This morning I stayed home from church with Caleb and Victoria. Joseph was sick, too. Several of the children have not felt well this week, having colds, headaches, fever, sore throats, and so forth. Victoria has been sick ever since last Sunday night.
Last Monday, she was happily putting puzzles together when the older children came home from school. Leaping to her feet, she dashed to the door to greet them, then abruptly slowed and walked forward, head tipped, eyebrows arched in the middle, genre Cocker Spaniel.
“I’m really-really-really-really sick,” she explained in a woebegone voice.
Starting next month, David has so many jobs lined up, his crews will have a hard time getting everything done; there will be plenty of hours then. But most of the customers don’t want them starting a job until March at the earliest, on account of the weather.
One night, Larry made us Mexican omelets. Mmmmm… a perfect midnight snack! Don’t be chintzy with the picanté sauce, please.
I discovered at a quarter after twelve Tuesday that that was the day Teddy was to go to the doctor in Lincoln for his checkup. Aarrgghh! It was time to go, and we weren’t ready! Fortunately, the doctor is always running extremely late, so even when we get there half an hour late, we often have an hour and a half to wait.
Both the doctor and the therapist said Teddy was doing very well, much better than expected, and would not have to come back. Teddy asked the doctor if he could go ice skating, and the doctor gave him permission.
“Would you tell that to my mother?” asked Teddy, and the doctor and nurse both laughed.
In the meanwhile, the rest of us had gone to the farthest reaches of the huge waiting room, rather than the front, where we usually sat, where the toes of our shoes bore the brunt of the influx of traffic. It was on the opposite side from the toys, but we took several toys and books with us.
Eventually, Teddy came back out, and we left and went to see the therapist. He had Teddy pinch some sort of little gauge between thumb and index finger while making a fist--first his right, then his left hand. It measures the pressure in pounds, and Teddy pinched thirty pounds with his right hand, and twenty-six pounds with his left. The therapist afterward came into the waiting room to talk to me (this was the first time I didn’t go with Teddy into the examining room or the therapy room) (yes, he is getting all growed up, I know; but you see, Teddy is quite skilled at condensing a two-hour conversation into a mere sixty seconds flat, and sometimes I want the unabridged version). The man told me that it is normally only the 6’8” 245-pound football players who can pinch that much pressure.
“Teddy is an exceptionally strong young man,” he told me, causing Teddy’s ears to brighten considerably.
“Does that mean I should start being nice to him?” I asked.
He laughed. “Naaa,” he replied, “If you haven’t already, and are none the worse for it, might as well hold your position!”
Sounds like a football-player’s therapist, yes?
Upon leaving the therapist’s office, we went to Gateway Mall, where we bought presents for Lawrence and Norma, whose anniversary was the 14th; for Loren and Janice, whose anniversary was the 13th, and for some friends of ours whose 25th anniversary was the 7th.
But of far the most importance was the opal ring and silver musical jewelry box Teddy got for Amy. The box was heart-shaped and had intricate silver scrollwork all over it, with a shiny silver heart in the center, which we had engraved with Amy’s name.
By the time we left the shopping center an hour later, the children were half starved half to death. It was most definitely time to eat. I spotted an Arby’s, and pulled into the nearest drive. It was dark already, and hard to see, and there was snow piled high along all the curbs. I wound up pulling into Amigos instead…but I like Amigos better anyway.
Teddy said, “Oh, this is Amigos.”
Caleb said hurriedly, doubtless wanting Mexican food, just like me, “It doesn’t matter, because there’s still some food here.”
A heavy mist came down, all day that day. And the temperature was falling slowly… When we left Lincoln, it was 31°. The roads were not yet icy, however, and we traveled along nicely until we got to David City, where we made one of our many necessary pit stops.
I jumped out of the Suburban--and immediately discovered it was slick. “Careful!” I cried to the children, who were in various processes of clambering out of the vehicle, “It’s really slippery out here!”
I reached for Victoria, helped her out, and took her hand. She, not in the least concerned about dicey traction of the foot, took off on a dead run. Since it was windy and cold, and the snow was swirling down faster every minute, I didn’t complain; I merely loped along with her--until she tried to jump a puddle and her feet suddenly flew out from under her. I hung onto her hand, and managed, with difficulty, to keep her--and myself--from falling. I think we probably looked something like a centipede doing an interpretation of a millipede.
“Whewweee!” she gasped, when she was finally safely upright again. “That was sure a good thing I was holding your hand, or you might have fallen down!”
“Well, it was your fault I ever slipped in the first place, because you were being such a maniac!” I objected, scowling.
“Oh,” said she, only slightly humbled.
I recalled a time when Lydia was a baby, and an ice storm had struck while we were en route somewhere or other. We stopped at an Interstate rest area. Since Lydia was asleep, I stayed in the car while the children all prepared to go inside the large tourist center, hurriedly zipping coats and tying hoods.
Keith, who was eleven, jumped out and fell flat. He scrambled to his feet and proceeded on with new caution. Hannah, age ten, concurrently climbing out on the other side, lost her footing and went down. She got up carefully and walked gingerly toward the building. Dorcas, who was nine, had seen both her brother and her sister fall…but being the eternal optimist that she is, never dreamed it could happen to her.
She leaped out with neither caution nor prudence.
SPLAT. Down she went. She struggled up, grasping the door handle to assist herself, and went slowly toward the tourist’s quarters, a bit wiser about the ways of icy streets and sidewalks.
Joseph, age seven, was next, and he did no better than his siblings before him. Furthermore, because he had on a pair of bulky boots that seemed to tangle themselves around the other leg at every step, he couldn’t seem to get to his feet without assistance from Larry. The rest of the way to the building, he not only slipped and slid, but he also tripped and stumbled over those boots with almost every other step.
Larry gingerly stepped out, helped Hester, age three, from the vehicle, and started for the tourist center/restrooms. I don't believe Hester found her footing the entire distance, and her uncontrolled flailing made it difficult for her father to stay on his feet. They slipped, skidded, and criss-crossed not only their own feet, but also each other's pathways.
Teddy was the last one out. He was eight. The little scamp had been sitting in the middle of the back seat, funny bone in Full Operational Swing.
“My turn!” he called out gleefully, as soon as everyone had picked themselves up off the earth and had gotten themselves out of the way. And with that, he bounded out of the car. “Bail out!” he cried.
I craned my neck to peer back at him, expecting the worst--but there he stood beside the car, arms twirling at his sides like a windmill, feet spinning madly, while he pretending to be powerless to go forward. He grinned impishly at me through my window. Suddenly taking off like a rocket, he caught up with the rest of the family and commenced with a capering cabaret behind them, twirling and spinning like an accomplished Olympic skater. An accomplished comedic Olympic skater. He interspersed that skit with periodic imitations of his father and little sister, criss-crossing his feet, kicking the backs of his own boots, and lurching along better than Andy Capp has ever lurched.
And no, he has not changed, either in humor or in balance.
When we departed the convenience store at David City and pulled onto the highway, I pressed a little harder than necessary on the accelerator, just to see how slick it was… and yes, it was slick. The Suburban slid sideways one way, and then the other, and I decided it would be prudent to slow down from the 65 mph I’d been traveling, before getting to David City. I kept it slightly under 50, until we got to the main highway leading into Columbus, where the sleet and snow were still melting on the road, because of the higher number of vehicles traveling on it.
Lengthy conversations are conducted in the nether regions of the Suburban the entire while we travel anywhere, and this journey was no exception.
Victoria told the others about her near-spill on the way into the store. “It’s because I was being such a really maniac!” she reported, giggling and sounding quite proud of herself.
That reminded her of a crash she’d had on the sidewalk at home some time back. “And my knee was bleeding,” she recounted, “and it was a really hurtin’ kind of bleed.”
A few muffled snickers were heard as her siblings tried valiantly not to laugh in their favorite littlest sister’s face.
One day I helped the littles get their Valentine cards ready. Hester, Lydia, and Caleb were going to be having parties, complete with cookies and games and all sorts of fun. Victoria, of course, had scores of valentines to fill out for all her little friends, and she was pleased as punch that she was able to sign her name on all her cards. She worked away resolutely, allowing nothing to sidetrack her until she was done.
Hester and Lydia looked up their old baskets from last year, but Caleb needed something for his valentines. So Dorcas covered a shoebox for him with some extra valentines she had left over from the ones she’d gotten for the children at the daycare. The valentines had pictures of four-wheel-drive vehicles, so Caleb was well pleased with his box.
Victoria, looking at the baskets and box, queried, “Isn’t there a box or basket for me?”
Now, what would you do? Instead of finishing her Valentine’s dress, I made her a Valentine’s box. I glued white eyelet onto a box, making ruffles all the way around it. At the top of the eyelet ruffle was a smaller ruffle of red. The lid of the box was of gathered red fabric with tiny flowers printed on it, and I used the same fabric to cover the bottom, too, although I left it flat rather than gathered. Victoria was delighted.
Wednesday morning, the schoolboys were out shoveling and sweeping en force, but it looked like they were fighting a losing battle, the snow was coming down so fast. By aftenroon, we had at least four more inches of snow.
From my Outdoor Photography magazine, I have discovered places on the Internet where a person can learn when and where to look for the Northern Lights, and I also found a whole pile of excellent pictures of the moon during an eclipse: www.spaceweather.com and www.gi.alaska.edu/.
The Schwan man, whom I missed Tuesday, arrived Wednesday morning. Victoria was asleep, and I had gone back to bed after the children went to school, and was happily snoozing away. The knocking woke both of us, but I didn’t realize Victoria had awoken. Guess what she did. She got out of her bed, exited her room, and trotted herself straight off to the door and opened it.
Then she came back to my room and informed me, “The Schwan man is here,” just as if I could (or would, as the case may be) go to the door. Aauugghh!
“Go ask him if he can come back this afternoon,” I told her.
She went back down the hallway, and soon I heard her saying (or trying to say), “Can you come back (sniffle sniffle) this afternoon (whimper whumper)?”
And the Schwan man, sympathetic as always, said, “What did you say, honey?”
“(snuffle snuffle) Can you (boohoo) come back this afternoon?”
“Oh!” he said cheerily, “Sure! I’ll come back this afternoon!”
So she shut the door and came back to my room, peering around the corner at me with large brown eyes, all pale, one or two tears threatening to drip down her face.
“What did you have to go blubbering around for?” I asked, rather peeved, and continued, “You don’t need to be a big bawlbaby; the man couldn’t even understand what you were saying!”
"Oh," she said, sounding quite normal now.
She trotted off in her soft red plaid nightgown with all the lace around the neck and cuffs, and with her hair standing up on end, quite like her mother’s was doing.
A couple of weeks ago, Larry's brother’s wife Annette gave us a big bowl full of chocolate chip cookies. We finally returned it on Valentine’s Day--full of notebooks and pencils, packets of stick-on stars (just for the fun of it), modeling clay for all the children but the oldest, Katie; and for her were a couple of yummy-smelling candles. When Annette was a little girl, I used to give her a Valentine present every year. I’ve missed doing that… But this just about made up for it.
Teddy put a new starter on his pickup, having to lie in the snow on the front driveway to do the job, since that was where the critter gave up the ghost. He let Mandy, our neighbor’s dog, out of her pen to keep him company, and she did figure eights around his pickup while he worked, slowing periodically to sniff at Teddy’s face and see if she could get away with giving him a slurpy lallop.
What? You didn’t know figure eights could be done around one large stationary object?
And you don’t know Mandy, either, do you?
I came out the door, and she did figure eights around me. She knows better than to jump on me, and she knows I don’t like her to lick me, but she knows good and well I like her, so she bobs around in front of me, tongue splapping in and out, thoroughly misting me with slobber. Ewww.
A short while before church, Teddy gave up on finishing the starter that night and came in to get ready for church. He didn’t wipe the floor after he shed melted snow and dirt (that makes mud, in case you were wondering) all over it. And of course I walked in it sock footed and got my feet in quite a cold, damp, soiled humor.
Wednesday night I again stayed home with Victoria. The previous day’s excursion had not improved her cold in the slightest, and she had acquired a fever. I spent the time sewing her dress.
I also downloaded the MSN messenger, and set it up to play Dixie if I get a message. (Fine Yank I am, liking a song like that.)
David called Wednesday night and asked Larry if he would be the full-time driver of his boom truck. Robert used to be, but now that he has quit, they needed someone to drive it. It's a valuable truck, so David wants somebody who knows how to drive it with care.
Keith and Esther came visiting after church, and Teddy and Amy dropped by for a few minutes, bringing chocolate chip cookies Amy had made. Yummy.
Guess what I’d done. I’d sewn the zipper in backwards, tab toward the poor child’s back. Luckily, the fabric was strong enough that I could get a good grip on the zipper and rip it right out with one fell swoop. I was soon putting it back in, faster and with less care, this time around. But it looks perfect, in spite of my haste. In addition to all the dresses I need to sew, I also need to make some ruffly cancans for the little girls. (Definition of cancan: two cans beside themselves.)
Joseph and Lydia stayed home all day Thursday, sick with sore throats and headaches. Dorcas, Teddy, and I have headaches, too, and they have sore throats. I kept thinking I did, too; then I realized it wasn’t my throat; it was the roof of my mouth, where I'd cut it on a nacho Tuesday night. Lydia stayed home Friday, too.
Now here is a novel, up-to-date routine from Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, aka Chick Young and Wilbur Grey (did you know their real names?):
Costello: Hey, Abbott!
Abbott: Yes, Lou?
Costello: I just got my first computer.
Abbott: That's great Lou. What did you get?
Costello: A Pentium III, with 128 Megs of RAM, a 12.1 Gig hard drive, and a 48X CD-ROM.
Abbott: That's terrific, Lou
Costello: But I don't know what any of it means!!
Abbott: You will, in time.
Costello: That's exactly why I am here to see you.
Abbott: Oh?
Costello: I heard that you are a real computer expert.
Abbott: Well, I don't know--
Costello: Yessiree. You know your stuff. And you're going to train me.
Abbott: Really?
Costello: Uh huh. And I am here for my first lesson.
Abbott: Okay, Lou. What do you want to know?
Costello: I am having no problem turning it on, but I heard that you should be very careful how you turn it off.
Abbott: That's true.
Costello: So, here I am working on my new computer and I want to turn it off. What do I do?
Abbott: Well, first you press the Start button, and then--
Costello: No, I told you, I want to turn it off.
Abbott: I know. You press the Start button--
Costello: Wait a second. I want to turn it off. Off. I know how to start it. So tell me what to do.
Abbott: I did.
Costello: When?
Abbott: When I told you to press the Start button.
Abbott: When I told you to press the Start button.
Costello: Why should I press the Start button?
Abbott: To shut off the computer.
Costello: I press Start to stop.
Abbott: Well…Start doesn't actually stop the computer.
Costello: I knew it! So what do I press.
Abbott: Start.
Costello: Start what?
Abbott: Start button.
Costello: Start button to do what?
Abbott: Shut down!
Costello: You don't have to get rude!
Abbott: No, no, no! That's not what I meant.
Costello: Then say what you mean.
Abbott: To shut down the computer, press--
Costello: Don't say, "Start!"
Abbott: Then what do you want me to say?
Costello: Look, if I want to turn off the computer, I am willing to press the Stop button, the End button and the Cease and Desist button, but no one in their right mind presses the Start to Stop.
Abbott: But that's what you do.
Costello: And you probably Go at Stop signs, and Stop at green lights.
Abbott: Don't be ridiculous.
Costello: I'm being ridiculous? Well, I think it's about time we started this conversation.
Abbott: What do you mean?
Costello: I am starting this conversation right now. GOODBYE.
There was a deacons’ meeting Friday night, and that afternoon Loren gave Robert a list Daddy had written not long before he died. On it were names of men he had planned to ask to be deacons. So those are the ones Robert chose: Steve Koch, David Walker, and Stephen and Greg Anderson. Our deacons who owns the Ready-Mix company is now our Sunday School teacher. He started last Sunday. He has been a Sunday School teacher for the young people--Joseph’s age--but now his son will have that class.
When the meeting was over, Lawrence who's one of the deacons, and Norma came to visit afterward, bringing us newly-baked cinnamon rolls.
Saturday, I started sewing Hester’s Easter dress. I sewed the large collar pieces together, put the ruffle on, then the lining…turned it right side out--and discovered I’d left out the back collar section. So I cut out some interfacing for the forgotten section, ironed it on--smack-dab on the right side, rather than the wrong, where it belongs.
I ripped it off, cut out more interfacing, and tried again. Then I took the front collar sections apart, cut the ruffle, inserted the back collar with its ruffle, and put everything back together again…and, wonder of wonders, you cannot tell anything ever went wrong.
Aarrgghh…these long one-and-a-half-month sewing hiatuses do not stand me in good stead! I get stupid fast.
Saturday afternoon, Teddy and Joseph went ice skating…finally. Teddy’s skates didn’t have to lie and grow mold until next winter, after all. And they managed to return home--all in one piece.
Sunday I stayed home with Caleb and Victoria. Joseph was home, too. I was planning to go to church tonight, while Larry stayed home; but I still had a bean crosswise in my big toe, so I stayed home again.
The bean, a member of the legume family Leguminosae, classified in the genus Phaseolus, is a fairly innocuous species--until it turns itself catty-cornered and travels south to the more prodigious digit of the podium. For some unknown reason, when the protein of the legume intermingles with the calcium phosphate and calcium carbonate of the skeletal structure of said digit, all sorts of irregularities and indiscretions transpire, not the least of which is a decided disposition to idly recline in one’s recliner and legume (a fitting variation of the verb, ‘to vegetate’).
Victoria, sitting in a little wooden chair in front of the couch, was playing the synthesizer, which was lying on the couch where she could reach it better. When she started getting up, her chair tilted back, and she nearly found herself upended. "Woooo!" she exclaimed, catching her balance, "I popped a wheelie."
Victoria’s temperature is 102.2°, Caleb’s is 101.2°, and Joseph’s is 101.3°.
I decided to check mine. That’s when I discovered…Hey! I don’t just have a bean crosswise! I’m really sick!!! My temperature is 101.2°. It’s ordinarily 97.6°, right on the dot…one degree lower than normal. (But whoever said I was normal?!) And my throat hurts, not merely the roof of my mouth.
Victoria said to me, “My legs are all worn out!”--and I know just what she means. We are all achy and miserable, and yes, arms, legs, neck, back, fingers…everything, from head to toe…feel ‘all worn out.’ Poor kiddos! Poor me.
Here is the Quote of the Day; I heard it on the radio: “Arguing with a liberal is like wrestling a pig in the mud. After you are totally exhausting and having your third heart attack, you realize that the pig is having a perfectly marvelous jolly good time.”
The following was seen on a Florida bumper sticker: “Florida: This way > ; No, that way < ; 5 miles. No, wait! 10 miles.”
Oooooooo! I just noticed: the teal green water in my weather ball is almost clear to the top! Reckon I need to put my boots on?
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