over the river and through the woods

to the sand dunes we go??!

Well, that is, if we ever brave the rain and actually pack our piles out to the toy hauler.  Yes, it's a dark & wet day...makes me crave just-out-of-the-oven cookies and a comfy window perch, good book in hand.  The truck window might do...will have to do..and the pie in my oven is almost done baking.  The big feat will be nudging Jim out of his cozy reading spot this morning.  It's just a homey sort of day.  The sort where I'm stalling packing my goods out (to the toy hauler (in the rain)).

It's no secret that I've been reticent about Thanksgiving at the dunes this year.  And when I review my reasons, it doesn't add up.  We love our Scott dune trips.  The boys are easy.  We get to relax.  Family is everywhere.  Then it hit me...the only other time we Thanksgivinged at the dunes was. not. fun.  No time for the story now, but here's a quick glimpse: picture me & Jim shouting it out in front of a whole bunch of folded-armed-ready-to-bless-the-feast folk.  And I'm really much more of a shout it out in private type.  Mortifying.  And all about mashed potatoes.

Almost as mortifying as the fact that I paid $50 for a $22 turkey this year.  I needed a fresh one last Tuesday to take to the meat processing place where they magically smoke turkey into something much more divine.  There are three grocery stores near my house.  I called all and only one carried fresh turkeys.  I needed it (and Now), so I didn't blink at the $48 tag on the bird.

[Interruption:  Jim just came in.  From his cozy.  And he looked at me.  No doubt wondering why I'm blogging when we plan to leave in an hour.  So I say, "I don't know why I'm blogging when we plan to leave in an hour."  And he says, "Because people have all kinds of emotional problems."  So I nod.  So he continues, "And we just happen to exhibit most of them."  Indeed.]

Anyhow...if anyone is still reading this ramble...I dropped off my giant, expensive turkey.  And the next day I went to Costco.  Where the same bird wore a $22 tag.  Damn him.  Or them.  Or whatever.  

And now Jim is in the bedroom singing a song about my frontal cortex something-or-other.  I'm not sure what that means.  But I can guess what he means.

I'm sure we'll get to packing out sometime today.

SPT: ♥

This is me with my sister Megan. She's my hero today...has been for much of this year, in fact.

One year ago she didn't know the difference between an atrium and a ventricle.

She didn't know any sign language.

She didn't know this boy, her Caleb.

But now she does. 

She also now knows how to insert a feeding tube.  How to make headbands that hold a bone conduction hearing aid.  How to accept and ask for help.  How to navigate through five doctor's appointments a week, three littles in tow.  How to relinquish control.  How to sleep little, pray often, and love so. so. much.

And this morning she has to learn how to put her boy in someone else's arms.  To hand him over to the Lord (literally) as she hands him over to a nurse (bodily).  Who will take him to a doctor.  Who will open his chest.  And fix his heart. 

While she waits.

We are waiting with you, Megs & Tom.

With Prayer and Love and Faith.

to parent or not to parent

I’m wondering if I need to make a “shameful parenting” tag.

There has been a recent (and welcome) development in our home. Aidan is always the first to wake up, and in the past this meant an instant trip to my bedside where he’d either tell me to scoot over or demand breakfast. And I’m a morning dreamer. From 6-7 am it’s pretty much guaranteed that I’m in the throes of some fantastic plot. So, as much as I crazy love this child, it’s difficult for me to deal with 6:30 hunger pangs or conversation (because “scoot over” never means more sleep).

Well, for the past week or so, Aidan has become an independent a.m.-er. The boy wakes up and simply does his own thing. And shameful parenting ensues. Because I lie in bed, weighing the worth of sleep. I hear him rummage through a cupboard. Worth it. Something drops. Worth it. TV goes on. Worth it. The cozy keeps me through it all.

Sunday morning:

STRIKE 1:   Aidan quickly answers the door when there is a knock at 9:30. Boys do not answer doors without parents in my world. But I’m in no way presentable (and Jim is still sleeping soundly) so I stand at the top of the stairs, relieved when it’s our nice neighbor, embarrassed that our boys are obviously unsupervised, unwilling to intercede because I’m half-dressed.

STRIKE 2:   So I cringe. at the top of the stairs. through this conversation.

Neighbor: “We saw Davyn in the front yard earlier and just wanted to make sure that you guys were safe.”

Aidan: “Oh ya, we had some things to check out, but we’re good.”

Neighbor: “Where are your mom and dad?”

Aidan: “They’re sleeping.”

Neighbor (who I hope is not calling CPS right now): “Okay...well, close the door and stay inside when I leave.”

Kids outside (why didn't I hear that?!).  Not worth it.

STRIKE 3:   Okay I’m not sure if this is a poor parenting strike, but it definitely has the potential. And this one is a la Jim. I was studying my lesson upstairs and he was kindly taking care of breakfast. He has always been an inventive cook, but I laughed at his: “I warmed up a sugar cookie from the freezer, fried an egg and served it on top of the cookie”. Seriously? A fried egg on top of a microwaved sugar cookie.

So this morning when I got up late (because Aidan no longer comes to my bedside but was outside on the jungle gym practicing the all-important monkey bars.  Worth it. because it's Monday and I promsie to be better tomorrow)...I asked what they wanted for breakfast.

Yep, you guessed it. A unanimous “Eggs and cookie!”

I made eggs.  And toast. Then put a cookie on the side. We’ll babystep our way into this Monday morning.  And I'll babystep my way into regaining parental control of our a.m.'s.

he's a sly one...

Today I was working (playing??...it gets so confusing, really, but I'm sure it was very important) on the computer. Aidan wanted me to see something downstairs and NOW. So he came and asked. Me: “I’m in the middle of something.” Two minutes later he was back. “Give me a few minutes.” A few more minutes. “Almost done.” You see the pattern (and shameful parenting in action!). Well, eventually A disappeared and I smiled to myself, thinking I’d outstubborned him.  I had no time to revel because that thought was immediately interrupted by a knock on the door. I jumped up and ran down stairs.

To be greeted by a grinning Aidan with these words: “I knew that would get you down here.”

I may outstubborn him, but the boy definitely outsmarts me.

SPT: besitos

from Reagan