchase the plane ticket, and then arrive without presents for anyone? A tearful phone call cleared up the misunderstanding. My dad sent me a ticket to come home.
I couldn’t want to get home! I had recently become engaged and was anxious to show off my beautiful diamond engagement ring. My flight was scheduled for Sunday evening. I awoke on Sunday morning to find that one of the tiny diamonds in my ring had fallen out. How could I show off a ring with one stone obviously missing? Fortunately, I was able to find the stone. And, because most stores are open on Sundays at Christmas time, I was able to take it to the jeweler’s and have it re-set. I could go home with confidence that my family would be suitably impressed by new ring.
Although it was wonderful to be with my family for the holidays, I don’t remember anything particularly significant about that week until my finally day there. I was dressed and ready to go to the airport, returning to college and my fiancé. I was pacing like a nervous cat, and my eyes were brimming with tears. My dad put his arm around me and said, “Let’s go! I know how anxious you are to get back with David.”
What I didn’t realize until I was on the airplane was that my anxiety did not stem from yearning to be with David, but, rather from the realization that I had just spent my last Christmas at home, as a child. Even if I could return the following year, it would be different. I’d reached a turning point in my life.
If only I could turn back the clocks and relive that holiday. I would have spent each moment more carefully. I would have savored each minute spent with those family members. I would have made it a point to thank each one, personally, for the things that make spending Christmas with them special to me. I would have given a lot more hugs.
Seventeen Christmases have passed since then, and only once have been able to re-join my family for this holiday. We never planned it to be like that, but sometimes that’s how life works out.
I couldn’t want to get home! I had recently become engaged and was anxious to show off my beautiful diamond engagement ring. My flight was scheduled for Sunday evening. I awoke on Sunday morning to find that one of the tiny diamonds in my ring had fallen out. How could I show off a ring with one stone obviously missing? Fortunately, I was able to find the stone. And, because most stores are open on Sundays at Christmas time, I was able to take it to the jeweler’s and have it re-set. I could go home with confidence that my family would be suitably impressed by new ring.
Although it was wonderful to be with my family for the holidays, I don’t remember anything particularly significant about that week until my finally day there. I was dressed and ready to go to the airport, returning to college and my fiancé. I was pacing like a nervous cat, and my eyes were brimming with tears. My dad put his arm around me and said, “Let’s go! I know how anxious you are to get back with David.”
What I didn’t realize until I was on the airplane was that my anxiety did not stem from yearning to be with David, but, rather from the realization that I had just spent my last Christmas at home, as a child. Even if I could return the following year, it would be different. I’d reached a turning point in my life.
If only I could turn back the clocks and relive that holiday. I would have spent each moment more carefully. I would have savored each minute spent with those family members. I would have made it a point to thank each one, personally, for the things that make spending Christmas with them special to me. I would have given a lot more hugs.
Seventeen Christmases have passed since then, and only once have been able to re-join my family for this holiday. We never planned it to be like that, but sometimes that’s how life works out.
Lighten Up
January 22, 1985
Neighbors
Woman’s Day
1515 Broadway
New York, New York 10036
Dear Editor,
I was having a difficult time getting my eight year old daughter to practice her piano lessons daily. I cajoled, pleaded, and coaxed, all to little avail. One Monday evening, I decided to “lighten up”. I had two brass candlesticks on a table next to the piano, which I ceremoniously lit at the beginning of practice time. When my daughter was finished, she was allowed to blow the candles out. She enthusiastically practiced that night and we decided to make this a Monday night tradition. We may burn up a lot of candles, but oh, what sweet music comes to my ears in place of arguments!
Sincerely,
Diane Jersey
947 Aqua Court
Annapolis, Maryland 21401
Neighbors
Woman’s Day
1515 Broadway
New York, New York 10036
Dear Editor,
I was having a difficult time getting my eight year old daughter to practice her piano lessons daily. I cajoled, pleaded, and coaxed, all to little avail. One Monday evening, I decided to “lighten up”. I had two brass candlesticks on a table next to the piano, which I ceremoniously lit at the beginning of practice time. When my daughter was finished, she was allowed to blow the candles out. She enthusiastically practiced that night and we decided to make this a Monday night tradition. We may burn up a lot of candles, but oh, what sweet music comes to my ears in place of arguments!
Sincerely,
Diane Jersey
947 Aqua Court
Annapolis, Maryland 21401
The Snow Was So Deep That…
I was glad schools were closed and I didn’t have to struggle to get into work! My husband would be home to help with the shoveling chores, and to enjoy sledding with our children on the slope behind our house. He enthusiastically agreed, but reluctantly admitted that there would be a slight delay in these plans, until he got back from work! WORK!!! What could be so important that he felt compelled to fight the snowdrifts, in spite of warnings by the authorities to stay off the roads?!
Well, he had a special delivery to make. No, he is not a doctor and it wasn’t a baby, but it was almost as significant to the young lady involved. He wedding was scheduled at 1:00PM, but her wedding gown was still en route from New Jersey on a UPS plane. If my husband could meet that plane at BWI in the early morning, one very relieved young woman could walk down the aisle in style, rather than thermal underwear, that afternoon.
He made it. She was very grateful, and so am I!!!
Well, he had a special delivery to make. No, he is not a doctor and it wasn’t a baby, but it was almost as significant to the young lady involved. He wedding was scheduled at 1:00PM, but her wedding gown was still en route from New Jersey on a UPS plane. If my husband could meet that plane at BWI in the early morning, one very relieved young woman could walk down the aisle in style, rather than thermal underwear, that afternoon.
He made it. She was very grateful, and so am I!!!
Marshmallow Trees
My sister turned on the TV in the middle of a news broadcast. A reporter was describing the sad plight of a family that had lost their life savings, because their marshmallow farm had gone bankrupt. She was feeling really sorry for these people, and she repeated the story at work the next day.
It hadn’t occurred to her that the date was April 1st, and that the reporter was doing a story for April Fool’s Day. She took a lot of good natured ribbing from her co-workers that day. How could she have believed that marshmallows grow on trees?!
After a full day of snickers and snide remarks, she returned home to find every tree in her front yard festooned with fluffy white marshmallow.
I think next year she’ll pay closer attention to the news broadcast on April 1st!
It hadn’t occurred to her that the date was April 1st, and that the reporter was doing a story for April Fool’s Day. She took a lot of good natured ribbing from her co-workers that day. How could she have believed that marshmallows grow on trees?!
After a full day of snickers and snide remarks, she returned home to find every tree in her front yard festooned with fluffy white marshmallow.
I think next year she’ll pay closer attention to the news broadcast on April 1st!
An Alarming Situation
I worked part time in a bank for several months. A staff meeting was schedule on a day that I didn’t normally work. Since the bank would be closed, I decided to take my son along with me, so he could see where I worked.
After giving him a tour of the bank, I settled him into the employee lounge with books, paper, crayons, and money for the vending machines. I went out to the office area to attend the short meeting.
As the meeting was drawing to a close, the head teller’s eyes widened and she groaned, “Oh no! Someone has triggered the bank alarm system!” We all looked at each other, knowing none of us had done it. There was no one else in the bank – except one little boy who was minding his own business in the back room. He hadn’t even been out of his seat, except when he got up to turn on the light so he could read his book. That funny looking light switch didn’t the light on, though.
That funny light switch, of course, was not a light switch, but the burglar alarm. Big crocodile tears started to form in my son’s eyes when he realized what had happened. I hugged him and told him not to worry about it. At least we knew there weren’t any burglars trying to break into the bank!
My boss was good natured about it, and called the police to tell them it was a false alarm. Kevin and I went home and had a new adventure to describe at the dinner table that night.
After giving him a tour of the bank, I settled him into the employee lounge with books, paper, crayons, and money for the vending machines. I went out to the office area to attend the short meeting.
As the meeting was drawing to a close, the head teller’s eyes widened and she groaned, “Oh no! Someone has triggered the bank alarm system!” We all looked at each other, knowing none of us had done it. There was no one else in the bank – except one little boy who was minding his own business in the back room. He hadn’t even been out of his seat, except when he got up to turn on the light so he could read his book. That funny looking light switch didn’t the light on, though.
That funny light switch, of course, was not a light switch, but the burglar alarm. Big crocodile tears started to form in my son’s eyes when he realized what had happened. I hugged him and told him not to worry about it. At least we knew there weren’t any burglars trying to break into the bank!
My boss was good natured about it, and called the police to tell them it was a false alarm. Kevin and I went home and had a new adventure to describe at the dinner table that night.
Sticks and Stones and Broken Bones
One of the more difficult parts of being a parent is trying to maintain your composure when your children get hurt. You want to sympathize and make them feel better, but you don’t want to make such a big deal out of it that they fall to pieces with every little bump or bruise. Children react differently to pain, though, just as adults do.
With Kevin was 2 ½ he fell and broke his leg. We rushed him to the hospital. He was whimpering like a little puppy, so we figured it couldn’t be badly broken. Much to our surprise, it was severely broken and required him to be in the hospital in traction for a month, then in a big cast for 2 more months. His tolerance for pain during this time was remarkable.
Several years later, both Jeannine and Kevin had their adenoids surgically removed. We had visited the hospital before the surgery and talked about what the operation would be like. Both children appeared confident as they were wheeled off to the operating room. However, when Jeannine returned she was kicking and screaming, “How could you do this to me? I’ve never been in so much pain in my life!” Kevin was placid by comparison, whispering, “My throat hurts and I’m gonna throw up.” Different thresholds for pain, different reactions to the anesthesia or just different personalities?
Jessica mastered riding a two wheeled bike quickly when she was five. One evening shortly thereafter, she took a spill and landed head first in the street. I ran to her and she was crying like crazy. Contrary to proper first aid procedures, I scooped her into my arms. We could seem to get her calmed down, even though we applied ice to the bump on her head. I took her inside to give her some Tylenol. She shrieked, “I’m blind, Mommy!” My blood froze. As my husband and I rushed her to the hospital, her sight returned and we were relieved to learn she had only a mild concussion. The next day she was anxious to get back on her bike. Kids are so resilient!
As I look back, I think we responded with appropriate concern, compassion and first aid, in each case, even though we felt like falling to pieces ourselves inside. The power of prayer is phenomenal!
With Kevin was 2 ½ he fell and broke his leg. We rushed him to the hospital. He was whimpering like a little puppy, so we figured it couldn’t be badly broken. Much to our surprise, it was severely broken and required him to be in the hospital in traction for a month, then in a big cast for 2 more months. His tolerance for pain during this time was remarkable.
Several years later, both Jeannine and Kevin had their adenoids surgically removed. We had visited the hospital before the surgery and talked about what the operation would be like. Both children appeared confident as they were wheeled off to the operating room. However, when Jeannine returned she was kicking and screaming, “How could you do this to me? I’ve never been in so much pain in my life!” Kevin was placid by comparison, whispering, “My throat hurts and I’m gonna throw up.” Different thresholds for pain, different reactions to the anesthesia or just different personalities?
Jessica mastered riding a two wheeled bike quickly when she was five. One evening shortly thereafter, she took a spill and landed head first in the street. I ran to her and she was crying like crazy. Contrary to proper first aid procedures, I scooped her into my arms. We could seem to get her calmed down, even though we applied ice to the bump on her head. I took her inside to give her some Tylenol. She shrieked, “I’m blind, Mommy!” My blood froze. As my husband and I rushed her to the hospital, her sight returned and we were relieved to learn she had only a mild concussion. The next day she was anxious to get back on her bike. Kids are so resilient!
As I look back, I think we responded with appropriate concern, compassion and first aid, in each case, even though we felt like falling to pieces ourselves inside. The power of prayer is phenomenal!
Childhood Diseases
You know, as parents of today, we have it fairly easy in this department. Smallpox is such a small threat, children are no longer vaccinated. There’s an MMR shot to prevent measles, mumps and rubella. There’s oral vaccine for polio; there’s a series of shots for diphtheria, typhoid and pertussis. Terrible illnesses that our own parents had to endure are just about nonexistent for our children.
But, then, there’s chickenpox. I have a friend who has four children. When chickenpox struck one of her daughters, her oldest son cried, “Quick, Mom, take me to the doctor for a shot!” His mother patiently explained, “But, son, there is no shot for the prevention of chickenpox.” He then proceeded to wail, “You mean I just have to get them?” She nodded sympathetically.
Even though you hear via the grapevine that chickenpox are “going around” you subconsciously hope you’ll escape them one more time, especially if your kids have been exposed many times before, and never succumbed. Maybe they have a “natural immunity.” But then, even though you dread the thought, you actually hope they will get them so you’ll have it over with for sure.
The first spots erupt, and you think they may be just bug bites. However, headaches and fever soon follow, and you realize that chickenpox have finally invaded your home. Well meaning friends give all sorts of advice. But, the first day is really not so bad. Just when you think you must be getting off easy, day two arrives.
You can barely recognize your own child. Covered by blistery bumps, irritable and cranky, nothing seems to help much to relieve the discomfort. Miracles of modern science, Benadryl and Tylenol administered regularly do help, but the greatest relief comes from Aveeno baths. Or course, there’s also calamine lotion that can be applied as need, but days 2 and 3 are very grim.
Gradually, the blisters begin to scab over and your child begins to feel better. (So do you!) Life gets back to a fairly normal routine. Within two weeks the spots are barely visible. Just when you’re ready to relax, reality sets in. Two more kids are inevitably going to erupt any day now. If you’re lucky, they’ll be stricken simultaneously. Otherwise, you’re faced with the possibility of a whole month more nursing sick kids.
Fatigued after a sleepless night of jumping in and out of bed to administer aid to two ailing “chickenpockers”, since “Siege II” was simultaneous, I prepared to crawl back into bed for a nap, as my husband took the daytime shift. “Just think we will never have to go through this again!” Although my ability to feel gratitude was limited at that time, I can now say to you, yes, be thankful if this is the only long term illness your family has to endure, and yes, thank goodness we never have to go through chickenpox again.
But, then, there’s chickenpox. I have a friend who has four children. When chickenpox struck one of her daughters, her oldest son cried, “Quick, Mom, take me to the doctor for a shot!” His mother patiently explained, “But, son, there is no shot for the prevention of chickenpox.” He then proceeded to wail, “You mean I just have to get them?” She nodded sympathetically.
Even though you hear via the grapevine that chickenpox are “going around” you subconsciously hope you’ll escape them one more time, especially if your kids have been exposed many times before, and never succumbed. Maybe they have a “natural immunity.” But then, even though you dread the thought, you actually hope they will get them so you’ll have it over with for sure.
The first spots erupt, and you think they may be just bug bites. However, headaches and fever soon follow, and you realize that chickenpox have finally invaded your home. Well meaning friends give all sorts of advice. But, the first day is really not so bad. Just when you think you must be getting off easy, day two arrives.
You can barely recognize your own child. Covered by blistery bumps, irritable and cranky, nothing seems to help much to relieve the discomfort. Miracles of modern science, Benadryl and Tylenol administered regularly do help, but the greatest relief comes from Aveeno baths. Or course, there’s also calamine lotion that can be applied as need, but days 2 and 3 are very grim.
Gradually, the blisters begin to scab over and your child begins to feel better. (So do you!) Life gets back to a fairly normal routine. Within two weeks the spots are barely visible. Just when you’re ready to relax, reality sets in. Two more kids are inevitably going to erupt any day now. If you’re lucky, they’ll be stricken simultaneously. Otherwise, you’re faced with the possibility of a whole month more nursing sick kids.
Fatigued after a sleepless night of jumping in and out of bed to administer aid to two ailing “chickenpockers”, since “Siege II” was simultaneous, I prepared to crawl back into bed for a nap, as my husband took the daytime shift. “Just think we will never have to go through this again!” Although my ability to feel gratitude was limited at that time, I can now say to you, yes, be thankful if this is the only long term illness your family has to endure, and yes, thank goodness we never have to go through chickenpox again.
Puppy Love
“Mrs. Jersey, would you like a puppy?” asked the little boy holding a box full of little, squirming fuzzy black puppies. “No, thank you,” I said in my firm school teacher voice. Then, I softened. It would nice to have a companion at home. We had no children at the time. No, it was out of the question – I knew nothing about dogs.
The little boy lingered. He was a second grader, with big, brown puppy eyes himself, yet wise beyond his years. He said, “I’ll tell you what. Take the puppy home for the weekend, and if you don’t like him, you can bring him back.” How about that, a money back guarantee from a seven year old. How could I refuse?
I barricaded an area in my kitchen for the puppy to occupy during the night. I called my college roommate, a true pet lover who was astonished to hear I had succumbed to a second grader’s sales pitch. “But, what do I do with it now that I’ve got it?” I asked her. She gave me all the proper instructions and I felt confident I could make it through the weekend.
My husband was quite late getting home from work that night. I had already gone to bed. I awoke when I heard him shout. He had flipped on the kitchen light and had seen a blur of black fur speed across the room. He thought it was a rat, or something. I told him the deal was we were only keeping the puppy for the weekend. He was relieved “it” was a puppy. Okay, but it goes back Monday, right?
Of course we course not take her back on Monday morning. It’s amazing how quickly you become attached. We named her Duchess. I don’t remember how we came up with that name, but I know we discussed it for hours before finally coming up with a mutually acceptable name.
We’d only been married for a few years and we had recently moved into our first house. We also had begun purchasing real furniture. We were particularly proud of a massive dark pine dining room furniture set. Our pleasure was somewhat short lived. Duchess gnawed off the corner of the hutch one day while I was at work. We molded a huge wad of wood putty to repair it, but that was the beginning of the end for Duchess. Her further misadventures were numerous.
My husband has many, many allergies and the puppy hair really aggravated his nose. His office partner had two small children, and they wanted a dog very much, so they agreed to adopt her. I heard she ate the lining out of a sports jacket of her new owner. They kept her anyway and she lived happily ever after.
The little boy lingered. He was a second grader, with big, brown puppy eyes himself, yet wise beyond his years. He said, “I’ll tell you what. Take the puppy home for the weekend, and if you don’t like him, you can bring him back.” How about that, a money back guarantee from a seven year old. How could I refuse?
I barricaded an area in my kitchen for the puppy to occupy during the night. I called my college roommate, a true pet lover who was astonished to hear I had succumbed to a second grader’s sales pitch. “But, what do I do with it now that I’ve got it?” I asked her. She gave me all the proper instructions and I felt confident I could make it through the weekend.
My husband was quite late getting home from work that night. I had already gone to bed. I awoke when I heard him shout. He had flipped on the kitchen light and had seen a blur of black fur speed across the room. He thought it was a rat, or something. I told him the deal was we were only keeping the puppy for the weekend. He was relieved “it” was a puppy. Okay, but it goes back Monday, right?
Of course we course not take her back on Monday morning. It’s amazing how quickly you become attached. We named her Duchess. I don’t remember how we came up with that name, but I know we discussed it for hours before finally coming up with a mutually acceptable name.
We’d only been married for a few years and we had recently moved into our first house. We also had begun purchasing real furniture. We were particularly proud of a massive dark pine dining room furniture set. Our pleasure was somewhat short lived. Duchess gnawed off the corner of the hutch one day while I was at work. We molded a huge wad of wood putty to repair it, but that was the beginning of the end for Duchess. Her further misadventures were numerous.
My husband has many, many allergies and the puppy hair really aggravated his nose. His office partner had two small children, and they wanted a dog very much, so they agreed to adopt her. I heard she ate the lining out of a sports jacket of her new owner. They kept her anyway and she lived happily ever after.
Marooned
It was October, somewhat cool, gray and overcast. This was not the most desirable weather for boating, but my husband had the day off, two of our children were in school, so why not go exploring on the Chesapeake Bay? There certainly wouldn’t be much traffic! This was a chance for some quality time together.
We putter about and discovered many little creeks and inlets. The homes along the waterfront were spectacular. We could only imagine what the inhabitants must do fro a living. One home was particularly interesting because it was built almost entirely of glass. Another was built of wood and followed the nature flow of the land in a very unusual architectural design. After several hours of ogling other people’s homes we headed back to the beach and Sandy Point State Park where we had docked our boat at the beginning of the day. I’d packed a picnic lunch and we were going to enjoy it on the beach.
Sandy Point is almost directly adjacent to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. As our boat neared the Bridge, we were happily anticipating our little picnic on the beach. However, the boat’s motor began to sputter and spurt. It soon stopped completely. Every effort made to restart it was useless. We were out of gas. We had no radio. We had no oars. How embarrassing, to be so close to our goal, but unable to reach it!
There was nothing to do but anchor and hope that another boat could tow us into the dock, or give us some gasoline. However, since it was the middle of the afternoon, and basically, overcast and dreary, there were no boats to be seen in any direction.
We opened our cooler, and spread out our picnic lunch onboard. Cars whizzed by on the bridge above us. It’s not unusual for crabbers and fishermen to cast anchor under the bridge. None of the people in the cars would suspect that we were in need of assistance. I jumped up and down and waved anyway, to no avail, of course.
After a time, a fisherman puttered up in his boat. He didn’t have a spare gas tank, either and neither of us had anything suitable for siphoning directly from his tank. The front of his boat was cracked, so although he offered to try to tow us in, we didn’t want to take the chance of ruining his boat completely. The best he could do would be to go on into the docking area and search for some help.
Because my two older children were in school, I began to get a little nervous. They would be arriving home to a locked house – with no idea where we were. We had no means to even phone a neighbor to ask her to leave a note on our door.
Before too much longer a crabbing boat appeared. Although we waved and shouted, they seemed to ignore us as they methodically rode along their crab lines pulling up the traps. Eventually, they meandered over to us, although they did not seem exactly overanxious to help! The two crew men exchanged knowing glances, when they heard we’d run out of gas. No experienced boated would let this happen. How amateur! They agreed to give us some gas from a reserve tank they had onboard. We thanks them profusely and paid them $5 for less than a gallon of gas.
Our engine re-started and we joyfully headed for the docks. I was anxious to get home, so I volunteered to go get our car and trailer from the parking lot. I jumped into the car and turn the key in the ignition. It wouldn’t start. Was this a nightmare? There was plenty of gas in this tank!
Because it was a gray day, we’d turned on our parking lights in the morning on the way to the dock. In our haste to get out on the Bay, we’d left them burning all day. No, we had a dead battery and there was not another living soul in sight. My husband hiked over to the park ranger’s office and they promised to send help soon. A ranger came and used his truck to jump start our car.
We got the boat onto the trailer and headed, gratefully, for home. We even made it before the kids got home from school. They were amused when told of our day’s adventures.
Will I go out on the Bay next October? Only if I’m sure we have a full gas tank and a CB radio.
We putter about and discovered many little creeks and inlets. The homes along the waterfront were spectacular. We could only imagine what the inhabitants must do fro a living. One home was particularly interesting because it was built almost entirely of glass. Another was built of wood and followed the nature flow of the land in a very unusual architectural design. After several hours of ogling other people’s homes we headed back to the beach and Sandy Point State Park where we had docked our boat at the beginning of the day. I’d packed a picnic lunch and we were going to enjoy it on the beach.
Sandy Point is almost directly adjacent to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. As our boat neared the Bridge, we were happily anticipating our little picnic on the beach. However, the boat’s motor began to sputter and spurt. It soon stopped completely. Every effort made to restart it was useless. We were out of gas. We had no radio. We had no oars. How embarrassing, to be so close to our goal, but unable to reach it!
There was nothing to do but anchor and hope that another boat could tow us into the dock, or give us some gasoline. However, since it was the middle of the afternoon, and basically, overcast and dreary, there were no boats to be seen in any direction.
We opened our cooler, and spread out our picnic lunch onboard. Cars whizzed by on the bridge above us. It’s not unusual for crabbers and fishermen to cast anchor under the bridge. None of the people in the cars would suspect that we were in need of assistance. I jumped up and down and waved anyway, to no avail, of course.
After a time, a fisherman puttered up in his boat. He didn’t have a spare gas tank, either and neither of us had anything suitable for siphoning directly from his tank. The front of his boat was cracked, so although he offered to try to tow us in, we didn’t want to take the chance of ruining his boat completely. The best he could do would be to go on into the docking area and search for some help.
Because my two older children were in school, I began to get a little nervous. They would be arriving home to a locked house – with no idea where we were. We had no means to even phone a neighbor to ask her to leave a note on our door.
Before too much longer a crabbing boat appeared. Although we waved and shouted, they seemed to ignore us as they methodically rode along their crab lines pulling up the traps. Eventually, they meandered over to us, although they did not seem exactly overanxious to help! The two crew men exchanged knowing glances, when they heard we’d run out of gas. No experienced boated would let this happen. How amateur! They agreed to give us some gas from a reserve tank they had onboard. We thanks them profusely and paid them $5 for less than a gallon of gas.
Our engine re-started and we joyfully headed for the docks. I was anxious to get home, so I volunteered to go get our car and trailer from the parking lot. I jumped into the car and turn the key in the ignition. It wouldn’t start. Was this a nightmare? There was plenty of gas in this tank!
Because it was a gray day, we’d turned on our parking lights in the morning on the way to the dock. In our haste to get out on the Bay, we’d left them burning all day. No, we had a dead battery and there was not another living soul in sight. My husband hiked over to the park ranger’s office and they promised to send help soon. A ranger came and used his truck to jump start our car.
We got the boat onto the trailer and headed, gratefully, for home. We even made it before the kids got home from school. They were amused when told of our day’s adventures.
Will I go out on the Bay next October? Only if I’m sure we have a full gas tank and a CB radio.
Something’s Fishy Here
I am not a pet lover. Oh yes, kittens and puppies are cute – but they’re a lot of trouble, in my opinion. However, I also believe that every child should have the opportunity and responsibility of owning a pet. Unfortunately, my children have allergies to fuzzy or furry things, so that eliminates a lot of choices for possible pets.
When my daughter turned nine, I felt it would be appropriate to surprise her with a goldfish. I reasoned that the expenditures were minimal and the benefits were many – they take up very little space, make no noise, and require very little food or attention. I picked out a shiny, silvery specimen and she was appropriately surprised and delighted.
My son decided that “Wish Fish” should have a companion. Allowance money in hand, we went to the pet store. One goldfish was 39 cents or you could get 2 for 59 cents. Always the bargain hunter, and a kind hearted fellow as well, he splurged on two, and said one would be for his little sister. Blackie and Rainbow Brite joined Wish Fish in the new fishbowl.
I was feeling very pleased with my adventure into pet ownership! We were already talking aquariums, filters, pumps, castles and artificial plants. This could become a wonderful family past time!
Kevin bolted out of bed the next morning to check on his fish, Blackie. Unfortunately, Blackie had succumbed during the night. Kevin was devastated. “He didn’t even live 24 hours!” he wailed. Trying to comfort him, I suggested we could bury him in the children’s recently planted vegetable garden – citing the example of the Pilgrims being taught by the Indians to bury a fish with their corn. Kevin thought this was reasonable, so he and his father buried Blackie beneath the peas. The next day Kevin was positive that the peas had, at least, doubled in size overnight!
A few days later, the water in the fishbowl seemed very cloudy. I decided to change the water, even though I knew Jeannine had changed it the night before. As I rinsed the bowl, an inch of bubbles rose to the top. I asked her what she’d cleaned the bowl with. She said she’d used soap and water. I inquired if she’d rinsed it thoroughly. A horrified look crossed her face. “You mean you have to rinse it?!” she exclaimed. The next day, Wish Fish was belly up.
Rainbow Brite was now an orphan. She swam aimlessly about, but no one was very anxious yet to think about getting her some playmates, especially if they were going to die so suddenly. Our vegetable garden might well be the most abundant in the neighborhood, but the emotional trauma wasn’t worth it.
I was talking on the hone and my three year old and her little playmate mumbled something about “upstairs” and “shish”. Preoccupied, I waved them on and continued my phone call. My heart sank when I hung up and realized “shish” was “fish” and Rainbow Brite might soon be a candidate for the vegetable garden.
I raced upstairs, and sure enough, two chubby little hands were splashing merrily in the water. An entire box of fish food had been deposited in the bowl. I was sure that Rainbow Brite wouldn’t make it through the night, but somehow she survived that little episode.
Do I dare believe that we may be capable of having a pet survive for more than a week?
Epilogue: Jeannine kept a “fish diary” and Rainbow Brite lived 51 days until we went on vacation. At that time, we donated her to the aquarium at the children’s school for safekeeping. She remains there today happily swimming with her playmates. My children retained unlimited visiting priviledges.
When my daughter turned nine, I felt it would be appropriate to surprise her with a goldfish. I reasoned that the expenditures were minimal and the benefits were many – they take up very little space, make no noise, and require very little food or attention. I picked out a shiny, silvery specimen and she was appropriately surprised and delighted.
My son decided that “Wish Fish” should have a companion. Allowance money in hand, we went to the pet store. One goldfish was 39 cents or you could get 2 for 59 cents. Always the bargain hunter, and a kind hearted fellow as well, he splurged on two, and said one would be for his little sister. Blackie and Rainbow Brite joined Wish Fish in the new fishbowl.
I was feeling very pleased with my adventure into pet ownership! We were already talking aquariums, filters, pumps, castles and artificial plants. This could become a wonderful family past time!
Kevin bolted out of bed the next morning to check on his fish, Blackie. Unfortunately, Blackie had succumbed during the night. Kevin was devastated. “He didn’t even live 24 hours!” he wailed. Trying to comfort him, I suggested we could bury him in the children’s recently planted vegetable garden – citing the example of the Pilgrims being taught by the Indians to bury a fish with their corn. Kevin thought this was reasonable, so he and his father buried Blackie beneath the peas. The next day Kevin was positive that the peas had, at least, doubled in size overnight!
A few days later, the water in the fishbowl seemed very cloudy. I decided to change the water, even though I knew Jeannine had changed it the night before. As I rinsed the bowl, an inch of bubbles rose to the top. I asked her what she’d cleaned the bowl with. She said she’d used soap and water. I inquired if she’d rinsed it thoroughly. A horrified look crossed her face. “You mean you have to rinse it?!” she exclaimed. The next day, Wish Fish was belly up.
Rainbow Brite was now an orphan. She swam aimlessly about, but no one was very anxious yet to think about getting her some playmates, especially if they were going to die so suddenly. Our vegetable garden might well be the most abundant in the neighborhood, but the emotional trauma wasn’t worth it.
I was talking on the hone and my three year old and her little playmate mumbled something about “upstairs” and “shish”. Preoccupied, I waved them on and continued my phone call. My heart sank when I hung up and realized “shish” was “fish” and Rainbow Brite might soon be a candidate for the vegetable garden.
I raced upstairs, and sure enough, two chubby little hands were splashing merrily in the water. An entire box of fish food had been deposited in the bowl. I was sure that Rainbow Brite wouldn’t make it through the night, but somehow she survived that little episode.
Do I dare believe that we may be capable of having a pet survive for more than a week?
Epilogue: Jeannine kept a “fish diary” and Rainbow Brite lived 51 days until we went on vacation. At that time, we donated her to the aquarium at the children’s school for safekeeping. She remains there today happily swimming with her playmates. My children retained unlimited visiting priviledges.
My Sink Runneth Over
“Kids, brush your teeth thoroughly and let’s get going! Your dental appointment is in half an hour, and it takes that long to get the office. Please hurry!” I reminded anxiously.
We made it on time and shuffled three children through their six month checkups in a reasonable amount of time. We stopped at the grocery stores, and the cleaners on the way home. Total time elapsed: 3 hours. Arms full of packages, I unlocked the front door and headed for the kitchen to prepare dinner.
A strange puddle was accumulating near the refrigerator. “What could be leaking?” I wondered, as I dropped my packages and dispatched the kids to get towels to mop up the mess. As I looked around I could see water pouring down the window in the sheets. I could hear water running, but where was it coming from?
I ran upstairs and discovered, to my dismay, that my son had left the water running when he brushed his teeth before going to the dentist. A washcloth near the sink had fallen into it and stopped it up. Water had been flowing through the house for 3 hours!
I turned off the flood and flew down to the basement to see if there was water accumulated there. Indeed there was, but the sump pump in the corner was handling the excess.
Back upstairs, my children still mopping furiously, I wondered what to do next?! How much water could be accumulated in the ceiling? Were we in danger of the ceiling caving in? If I turn on the light so we can see what we are doing, is the house going to go up in smoke? If I poke holes in the ceiling to let the water out, is my husband going to kill me?
I tried to call my husband at work, but of course, he wasn’t there. Before long, however, by some miracle, in through the door he strolled. He actually admired my resourcefulness in poking holes in the ceiling to let the excess flow out. (Why should I tell him it was my neighbor’s suggestion, not mine?) He surveyed the flood area, and admitted we probably didn’t qualify for disaster relief funds from the state. So, he planned to get out the tools and spackle and repair the damage after the ceiling had a chance to dry out for a few days. He’s cool as a cucumber under pressure. Why do my knees still feel like jelly?!
We made it on time and shuffled three children through their six month checkups in a reasonable amount of time. We stopped at the grocery stores, and the cleaners on the way home. Total time elapsed: 3 hours. Arms full of packages, I unlocked the front door and headed for the kitchen to prepare dinner.
A strange puddle was accumulating near the refrigerator. “What could be leaking?” I wondered, as I dropped my packages and dispatched the kids to get towels to mop up the mess. As I looked around I could see water pouring down the window in the sheets. I could hear water running, but where was it coming from?
I ran upstairs and discovered, to my dismay, that my son had left the water running when he brushed his teeth before going to the dentist. A washcloth near the sink had fallen into it and stopped it up. Water had been flowing through the house for 3 hours!
I turned off the flood and flew down to the basement to see if there was water accumulated there. Indeed there was, but the sump pump in the corner was handling the excess.
Back upstairs, my children still mopping furiously, I wondered what to do next?! How much water could be accumulated in the ceiling? Were we in danger of the ceiling caving in? If I turn on the light so we can see what we are doing, is the house going to go up in smoke? If I poke holes in the ceiling to let the water out, is my husband going to kill me?
I tried to call my husband at work, but of course, he wasn’t there. Before long, however, by some miracle, in through the door he strolled. He actually admired my resourcefulness in poking holes in the ceiling to let the excess flow out. (Why should I tell him it was my neighbor’s suggestion, not mine?) He surveyed the flood area, and admitted we probably didn’t qualify for disaster relief funds from the state. So, he planned to get out the tools and spackle and repair the damage after the ceiling had a chance to dry out for a few days. He’s cool as a cucumber under pressure. Why do my knees still feel like jelly?!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Green Slime
The phone rang as I was preparing the leave for work. It was the secretary at the high school, telling me my niece had inadvertently sad in an “unidentified green substance” during chemistry class. She assured me that every effort was being made to identify the substance, but a different teacher had used the chemistry lab in the previous class period, and so they had to track her down. My niece appeared to be uninjured, but needed clean clothing. My concern was that a chemical could eat through her clothes and burn her skin. So, I drove up to the school as quickly as possible.
She removed her light blue jeans and examined the flesh of her legs. They appeared completely normal. I gave her clean clothes, and she went back to class. The school assured me they would notify me, as soon as the source of the green substance was determined.
I returned home and put on rubber gloves to wash out the jeans so the stain wouldn’t have time to set. I rinsed carefully with cold water, hoping not to ruin the fabric entirely. The phone rang again. The school secretary was laughing, as she told me that the mystery chemical was identified as green jello!
She removed her light blue jeans and examined the flesh of her legs. They appeared completely normal. I gave her clean clothes, and she went back to class. The school assured me they would notify me, as soon as the source of the green substance was determined.
I returned home and put on rubber gloves to wash out the jeans so the stain wouldn’t have time to set. I rinsed carefully with cold water, hoping not to ruin the fabric entirely. The phone rang again. The school secretary was laughing, as she told me that the mystery chemical was identified as green jello!
Answered Prayers
Late in the summer of 1988, my niece, Tiffany, came to live with us. Her parents were going to Japan, and she preferred to finish her last year of high school in the U.S., so we invited her to stay at our house.
Tiffany and her friend, Aaron, were driving down to Maryland from New Hampshire. Aaron was en route to Georgia, where his family had recently relocated. He planed to spend the night at our house, and then continue on to Georgia, after a good nights’ sleep.
Actually, they arrived at our house in the middle of our good nights’ sleep, at 4AM on a Sunday morning! They were exhausted from their long drive, so we didn’t awaken them when we left for church several hours later.
My children were filled with questions, during the drive to church, because they hadn’t had the chance to meet Aaron before we left home. I described him briefly, and then, dropped them off at Sunday School. I went on to church.
My youngest daughter’s teacher pulled me aside later to ask me about our new arrived houseguest. She was anxious to tell me that their whole Sunday school class had prayed for Tiffany’s friend, Aaron. I told her I was please to think that my six year old was concerned about Aaron driving safely on to Georgia. She gasped, and asked me how Aaron could possibly drive alone. I was puzzled. Why shouldn’t he, I wondered aloud? Well, Jessica had told her class that Aaron was blind! I couldn’t imagine how she got that idea, until I recalled my hurried description. I had said he was medium height, suntanned and blond!!! She obviously misunderstood me!
I don’t suppose the extra prayers did any harm. Aaron made his trip to Georgia without mishap.
Tiffany and her friend, Aaron, were driving down to Maryland from New Hampshire. Aaron was en route to Georgia, where his family had recently relocated. He planed to spend the night at our house, and then continue on to Georgia, after a good nights’ sleep.
Actually, they arrived at our house in the middle of our good nights’ sleep, at 4AM on a Sunday morning! They were exhausted from their long drive, so we didn’t awaken them when we left for church several hours later.
My children were filled with questions, during the drive to church, because they hadn’t had the chance to meet Aaron before we left home. I described him briefly, and then, dropped them off at Sunday School. I went on to church.
My youngest daughter’s teacher pulled me aside later to ask me about our new arrived houseguest. She was anxious to tell me that their whole Sunday school class had prayed for Tiffany’s friend, Aaron. I told her I was please to think that my six year old was concerned about Aaron driving safely on to Georgia. She gasped, and asked me how Aaron could possibly drive alone. I was puzzled. Why shouldn’t he, I wondered aloud? Well, Jessica had told her class that Aaron was blind! I couldn’t imagine how she got that idea, until I recalled my hurried description. I had said he was medium height, suntanned and blond!!! She obviously misunderstood me!
I don’t suppose the extra prayers did any harm. Aaron made his trip to Georgia without mishap.
Life Is A Jigsaw Puzzle
Conversation at the orthodontist’s office.
Receptionist: “When can you come in, Mrs. Jersey?”
Me: “Well, now, let’s see…(mentally taking note) Thursdays are Spanish lessons and Brownie meetings, Thursdays are allergy shots, Mondays – arts and crafts class, Wednesdays – piano lessons. What about Friday?”
Receptionist: “We aren’t open on Fridays.”
Me: “Kevin only gets an allergy shot every other Tuesday – we could make it on one of the in between Tuesdays…”
Receptionist: “Sorry, the doctor will be out of town then.”
Me: “We could skip arts and crafts”
Child, piping in: “Mom, no way! We already missed two times…puh-lease don’t make us miss again…”
Me: “Okay, if it’s after 3:00, but before 4:30 on a Wednesday, we can come. Wait, no, soccer season will have started by then. I’ll tell you what – why don’t we just wait until summertime and we’ll have lots of free time…I’ll call you – Thanks!”
Does this sound familiar? I know our family’s schedule is probably less hectic than many others’, but I wonder how others manage their schedules with so little fuss or confusion. It seems to me that life is a jigsaw puzzle, and if you remove a piece or try to put it some place that it doesn’t belong, it affects the outcome of the total pictures.
I like to think I am a helpful person. When a friend asked me to take over her volunteer Spanish class while she was out of town, I didn’t hesitate to consent. I would already be at school teaching my own group. I just needed to stay an additional half hour to cover her class. What I didn’t foresee was that two of my children would have strep throat – not that they wanted to – but nonetheless, I had to cancel my class, my friend’s class, and call 14 mothers to tell them our Brownies meeting would be cancelled, as well. The jigsaw puzzle was definitely askew!
What is that physics theory” “For every actions, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” That’s my life. Every move forward is guaranteed to boomerang backward eventually. If I make plans to take a family trip on a weekend, you can count on the likelihood that unexpected guests will arrive on our doorstep an hour before we were planning to leave. If I send everyone out with raincoats, boats and umbrellas, I promise you it will be the sunniest day of the year. If I assemble all the necessary ingredients for a fabulous “gourmet” dinner, I assure you that come dinner time, I’ll hear, “I’m not really hungry, how about just soup and salad, or something simple.”
As a family, our schedules are forced to be interlocking, and it certainly can be much like solving a puzzle to meet everyone’s needs as best as possible. I always enjoyed jigsaw puzzles as a child. They were much easier to solve then.
Receptionist: “When can you come in, Mrs. Jersey?”
Me: “Well, now, let’s see…(mentally taking note) Thursdays are Spanish lessons and Brownie meetings, Thursdays are allergy shots, Mondays – arts and crafts class, Wednesdays – piano lessons. What about Friday?”
Receptionist: “We aren’t open on Fridays.”
Me: “Kevin only gets an allergy shot every other Tuesday – we could make it on one of the in between Tuesdays…”
Receptionist: “Sorry, the doctor will be out of town then.”
Me: “We could skip arts and crafts”
Child, piping in: “Mom, no way! We already missed two times…puh-lease don’t make us miss again…”
Me: “Okay, if it’s after 3:00, but before 4:30 on a Wednesday, we can come. Wait, no, soccer season will have started by then. I’ll tell you what – why don’t we just wait until summertime and we’ll have lots of free time…I’ll call you – Thanks!”
Does this sound familiar? I know our family’s schedule is probably less hectic than many others’, but I wonder how others manage their schedules with so little fuss or confusion. It seems to me that life is a jigsaw puzzle, and if you remove a piece or try to put it some place that it doesn’t belong, it affects the outcome of the total pictures.
I like to think I am a helpful person. When a friend asked me to take over her volunteer Spanish class while she was out of town, I didn’t hesitate to consent. I would already be at school teaching my own group. I just needed to stay an additional half hour to cover her class. What I didn’t foresee was that two of my children would have strep throat – not that they wanted to – but nonetheless, I had to cancel my class, my friend’s class, and call 14 mothers to tell them our Brownies meeting would be cancelled, as well. The jigsaw puzzle was definitely askew!
What is that physics theory” “For every actions, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” That’s my life. Every move forward is guaranteed to boomerang backward eventually. If I make plans to take a family trip on a weekend, you can count on the likelihood that unexpected guests will arrive on our doorstep an hour before we were planning to leave. If I send everyone out with raincoats, boats and umbrellas, I promise you it will be the sunniest day of the year. If I assemble all the necessary ingredients for a fabulous “gourmet” dinner, I assure you that come dinner time, I’ll hear, “I’m not really hungry, how about just soup and salad, or something simple.”
As a family, our schedules are forced to be interlocking, and it certainly can be much like solving a puzzle to meet everyone’s needs as best as possible. I always enjoyed jigsaw puzzles as a child. They were much easier to solve then.
Famous Last Words
Did I say I would never go camping again? Well, I like to try to be a good sport – so, when some friends of ours, truly lifetime experienced campers, recommended a camping trip to Shad Landing, near Ocean City, Maryland – a park with the smoothest, deepest water for water skiing, trails for riding bikes, hot showers and flush toilets – it just sounded too good to pass up.
My sister and her two children would be visiting from Texas. We would be able to make a short drive to show them the Atlantic Ocean for the first time and the famous ponies of Chincoteague. Of course, my sister despises camping, too, but she could be a good sport for a couple of nights, rather than miss the opportunity for the children.
We had a wonderful time! To be efficient and fair, we broke up into groups. Some would go water skiing or canoeing, some bicycling, fishing or exploring. Then, we would all change activities so everybody had a turn at the different activities.
It seemed like the first group of water skiers were gone for a long time. No, we were just impatient for our turn. They were probably just having so much fun, they could not bear to come back too soon.
The boat finally pulled into the dock. The “second shift” eagerly scrambled onboard, ready to experience their own thrills and adventures. Sadly, my husband informed them that the propeller had hit a submerged log, and they were lucky to get back to the dock, much less do any more water skiing. They accepted the change of plans gracefully. There so many other alternatives, no one could be too disappointed.
Later that evening, we ate dinner, had the traditional campfire, roasted marshmallows and made S’mores. After we turned in for the night it began to rain. Déjà vu! However, it was a gentle, almost comforting sound through the night. Besides, we were with experienced campers, so we certainly would never dream of bailing out in the middle of the night here.
The skies were clear in the morning, so we headed for the beach at Chincoteague. Our Texas relatives were suitably impressed by the ocean, although it was admittedly very rough that day. My sister was coerced into joining the swimmers happily bobbing up and down in the waves. Remember, I said she was a good sport, so she obliged, only to be knocked over by a humongous wave. She struggled to regain her balance, as well as the top of her bathing suit. Our friend, Bill, diplomatically sputtered, “Jane, I think you lost one of your hair combs.” His wife Nancy shrieked, “Jane, your bathing suit!” Their teenage sons were speechless!
The skies were clouding up, and the water was getting even rougher. We decided to call it a day and head back to camp. When we got there, we prepared dinner, even though it was raining steadily by this time. My sister and I exchanged glances, “How far away is that Holiday Inn?” Serious discussions ensued. We were sunburned, tired, wet and our boat had a broken propeller. Why prolong the agony? Let’s go home.
Bill, the official experienced camper, was disappointed we were giving up so easily. We broke camp and headed home, anyway. The next day, everybody agreed we’d had a wonderful time, but there’s truly just no place like home.
My sister and her two children would be visiting from Texas. We would be able to make a short drive to show them the Atlantic Ocean for the first time and the famous ponies of Chincoteague. Of course, my sister despises camping, too, but she could be a good sport for a couple of nights, rather than miss the opportunity for the children.
We had a wonderful time! To be efficient and fair, we broke up into groups. Some would go water skiing or canoeing, some bicycling, fishing or exploring. Then, we would all change activities so everybody had a turn at the different activities.
It seemed like the first group of water skiers were gone for a long time. No, we were just impatient for our turn. They were probably just having so much fun, they could not bear to come back too soon.
The boat finally pulled into the dock. The “second shift” eagerly scrambled onboard, ready to experience their own thrills and adventures. Sadly, my husband informed them that the propeller had hit a submerged log, and they were lucky to get back to the dock, much less do any more water skiing. They accepted the change of plans gracefully. There so many other alternatives, no one could be too disappointed.
Later that evening, we ate dinner, had the traditional campfire, roasted marshmallows and made S’mores. After we turned in for the night it began to rain. Déjà vu! However, it was a gentle, almost comforting sound through the night. Besides, we were with experienced campers, so we certainly would never dream of bailing out in the middle of the night here.
The skies were clear in the morning, so we headed for the beach at Chincoteague. Our Texas relatives were suitably impressed by the ocean, although it was admittedly very rough that day. My sister was coerced into joining the swimmers happily bobbing up and down in the waves. Remember, I said she was a good sport, so she obliged, only to be knocked over by a humongous wave. She struggled to regain her balance, as well as the top of her bathing suit. Our friend, Bill, diplomatically sputtered, “Jane, I think you lost one of your hair combs.” His wife Nancy shrieked, “Jane, your bathing suit!” Their teenage sons were speechless!
The skies were clouding up, and the water was getting even rougher. We decided to call it a day and head back to camp. When we got there, we prepared dinner, even though it was raining steadily by this time. My sister and I exchanged glances, “How far away is that Holiday Inn?” Serious discussions ensued. We were sunburned, tired, wet and our boat had a broken propeller. Why prolong the agony? Let’s go home.
Bill, the official experienced camper, was disappointed we were giving up so easily. We broke camp and headed home, anyway. The next day, everybody agreed we’d had a wonderful time, but there’s truly just no place like home.
Brownie Campover
Our first grade Brownie Scouts were looking forward to our end-of-the-year campout A very nice State park was located only 2 miles from our home. If anybody “chickened out” we could easily call their parents and have the child picked up with out much trouble! Preparations were made months in advance. We would be accompanying an older Girl Scout troop. We had plenty of adult chaperones – a registered nurse was among them! Ever scout had assigned duties for cooking, or cleaning up, or whatever.
Did I mentioned, I had never been camping before in my life? No matter – all the other adults were experienced campers. Several fathers were willing to help us set up tents and carry the gear back and for. How bad could it be, other than lack of hot showers or running toilets? I could deal with that for one night!
The afternoon and evening proceeded like clockwork. We were all having such fun! We gathered around the campfire for roasting marshmallows, making S’mores, singing songs and telling ghost stories. Finally, it was bedtime. The adults lingered around the fire. The girls giggled in their tents.
Around 11pm the rain started – gently at first – certainly no cause for alarm. We reminded the girls to resist touching the tents to avoid leaking and dripping. Of course, everyone had to touch just to be sure we weren’t kidding. Gradually, the storm worsened and giggles became whimpers. Should we bail out? Heck, no, this is real camping. This is all part of the educational experience!
The storm raged. Moats were forming around each tent. Girls were wailing, “I want to go home!!!”
An adult was dispatched to each tent. The girls were instructed to grab as much of their stuff as they could, and run for the cars. Piles of sopping, wet sleeping bags surrounded shivering, whimpering six year olds. The adults would come back and official break camp in the morning. For now, the most logical alternative seemed to be to take everyone to my house for a giant slumber party. Why wake up everyone’s parents at 1AM to come and get a soggy Brownie scout?
The girls loved it! I wondered what my fairly new van would look like in the morning with mud smeared inside and out. We left most of the muddy shoes and gear in my garage, and the girls slept in whatever they had left that was dry. I wondered if my house would ever be the same after sheltering these fifteen refugees overnight.
Dawn arrived, gloriously sunny! We called all the parents, and they laughed at our misadventures, but promised to rescue their little campers promptly. We spread out the wet sleeping bags to air dry. My yard looked like a disaster area.
One by one, my little charges were picked up. Each one combed through the piles of debris to claim their belongings. I still ended up with a garbage bag full of soggy stuff! Some of the parents volunteered to go and square away the campsite, which I gratefully let them do!
Later that day, my husband washed the van inside and out and restored it to it’s nearly new condition. Surprisingly, little clean up was required inside the house once everyone cleared out their gear. I succumbed to a long nap that afternoon, muttering in my sleep, “I will never go camping again…”
Did I mentioned, I had never been camping before in my life? No matter – all the other adults were experienced campers. Several fathers were willing to help us set up tents and carry the gear back and for. How bad could it be, other than lack of hot showers or running toilets? I could deal with that for one night!
The afternoon and evening proceeded like clockwork. We were all having such fun! We gathered around the campfire for roasting marshmallows, making S’mores, singing songs and telling ghost stories. Finally, it was bedtime. The adults lingered around the fire. The girls giggled in their tents.
Around 11pm the rain started – gently at first – certainly no cause for alarm. We reminded the girls to resist touching the tents to avoid leaking and dripping. Of course, everyone had to touch just to be sure we weren’t kidding. Gradually, the storm worsened and giggles became whimpers. Should we bail out? Heck, no, this is real camping. This is all part of the educational experience!
The storm raged. Moats were forming around each tent. Girls were wailing, “I want to go home!!!”
An adult was dispatched to each tent. The girls were instructed to grab as much of their stuff as they could, and run for the cars. Piles of sopping, wet sleeping bags surrounded shivering, whimpering six year olds. The adults would come back and official break camp in the morning. For now, the most logical alternative seemed to be to take everyone to my house for a giant slumber party. Why wake up everyone’s parents at 1AM to come and get a soggy Brownie scout?
The girls loved it! I wondered what my fairly new van would look like in the morning with mud smeared inside and out. We left most of the muddy shoes and gear in my garage, and the girls slept in whatever they had left that was dry. I wondered if my house would ever be the same after sheltering these fifteen refugees overnight.
Dawn arrived, gloriously sunny! We called all the parents, and they laughed at our misadventures, but promised to rescue their little campers promptly. We spread out the wet sleeping bags to air dry. My yard looked like a disaster area.
One by one, my little charges were picked up. Each one combed through the piles of debris to claim their belongings. I still ended up with a garbage bag full of soggy stuff! Some of the parents volunteered to go and square away the campsite, which I gratefully let them do!
Later that day, my husband washed the van inside and out and restored it to it’s nearly new condition. Surprisingly, little clean up was required inside the house once everyone cleared out their gear. I succumbed to a long nap that afternoon, muttering in my sleep, “I will never go camping again…”
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Exercises In Self Sufficiency
I really don’t understand this! I guess it has something to do with Murphy’s Laws. But, every time my husband goes out of town, some kind of domestic crisis occurs. It doesn’t matter whether he’s gone for one day, or one month, he almost dreads coming home, because he knows it’s going to cost him somehow! I have a new appreciation of what it must be like to be a single parent!
Once, when he was away, my toddler flushed her training pants down the toilet. I had left the room to answer the phone and she could not pass up the opportunity to “help” Mommy. Now, granted, I could have called a plumber. But, my husband is a very handy fix-it man. How could I deprive him of this chance to dismantle our toilet and then, reassemble it? Since we were fortunate enough to have another toilet in the house, we tape the clogged one shut, and saved this dandy little treat for Dad when he got home two days later!
Another evening, during a pouring rainstorm, my neighbor next door pounded upon my front door. “Did you know your roof is coming apart?” he asked. “No, I didn’t,” I replied, worriedly as I pulled on my raingear and headed out to assess the damage. Sure enough, the flashing was flapping wildly about, and judging from the intensity of the storm, my son’s room would be about a foot deep in raindrops by morning. “What time will Dave be getting home?” my neighbor asked. “Sometime next Thursday,” I replied smiling weakly. “You mean he’s out of town?” he asked. I nodded.
Well, this is one act of kindness I will never forget! My neighbor braved the storm and improvised a roof repair job that was sufficient to tide us over until drier weather. But I want to know, why do these things happen when you are least prepared to deal with them?
Believe me, I like snow! And, I certainly enjoyed a morning spent sledding with my children. But, what I didn’t particularly care for, was coming home to find I’d locked us all out of the house. Oh, I had my house keys in my coat pocket, but, it was the storm door lock that was preventing our entry into the house. I had no key for that, and no amount of jiggling would release the lock.
My toddler whined from exhaustion, hunger and probably frostbite! I could hear the phone ringing repeatedly, inside…probably my husband telling me he was snowed in at the airport and would be home until tomorrow! Frustrated, but determined not to have a repair job waiting waiting for him when he returned, I borrowed a screwdriver from my neighbor. Carefully, I removed the screws from the entire door frame. Unfortunately, that loosened only the frame…the lock was still firmly intact! Vigorously, I juggled the handle, hope the glass wouldn’t fall out at my feet. Miraculously, it opened. One small victory for me!
A few weeks later, I hopped into my car, planning to run a few errands. As I turned the key in the ignition, nothing happened. I wondered out loud, “What is wrong with the car?” My three year old matter of factly replied, “Oh, I left the light on, Mom!” as if she had purposefully turned the lights on and left them burned through the night, so the car battery would now be dead and we would be going nowhere fast! Apparently, she had pulled the switch while exiting the care the previous day, what possessed her to do this? WHO KNOWS!? Did we have jumper cables? OF COURSE, WE DID! Where where they? IN PHILADELPHIA, WITH MY HUSBAND, WHERE ELSE? “I’m sorry, Mommy, I’ll never do it again,” she said so sweetly and sincerely. How could I stay mad? I tracked down a friend whose husband had jumper cables. He came over and the care was soon functional again. Just tell me, why do these things happen ONLY when my husband is out of these exercises in self sufficiency? Will I really look back and laugh someday?
Hypochondria
Today I am having a brain tumor. Never mind the fact that my daughter is recovering from strep throat, and this throbbing in my neck may have something to do with that. I skip the small stuff and go right to the worst possible consequence.
The throbbing has spread down into my shoulder now. I’m sure if I took a couple of aspirin and laid down for a bit, I’d be just fine. Who has time for that??? Instead, my mind races. Maybe they’ll have to amputate my right arm. How am I going to change a diaper with only one hand? I guess I’d better get the baby potty trained, QUICK!
Why do I do this? Basically I am a well person. I have very few physical ailments…certainly nothing of a chronic nature, anyway. I rarely even get headaches. A bottle of aspirin probably lasts more than a year around here.
I think it’s a reaction to stress. When my life is particularly busy or hectic, and some minor ailment strikes…BINGO…it becomes major, in no time! Why is my family so unappreciative of all the wonderful things I do for them? How could they possibly function without my expert guidance, thought? Hey, wait a minute! I’m having a tough day. Could somebody take care of ME, pamper ME for just a little while?
Am I crazy?
I’ll Bet You Can Be, Too!
Sometimes, I feel like I’m spinning my wheels…the hurrieder I go, the behinder I get. Everybody else seems to accomplish more with their time!
A friend of mine that I admire particularly in this regard is named Nancy Busch. She has four active boys, ranging in age from 7 to 14. She keeps up with all their individual activities at church, in school, and extra-curricular things, too. She keeps a neat and orderly home. She is a great cook. Nancy is always the first one to volunteer to help on any PTA project or church activity, without a moment’s complaint, and often on short notice! A tireless worker, she is practically a saint, I guess. What can’t I be more like her?!
My children range in age from 2 to 8 years old. I think it’s the two year old that slows me down. So much of my time has to revolve around her needs and her schedule. However, I feel exceptionally fortunate that I have been able to stay at home with my three children, and not have to juggle my work schedule, as well as those of my children. I’m a Brownie leader and President of the PTA, and there hardly seems to be enough hours in the day to keep up with so many responsibilities, piano lessons, athletic practices, etc., in addition to managing the household adequately.
I had been feeling somewhat inadequate, when one day I carpooled part of my Brownie troop to the local skating rink for a group lesson. An acquaintance greeted me, saying, “I don’t know how you do it! You participate in so many things and yet, you have a little one at home. I really admire you!”
I was speechless…but, that really made my day!
Later, when I came home and told my husband about my encounter at the skating, he said, “Congratulations, Diane, you’re Nancy Busch to someone!”
I’ll bet you might be, too!
Friday, October 5, 2007
Student Teacher
I was a student teacher, awaiting the arrival of my college supervisor. My day was carefully planned, because my final grade depended on this evaluation. Even recess time included a group game, designed to show how well I could c ontrol this group of kindergarteners. The game was “Duck, Duck, Goose”, a modified game of tag. The “goose” is “it”, and all the children eagerly vied for this opportunity, stretching and waving their hands to get my attention.
As luck would have it, when my supervisor arrived, an especially anxious child was screeching, “Goose me, teacher, oh, please, goose me! I haven’t been goosed in over a week!” Rendered speechless, I lamely pointed to the child and continued on with the game.
I got an A in student teaching, and I always wondering if it was because of my special motivational techniques.
As luck would have it, when my supervisor arrived, an especially anxious child was screeching, “Goose me, teacher, oh, please, goose me! I haven’t been goosed in over a week!” Rendered speechless, I lamely pointed to the child and continued on with the game.
I got an A in student teaching, and I always wondering if it was because of my special motivational techniques.
Shoes
When the doctor first said, “You’re going to be a mother!” he never warned me how many pairs of shoes I’d be purchasing in that child’s lifetime! No wonder they bronze baby shoes as a keepsake. Actually, they are worth their weight in gold!
Pediatricians vary in their opinions of when babies should begin wearing shoes. Some say high top baby shoes as soon as they make their first step; other say sneakers are just fine, and still others recommend bare feet as long as possible. Since I have three children, I tend to support the latter theory. Do you think six years old is too late for a first pair of shoes?!
At any rate, the main problem is that kids GROW! Although those sparkling white baby shoes are far frm worn out…there’s just no way those fat, dimpled feet are going to fit into the shoes any longer than two months after you bought them.
If you are blessed with girls, and I have two...you will need a variety of styles of shoes …sneakers for playing, dressy shoes for Sunday, and school shoes for school days. Those are just the basics. Then add flip flops, or sandals in the summertime, boots for colder weather, ballet shoes or tap shoes if they are so inclined…and if they are interested in sports, girls and boys need, indeed can’t live without, soccer shoes, high top leather basketball shoes, track shoes, etc., etc. All these dadd up to a pretty sizeable investment every year, and their darn feet are STILL growing!
While Mom and Dad muck around in their comfortable, ten year old loafters left over from college; or mow the lawn wearing sneakers tinged a putrid green from glass clippings…baby dumpling is strutting around in $25.00 specials, that will very likely need to be replaced in three months. Where is the justice?
The way I figure it, in raising my three children to age eighteen, we will have purchased at leat 432 pairs of shoes! (Give or take a few dozen) Maybe the Japanese were onto something when they practiced foot binding from a very early age!!!?
Pediatricians vary in their opinions of when babies should begin wearing shoes. Some say high top baby shoes as soon as they make their first step; other say sneakers are just fine, and still others recommend bare feet as long as possible. Since I have three children, I tend to support the latter theory. Do you think six years old is too late for a first pair of shoes?!
At any rate, the main problem is that kids GROW! Although those sparkling white baby shoes are far frm worn out…there’s just no way those fat, dimpled feet are going to fit into the shoes any longer than two months after you bought them.
If you are blessed with girls, and I have two...you will need a variety of styles of shoes …sneakers for playing, dressy shoes for Sunday, and school shoes for school days. Those are just the basics. Then add flip flops, or sandals in the summertime, boots for colder weather, ballet shoes or tap shoes if they are so inclined…and if they are interested in sports, girls and boys need, indeed can’t live without, soccer shoes, high top leather basketball shoes, track shoes, etc., etc. All these dadd up to a pretty sizeable investment every year, and their darn feet are STILL growing!
While Mom and Dad muck around in their comfortable, ten year old loafters left over from college; or mow the lawn wearing sneakers tinged a putrid green from glass clippings…baby dumpling is strutting around in $25.00 specials, that will very likely need to be replaced in three months. Where is the justice?
The way I figure it, in raising my three children to age eighteen, we will have purchased at leat 432 pairs of shoes! (Give or take a few dozen) Maybe the Japanese were onto something when they practiced foot binding from a very early age!!!?
Scientific Phenomenon
My son was in the first grade, so we wanted his first science project to be a simple one. We wanted him to learn something that he didn’t know before, and to get a feel for the scientific method His old sister had participated the year before, so he was more than willing to give it a go.
We checked out a pile of books and eventually settled upon an experiment with static electricity. The project required propping a plane of glass between two books and putting little bits of paper or cork underneath the glass. When you rubbed the glass with a silk cloth, the particles beneath the glass would jump around. My son, the scientist, was delighted to see this in action. We couldn’t wait until Daddy came home to show him. He practiced rubbing the glass all afternoon.
Dad came home from work and we prepared to see the scientific discovery of the century. With all the fervor of Alladin and his magic lamp, my son rubbed the pane of glass in front of him. NOTHING happened. My husband rubbed…I rubbed…NOTHING happened. We tried remnants of fabric: wool, flannel, and others. NOTHING happened. Apparently, the particles had been so charged up during the afternoon’s practice, the became over-charged! (Much like my credit cards!)
My husband doesn’t give up easily, though. He whipped out his handkerchief, and began to rub it on the glass. Lo and behold, the particles beneath the glass began moving! He beamed with pride, having saved the day for his song.
Conscientious Mother, declared a fresh, clean hanky would be sent in to school for the science fair presentation. Just for safety’s sake, we brought out several clean hankies to test their effectiveness. We repeated the rubbing process with each hanky. Not one of them worked! Only the dirty hanky from my husband’s pocket could coax the particles to dance under the glass. He howled with laughter over this scientific phenomenon.
Mother was reluctant to allow this particular revelation to be made public. She voted to scrap the whole project entirely. ALAS, yet another stroke of genius from father, was the suggestion that an ordinary balloon might be substituted for the cloth, and would produce the desired result. We inflated several balloons, rubbed them in our hair, and then pressed them to the glass. It worked every time, without fail.
My son, the scientist, won the blue ribbon for that project. The kids at school had a wonderful time rubbing the balloons in their hair and then watching the particles dance under the glass. (As a matter of fact, my son’s hair was sticking straight out for several days, in honor of this scientific process.)
Ah, the wonders of modern science….
We checked out a pile of books and eventually settled upon an experiment with static electricity. The project required propping a plane of glass between two books and putting little bits of paper or cork underneath the glass. When you rubbed the glass with a silk cloth, the particles beneath the glass would jump around. My son, the scientist, was delighted to see this in action. We couldn’t wait until Daddy came home to show him. He practiced rubbing the glass all afternoon.
Dad came home from work and we prepared to see the scientific discovery of the century. With all the fervor of Alladin and his magic lamp, my son rubbed the pane of glass in front of him. NOTHING happened. My husband rubbed…I rubbed…NOTHING happened. We tried remnants of fabric: wool, flannel, and others. NOTHING happened. Apparently, the particles had been so charged up during the afternoon’s practice, the became over-charged! (Much like my credit cards!)
My husband doesn’t give up easily, though. He whipped out his handkerchief, and began to rub it on the glass. Lo and behold, the particles beneath the glass began moving! He beamed with pride, having saved the day for his song.
Conscientious Mother, declared a fresh, clean hanky would be sent in to school for the science fair presentation. Just for safety’s sake, we brought out several clean hankies to test their effectiveness. We repeated the rubbing process with each hanky. Not one of them worked! Only the dirty hanky from my husband’s pocket could coax the particles to dance under the glass. He howled with laughter over this scientific phenomenon.
Mother was reluctant to allow this particular revelation to be made public. She voted to scrap the whole project entirely. ALAS, yet another stroke of genius from father, was the suggestion that an ordinary balloon might be substituted for the cloth, and would produce the desired result. We inflated several balloons, rubbed them in our hair, and then pressed them to the glass. It worked every time, without fail.
My son, the scientist, won the blue ribbon for that project. The kids at school had a wonderful time rubbing the balloons in their hair and then watching the particles dance under the glass. (As a matter of fact, my son’s hair was sticking straight out for several days, in honor of this scientific process.)
Ah, the wonders of modern science….
Best Laid Plans
Now let me tell you this first, I am an organized person…not a fanatic, or anything, but I do set reasonable goals for myself. I take pride in usually accomplishing what I’ve set out to do. One reasonable goal for this particular day, was to clean the bathrooms in my house…not a real thrilling job, mind you, but certainly not an insurmountable task, either!
I guess I should mention, too, that I have three children: ages 2, 6, and 8. They’re basically good kids, but this was a rainy day, the day after Easter, and a day off from school as well, so who knew what could happen?
I heard the crashing of glass, so I ran downstairs to see what was going on. My older daughter was in the dining room teetering precariously on a chair, trying to reach her Easter basket on top of the hutch. Little sister was “helping” and lost her balance. A glass terrarium was in her path downward. Fortunately, no one was cut. I quickly banished everyone from the immediate vicinity, and set about cleaning up the disaster. “I’ll get to the bathrooms, eventually,” I thought.
After that was squared away, I specifically told the two older children I’d be upstairs cleaning the bathrooms, which translates roughly to “behave yourselves and keep an eye on your little sister,” in my mind. An air of peacefulness settled upon the house, but any mother knows this is not normal, so, I went back downstairs to find my old daughter quietly reading a book, my son, playing amicably with a friend, and my youngest child no where in sight!
I inquired, “Where’s Jessica?” My son nonchalantly replied, “Oh, she’s outside.” Now, although it is supposedly springtime, it is far from warm, and , as I mentioned before, it’s raining buckets outside! I looked out, and sure enough, my two year old was planted smack dab in the middle of a puddle having the time of her life! I scooped her up, glaring at my son, expecting him to feel at least a little guilty. He shrugged and said, “She was having fun, Mom!”
After Jessica was dried off and changed into a fresh set of clothes, I thought I’d try one more time to scrub the bathrooms. “Maybe I need to modify my original plan,” I thought. “If I can just get the master bath done now, I’ll worry about the kids’ bathroom after they’ve had their baths this evening.”
Well, my day began to get better. I was elbow deep in scouring powder, and finally making some progress. Of course, whenever this happens, the phone rings. True to form, the phone did ring, and I grabbed a towel to dry my hands. It was a wrong number. Back to work, the phone rang again. This time the caller hung up as soon as I answered. What did I do to deserve this aggravation?!
If you can believe it, I eventually succeeded in cleaning ALL the bathrooms. A feeling of accomplishment engulfed me, until I heard the water running upstairs. “I wonder what they’re up to now,” I though, as I raced up the steps, two at a time. My daughter said, “Our paste was dried up, so I’m trying to make it wet again.” I sighed, as I saw the white splotches of creative genius all over my clean handiwork.
WHO NEEDS CLEAN BATHROOMS, ANYWAY?
I guess I should mention, too, that I have three children: ages 2, 6, and 8. They’re basically good kids, but this was a rainy day, the day after Easter, and a day off from school as well, so who knew what could happen?
I heard the crashing of glass, so I ran downstairs to see what was going on. My older daughter was in the dining room teetering precariously on a chair, trying to reach her Easter basket on top of the hutch. Little sister was “helping” and lost her balance. A glass terrarium was in her path downward. Fortunately, no one was cut. I quickly banished everyone from the immediate vicinity, and set about cleaning up the disaster. “I’ll get to the bathrooms, eventually,” I thought.
After that was squared away, I specifically told the two older children I’d be upstairs cleaning the bathrooms, which translates roughly to “behave yourselves and keep an eye on your little sister,” in my mind. An air of peacefulness settled upon the house, but any mother knows this is not normal, so, I went back downstairs to find my old daughter quietly reading a book, my son, playing amicably with a friend, and my youngest child no where in sight!
I inquired, “Where’s Jessica?” My son nonchalantly replied, “Oh, she’s outside.” Now, although it is supposedly springtime, it is far from warm, and , as I mentioned before, it’s raining buckets outside! I looked out, and sure enough, my two year old was planted smack dab in the middle of a puddle having the time of her life! I scooped her up, glaring at my son, expecting him to feel at least a little guilty. He shrugged and said, “She was having fun, Mom!”
After Jessica was dried off and changed into a fresh set of clothes, I thought I’d try one more time to scrub the bathrooms. “Maybe I need to modify my original plan,” I thought. “If I can just get the master bath done now, I’ll worry about the kids’ bathroom after they’ve had their baths this evening.”
Well, my day began to get better. I was elbow deep in scouring powder, and finally making some progress. Of course, whenever this happens, the phone rings. True to form, the phone did ring, and I grabbed a towel to dry my hands. It was a wrong number. Back to work, the phone rang again. This time the caller hung up as soon as I answered. What did I do to deserve this aggravation?!
If you can believe it, I eventually succeeded in cleaning ALL the bathrooms. A feeling of accomplishment engulfed me, until I heard the water running upstairs. “I wonder what they’re up to now,” I though, as I raced up the steps, two at a time. My daughter said, “Our paste was dried up, so I’m trying to make it wet again.” I sighed, as I saw the white splotches of creative genius all over my clean handiwork.
WHO NEEDS CLEAN BATHROOMS, ANYWAY?
The Disappearing Act
The house was so peaceful and still. Jessica was an infant, and I had just finished her 2AM feeding. She drifted gently back to sleep, as I tucked her back into her crib.
Since I was up, anyway, I instinctively checked my two other children. Four year old, Kevin, was snoring blissfully in his trundle bed. I looked into Jeannine’s room, and was startled to find she was not there!
I checked the bathroom, but she was not there, either. Thinking maybe she had crawled into bed with my husband, in my absence, I checked there next. Finding only my husband in our bed, I began to get a little panicky. I raced downstairs and searched the basement, the family room, the living room and every other nook and cranny I could imagine a six year old might snuggle into. The front door was still double bolted, so I was relieved to think she was not out wandering the neighborhood. I re-traced my steps, and yet, I still could not find her!
Reluctantly, but frantically, I awakened my husband. He couldn’t imagine where she might be, but he joined me in my search.
When Jeannine was two, she sometimes curled up in her closet to sleep. We checked every closet in the entire house, and still we did not fid her. Could she have gone into the baby’s room without my noticing? No, again. Where could she be?
We gently shook our son, Kevin. He’s nearly impossible to wake up. Bewildered by our concern for Jeannine’s whereabouts, he had no idea where she was, either.
Softly, I heard the sound of breathing. I looked under Kevin’s bed, but Jeannine was not there. My husband began to laugh. Wedged in between my son’s trundle beds slept Jeannine, oblivious to the commotion surrounding her disappearance. How or when or why she got there is a mystery, but my heart was pounding with relief, as we returned her to her own bed.
All was well. The house was peaceful again. I was WIDE-EYED! Where does it tell you in the parenting books that you will not have an uninterrupted night of sleep for 20 years?! How did Rip Van Winkle get so lucky?
Since I was up, anyway, I instinctively checked my two other children. Four year old, Kevin, was snoring blissfully in his trundle bed. I looked into Jeannine’s room, and was startled to find she was not there!
I checked the bathroom, but she was not there, either. Thinking maybe she had crawled into bed with my husband, in my absence, I checked there next. Finding only my husband in our bed, I began to get a little panicky. I raced downstairs and searched the basement, the family room, the living room and every other nook and cranny I could imagine a six year old might snuggle into. The front door was still double bolted, so I was relieved to think she was not out wandering the neighborhood. I re-traced my steps, and yet, I still could not find her!
Reluctantly, but frantically, I awakened my husband. He couldn’t imagine where she might be, but he joined me in my search.
When Jeannine was two, she sometimes curled up in her closet to sleep. We checked every closet in the entire house, and still we did not fid her. Could she have gone into the baby’s room without my noticing? No, again. Where could she be?
We gently shook our son, Kevin. He’s nearly impossible to wake up. Bewildered by our concern for Jeannine’s whereabouts, he had no idea where she was, either.
Softly, I heard the sound of breathing. I looked under Kevin’s bed, but Jeannine was not there. My husband began to laugh. Wedged in between my son’s trundle beds slept Jeannine, oblivious to the commotion surrounding her disappearance. How or when or why she got there is a mystery, but my heart was pounding with relief, as we returned her to her own bed.
All was well. The house was peaceful again. I was WIDE-EYED! Where does it tell you in the parenting books that you will not have an uninterrupted night of sleep for 20 years?! How did Rip Van Winkle get so lucky?
Monday, September 17, 2007
Bittersweet
After weeks of preparation…new shoes and socks purchased…new dress carefully pressed…the BIG DAY has arrived! Mother coaxes and brushes every hair on her firstborn daughter’s head into it’s perfect place, giving all the last minute instructions that mother’s always do.
It is September, warm and sunny. The air crackles with anticipation. Tucking an extra tissue into her pocket, mother and daughter walk hand in hand toward their destination: the school bus stop.
The child greets her new schoolmates happily and confidently. Why is her mother’s heart pounding so?! Is it pride in reaching this important milestone in her child’s life, or is it fear of letting go…relinquishing control to someone else?
The bright yellow school bus pulls up to the curb with red lights flashing. The lump in her mother’s throat grows larger. “Bye, Mom,” the daughter chirps over her shoulder as she scurries off to claim her place in the line forming to enter the bus. No tears, no hesitation, no trauma…
How come you work so hard encouraging them to be independent, and then when they are it tears your heart out?
It is September, warm and sunny. The air crackles with anticipation. Tucking an extra tissue into her pocket, mother and daughter walk hand in hand toward their destination: the school bus stop.
The child greets her new schoolmates happily and confidently. Why is her mother’s heart pounding so?! Is it pride in reaching this important milestone in her child’s life, or is it fear of letting go…relinquishing control to someone else?
The bright yellow school bus pulls up to the curb with red lights flashing. The lump in her mother’s throat grows larger. “Bye, Mom,” the daughter chirps over her shoulder as she scurries off to claim her place in the line forming to enter the bus. No tears, no hesitation, no trauma…
How come you work so hard encouraging them to be independent, and then when they are it tears your heart out?
Our First Station Wagon
We had a beautiful, sleek, late model car before our children were born. We had splurged, after many years of driving strictly economy models. But, two weeks prior to the birth of our first child, we became very practical and conservative. Sleek and snazzy would have to be traded in for our first station wagon.
Our search began for a modest, little family car, one bright and sunny Saturday morning. We lived in Maryland, near Washington D.C. and a friend had recommended a dealership in the nearby Virginia, so we traveled around the Washington Beltway, in search of a great deal.
The car dealer had a perfect little Pinto wagon for us, complete with all the features we desired. We signed on the dotted line, and were assured it would take just an hour or so to get it ready. This was a milestone in our lives. We were excited!
Well, one hour became two, and then three, and our enthusiasm was dwindling. My ankles were swelling, we were both becoming tired and cranky. “Just give us back our old car,” we suggested, “and we’ll just go home.” Amazingly, the new car was ready and we headed home.
We were barely six miles down the road, when the right front tire on the passenger side of the care blew out. Although the road was partially under construction, my husband was able to steer the car safely to the side of the road. He was furious!! “What if this had caused you to go into labor?!” he raged. Then, he set about changing the tire. I was of little help in my condition, so I just stood nearby, wringing my hands.
Suddenly, we heard a horn honking repeatedly. I was elated. I thought, “Someone is taking pity on this poor, pregnant lady and her frustrated husband, and he’s going to help us out of this dilemma!” I looked up and was greeted with the sight of several bare behinds hanging out of the car windows as it sped by us. I was shocked, appalled, mortified!!! What else could go wrong today?
We returned to the dealership for more waiting and more, somewhat heated, discussions. Finally, we were headed home again. Gratefully, we pulled into our driveway. As I wearily began rolling the window up, it fell right back into the door. It wouldn’t budge. I began to cry.
My husband shepherded me into the house and told me to take a nap. He drove back to the car dealership alone, for more waiting and even more heated negotiating. They gave us a loaner car for the weekend, and we prayed it was not a lemon, too.
We got our Pinto back on Monday, and surprisingly enough, it turned out to be a pretty reliable little car.
Our search began for a modest, little family car, one bright and sunny Saturday morning. We lived in Maryland, near Washington D.C. and a friend had recommended a dealership in the nearby Virginia, so we traveled around the Washington Beltway, in search of a great deal.
The car dealer had a perfect little Pinto wagon for us, complete with all the features we desired. We signed on the dotted line, and were assured it would take just an hour or so to get it ready. This was a milestone in our lives. We were excited!
Well, one hour became two, and then three, and our enthusiasm was dwindling. My ankles were swelling, we were both becoming tired and cranky. “Just give us back our old car,” we suggested, “and we’ll just go home.” Amazingly, the new car was ready and we headed home.
We were barely six miles down the road, when the right front tire on the passenger side of the care blew out. Although the road was partially under construction, my husband was able to steer the car safely to the side of the road. He was furious!! “What if this had caused you to go into labor?!” he raged. Then, he set about changing the tire. I was of little help in my condition, so I just stood nearby, wringing my hands.
Suddenly, we heard a horn honking repeatedly. I was elated. I thought, “Someone is taking pity on this poor, pregnant lady and her frustrated husband, and he’s going to help us out of this dilemma!” I looked up and was greeted with the sight of several bare behinds hanging out of the car windows as it sped by us. I was shocked, appalled, mortified!!! What else could go wrong today?
We returned to the dealership for more waiting and more, somewhat heated, discussions. Finally, we were headed home again. Gratefully, we pulled into our driveway. As I wearily began rolling the window up, it fell right back into the door. It wouldn’t budge. I began to cry.
My husband shepherded me into the house and told me to take a nap. He drove back to the car dealership alone, for more waiting and even more heated negotiating. They gave us a loaner car for the weekend, and we prayed it was not a lemon, too.
We got our Pinto back on Monday, and surprisingly enough, it turned out to be a pretty reliable little car.
First Time Mother
Before you were born, I used to walk into your room at least 10 times a day. I would look into your crib and imagine what it would be like to have a “real baby” in there, along with the teddy bear and stuffed duck. I would open every drawer in your dresser, and fold and refold every diaper and tiny gown, wondering if all those ruffly things would look silly if you were a boy. I would sit in the rocking chair and imagine holding you and singing to you, and hearing you laugh and cry. I used to wonder if I’d be able to be a good mother, and your daddy wondered if you’d even like him…isn’t that silly?
Well, now that you are here, I still walk into your room at least 10 times a day. When I look into your crib, there is a real, precious baby girl in there now, sleeping so peacefully. Not wanting to wake you, I carefully open each dresser drawer, as I put away some freshly laundered clothes. Then I sit I the rocking chair for a moment’s rest from a busy day, and I wonder, “How did we ever get along without you?”
Thank you, Lord, for this precious gift you have bestowed upon us. Thank you for trusting us with the responsibility of being parents to this child. Please give us wisdom and patience and compassion as we try to raise her according to your will. In Jesus’ name, AMEN.
Well, now that you are here, I still walk into your room at least 10 times a day. When I look into your crib, there is a real, precious baby girl in there now, sleeping so peacefully. Not wanting to wake you, I carefully open each dresser drawer, as I put away some freshly laundered clothes. Then I sit I the rocking chair for a moment’s rest from a busy day, and I wonder, “How did we ever get along without you?”
Thank you, Lord, for this precious gift you have bestowed upon us. Thank you for trusting us with the responsibility of being parents to this child. Please give us wisdom and patience and compassion as we try to raise her according to your will. In Jesus’ name, AMEN.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
PREPARED, BUT UNPREPARED
My husband, Dave, and I anxiously awaited the arrival of our first child, after five years of marriage. We attend CEA sponsored “Prepared Childbirth” classes in the latter weeks of my pregnancy. We prepared our home for the new arrival, who was due April 1st. We were packed and ready to go to the hospital weeks in advance.
Well, April 1st came and went…not unusual for a first baby. Finally, on April 12th, at 10am, my membrane broke and I knew labor was imminent. We were calm and confident as we checking into the hospital at 3pm, after all, we had attended classes, read countless books and practiced breathing and relaxing techniques for weeks.
The time reached 8pm with no contractions, so the doctor began administering pitocin, to get my labor started. He also hooked me up to a fetal monitor. This required two belts to be fastened around my abdomen. One to measure the strength and duration of each contraction, and the other to record the baby’s heartbeat. This monitor was useful in predicting the start of each contraction, so I could use controlled breathing.
I remained on induced labor until 2:30am of the 13th, when my contractions started coming normally and without medication. I thought now that my labor was proceeding normally. However, after 4 hours of “natural” labor, and 10 hours of total labor, I was only 5 centimeters dialated and the doctor was very concerned. The bones in the baby’s head were beginning to mold over the top of each other and my cervix was closing up. Since my membrane had ruptured nearly 24 hours before (it’s not 6:30am), the doctor said a Caesarean Operation would be necessary. You could have knocked me over with a feather! This was not something we had prepared for. We never even considered that possibility.
I was bitterly disappointed that we could not complete a natural delivery. I was scared to death at the prospect of surgery. Although I had the option of a local anesthetic, I chose to be put out completely for the operation.
The nurses prepared me for surgery by thoroughly scrubbing and shaving my entire stomach area. Within seconds after the injection of sodium pentothal, I was totally unconscious. An incision was made vertically, beginning about 2 inches below my navel and extending about 6 inches downward. Our daughter was successfully removed from my belly, and the doctor stitched the incision. It required about 14 stitched to close. The entire procedure took about half an hour.
I woke up in the recovery room about 3 hours later. I could barely move. My arm was hooked up to an IV. A catheter was taped to my leg. The nurse was applying sterile dressing to the incision. She also massaged my stomach to help relieve gas that accumulates there after surgery.
I was still very sleepy, but anxious to see my husband my new baby. Finally, I was wheeled out of the recovery room. David and I gazed with amazement at our baby daughter inside an isolette in the observation nursery. That was another surprise…our baby was to be kept in isolation for 48 hours due to the possibility of infection from my water having broken so long before birth and all of the internal examinations required to check her progress.
The first day and night of recuperation were the most difficult. I felt so helpless! The anesthesia caused me to vomit twice. During the night I got tangled up in my bedcovers, and had to call the nurse to untangle me. My stomach ached. I hated being so dependent on the nurses. I also missed having a baby to feel every four hours, as my roommate did.
By the second morning I was up and walking to the bathroom supported on each side by a nurse. They showed me how to pull myself up out of bed with the bedrails. They encouraged me to get up and walk around as much as possible to speed the healing process. My stomach still hurt, I think mostly from the gas accumulated there. By, pain relievers were given to me every 4 hours, so I really wasn’t too uncomfortable.
By the third day I was moving around unassisted. After 2 days on a liquid diet, I was allowed to have solid foods. My daughter was out of isolation now, so she came to the room to be fed, just like all the other babies. My spirits were improving. Every day I felt better and stronger.
The real surprise came on Saturday, the 16th. When my doctor came in during morning rounds, he asked me if I’d like to go home that day. Since this was only the beginning of my 5th day, I thought he was kidding. But, he was serious. He arranged for me to come into his office to have the stitches removed early the next week.
My husband and my mother came to pick me up at the hospital. Since we hadn’t expected for me to be released so soon, it was a little hectic getting packed, gathering plants, books and other paraphernalia, as well as dressing the baby, but soon we were on our way home.
Having my mother there at home was a Godsend! Every day she cleaned my incision area and applied sterile dressings. She prepared the meals, did laundry and kept the house in order. She encouraged Dave and I to care for the baby ourselves, and offered advice, only when asked. We never could have made it through that first week without her!!
The hardest part of being at home was getting up and down. There were no bedrails to hold on to. All of the furniture at home is much lower and softer than hospital furniture. It took about a week to adjust to that. Gas pains continued for about a week, too.
Having the stitches removed was not as painful as I expected. It took only about 5 minutes. When it hurt a little, I used my Lamaze breath and tried to relax. It actually was a relief to have the stitches out. My stomach did not feel so tight anymore.
When I returned to the doctor’s office a month later, my incision was completely healed. He gave me a clean bill of health and said I was ready to climb mountains if I wanted to. He said I could have as many babies as I wanted, but that it would be wise to wait at least 6 months before becoming pregnant again. Subsequent deliveries would always be Caesarean, as well.
I do not fear the next delivery so much. I know now that a Caesarean is done only if it’s necessary…to save the life of the baby, or the mother, or both. You miss out on some of the joy of a natural delivery if you choose to be anesthetized, but you do have the option of a local anesthetic if you prefer to see your baby born. At any rate, the end result is the same. I have a beautiful, healthy daughter, even if she wasn’t delivered as we’d planned.
In conclusion, let me say that all pregnancies and deliveries are different. What I experienced may be entirely different from other Caesarean deliveries. However, I hope by sharing my experience, someone else may by just a little bit less frightened when the doctor says they must have a surgical delivery.
We had been thoroughly prepared for a natural delivery…but we knew nothing about Caesarean deliveries. It was frightening experience, mostly because of our lack of knowledge. Had we studied as much for a surgical delivery, our mental attitudes would have been much better. Next time the delivery date can be arranged in advance and I will know what to expect before, during, and after the delivery.
Well, April 1st came and went…not unusual for a first baby. Finally, on April 12th, at 10am, my membrane broke and I knew labor was imminent. We were calm and confident as we checking into the hospital at 3pm, after all, we had attended classes, read countless books and practiced breathing and relaxing techniques for weeks.
The time reached 8pm with no contractions, so the doctor began administering pitocin, to get my labor started. He also hooked me up to a fetal monitor. This required two belts to be fastened around my abdomen. One to measure the strength and duration of each contraction, and the other to record the baby’s heartbeat. This monitor was useful in predicting the start of each contraction, so I could use controlled breathing.
I remained on induced labor until 2:30am of the 13th, when my contractions started coming normally and without medication. I thought now that my labor was proceeding normally. However, after 4 hours of “natural” labor, and 10 hours of total labor, I was only 5 centimeters dialated and the doctor was very concerned. The bones in the baby’s head were beginning to mold over the top of each other and my cervix was closing up. Since my membrane had ruptured nearly 24 hours before (it’s not 6:30am), the doctor said a Caesarean Operation would be necessary. You could have knocked me over with a feather! This was not something we had prepared for. We never even considered that possibility.
I was bitterly disappointed that we could not complete a natural delivery. I was scared to death at the prospect of surgery. Although I had the option of a local anesthetic, I chose to be put out completely for the operation.
The nurses prepared me for surgery by thoroughly scrubbing and shaving my entire stomach area. Within seconds after the injection of sodium pentothal, I was totally unconscious. An incision was made vertically, beginning about 2 inches below my navel and extending about 6 inches downward. Our daughter was successfully removed from my belly, and the doctor stitched the incision. It required about 14 stitched to close. The entire procedure took about half an hour.
I woke up in the recovery room about 3 hours later. I could barely move. My arm was hooked up to an IV. A catheter was taped to my leg. The nurse was applying sterile dressing to the incision. She also massaged my stomach to help relieve gas that accumulates there after surgery.
I was still very sleepy, but anxious to see my husband my new baby. Finally, I was wheeled out of the recovery room. David and I gazed with amazement at our baby daughter inside an isolette in the observation nursery. That was another surprise…our baby was to be kept in isolation for 48 hours due to the possibility of infection from my water having broken so long before birth and all of the internal examinations required to check her progress.
The first day and night of recuperation were the most difficult. I felt so helpless! The anesthesia caused me to vomit twice. During the night I got tangled up in my bedcovers, and had to call the nurse to untangle me. My stomach ached. I hated being so dependent on the nurses. I also missed having a baby to feel every four hours, as my roommate did.
By the second morning I was up and walking to the bathroom supported on each side by a nurse. They showed me how to pull myself up out of bed with the bedrails. They encouraged me to get up and walk around as much as possible to speed the healing process. My stomach still hurt, I think mostly from the gas accumulated there. By, pain relievers were given to me every 4 hours, so I really wasn’t too uncomfortable.
By the third day I was moving around unassisted. After 2 days on a liquid diet, I was allowed to have solid foods. My daughter was out of isolation now, so she came to the room to be fed, just like all the other babies. My spirits were improving. Every day I felt better and stronger.
The real surprise came on Saturday, the 16th. When my doctor came in during morning rounds, he asked me if I’d like to go home that day. Since this was only the beginning of my 5th day, I thought he was kidding. But, he was serious. He arranged for me to come into his office to have the stitches removed early the next week.
My husband and my mother came to pick me up at the hospital. Since we hadn’t expected for me to be released so soon, it was a little hectic getting packed, gathering plants, books and other paraphernalia, as well as dressing the baby, but soon we were on our way home.
Having my mother there at home was a Godsend! Every day she cleaned my incision area and applied sterile dressings. She prepared the meals, did laundry and kept the house in order. She encouraged Dave and I to care for the baby ourselves, and offered advice, only when asked. We never could have made it through that first week without her!!
The hardest part of being at home was getting up and down. There were no bedrails to hold on to. All of the furniture at home is much lower and softer than hospital furniture. It took about a week to adjust to that. Gas pains continued for about a week, too.
Having the stitches removed was not as painful as I expected. It took only about 5 minutes. When it hurt a little, I used my Lamaze breath and tried to relax. It actually was a relief to have the stitches out. My stomach did not feel so tight anymore.
When I returned to the doctor’s office a month later, my incision was completely healed. He gave me a clean bill of health and said I was ready to climb mountains if I wanted to. He said I could have as many babies as I wanted, but that it would be wise to wait at least 6 months before becoming pregnant again. Subsequent deliveries would always be Caesarean, as well.
I do not fear the next delivery so much. I know now that a Caesarean is done only if it’s necessary…to save the life of the baby, or the mother, or both. You miss out on some of the joy of a natural delivery if you choose to be anesthetized, but you do have the option of a local anesthetic if you prefer to see your baby born. At any rate, the end result is the same. I have a beautiful, healthy daughter, even if she wasn’t delivered as we’d planned.
In conclusion, let me say that all pregnancies and deliveries are different. What I experienced may be entirely different from other Caesarean deliveries. However, I hope by sharing my experience, someone else may by just a little bit less frightened when the doctor says they must have a surgical delivery.
We had been thoroughly prepared for a natural delivery…but we knew nothing about Caesarean deliveries. It was frightening experience, mostly because of our lack of knowledge. Had we studied as much for a surgical delivery, our mental attitudes would have been much better. Next time the delivery date can be arranged in advance and I will know what to expect before, during, and after the delivery.
What I am doing...
My name is Jeannine Michele Jersey, and I am the first daughter of an amazing woman, Diane Jenkins Jersey, who dreamed of being a writer. After her death in 2000, we discovered some writings that she had tucked away over the years, and most recently, in 2007, we found a folder that even included a title page for her would-be book: Slices of Life by Diane Jenkins Jersey.
So, as a gift to my brother, Kevin Michael, and my sister, Jessica Lynne, and the rest of her beloved family, I am typing up these short stories, or as she called them, Slices of Life, and plan to give them to each family member for Christmas as a bound, bonafide novel...just as my mother always dreamed.
I look forward to getting to know her better through her own words, and bringing them to you, as I am able to type them up and post them here. Some of these stories will be funny, some heart wrenching, some are just meant to inform...but all of them come from an incredible source of wit, compassion, knowledge and love.
If you feel moved or touched by any of the following posts, please let me know...and share with your friends!
Take care, God Bless,
Jeannine Michele
So, as a gift to my brother, Kevin Michael, and my sister, Jessica Lynne, and the rest of her beloved family, I am typing up these short stories, or as she called them, Slices of Life, and plan to give them to each family member for Christmas as a bound, bonafide novel...just as my mother always dreamed.
I look forward to getting to know her better through her own words, and bringing them to you, as I am able to type them up and post them here. Some of these stories will be funny, some heart wrenching, some are just meant to inform...but all of them come from an incredible source of wit, compassion, knowledge and love.
If you feel moved or touched by any of the following posts, please let me know...and share with your friends!
Take care, God Bless,
Jeannine Michele
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)