From our family to yours ...

A little holiday merriment for your viewing pleasure! Enjoy!

American Girls, part 2

So much for my intentions to post the next day. Right before I left to take the girls to dance last week, my computer started smelling like it was on fire, and I've been having to beg, borrow, and steal computer time from the husband and kids. None of them are as unselfish with their machines as I wish they were (ha!)

So, the rest of the story ...

All the girls who had been chosen met in September for the first of several rehearsals and the moms were given a list of shoes, tights, slips, and other assorted accessories our daughters would need for the shows. What fun S, C and I had going shopping for all their necessities!

Even more fun was meeting such fantastic young ladies and their moms. For the duration of the rehearsals and performances, I ceased being "Sheryl" and became "Samantha's mom". Likewise, the other stage moms were known as "Kit's mom," "Addy's mom", or "Josefina's mom".

The only part of being a stage mom that I really didn't enjoy was not being allowed backstage once I dropped my daughters off for their call times. They entered through the stage door, and that was the last I saw of them until they appeared onstage, completely transformed by the hair stylists and a team of ladies backstage into young ladies from another era. Any mom who tried to sneak past Miss Nikki, the director, was quickly shown to the door. That was tough.

What was wonderful was seeing the amazing growth in confidence in S and C from the time of the audition until the time of the performances. S was so nervous on audition day, I was a little apprehensive she might throw up. None of that on show day, though! She awakened with a broad smile on her face and not one ounce of trepidation at the prospect of walking down a runway in front of a few hundred people. That alone made the experience worth it.

S summed it up best as we drove home after the second show on Saturday. "Wasn't today just magical, Momma?"

Yes, my American Girl, it surely was.

We were not permitted to take pictures during the rehearsals or shows, but I "sneaked" a few. Most were very dark and blurry, but here are a couple of the better ones. (There was a professional photog there, and I will be ordering better quality shots from her).

Each historical girl modeled several different outfits. This is Samantha's Christmas dress.

And this is the back view of one of Samantha's every day dresses. This is a big-girl version of the dress the Samantha doll wears when she arrives on some lucky girl's doorstep.

My American Girls

A few months back I was browsing the web site of an area arts center to see what kind of theater classes they offer for kids, and I saw a notice for upcoming auditions for an American Girl fashion show. They were looking for young ladies to model clothing in just two sizes, 6x and 10.

Completely convinced that neither of my girls would fit the height requirement, I decided that the experience of auditioning alone would be good for them. I have a theory that the sooner in life kids experience a little disappointment, the better. Nothing is ever gained by being a spectator in life, so I did a quick spiff-up after church one August afternoon and drove them to the arts center. I prepared them along the way that they would probably not be chosen, and if they weren't, it was no big deal. I told them that half the girls of northwest Arkansas would probably be there for auditions, and since there were only a handful who would be chosen, just to be prepared for anything. I assured them that I would be very proud of them just for trying.

We arrived about 15 minutes before the doors opened, and the line of mothers and their nervous daughters, many clutching American Girl dolls, already wound down the street. What we discovered was that not only had half of northwest Arkansas shown up, there were also girls from eastern Oklahoma and southern Missouri as well. This was a bigger deal than even I had imagined.

When the doors finally opened, and they allowed us in, it wasn't long before we saw little girls being turned away. Some didn't fall within the required height range. Others didn't have the necessary measurements around their midsection. When I saw a very beautiful girl sobbing, nearly having to be carried out by her mother, I began seriously questioning my own judgment. What were my motives for subjecting my own daughters to this?

We saw that scene repeated several times over the next half hour, and as I deliberated the pros and cons of taking S and C out of line and driving them home, I realized that both had made it through all the hurdles and were being invited into the auditorium to speak with the judges. They were given a brief set of instructions on how and where to walk across the stage, then given a question or two by the judges to answer. After that part of the process ended, we were allowed to leave with the promise that we would hear from the judges within a week.

At this point, we were hopeful that at least one of the girls would get a part but never dreamed that it would be both. You can only imagine my surprise the following week when I received an email notifying me that S had been cast as Samantha, one of the historical girls, and C as a Bitty Baby.

What an exciting moment it was as I shared with the girls the exciting news.

To be continued tomorrow ...

And I thought I was the only one

This guy could have been writing about me.

Changing the collective consciousness

Does this creep anybody else out besides me? This guy is NOT the messiah.

Wealthy beyond measure

I celebrated another birthday yesterday, and once again when my family began asking me several weeks ago about my wish list, I couldn't think of a single thing I wanted. Not one.

Gathered around the table a week or so ago, one of my daughters pointed out that she had almost 10 things on her wish list. "I have everything I have ever wanted and more," I explained. "I have Daddy, you guys, some great friends, a wonderful church, a roof over my head, and plenty of food to eat. What else could I possibly want?"

I've tried so hard to impart to my children attitudes that are in stark contrast to the consumerism that bombards us all daily. From every direction come messages that we must have have the best! the prettiest! the newest! the fastest! the coolest! the most technologically sophiscated! the most expensive! stuff available. No sooner do we get one new gadget out of the box and on its charger before something newer hits the market and suddenly the thing we have has lost its luster. It is no longer desirable to us, because our friend has something we regard as nicer.

What a trap.

Avoiding those messages is one of the primary reasons the televisions in our home stay off most of the time. I want my children to learn contentment. The kind that Paul wrote about in Philippians 4:10-14.

"I'm glad in God, far happier than you would ever guess ... Actually, I don't have a sense of needing anything personally. I've learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. I'm just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little. I've found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, hands full or hands empty. Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am" (The Message).

You can imagine my joy when last night before dinner, G-Man wanted to ask the blessing, and somewhere in the middle of it, he spoke these words: "And God, bless all the poor people and let them be rich just like we are. Give them jobs and food and money and a place to live."

May we all be filled to overflowing today with a sense of just how filthy stinkin' rich we really are. Not because our bank accounts say we are, but because of all that has been lavished upon us by God, the One who makes us who we are.

The best part of a spanking

A few days ago, the kids and I were running errands when G-Man remarked from the backseat about some mischief he was thinking about getting into. I can't remember the particulars now, but I do remember thinking how much I love five-year-old boys. They'll tell you anything. At least mine will. So, there he is sitting in the backseat dreaming up something naughty to do. Aloud.

I wasted no time telling him, "But, G, that's something that will get you in a LOT of trouble with Mommy and Daddy. I don't think that would be making a wise choice, do you?"

"No," he answered slowly.

"In fact," I continued just to make my point and drive it home well, "that would probably get you a spanking."

He sobered for a moment as if remembering how much he despises discipline of any variety, and then his face brightened. "But after the spankin' comes all the hugs and cuddles! That's my FAVORITE part!"

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"Hey G, here's an idea," one of his sisters volunteered, "why don't you just skip all the DISBEHAVIOR (dontcha just love that word??) and go straight for the hugs and cuddles? You don't have to act ugly to get attention."

That's some advice I hope he takes to heart. For a very long time.

A side of me you've never seen before

From YearbookYourself.com:

1996
1992
1978
1966
I saved the best for last ...1954

Yes, I already know I'm turning into my mother, so please don't leave me comments to that effect. It's scary, folks. Really scary.

Dear Mom

Two years ago at this very moment, I was standing beside your hospital bed in Litttle Rock watching you take your last breaths here on this earth. I simply cannot believe that this much time has passed.

I have replayed those last hours at least a million times in my mind since you left us, and although it still hurts that you're not here, I now understand that you couldn't stay any longer, and I'm okay with that.

The kids and I talk about you all the time and speculate on how you and Aunt Mary are spending your time beyond the pearly gates. Just this morning as we walked to school, Big Sister wondered aloud if the two of you celebrated your birthdays at Luby's by sharing a dessert.

We will celebrate your birthday tomorrrow with one of your famous chocolate cakes and will send up a big bunch of balloons and sing Happy Birthday. I have to believe that you can hear us and that it makes you smile to know your special day is not forgotten.

Thanks once again for all the love you gave so freely and the wonderful memories you left us to remember. You will never be forgotten.

As if life weren't complicated enough

I was standing in my driveway a couple of days ago visiting with my father-in-law and his lady friend when the mailman made his rounds through our neighborhood. I sent Big Sister to the mailbox to see if we'd finally gotten our notice from Ed McMahon that he would be bringing us a check for millions. No such luck. Big Sister placed in my hands a manilla envelope addressed to me, and immediate dread washed over me.

I'd been summoned for jury duty for the next three months.

"Oh. No." I said and closed my eyes. "Why me? Why now?"

Now let me just say right now that I am a firm believer in doing one's civic duty. I am a registered voter. I actually do make it to the polls for (most) elections. I pay taxes and try to stay abreast of local, state, and national issues . I help old ladies across the street and never, ever speed while driving. I am a model citizen.

But jury duty? Really. I have no time for this. I work a full-time job and have a few little part-time gigs on the side. I am a wife, mother, homemaker and am now taking classes to apply to nursing school next year. I hardly have time to eat and sleep these days.

"No problem," FIL said, grinning. "After you tell them that you're married to a cop, despise all attorneys, and believe that insurance companies are always wrong because of a judgment that didn't go in your favor 20 years ago, they'll never call you up."

I have never been so tempted to take bad advice in my life. Didn't say I was gonna, I'm just tempted, that's all.

News to me

Just about the time I was sure all the bills from my four-day vacation had rolled in (to the tune of over $45,000 ... praise God for good insurance!) I found in my mailbox today a $1250 bill for ... are you ready for this? A PROSTATECTOMY!

Wouldn't you think that someone at the insurance company would question why (and how) the same patient could have a uterus and prostate removed?

Wanna guess who I'll be calling first thing Monday morning?

The observation of a child

If it seems like I've forgotten about the blog lately, it's because I have! About 10 days before the kids started back to school, I was lying in bed one night drifting off to sleep, and the thought suddenly went through my mind, "You know, I always said when I get all my kids in school, I'm going back and finishing that nursing degree I started working on eons ago. HOLYSMOKES ... ALL MY KIDS ARE ABOUT TO BE IN SCHOOL!!!!!!!!!"

No joke. I was out of bed and on the internet in 2.3 seconds flat. Within 72 hours I had been readmittted to the university and enrolled in the only pre-req for nursing school that I could possibly take this semester.

The only hitch has been that I'm homeschooling my oldest this year, so I tote her along with me to class two mornings a week. What a hoot that has been.

We sit in the very top row of a large auditorium, and she takes her computer and books along with the hope that she can "do school" while I "do school". After the first class, as we walked back to the bus stop, I asked her what she thought.

"I think you're going to make an A+ in that class, Momma, because you're not sitting there texting all your friends while class is going on."

Oh, how times have changed since I took my first college class more than 20 years ago!

Peace ... and progress

I spent a couple of hours tonight at Wal-Mart doing the weekly grocery shopping thing. The store is in the midst of a complete remodel (I'll save my very strong feelings on that for another post), and in the giant turnover that has relocated all health and beauty products just past the rows of school supplies, I found myself carefully navigating my cart between MANY buggies driven by parents obviously on a last-minute quest for crayons and pencils.

The whole experience brought back memories of last year and my 9 p.m. shopping trip the night before school started. The depths of self-loathing for my procrastinatic (is that even a word?) tendencies reached new levels. This is going to sound really judgmental, but I looked at the other people who had put off purchasing their children's supplies until they couldn't put it off any longer, and ~ honestly ~ I could not for the life of me see myself as one of them.

I vowed that night to get a grip, plan better, and not get myself in last-minute races against time that send my blood pressure into dangerous territory.

A year later, I can't say that I NEVER put off important tasks, but there's a whole lot less of that nonsense going on that ever before in my four decades of living.

Some noteworthy examples:

In May, at the end of the school year, I had my grades ready THREE DAYS before they were due in the office.

I now plan all meals a week in advance and make one grocery trip each weekend. It is very rare that I make a mid-week trip to the store for something I forgot or we ran out of.

Last year, I'm sure I bought at least a dozen new books for the Fayetteville Public Library with all the overdue fines I paid. We haven't had an overdue library book since April. (I began writing down due dates in my planner and scheduling library trips in advance instead of waiting until overdue notices started showing up in my mailbox.

My kids' school supplies were purchased two weeks ago and have been bagged and labeled for the first day of school.

Now ~ my next big goal ~ to get them all to school ON TIME for an entire school year. Ambitious? Yes. Attainable? We'll see!

The devil made me do it

Posting has been sparse these days, because, frankly, I've been feeling whiny. Each time I've been tempted to sit down and complain at my keyboard, the words of my mother echo in my mind, "If you can't say anything nice, it's best not to say anything at all." And since I haven't been able to think of much that would be edifying, I've just chosen to remain silent.

In case you're wondering what's been getting under my craw, here's a brief summary:

• I underwent major surgery seven weeks ago yesterday.
  
• I was discharged from the hospital with a large open wound.
  
• I was started on a wound vac about 10 days after surgery.
  
• The wound vac did its work in nearly three weeks.
  
• It only weighed about 7 pounds but by the end of the day felt more like 40.
  
• The next mode of treatment came with a prohibition against getting it wet.
  
• Sponge baths in the hottest part of summer don't really cut it as far as I'm concerned.

This morning as I was preparing to flip my hair over the side of the tub for its daily lathering, something overcame me that I could NOT resist. I tried, I really did. But the fact that I was going to see Nurse Nancy at the wound clinic in less than an hour dispelled any concerns I might have about soaking my bandages. Gleefully, I jumped in the shower, and oh. my. goodness. Intoxicating is the word that comes to mind. I stood there with the water flowing over me, realizing again just how much we take for granted in the normal course of life. I've had some amazing showers over the years (the ones after long camping trips are the best!), but this one took the cake. I emerged afterward feeling cleaner than I have in, well, SEVERAL weeks.

When I saw Nancy a little while later, I confessed before she even had a chance to see how mangled my dressings had become. Her response? "Good for you!" She even gave me instructions on my way out the door to enjoy another shower before I come in and see her Friday morning.

I wonder if that was her very kind way of telling me that the sponge baths aren't really cutting it in this 100-plus infernal Arkansas heat??

We may need a few history lessons ...

My nine-year-old niece is here visiting this week. She, along with my two girls, loves nothing more than to write, produce, and perform "shows" for us. The production the girls are working on for tonight is based on The Great Depression, they announced earlier this morning.

They've been hard at work on costumes, script, and songs, and just a few minutes ago I heard the (very loud) strains of this song coming from the living room:

"The Great, The Great Depression
It really was so great.
The Great, The Great Depression
It really was so great!"

Hmm ... I'm thinking when we make our usual Tuesday visit to the library tomorrow, I'm going to make a few selections from the American History section for their, um, enlightenment.

Tooth Fairy Humor

Not too long ago, Middle C was beginning her last week of kindergarten and from out of the depths of her six-year-old imagination, a vision occurred to her. She would join the ranks of her snaggle-toothed friends for the final days of school.

Never mind that she had already lost multiple bottom teeth.

And never mind that none of her top teeth were loose. Much.

It was destined to become reality, that snaggle-toothed vision of hers.

And so, one night during that final week of kindergarten, C shared her glorious dream with me and went to work with tissue and dental floss to remove the unwanted dentition.

Here's a play-by-play description of how things went down:

Just getting started

>Looking a little like Nanny McPhee

>Mission accomplished!

And so on that note, I leave you with a little Tooth Fairy humor. Watch to the end ... the last line is worth it all!

The adoration of a child

I was curled up in bed tonight beside the little man, and he was reading to me. Suddenly, he rolled over toward me and with complete adoration in his eyes, he placed his hand on my face and said, "Momma, I sure like the way God made you."

My heart dissolved in that moment, and I was just about ready to say, "Oh, G, I sure like the way God made you, too," when his expression and tone completely changed, and he pointed to my lip and added, "except for that bump on your lip!"

Aw, the honesty of children!

Bye, Bye Betsy

After having my constant companion for 17 days, Betsy is gone. She did the work she was asked to do, I recharged her batteries nightly, and now we are moving on to another form of wound closure.

As I passed through the wound center waiting room today, I walked by a man about my age who was strapped to his own Betsy. I gave him the most sympathetic look I could and then, for some reason, felt compelled to share the news that I WAS FREE FROM MY WOUND VAC, OH HALLELUJAH.

I wasn't sure whether my news would make him feel better or worse, but it sure made me feel better to share my glee with the waiting room. And now with you, all my friends on the internet.

Betsy even went with me to the firing range a couple of times to shoot my new handgun. I'll have to do a separate post on that sweet lil thang.

I love this age

With the addition of a wound V.A.C. to my care, the visits to the wound clinic have slowed from daily to just three times a week. For the first couple of weeks after surgery, my mother-in-law was driving over daily to take care of the kids while I made the rounds between my various and assorted doctors.

In case you haven't noticed, gas prices aren't cheap these days, and I started feeling a little guilty about all the fuel I was costing her.

So, over this past weekend, I decided to try taking The Musketeers with me to see if they might be able to manage themselves in the waiting room during my dressing changes.

We went through the whole list of "be on your best behavior" rules, and they assured me that of course they would behave, so I was a little caught off guard when The Little Man walked through the doors of the clinic and within 2.4 seconds was plastered against the fish tank in the waiting room, yelling, "LOOK, MOMMA, IT'S A DEAD FISH! A DEAD FISH! DO YOU SEE IT???" I tried without much success to divert his attention to a nearby table where his sisters were already setting up a game of Hi-Ho Cherry-O, but the fish corpse had all of his attention. "SO, MOMMA, DO YOU THINK THAT FISH IS DEAD OR JUST DYING?"

There were probably a couple dozen patients waiting, and I'm sure you can imagine the smirks and snickers we got.

Fast forward to my appointment today. I went through all the rules again in the car, being sure to emphasize the "No Yelling" rule. All nodded their heads and affirmed that they would behave like perfect angels.

The rules were forgotten, however, the second The Little Man walked through the door and spied the aquarium again. He raced over, noticed another black fish in the tank, and I watched as his eyes grew wide. He turned and yelled, "MOMMA, LOOK, IT'S A MIRACLE! GOD RAISED THE LITTLE FISHIE FROM THE DEAD! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???"

Oh, the wonder of being five.

Sporting the latest in summertime fashion ...

I got my wound V.A.C. yesterday. It wasn't at all what I was expecting.

My assumption: A tiny little thing that I could wear inconspicuously on (or under) my clothing that would be silent and, well, inconspicuous.

My reality: A purse-sized pump that must be worn across the shoulder that makes periodic noises that sound like farts.

The doctor and nurse who put on the V.A.C. assured me that once patients get used to carrying it around, most of them "love" it (no kidding, they really said that) and just carry on, business as usual.

Okay.

I had a prescription to fill last night, so I swallowed my pride and made up my mind I would ignore any sideways glances or staring I might get and headed off to Wal-Mart after dinner. As I stood at the pharmacy counter, handing the tech my prescription, Betsy (I figure if it's got to be a part of my life for several weeks, it might as well have a name) decided to start growling and tooting. Not certain whether the guy heard it or not, I figured my best bet was just to raise the volume of my voice and hope that he's familiar enough with medical devices to know one when he hears one.

Almost as bad as the gassy sounds is the fact that this thing is continuously pumping blood and other gack from my incision, and if you happen to look at the wrong time, you're likely to see all manner of nastiness surging through the tubing.

And I'm going to learn to love this thing like a dog loves ticks.

The one positive is that they taped me up so securely yesterday when I got Betsy that I no longer have the creepy sensation that all my innards are about to fall out. That's the thing about open abdominal wounds. You can know in your head that an incision is only 3 cm deep, but there is an irrational fear that it is much deeper, and if you lean in the wrong direction, all kinds of essential body parts are just going to tumble out. It's very disconcerting and a sensation I've tried to control by wrapping my midsection very tightly with an Ace bandage (over all my other dressings).

This is a part of the recovery process I could definitely have done without, but I'm going to give Betsy a real chance today, on this our first full day of partnership, and perhaps this arrangement can be terminated before too long.