We like to get fruit and cream bars from our Schwan man. There is no sugar in them; they are sweetened with fruit juice, and there is only fifty calories in each bar. Victoria was eating one the other day, and she explained to us that the bar was too sour for her teeth, so she had to lick it.
We canceled church Wednesday night, and Jr. Choir was canceled Thursday night, because people were painting the inside of the church. That is, that is what they said they were doing; but, every morning, the painters had a See-Who-Can-Slam-The-Van-Door-The-Hardest-And-Most-Quickly-In-Succession Contest. At least, that’s what it sounded like.
This week I finished two Easter dresses for Victoria and sewed a three-tiered skirt for Hannah, and soon I will make her a coordinating jacket. It was supposed to be for her birthday... but the scamp was rooting around in my sewing drawer for a glue stick for her hot glue gun, and found that material all cut out. Since part of the material had been given her as a birthday present by the Haddock girls, she came out quickly and asked me (trying to be ever so polite, but looking just a wee bit anxious), "Who did you cut that blue material out for?" (She thought I'd forgotten a couple of the pieces were hers, and had cut it out for one of her little sisters.)
"You, you snoop!" I exclaimed. "What were you doing in that drawer??!!"
(Of course, 'that drawer' has never been off limits before, so how should she know it was, now?) Anyway, now she knows, so I'll let her help pick out the pattern I will use for the jacket.
Victoria’s second Easter dress is white eyelet with tiny lavender and pink flowers, and its skirt is made up of three separate tiers. It really turned out cute; I’m pleased with it.
I’ve often wondered, have I raised a pack of squirrels? They all--every last one of them--have this strange tendency to pirate away food they want, but are too full to eat at the moment. I find petrified nuggets here, UFOs--unidentified food objects--there. The littles were getting mini shredded wheats out of the box, discussing how many they ought to take for their school snack. Teddy dutifully read the back of the box:
“Five pieces equal one serving,” he intoned solemnly.
The littles dutifully collected themselves five apiece. Lydia looked into her baggie, dissatisfied.
“This isn’t very much,” she objected.
Caleb, busily tucking his into a bag, glanced her way. “Just break them in half, Lydia,” he told her in all sincerity, “and then you’ll have ten.”
When Keith and Hannah were about ages 5 and 4, they were sitting at the table, each with a cup of corn chex… and they had just counted their pieces.
Keith said, “You have more than me.”
Hannah reached over, put her fist into his cup, and pushed. Crackle, crackle, said the corn chex.
“There. Now you have more than me,” said Hannah.
One day, while using the computer, Joseph sent a post without signing it. Then he leaned back in his chair, made a face, and said, “Oh, rats. I forgot my name.”
So Teddy helpfully told him, “It’s Joseph.”
Did I ever tell you the story of when some of the Wright sisters used to babysit for me when my parents were gone, when I was about six years old, and Mr. Wright thought it was his bounded duty to check the house for Boogey Men? Well, Mr. Wright would come into our house with one of his daughters and I... and he would tell us in a sinister tone, "Now you girls stay right here in the living room, while I check out the house." And he would begin his rounds.
Now, I knew good and well that if my parents knew he did this, they would put an immediate stop to the Wright girls babysitting for me. They were not fearful or anxious sorts, and they would not have appreciated him frightening their daughter. I was not frightened, however. I was immensely entertained. And I loved the Wrights, and did not want to have anybody else stay with me.
Well, one day I decided that it was time to entertain Mr. Wright--just to liven things up a bit, you know. So, when Mr. Wright headed down the stairs, I waited silently, listening carefully, until I knew he was in the bedroom directly under the kitchen. Then I got up and told Leanne, "I just have to go to the restroom (it was the only thing I could think of doing that she would readily agree to); I'll be right back." So ...I walked down the hall, peeked over my shoulder, saw Leanne was not looking my way, and shut the bathroom door... letting her think I was INSIDE.
In truth, I had dived backwards into the room on the other side of the hall--a room which lead into the kitchen, and from there--I could go right down the basement steps. I flew down the stairs on tiptoe, hardly breathing, trying to get to the bedroom at the opposite end of the basement from where Mr. Wright was cautiously checking under beds, in closets, and making sure all the windows were locked tight... I skedaddled into the as-yet-unchecked bedroom... and dashed headlong into the closet, which was full of the clothes my sister Lura Kay was storing there, having very little room in her small trailer... and I buried myself behind all those clothes.
Meanwhile, I could hear Mr. Wright methodically making his way through the basement. He had already thoroughly spooked himself, nearly convincing himself that surely, sometime, somewhere, he was going to run into one of those Boogey Men for whom he so diligently searched... His footsteps came closer...and closer...and closer...I got ready-----
He walked into the room. I held my breath. He checked under the bed. He reached up and checked the lock on the window. His steps drew nearer to the closet. He slid the door open...
And, at that very instant, I shoved an entire armload of clothes forward, right into the poor man's terrified face, and yelled, "BOOOOOOOOO!!!!"
Poor Mr. Wright. He leaped straight through the ceiling, traveled through the upper bedroom without slowing, and went right on into the attic and out through an air vent. He got to the height of about 75 feet--all the while, singing a strange, high-pitched note--before descending and coming back down to earth. I feel quite sure that, had that episode not happened to him, he would've lived nicely to the age of 103. But, being a young insensitive larker, I thought this whole thing so mightily hilarious that I spilled the beans--......I told my parents.
And just like I had known would happen (but had momentarily forgotten), they ended the Wright babysitting interludes; I had to stay with others who would not frighten their daughter so.
Huh?
I was very sad. I was repentant. I was sorry. But it didn't do any good; I still had to stay elsewhere. And that was that.
We especially enjoy the Reader's Digest wildlife videos. Whoever wrote the narrative was genuinely funny. (But we are keeping a finger on the fast forward button....) (preserving the sensibilities of the young and the old alike, you know) (after all, they are not accustomed to watching leopards devour cute little baby gnus) But the springboks are hilarious!--and so is this frog-like lizard, called a fringe-toed lizard, that lives in the desert. He first held up back left leg and front right leg, then abruptly switched to back right leg and front left leg, in order to keep from burning his tootsies.
You know, in retrospect, that may not have been a springbok. It could very well have been Al Gore.
Our animals like string cheese: We toss a piece to the dog... then to the cat... the dog is polite, and lets the cat eat; but the cat tries to run and grab the dog's treat right out from under her nose. Aleutia turns her head the other way and looks as sad and woebegone as if somebody bonked her on the head with a frying pan...so we give her an extra big piece, the next time--at which the cat complains, "MRROOWRR!"
Even so, cats are wonderful creatures…they are uproariously funny when they are skidding wildly all over the floor in hot pursuit of a piece of yarn that one of the littles is dragging around... Joseph likes to drag the string up over my desk chair--and then Kitty follows it, up and over the back of the chair, and lands right in my chair behind me! (yes, I lean forward...) (she has NOT been declawed)
Thursday, the children--all but Victoria--went ice skating on the lagoon at Pawnee Park. They came home for supper--pizza--and then they went back again, taking their father with them.
Friday night, some of the kids went skating again--all but Victoria. She, feeling a bit left out and forlorn, got out lavender and purple mittens, put them on, and then donned a pair of lion’s-head earmuffs. Sometime later, she could stand those uncomfortable earmuffs no longer, no matter how cute they were. Removing them, she exclaimed, “I’ve got to take these earaches off!”
Larry said that when he arrived at Pawnee Park to check on the children, there was a little kid in brown overalls and gray sweatshirt and navy face mask, riding on a sled, our friend Jerry Anderson pulling him lickety-split in zigzags and spirals and circles, and he was giggling and laughing in delight--it was Caleb, of course.
Meanwhile, Bobby, Hannah, and Dorcas went to Fremont. They found a warm black velvet coat with a hood with fur around it at the Goodwill, for Dorcas. It looks brand new--and it only cost $17. Bobby donated $3 to the cause--and refused to be paid back; that’s just the sort he is. Dorcas was delighted--she’s been needing a warm coat ever since last year. The next day, she trotted off to Wal-Mart and bought an adorable black velour and velvet hat to match her coat. She looks like she stepped straight off the pages of Spiegel, in that outfit.
Saturday afternoon, the kids went to Pawnee Park to skate again…and, this time, Victoria got to go. She was tickled pink. Everybody told her, as they arrived, “Be careful! It’s really slick!”
Victoria said, “Okay,” and took off like a shot across the pond, running with all her might and main. For all her harum-scarum ways, she only fell once, and it didn’t seem to faze her. Sometimes she rode on the sled; sometimes she pulled the sled--empty, of course. Sometimes Caleb rode on the sled while others pulled him; and then he decided that he should really return the favor, so he tried pulling Lydia. But she is enough heavier than Caleb that all he could do was go round and round in circles. It was a tossup who was laughing harder--Lydia, or Caleb. We found Caleb’s Dalmation boots--the ones we got him in Colorado the time there was a snow-storm while we were there--and they fit Victoria perfectly, and she is absolutely, totally delighted with them. She clomped around in them all day today--when we were not at church, that is.
Saturday evening, we practiced with the Wrights’ quartet Pull for the Shore, Sailor, until John’s voice gave out. He has a cold, and the smell of paint in the church didn’t help matters. So I took the quartet’s place, singing O Glorious Love. We also practiced with our group of double sisters --Kay, Evelyn, Julie, and Amanda--singing The Lights of Home. There were air purifiers and ozone machines of all types going in the church, but the paint smell was still quite strong. It hurt our throats and eyes and noses, and made our heads pound. Luckily, by Sunday everything smelt fine, and we all muddled through the day nicely.
Tonight after church, Larry and I went back to record some songs. We used one of our tape players, hooking it into the new mike and speaker system, and we wound up with the best recordings we have ever had.
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