With Age Comes Wisdom

Words of the aged came from Jellybean's mouth this morning as she spoke to her brother...

Let me recount this incredibly wise {and cute} conversation went.

Jellybean to Bug: (as she was vaccuming) Bug, let me tell you something that I learned when I was like 7 or younger. The vaccum is too small to suck you up. It can't eat you so don't worry; you are too big.

Isn't it great when siblings share knowledge like that?

I know it warmed my heart.

Gimme a Break (and no I am not referring to a Kit Kat bar)

Yesterday, at school Bug was pushed while playing - nothing mean or vindictive, just pushed. He hurt his arm. I wondered back and forth about taking him in and eventually decided it best to double check.

The doctor figured it was fractured or had a fracture called "green stick". We didn't make it to radiology in time for them to check it last night so off we went this morning.

And now, for the rest of the story...

I just got back from our appointments with Radiology, the doctor and the Cast Technician, Boris.



(yesterday after picking Bug up from my friend's house after work - pre doctor)

Bug has definitely broken his arm - his radius to be precise. Apparently the bone is at a 5 to 10 degree elevation from where it should be and we need to go to the Cast Clinic on Thursday to see the Orthopedic Surgeon to see if "manipulation" of the bone is required.



(Waiting at the walk-in clinic yesterday with his pink panther)

He will be casted then. For now, he has a brace on the arm and a sling to keep it stable.



(Trying to figure out the best way to support his arm during the night. This attempt was a fail.)



(Apparently, this way was the most comfortable for the little man.)



(The temporary "fix" until we see the surgeon to rule out the need for surgery on Thursday morning.)

Dr., I have an itch...or an ulcer

Honestly I do but not THAT kind of an itch. I need no creams, ointments and what-not; what I need is to be off from work around 1:00 PM. so I can be home with my children. I can tell you that I really dislike stat holidays.

I am sure you are screaming, "What?!" at your monitors right now but I do. It's like they are put there to tease me or taunt me. "You get your kids today but, tomorrow, nah, not so much."

I loved being home yesterday when Bug got home from school. Yes, I am aware yesterday was a stat but the kids had school as we switched their holiday from yesterday to this coming Friday to accomodate for our conference. I loved being able to give him his lunch, to make sure he was eating it all (& not just the Wagon Wheel) and to get his sweet, willing-to-learn help as I made lasagnas and sandwiches and breakfast burritos (teaching math as we went along). I adored having him scooch over and snuggle in, making sure there was no space between us, to snuggle just for a minute and to hear Jellybean's sing-songy voice call out as she burst through the door to see if she could have an after-school snack.

It was my joy to have supper ready and waiting for my husband as he walked in the door after a long, hard day's work and to know that I had made Rush's after-school moments easier with a lasagna ready and waiting for her in the fridge to just pop in the oven for tonight's meal. I felt so capable as a parent knowing that, when Rush has a morning, like this morning, where it is painful for her to lift her sleeping body from her bed (due only to teenageritis & a head cold) or her hair or make-up takes a bit more time perfecting, there are breakfast burritos in my freezer ensuring she will have a nutritional breakfast. (By the way, those burritos cost less than $0.50 each to make.)

I don't want to not work because I feel that, as in the past, I would feel poorly about "not contributing" to the family's financial situation (not that SAHM need to feel that way but more because I can't get the not working thing totatlly out of my system, yet.)but, I don't want to be at work when my kids are at home. In fact, it feels like an ulcer in my spirit when I know they are at home and I am at work.

Rogers vs Vent Yelling (oh yes, it's real, people!)

Paired up, these two will either leave you in stitches, due to their antics, or leave you thinking they are going to cause each other the need for stitches.

That being said, they have recently discovered a new way of interacting with each other (since the big switch of bedrooms) and that is to shriek at each other through the vents. Bug's room is directly above Jellybean's room and so they communicate this way as effectively as one can. The other day I even heard them attempting this new form of communication while Bug was in the bathroom & Jellybean was in her room. It was SO effective for the two, going something like this:

Bug: Can you bring me up more toilet paper? There's no more in the thing!

Jellybean: What?!

Bug: What?!

Jellybean (getting louder): What?!!

Bug: Toilet paper!!!

Jellybean: What?!

Bug: What?! (and so it continued until I succumbed to my need for sanity and went to get the toilet paper myself)

But you can see how effective of a communication tool vents are in the house; I totally see why they would continue to use it for something like this...

Jellybean: Goodnight, Bug!

Bug: What?!

Jellybean: What?! I said 'goodnight'!

Bug: What?!

Jellybean: What?!

Bug: Never mind! Just goodnight!

This is so effective I can't see why anyone would ever choose to get up from where they were to communicate ever again. I am thinking the entire family should start communicating this way. In fact, I can just envision the scene that would occur if we were to attempt waking Rush in the mornings using this technique...

...perhaps we will continue with our method and leave "vent yelling" to the younger two. Yeah, probably a good idea...

Of Good Memories & Good Dogs

I grew up on a farm. Do you know what theat means? It means I have loads of good memories of growing up and of good dogs. Farm dogs are good dogs (not always but for the most part, they are good dogs) and the experiences a child has growing up on the farm can only lead to good memories (not all but most).

Spring is my favorite time for remembering growing up on the farm. Why? The smells of life emerging from the frozen earth, the chirping of birds in the still quiet, the lowing of cattle as a new generation springs forth in the darkest hours of the night, crocuses, the horses losing their winter coats and frolicking their winter dulldroms out, the vast acres of mud puddles to lose one's boot (or boots) in and countless other reasons I just can't begin to name (but they are there; right in the forefront of my memory. I remember it so vividly that I can close my eyes and "see" and smell my memories).

We used to "swim" in the ditches as they filled up with melted snow and spring showers, spend hours catching those tiny frogs and letting them go just to catch them one more time (it took me years to actually commit to catching one; I was all for the chase but the thought of a frog moving in my hand freaked me out a bit - as tomboyish as I was, I still had a streak of "girl" in me!), explore through the pasture/woods to find proof that Spring was really there, go for walks with Grandpa or watch as he sought "usefulness" in his age by digging trenches in the driveway to drain water...

My heart feels so warm & full remembering this time of my life; I can not begin to verbalize it - not even a little, not even close.

We had a couple good farm dogs that I remember and one great dog (great as far as what he did for us not the farm). Tor. Oh how I loved that dog. He was an Australian Shephard/Border Collie cross (mainly brown, with splashes of black and white including a white chest). He was intended to be Thor (a good strong Norwegian viking name -suitable for the best of dogs only, which he was) but, unfortunately, my younger brother was quite young when we got Tor and I couldn't bear to watch my dog run to the name "Sore". It was a painful thing to imagine; not too mention what the other farm dogs would say and how they would tease him...(you laugh?)

I watched "Marley & Me" the other day (I will openly & without shame admit to bawling my head off) and while two of Marley's "Kids" are on the bus coming home they are talking about whether Marley will be there to meet them or not.

"How does he know we're coming?

"I dunno. He just knows. Dogs just know."

"All dogs?"

"All good dogs."

Yep, all good dogs know and all great dogs will sit at the end of the driveway long after the bus has come and gone, staring down the long dirt road wondering where his third kid is because the long yellow creature swallowed him/her that morning and never spit him/her back out with the other two that night. That was Tor.

All good dogs will make you laugh as you watch him chase a frog through the tall grass and all great dogs will make you almost pee your pants by hopping with the frog and flinging him in the air once he catches him just so he can chase him again. That was Tor.

All good dogs will sing with you but GREAT dogs will continue singing happy birthday long after the party is over & there's nothing left but the crying. THAT was Tor.


Some other things about Tor that made him a great dog:

-He loved to take the new-born kittens ever-so-gently- in his mouth and place them in his doghouse to keep them warm with, not only the fresh straw & blankets but, his long, fluffy fur. The first time we saw that I remember my parents being a bit nervous for the kittens.

-He never met a squirrel he didn't love...to chase and chase until said squirrel finally dropped due to heart failure, the squirrel hid its face thinking Tor couldn't see it (which then bored him) or he just couldn't find it due to the severity of his cataracts.

- He loved to sit on the step and eat my brother's vanilla, beet relish & black pepper ice cream cones. (You have no idea! We tried to tell him that wouldn't be a very good combination)

-He was not above discipline. Like the time he bit my brother so my brother bit him back and the two sat crying, "holding" each other on the stairs...suffering together. (THAT is a great dog!) Or the time he killed my cat, Harley (sorry for not believing you Bro) & I refused to speak to him for days until he humbly and sadly came to me while I sat on the stairs & put his big ol' head in my lap & looked at me with those big brown eyes that just begged to be forgiven and I threw my face into his thick fluffy coat and cried and sobbed that I loved him and forgave him & was so very sorry I hadn't talked to him in so long. (Apparently, he was also not above begging)

-He was a great and fierce protector. Who could feel safer with a dog like him around, one who would bolt into our house and try to hide under the couch during thunder storms, or jump up and lick strangers with the enthusiasm of a long lost loved one's return? He was a dog who risked death itself by "attacking" my dad by biting him on the ankle while Dad was chasing me weilding a deadly...

...water balloon but Tor heard my cries, my pleas of "NO DAD!" (unfortunately he missed the laughter in there too) and bit my dad to protect me. THAT. IS. A. GREAT. DOG!

-Tor would follow us to the ends of the earth. Okay, okay; he would follow us to the beaver dam and stand guard while we explored, studied (nature not school work. Sheesh!), picnicked, day dreamed, snoozed, rolled, picked flowers, made forts...

-Tor would come with us every Christmas to help us pick out our tree (not only did he come to help but he brought with him the cats and the horses)

-During the dog days of summer while sunning ourselves on Grandma's front lawn, Tor would stand guard over our backs completely blocking out the sun and thus, preventing us from falling vicitim to ANY harmful UV rays. (What a GREAT dog!)

OR

He would come and lay himself on our backs until the very last ounce of air had escaped our bodies. I mean WHAT IF WE HAD GOTTEN TOO MUCH CARBON DIOXIDE THAT TIME!?

-He always saved us from the deadliest of dangers that lurk on any farm...our soccer ball, baseball, well, any ball. He wasn't afraid of any kind of ball...; he was that brave. There was no ball so fierce that Tor wouldn't puncture and shred it to bits in every attempt to save us from its deadly poisons...no ball was safe on our farm!

-Tor could also take on any size tire tread and live to tell about it including hanging by the tractor tire tread for the entire. tire. rotation. He was even a gymnast!

There are so many more things I wanted to say about our dog, Tor to display the difference between a good dog and a great dog but I am so overwhelmed with memories right now that they are there and then gone before my fingers can capture them. Perhaps I can capture more at a later date...perhaps.

The last thing I can say in this post to sum up how Tor was not a good dog but a great dog is also found in "Marley & Me" in a monologue by Owen Wilson's character about his beloved Marley at the very bitter, heart wrenching, cruel end...

"How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?"

I can't be certain but I am certain enough to put it on the internet for countless number of people with internet access to be able to see, Tor made me and my sister and brother feel that way. He WAS a GREAT dog! Truly an example for dogs in generations to come to model themselves by.

**Disclaimer This is a completely unbiased opinion on my dog. Someone's dog has to have been the best ever and as close as Old Yeller, Benji, The Littlest Hobo, Lassie or Pluto got they just didn't quite cut it. Sorry guys.