Vocabulary Lesson for today's post:
Littles: the younger grouping of Rutherford children who require more assistance than they are able to give.
OARs: Oldest Available Rutherfords have the ability to accomplish many of the tasks required throughout the day in Rutherford-dom.
Today was the day Tucker has been anticipating for weeks, months, and years. He was taken to Camp Manatawny and left for his very first week of sleep away camp. This is such a milestone in each of the children's lives and Tucker felt the weight of the change. I just didn't realize until later how seriously he took this moment.
We arrived extremely late, with only five minutes left to register Tucker. We had managed to get trapped behind a verrrryyyyyyy sloooooowwwwww truck driver, turning what should have been a 10 minute jaunt into 25 minutes of agony. Moments after we managed to get everyone unloaded, friends of ours pulled in next to us. Now, I love this family (who have six children themselves) but trying to get anything accomplished when our kids combine forces is laughable. They also have a first time camper in their midst. We managed to herd all 12 of the accompanying children into the lower level of Garret Hall where we were the only two families left to register. As I waited my turn I realized that our combined children made as much noise as the entire registration gaggle normally does. I handed the business end while Shelby had the unenviable privilege of quieting the troops. The moment the business was transacted, the kids ran for the vans to grab the gear the boys needed for their week of camp and headed over to their mutual home away from home, Boys Cabin 10.
I always manage to forget how much more is involved in settling in a first time camper. Shelby, Dawson, and Isabelle each hit their cabin, we meet their counselor and then it's a hug, kiss and "See ya' Saturday!" before the kids are ready to part company with us. Not so for a first-timer. You have to help them make their bed and unpack a few choice items. "Here is your dirty laundry bag. Your gross clothes go in here, not on the floor. And this is your toothbrush and toothpaste. Please - take pity on the rest of your cabin mates and use it daily. And about this stack of clean underwear. While I would prefer you change it daily, please at least crumple it up into the dirty clothes on Friday so I think you changed it, okay?"
Shelby had Tucker's bed made in a jiffy while Isabelle helped him organize his cubby for his duffle and shoes. Meanwhile, I was helping him change into his sneakers since Boy's Athletics had already been called and there is very little at camp Tucker was looking forward to more than Athletics. Just about the time we wrapped up serving Tucker, his counselor was free so we finally made all the introductions. And that was that. Time for goodbye.
I never know how each child will respond at this moment. I seem to always guess wrong, so while my head said Tucker would have a hard time given all the nervous questions he had been asking, experience was telling me the kid wouldn't even notice. Experience was right. He was hugging and kissing the whole crew goodbye, completely prepared and anxious for his adventure to begin. And then it happened.
Abigail became a weeping mess. "Tucker can't stay here! He can't!" She began to cry in earnest.
I shot Shelby a dumbfounded look, which she was mirroring. I knelt beside Abigail and asked her what she was talking about.
"Tucker can't stay! He's a little!"
I tried to explain it to her. "Honey, Tucker is staying at Camp just like Dawson. Remember - we picked up Dawson this morning? Tucker will come home."
"But Dawosn is my BIG OAR brother. Tucker is my littles brother. He's a little like me! HE CAN'T STAY!"
I was so completely caught off guard I was silent. And in my moment of silence came Tucker to the rescue. He gently lifted her up into his arms and she clung to his neck while wrapping her legs around his waist. He craned his neck way back so he could see her face and explained the situation to her as only a big brother could.
"Abigail, I'm an OAR now. I'm not a Little any more. It's time for me to go to camp. I'm a brother for you like Dawson now. I love you and you'll be alright." And he set her down. She gazed up at him with eyes still dewy and said simply, "Alright Tucker. Have fun." And that was that. He stayed with his cabin and we walked to the van, loaded up, and left the camp that I now realized has become a symbol of reaching OARdom for our kids.
And so, my son is a littles no more. He is officially an OAR. Welcome aboard, Master Rutherford.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
Friday the 13th, Rutherford Style
Today, being Friday the 13th, has always been one of those "special days" in the calendar which we anticipate. I honestly don't know the reason Friday the 13th is supposed to be unlucky. I guess I never really cared enough to add that information to my stores of useless trivia knowledge.
This year, though, Friday the 13th means Elias's first birthday. How fun is it that every 6 years or so our boy gets to have a completely bad luck birthday party? At least, those were the original plans this year. We were going to have ladders leaning against the walls to walk under, salt on every table, black cats peering out everywhere, broken mirrors along the food table and cracks to walk over. I loved the idea of celebrating a year of firsts among every superstition we could think of. I'm just not sure why it appealed to each of us so much. It could be more of that weird Rutherford living showing again.
However, our plans were dashed when we realized that most of the family would be gone doing their own things this evening and so we decided to move the celebration to Sunday. It only makes sense when you realize that the best part of a first birthday party is the entire cake-eating/wearing display. So today was supposed to be a normal Friday the 13th. Clean some bathrooms, bake some bread, pack a kid for Camp Manatawny. I guess I should say it's a normal summer Friday. But, like most good Rutherford days, this one had a twist.
Aidan's cast was due to come off today. I took all the Little Rutherfords (minus Dawson who is already at Camp this week) with me to the Orthopedist. We all filed in one at a time to the office and I heard several of the nurses counting under their breath. "One, two, three, four . . ." As this was not my first experience with the whispered counting, I was completely prepared for the inevitable.
"Are they all yours?"
"Nope. I picked up some random kids to bring with me to the doctor's office. A broken arm wasn't a interesting enough. We had to add to the drama."
I wish. What I really said was, "Yes, they're all ours." Totally polite, yet boring, answer.
Anyway, we were all sitting in this large room equipped with one exam table, one chair, and one spinning stool I immediately declared off limits. We managed to find a place for everyone just as a nurse came in and called out in a chipper voice. "Are you ready, Aidan?"
Aidan, trusting soul that he is, smiled politely and said, "Yes ma'am." Immediately, he looked at me and whispered, "Ready for what?"
I had no idea. This is our first foray into broken bones and Scott had made the initial visit to the Ortho's office. I was about to inquire what was next when I heard a nice, loud whirring noise. Gulp. I know what that means. I may have never seen it done, but I had heard stories about the saws of death used to remove casts so I was pretty sure I now knew exactly what was next.
I turned expectantly, waiting for her to calmly explain to Aidan what was about to happen. Boy, was that the exact opposite of what happened! Just as I turned, the nurse was lifting Aidan's arm and beginning to saw away without a single word. Aidan, who is easily the calmest Rutherford in the bunch, sat very still while his eyes became the size of dinner plates. He and I both stared, dumbfounded, as she continue to move the miniature saw of death with convenient vacuum attachment over Aidan's arm. Then, just for good measure, she flipped his arm over and did it again!
Okay - no blood and I'm sure it's a pretty easy finishing job from here. Right? Nope. Next came the gigantic clamps of death, which were used to pry the razored cast open. Aidan's eyes were now bugging out of his head. Okay. That was surprising, but I'm sure we're finished now. Right? Nope. Next came the gigantor scissors used to cut the knit lining inside the cast off. Aidan's eyes just popped right out of their sockets and dangled down his cheeks. Not really, but his eyes were wide enough they could have popped out. And now . . . it was finished.
We did have a couple of x-rays to go before we were allowed to get our lollipops and leave. And this time, I took a lolly too.
This year, though, Friday the 13th means Elias's first birthday. How fun is it that every 6 years or so our boy gets to have a completely bad luck birthday party? At least, those were the original plans this year. We were going to have ladders leaning against the walls to walk under, salt on every table, black cats peering out everywhere, broken mirrors along the food table and cracks to walk over. I loved the idea of celebrating a year of firsts among every superstition we could think of. I'm just not sure why it appealed to each of us so much. It could be more of that weird Rutherford living showing again.
However, our plans were dashed when we realized that most of the family would be gone doing their own things this evening and so we decided to move the celebration to Sunday. It only makes sense when you realize that the best part of a first birthday party is the entire cake-eating/wearing display. So today was supposed to be a normal Friday the 13th. Clean some bathrooms, bake some bread, pack a kid for Camp Manatawny. I guess I should say it's a normal summer Friday. But, like most good Rutherford days, this one had a twist.
Aidan's cast was due to come off today. I took all the Little Rutherfords (minus Dawson who is already at Camp this week) with me to the Orthopedist. We all filed in one at a time to the office and I heard several of the nurses counting under their breath. "One, two, three, four . . ." As this was not my first experience with the whispered counting, I was completely prepared for the inevitable.
"Are they all yours?"
"Nope. I picked up some random kids to bring with me to the doctor's office. A broken arm wasn't a interesting enough. We had to add to the drama."
I wish. What I really said was, "Yes, they're all ours." Totally polite, yet boring, answer.
Anyway, we were all sitting in this large room equipped with one exam table, one chair, and one spinning stool I immediately declared off limits. We managed to find a place for everyone just as a nurse came in and called out in a chipper voice. "Are you ready, Aidan?"
Aidan, trusting soul that he is, smiled politely and said, "Yes ma'am." Immediately, he looked at me and whispered, "Ready for what?"
I had no idea. This is our first foray into broken bones and Scott had made the initial visit to the Ortho's office. I was about to inquire what was next when I heard a nice, loud whirring noise. Gulp. I know what that means. I may have never seen it done, but I had heard stories about the saws of death used to remove casts so I was pretty sure I now knew exactly what was next.
I turned expectantly, waiting for her to calmly explain to Aidan what was about to happen. Boy, was that the exact opposite of what happened! Just as I turned, the nurse was lifting Aidan's arm and beginning to saw away without a single word. Aidan, who is easily the calmest Rutherford in the bunch, sat very still while his eyes became the size of dinner plates. He and I both stared, dumbfounded, as she continue to move the miniature saw of death with convenient vacuum attachment over Aidan's arm. Then, just for good measure, she flipped his arm over and did it again!
Okay - no blood and I'm sure it's a pretty easy finishing job from here. Right? Nope. Next came the gigantic clamps of death, which were used to pry the razored cast open. Aidan's eyes were now bugging out of his head. Okay. That was surprising, but I'm sure we're finished now. Right? Nope. Next came the gigantor scissors used to cut the knit lining inside the cast off. Aidan's eyes just popped right out of their sockets and dangled down his cheeks. Not really, but his eyes were wide enough they could have popped out. And now . . . it was finished.
We did have a couple of x-rays to go before we were allowed to get our lollipops and leave. And this time, I took a lolly too.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Always Interesting
I have been spending most of this week squinting at bright lights and cringing away from sounds as I have dealt with a horrible headache since late Sunday afternoon. Just today I learned that it is most likely the result of a virus which will run its course within a week. I was actually happy to hear that because it meant I could just accept that I have an ache in my head rather than secretly worrying I was finally feeling the effects of a gigantic tumor pressing on my optic nerve. I know - morbid, but that's usually where my over-active imagination runs to. Just another reason I am very careful about the types of movies I watch.
Just yesterday while I was sitting and trying not to move too much, I was going over what safety procedures it is time for our family to review. One of the downsides of having a larger family is that I remember teaching certain topics, but I don't always remember to whom or how long ago. To solve this very real issue we simply repeat sciences and history in a loop every 3-4 years, so we know everyone has learned the same things and the older children delve deeper as they repeat it for the second and eventually the third time.
Safety issues are done annually, usually in late August or September. The whole fire drill practice with all of the kids meeting at the tree in front of our house and stop-drop-and-roll time. We include kitchen safety (knives are not for swordplay & boiling pots are not to be substituted for Shakespearean cauldrons), bathroom safety (drain the tub before you leave a room unsupervised and no duckies in the toilet), and internet safety (if you wouldn't want everyone -- including the creepiest guy you can think of and your mother knowing this -- don't put it on the web.)
Of course, having children aged one to 14 in our house means we deal with some things most families with a 14 year old have outgrown - cabinet locks, electrical outlet covers, cable guards, anti-tip devices on shelves. Well -- the anti-tip device really should be a must for anyone raising boys. I don't care how old they are. So during our annual safety discussion time, we also make time to repair and replace any of our safety latches needing attention. For example, the cabinet lock which protects the potatoes really does need to be replaced as Elias has developed a taste for raw potatoes. I know this because just a few days ago each potato I pulled out for cooking had a miniature Elias-sized nibble removed from it.
All of this thinking makes today's events more than just a little ironic. As I was sitting and squinting (headache - remember?), Abigail was brought into me. Shelby was carrying her and while it was obvious she was upset, I didn't realize Abigail was crying until she was on my lap and in my arms. Completely bewildered, I was both comforting Abigail and questioning Shelby. Eventually I managed to learn the bizarre and awful truth. Abigail was injured while sucking on a plugged-in laptop charger.
Really? She saw this plug and decided, "I think that looks tasty." How does that work?
After about 15 minutes, Abigail calmed down enough for me to go investigate the area to make certain I really did understand what I was being told. Sure enough, a drool-coated charger was dangling off the shelf, the surge protector was blown, the 2 GFI switches were popped, and the breaker was thrown. Wow. That is some powerful spit.
Now that I had confirmed that our princess had electrocuted herself, I called the pediatrician and explained our predicament before asking if Abigail needed to be seen or if there were simply things we needed to watch for. I was given the signs to watch for during the next 6 hours, assuring the doctor that if any of the signs appeared we would bring Abigail in immediately for some neurological tests. And Scott gave her a very thorough exam when he woke up before going to work.
The six hours of observation came and went and Abigail was very much her normal self. The house, however, hasn't been so lucky. The surge protector did it's job and is now trashed. And the upstairs GFI refuses to reset, which means it will need to be replaced. Which isn't too big a deal until you realize that is the outlet the bathroom night light uses, which means it is a pretty high priority to fix. (To understand why this is a priority, I direct you to the post entitled "Utterly True" about chicken-in-the-dark twins.)
During evening prayers, we were all thankful that Abigail was completely fine and that the repairs are minor. I tucked the children into bed and came back downstairs, thinking again about our upcoming safety reminders. I am officially adding "Do not suck on plugs. Ever." to the list.
It is always interesting around here!
Just yesterday while I was sitting and trying not to move too much, I was going over what safety procedures it is time for our family to review. One of the downsides of having a larger family is that I remember teaching certain topics, but I don't always remember to whom or how long ago. To solve this very real issue we simply repeat sciences and history in a loop every 3-4 years, so we know everyone has learned the same things and the older children delve deeper as they repeat it for the second and eventually the third time.
Safety issues are done annually, usually in late August or September. The whole fire drill practice with all of the kids meeting at the tree in front of our house and stop-drop-and-roll time. We include kitchen safety (knives are not for swordplay & boiling pots are not to be substituted for Shakespearean cauldrons), bathroom safety (drain the tub before you leave a room unsupervised and no duckies in the toilet), and internet safety (if you wouldn't want everyone -- including the creepiest guy you can think of and your mother knowing this -- don't put it on the web.)
Of course, having children aged one to 14 in our house means we deal with some things most families with a 14 year old have outgrown - cabinet locks, electrical outlet covers, cable guards, anti-tip devices on shelves. Well -- the anti-tip device really should be a must for anyone raising boys. I don't care how old they are. So during our annual safety discussion time, we also make time to repair and replace any of our safety latches needing attention. For example, the cabinet lock which protects the potatoes really does need to be replaced as Elias has developed a taste for raw potatoes. I know this because just a few days ago each potato I pulled out for cooking had a miniature Elias-sized nibble removed from it.
All of this thinking makes today's events more than just a little ironic. As I was sitting and squinting (headache - remember?), Abigail was brought into me. Shelby was carrying her and while it was obvious she was upset, I didn't realize Abigail was crying until she was on my lap and in my arms. Completely bewildered, I was both comforting Abigail and questioning Shelby. Eventually I managed to learn the bizarre and awful truth. Abigail was injured while sucking on a plugged-in laptop charger.
Really? She saw this plug and decided, "I think that looks tasty." How does that work?
After about 15 minutes, Abigail calmed down enough for me to go investigate the area to make certain I really did understand what I was being told. Sure enough, a drool-coated charger was dangling off the shelf, the surge protector was blown, the 2 GFI switches were popped, and the breaker was thrown. Wow. That is some powerful spit.
Now that I had confirmed that our princess had electrocuted herself, I called the pediatrician and explained our predicament before asking if Abigail needed to be seen or if there were simply things we needed to watch for. I was given the signs to watch for during the next 6 hours, assuring the doctor that if any of the signs appeared we would bring Abigail in immediately for some neurological tests. And Scott gave her a very thorough exam when he woke up before going to work.
The six hours of observation came and went and Abigail was very much her normal self. The house, however, hasn't been so lucky. The surge protector did it's job and is now trashed. And the upstairs GFI refuses to reset, which means it will need to be replaced. Which isn't too big a deal until you realize that is the outlet the bathroom night light uses, which means it is a pretty high priority to fix. (To understand why this is a priority, I direct you to the post entitled "Utterly True" about chicken-in-the-dark twins.)
During evening prayers, we were all thankful that Abigail was completely fine and that the repairs are minor. I tucked the children into bed and came back downstairs, thinking again about our upcoming safety reminders. I am officially adding "Do not suck on plugs. Ever." to the list.
It is always interesting around here!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Breaking Point
I hit quite the low point last week. I have heard the phrase "burned out" for as long as I have memories of words, but I truly never experienced it before last week. My bucket was empty. My commitments were too many. I wasn't up to the task. I had bitten off more than I could chew. My eyes were bigger than my stomach. Pick your phrase - I was there. And all I can say about my visit into overwhelmed land is: yuck.
I have heard that there are individuals who take up permanent residence in such a land. Really? Why? I can't imagine ever wanting to feel such an utter sense of depletion on a daily, weekly, monthly basis. For goodness sakes, I don't want to feel it ever again - why would you chose to live there?
In all honesty, I'm not sure what happened last week. I think it was simply the combination of a very busy swim season combined with the commitments of our weekly Farmer's Market, which we have never done simultaneously before. Throw in school work for the older four plus Keats and Aidan learning to read and you certainly have full days right there. Of course clothes still needed to be cleaned, a home maintained, food purchased and prepared, items used up needed to be replenished, children going to sleep-away church camp plus one who left the state. Don't forget the ER visits for a ruptured eardrum (Keats) and a broken arm (Aidan), not to mention the follow up doctor's appointments for those two calamities. There were other doctor visits as well - Aidan's follow-up for his tube-check (they are both finally out!) and well checks for a couple of our littles. And, in the midst of it all were the efforts involved with planting a new church and dealing with an employer who is doing everything to accept Scott's time and not compensate him for it. It was a very full six weeks.
Usually Scott and I do a pretty good job of maintaining our personal level of crazy without it being overwhelming. Not so last week. I arrived home on Friday afternoon to my children cleaning the house from top to bottom. It was wonderful to see and I was so appreciative of their kindness, initiative, and thoughtfulness. Right up until Shelby met me at the door. I should be honest and say that the teenager and I have been butting heads lately, but Friday we hit a new level. Her response to my returning home from dropping Scott at work?
"Can you leave?"
It wasn't said with malice, but it wasn't kindly requested either. I replied, "Babe - I haven't even started the bread for the market yet. I really need to be home." Drama rushed in through the open door faster than the air-conditioned air was rushing out.
"FINE! We were trying to do something nice . . ."
My oh-so-mature response to this comment? "Fine. I'll leave. You call me when I can come home." And I left.
Of course, Shelby made quite the scene of yelling "MOM!" after me, trying to quickly undo her attitude and comments. But it fell on deaf ears. I was at my breaking point. Enough was enough. I could no longer be all things to all people. I went to my daddy and mommy's house where I sat and enjoyed a glass of wine while the littles (who had all come with me to take Scott to work) enjoyed some unexpected play-time in the backyard.
An hour or so later, I gathered up the children who were with me and we headed home. Somehow, in that hour sitting at my mother and father's house consuming my glass of fermented grapes, I regained my perspective on life, family, and commitments. I remembered again why I was thankful Scott has a great job. I felt up to the task of molding the teenager instead of leaving her to figure it out on her own. I knew that I would, without a doubt, be ready to read to Abigail her favorite stories. Again. That I could be enthusiastic over Tucker, Keats, and Aidan's newest achievements in their quest to conquer all things physical. That I could help Dawson pack for his round of sleep-away camp with true excitement for his upcoming adventures. That I would bake the bread thinking not of myself, but rather of the people the money raised would serve.
In short - I remembered that my energy is spent on the people I love and serving the God I adore. Yes, there had been heavy usage lately and I wasn't quite over it yet. It was really only this morning that I began to feel like myself again. But I had found the strength that flows from Above again.
I have heard that there are individuals who take up permanent residence in such a land. Really? Why? I can't imagine ever wanting to feel such an utter sense of depletion on a daily, weekly, monthly basis. For goodness sakes, I don't want to feel it ever again - why would you chose to live there?
In all honesty, I'm not sure what happened last week. I think it was simply the combination of a very busy swim season combined with the commitments of our weekly Farmer's Market, which we have never done simultaneously before. Throw in school work for the older four plus Keats and Aidan learning to read and you certainly have full days right there. Of course clothes still needed to be cleaned, a home maintained, food purchased and prepared, items used up needed to be replenished, children going to sleep-away church camp plus one who left the state. Don't forget the ER visits for a ruptured eardrum (Keats) and a broken arm (Aidan), not to mention the follow up doctor's appointments for those two calamities. There were other doctor visits as well - Aidan's follow-up for his tube-check (they are both finally out!) and well checks for a couple of our littles. And, in the midst of it all were the efforts involved with planting a new church and dealing with an employer who is doing everything to accept Scott's time and not compensate him for it. It was a very full six weeks.
Usually Scott and I do a pretty good job of maintaining our personal level of crazy without it being overwhelming. Not so last week. I arrived home on Friday afternoon to my children cleaning the house from top to bottom. It was wonderful to see and I was so appreciative of their kindness, initiative, and thoughtfulness. Right up until Shelby met me at the door. I should be honest and say that the teenager and I have been butting heads lately, but Friday we hit a new level. Her response to my returning home from dropping Scott at work?
"Can you leave?"
It wasn't said with malice, but it wasn't kindly requested either. I replied, "Babe - I haven't even started the bread for the market yet. I really need to be home." Drama rushed in through the open door faster than the air-conditioned air was rushing out.
"FINE! We were trying to do something nice . . ."
My oh-so-mature response to this comment? "Fine. I'll leave. You call me when I can come home." And I left.
Of course, Shelby made quite the scene of yelling "MOM!" after me, trying to quickly undo her attitude and comments. But it fell on deaf ears. I was at my breaking point. Enough was enough. I could no longer be all things to all people. I went to my daddy and mommy's house where I sat and enjoyed a glass of wine while the littles (who had all come with me to take Scott to work) enjoyed some unexpected play-time in the backyard.
An hour or so later, I gathered up the children who were with me and we headed home. Somehow, in that hour sitting at my mother and father's house consuming my glass of fermented grapes, I regained my perspective on life, family, and commitments. I remembered again why I was thankful Scott has a great job. I felt up to the task of molding the teenager instead of leaving her to figure it out on her own. I knew that I would, without a doubt, be ready to read to Abigail her favorite stories. Again. That I could be enthusiastic over Tucker, Keats, and Aidan's newest achievements in their quest to conquer all things physical. That I could help Dawson pack for his round of sleep-away camp with true excitement for his upcoming adventures. That I would bake the bread thinking not of myself, but rather of the people the money raised would serve.
In short - I remembered that my energy is spent on the people I love and serving the God I adore. Yes, there had been heavy usage lately and I wasn't quite over it yet. It was really only this morning that I began to feel like myself again. But I had found the strength that flows from Above again.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Utterly True
The story you are about to read is absolutely, without a doubt, no exaggerating, sure enough the truth.
And, of course, you have the required ghost stories which include a pirate ghost who announces "And ME!" to a little girl searching her room who sighs, "There is no one here but me!" and the ghost who comes out of a secret box inside the Dark, Dark House.
Last night I was sleeping deeply enough that it took me a few moments to realize that the noise I thought was inside my dream was actually a child calling "Mom!" very loudly. Disoriented, I listened for a moment, trying to place who and where.
"Mom!" Pause. "Mom!" Pause. "Mom!" Pause. "MOM!" Pause. "MOM!" Pause. "MOM!" Pause. "MOM!" Pause.
It finally sunk into my awareness that part of my befuddlement was the fact that it was pitch black in our room. Ahhhhh . . . dawning realization. Power outage and a chicken-in-the-dark twin. I sat up and realized it was very, very dark. I waited for a moment, trying to think clearly about how to proceed while listening to the continuing escalation of panicked "MOM!"s being shouted, when I remembered my Light Wedge. The Light Wedge is a book-sized piece of plexi-glass with two LED lights shining into the clear plastic, allowing the entire page to light up. I picked it up off the bed and flicked it on. Instant light. My watch read 2:30 am, which means there is plenty of time to salvage the sleeping portion of my day.
I carried it out into the hallway, vaguely aware that Elias was waking up in our room as I was leaving. Keats's terrified face met the blue lights from my impromptu flashlight. I calmed Keats down and left the Light Wedge with him as a night light and went back to bed. Of course by now, Elias was completely awake and ready for some attention. I laid down to nurse him, hoping that the light would have enough battery power to get us through the night.
Moments after Elias fell asleep again, Keats walks into our room. Of all the things he is quite good at, whispering is not one of them.
Keats: "Mom! What if the batteries fall out? [Elias wakes up with a start.] What if we have to live in the Dark, Dark House again? Mom - what do we do?"
Me: [picking up Elias to begin rocking him with one arm while comforting Keats with the other] "Keats, it will be fine. The batteries won't fall out. Really. Go back to bed."
Keats leaves and I lay Elias back down, who fusses gently and then falls back asleep. Perhaps four and a half minutes go by.
Keats: "MOM! [Elias begins to cry again] I heard the voice saying 'And me!' just like in the Dark, Dark House! Mom, HE'S HERE!!!"
Me: "Keats - go to you room while I calm down Elias and I will be right there. It's okay. I promise."
Keats leaves again, I rock Elias and lay him back down. Of course, this time there is no gentle fussing but rather full fledged crying. Keats again appears in the doorway.
"Mom! Is Elias alright? Is he scared like me" [Elias cries harder.] I think to myself, No, he isn't scared. He just wants you to learn to whisper!!
I sigh, kiss Elias on the forehead, and leave with Keats, firmly shutting the door on Elias. I know he's upset but it will quickly pass because he's tired. Sure enough, within minutes, E is silent. I go in with Keats to tuck him into bed and whisper good night. He looks at me with wide eyes and asks me to please stay. Truly, this request is a rarity, so I agree. I grab a very hard pillow they use as a doorstop an throw it on the carpet next to him. Then I pull a fleece blanket off Tucker, who mumbles, "Hey! That's mine!" before snoring some more. I spread Tucker's quilt over his sleeping body and curl up on the floor next to Keats.
I sleepily watch for Keats to fall asleep so I can return to my very, very comfortable bed with the freshly laundered sheets on top of my beloved four-inch memory foam. It takes almost an hour, but Keats finally begins to nod off. I turn off the light wedge and I am about to get out from under my fleece cocoon when I hear Tucker's voice.
"Dawson?" Pause. "Dawson?" Pause. "Dawson!" Pause. "DAWSON!"
Ahhh, Tucker is aware there is no light.
Me: "Tucker."
Tucker: silence.
Me: "Tucker."
Tucker: "Dawson, you're voice sounds weird."
Me: "Tuck, it's mommy."
Tucker: "Mommy doesn't sleep in here. Who are you?!"
Me: "Tuck! It's me, mom!"
Tucker: "No - mom sleeps in the other room!"
I remembered the light wedge, which was so helpful for Keats. I lift it up and hold it in front of my face in order for Tucker to see that it's me once I turn it on. I flip the switch.
Blood curdling scream follows.
Keats wakes up yelling gibberish and Aidan sits up and yells, "What?" Aidan sees my glowing head and jumps, banging his head into the bunk above him. Dawson never, ever moves.
Realizing I have made quite the colossal mistake, I resolve to my night of sleeping on top of the comfortably soft but irritatingly scratchy wool rug next to the three boys who will probably never forget this particular power outage. Or their remarkably idiotic mother.
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| The cover of In A Dark, Dark Room |
Today's blog about our goings-on last night actually begins with a book which has been read for days and weeks and years, ever since Shelby was younger. It is marketed as an easy reader and it is a family favorite entitled "In a Dark, Dark Room and Other Scary Stories." We are actually on our second copy since we read the first copy to tatters. It is perfectly spooky for Rutherfords of all ages. In it are stories such as The Ghost of John with his long white bones and the flesh all gone.
And then there is the story of Jenny, who wears a ribbon about her neck her entire life. On the day of her death, she allows her husband to finally untie the ribbon . . . |
| The Ghost of John illustration |
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| The illustration of Jenny's de-ribboned neck. |
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| The final illustration for the story about a Dark, Dark House. |
Last night I was sleeping deeply enough that it took me a few moments to realize that the noise I thought was inside my dream was actually a child calling "Mom!" very loudly. Disoriented, I listened for a moment, trying to place who and where.
"Mom!" Pause. "Mom!" Pause. "Mom!" Pause. "MOM!" Pause. "MOM!" Pause. "MOM!" Pause. "MOM!" Pause.
It finally sunk into my awareness that part of my befuddlement was the fact that it was pitch black in our room. Ahhhhh . . . dawning realization. Power outage and a chicken-in-the-dark twin. I sat up and realized it was very, very dark. I waited for a moment, trying to think clearly about how to proceed while listening to the continuing escalation of panicked "MOM!"s being shouted, when I remembered my Light Wedge. The Light Wedge is a book-sized piece of plexi-glass with two LED lights shining into the clear plastic, allowing the entire page to light up. I picked it up off the bed and flicked it on. Instant light. My watch read 2:30 am, which means there is plenty of time to salvage the sleeping portion of my day.
I carried it out into the hallway, vaguely aware that Elias was waking up in our room as I was leaving. Keats's terrified face met the blue lights from my impromptu flashlight. I calmed Keats down and left the Light Wedge with him as a night light and went back to bed. Of course by now, Elias was completely awake and ready for some attention. I laid down to nurse him, hoping that the light would have enough battery power to get us through the night.
Moments after Elias fell asleep again, Keats walks into our room. Of all the things he is quite good at, whispering is not one of them.
Keats: "Mom! What if the batteries fall out? [Elias wakes up with a start.] What if we have to live in the Dark, Dark House again? Mom - what do we do?"
Me: [picking up Elias to begin rocking him with one arm while comforting Keats with the other] "Keats, it will be fine. The batteries won't fall out. Really. Go back to bed."
Keats leaves and I lay Elias back down, who fusses gently and then falls back asleep. Perhaps four and a half minutes go by.
Keats: "MOM! [Elias begins to cry again] I heard the voice saying 'And me!' just like in the Dark, Dark House! Mom, HE'S HERE!!!"
Me: "Keats - go to you room while I calm down Elias and I will be right there. It's okay. I promise."
Keats leaves again, I rock Elias and lay him back down. Of course, this time there is no gentle fussing but rather full fledged crying. Keats again appears in the doorway.
"Mom! Is Elias alright? Is he scared like me" [Elias cries harder.] I think to myself, No, he isn't scared. He just wants you to learn to whisper!!
I sigh, kiss Elias on the forehead, and leave with Keats, firmly shutting the door on Elias. I know he's upset but it will quickly pass because he's tired. Sure enough, within minutes, E is silent. I go in with Keats to tuck him into bed and whisper good night. He looks at me with wide eyes and asks me to please stay. Truly, this request is a rarity, so I agree. I grab a very hard pillow they use as a doorstop an throw it on the carpet next to him. Then I pull a fleece blanket off Tucker, who mumbles, "Hey! That's mine!" before snoring some more. I spread Tucker's quilt over his sleeping body and curl up on the floor next to Keats.
I sleepily watch for Keats to fall asleep so I can return to my very, very comfortable bed with the freshly laundered sheets on top of my beloved four-inch memory foam. It takes almost an hour, but Keats finally begins to nod off. I turn off the light wedge and I am about to get out from under my fleece cocoon when I hear Tucker's voice.
"Dawson?" Pause. "Dawson?" Pause. "Dawson!" Pause. "DAWSON!"
Ahhh, Tucker is aware there is no light.
Me: "Tucker."
Tucker: silence.
Me: "Tucker."
Tucker: "Dawson, you're voice sounds weird."
Me: "Tuck, it's mommy."
Tucker: "Mommy doesn't sleep in here. Who are you?!"
Me: "Tuck! It's me, mom!"
Tucker: "No - mom sleeps in the other room!"
I remembered the light wedge, which was so helpful for Keats. I lift it up and hold it in front of my face in order for Tucker to see that it's me once I turn it on. I flip the switch.
Blood curdling scream follows.
Keats wakes up yelling gibberish and Aidan sits up and yells, "What?" Aidan sees my glowing head and jumps, banging his head into the bunk above him. Dawson never, ever moves.
Realizing I have made quite the colossal mistake, I resolve to my night of sleeping on top of the comfortably soft but irritatingly scratchy wool rug next to the three boys who will probably never forget this particular power outage. Or their remarkably idiotic mother.
Friday, July 23, 2010
The D's Nest
Years ago we were dreaming at a Pottery Barn Outlet when we stumbled upon a Queen-sized Pottery Barn Kid's Quilt with a surfer theme marked down from $175 to $20. So -- no brainer for us -- we doubled timed it to the register and purchased it for Dawson. I figured he could double it up on his twin sized bunk since he is always so cold, and the price plus quality made me willing to make it work!
Dawson loves this quilt specifically because of it's size. He crawls onto his bed and cocoons inside the quilt like a little ball. Seeing our lanky boy all squashed into this tiny sleeping mode caused Scott to christen Dawson's bed "The D's Nest."
Dawson flew to Arkansas for his birthday 10 days ago, while Shelby was at Camp Manatawny. Shortly after he left, we stripped all the sheets off the beds in order to make certain both Shelby and Dawson returned home to freshly laundered sheets and bedding with perfectly plumped pillows. Scott and I have passed on our love of crisp sheets to the kids, and I always change beds early on in the week when the kids are gone to ensure that nothing interferes in providing this "Welcome Home" gift.
Everything went as planned until the younger children crawled up to The D's Nest. Hmm. Apparently, we have misnamed The Nest. It seems it would be much more appropriate to simply call it "Magpie Haven." A Magpie is famous for stealing shiny objects in order to build its nest. Now I am not calling my son a thief, but his nest certainly looked as if it had been assembled by the Magpie. I would absolutely expect to find sheets, quilt, some favorite stuffed animals, a pillow, and a book or two. (These kids are Rutherford/Dubach hybrids after all. They read until they drop asleep onto the page.) I did not expect to find several card board boxes, 4 changes of clothing, every missing sock from the lonely sock basket (including some of his sisters'), several pencils and pens, tissues, candy wrappers, more paper scraps than I cared to count, football cards, baseball cards, hockey cards, Legos, K-nex, magnifying glass, specimen jars from the science shelf, GI Joe goldfish cards, a missing toothbrush . . .
Beds are absolutely off limits in our home to all but the assigned sleeper. Beds are literally the ONLY private place we each have here in Rutherford-dom, so we keep them sacred. You may climb onto another's bed only when invited or when serving said sibling/parent by taking off or putting on sheets. So I knew that this was not some evidence of naughty Littles we were discovering, but rather Dawson's recent version of "Of course I picked up my room and made my bed."
The next time Dawson phoned, I politely and enthusiastically listened to his adventures before I mentioned his D's Nest. I was met by momentary silence which was followed by a slow, deep chuckle which eventually morphed into a full-fledged chortle. And what, pray tell, do you think his comment was when confronted with the Magpie-style sleep environment he was maintaining?
"Sorry mom! I didn't think you could still climb up there!"
Dawson loves this quilt specifically because of it's size. He crawls onto his bed and cocoons inside the quilt like a little ball. Seeing our lanky boy all squashed into this tiny sleeping mode caused Scott to christen Dawson's bed "The D's Nest."
Dawson flew to Arkansas for his birthday 10 days ago, while Shelby was at Camp Manatawny. Shortly after he left, we stripped all the sheets off the beds in order to make certain both Shelby and Dawson returned home to freshly laundered sheets and bedding with perfectly plumped pillows. Scott and I have passed on our love of crisp sheets to the kids, and I always change beds early on in the week when the kids are gone to ensure that nothing interferes in providing this "Welcome Home" gift.
Everything went as planned until the younger children crawled up to The D's Nest. Hmm. Apparently, we have misnamed The Nest. It seems it would be much more appropriate to simply call it "Magpie Haven." A Magpie is famous for stealing shiny objects in order to build its nest. Now I am not calling my son a thief, but his nest certainly looked as if it had been assembled by the Magpie. I would absolutely expect to find sheets, quilt, some favorite stuffed animals, a pillow, and a book or two. (These kids are Rutherford/Dubach hybrids after all. They read until they drop asleep onto the page.) I did not expect to find several card board boxes, 4 changes of clothing, every missing sock from the lonely sock basket (including some of his sisters'), several pencils and pens, tissues, candy wrappers, more paper scraps than I cared to count, football cards, baseball cards, hockey cards, Legos, K-nex, magnifying glass, specimen jars from the science shelf, GI Joe goldfish cards, a missing toothbrush . . .
Beds are absolutely off limits in our home to all but the assigned sleeper. Beds are literally the ONLY private place we each have here in Rutherford-dom, so we keep them sacred. You may climb onto another's bed only when invited or when serving said sibling/parent by taking off or putting on sheets. So I knew that this was not some evidence of naughty Littles we were discovering, but rather Dawson's recent version of "Of course I picked up my room and made my bed."
The next time Dawson phoned, I politely and enthusiastically listened to his adventures before I mentioned his D's Nest. I was met by momentary silence which was followed by a slow, deep chuckle which eventually morphed into a full-fledged chortle. And what, pray tell, do you think his comment was when confronted with the Magpie-style sleep environment he was maintaining?
"Sorry mom! I didn't think you could still climb up there!"
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The Mountain
I think every family has their own version of The Mountain. For some, it is orderly and neatly maintained. For others, it is overgrown and threatens to topple with the slightest breeze. But, regardless of the state of your mountain, if you are blessed enough to live here in the States, you have The Mountain somewhere in your home.
Laundry.
Right now, I have a load in the washer, a load in the dryer, and a load patiently sitting at my feet waiting to be folded and returned to it's potential energy storage. Of course, once clothing is put on in this house it morphs into Kinetic Energy with the speed of light, but that's for another post.
Generally, folding is accomplished in the morning by several Little Rutherfords around the dining room table while enjoying an audio book on the iPod. Lately, we have been listening to "The Red Pyramid" by Rick Riordan, which we also happen to be reading aloud (as able this crazy month) in the evenings. But given the recent scattering to the winds of Little Rutherfords combined with our unusual business, laundry is being accomplished with more of the "hey - anyone available?" method.
I must confess, I'm not really a fan of this method. I really, really like my usual method. All the day's clothes are thrown into the washer - no sorting. If there are any fairly new/still might dye bleed clothes included, a Shout Color Catcher is added in for good measure. Then, 1 TBS of Charlie's Soap into the drawer along with 1 TBS of baking soda to soften our ridiculously mineralized water followed by a splash of vinegar in the fabric softener dispenser later, I walk out and let my servant, LG, perform his duties. I adore my servant LG - he is quite capable at his duties, freeing me to any number of other activities I might choose to pursue. And he quite amicably works extra-duty should the stain cycle be required, or an extra rinse be called for, or any of the other laundry-related skills be deemed necessary.
Once LG has completed his task then his fraternal twin, also named LG, takes over with the drying. Again - amazing that I can do so many other things while he does his job! Generally, once this second LG takes over I retire for the night under the guise of reading (for all of 10 minutes, max) before being unable to avoid sleep any longer. Which means that I, along with my Little Rutherfords, awake to completely, wonderfully, cleaned clothing just waiting for us to finalize the process. Truly - this is still a marvel to me, especially after particularly muddy-play days.
Folding is, as I have said, a family affair. The younger Little Rutherfords sit around the table and wait for hand-outs such as square rags, face wipes, or napkins so they are able to join in the folding. Some are in the more advanced stages of training: t-shirts, shorts, and balling up the sock pairs. A few have the knowledge of folding but lack the height to accomplish hanging the clothes on the bar in the laundry room, which requires enlisting the help of one just a wee bit taller. And so our morning usually begins over the flat surface of a table working to accomplish one common goal together. It is a good way to begin days which find most of us within the same rooms accomplishing many goals as time progresses.
The "is any one available" method leaves a lot to be desired. For one, it is completely random. There is no dependability whatsoever. Times and availability are completely determined by chance and open windows of time. For an activity which generates upwards of 40 - 75 items per day, chance isn't a great catch net. Secondly, I am amazed at how quickly Little Rutherfords become busy when they are given the option of being available. Suddenly there is great activity about me as books are being read, puzzles are being assembled, and great towers are being constructed. And yet, incredibly enough, each of these oh so busy individuals expect that laundry will be replenished with regularity, regardless of their input. I don't really see how this attitude contributes to a family growing together.
While I don't care for the laundry results, I do appreciate the occasional bout of "is any one available" simply because it reminds me that there is value in routine. We rarely feel overwhelmed by The Mountain precisely because we climb it daily as a family. When we remove several parts of our family, when we allow our outside activities to crowd out our usual time or, such as this week when we do both, it is a wonderful reminder that our family needs balance. A reminder that my business it to be a keeper at home rather than having home be a pit-stop in the day. A reminder that mixed in with all of the experiences life brings their way, each of our children is being trained to no longer need Scott and I. Which means that they, too, must learn to balance the outside activities with the demands of a home and family. A reminder that their most important experience is learning when to say yes and when to decline.
Who knew laundry could do so much?
Laundry.
Right now, I have a load in the washer, a load in the dryer, and a load patiently sitting at my feet waiting to be folded and returned to it's potential energy storage. Of course, once clothing is put on in this house it morphs into Kinetic Energy with the speed of light, but that's for another post.
Generally, folding is accomplished in the morning by several Little Rutherfords around the dining room table while enjoying an audio book on the iPod. Lately, we have been listening to "The Red Pyramid" by Rick Riordan, which we also happen to be reading aloud (as able this crazy month) in the evenings. But given the recent scattering to the winds of Little Rutherfords combined with our unusual business, laundry is being accomplished with more of the "hey - anyone available?" method.
I must confess, I'm not really a fan of this method. I really, really like my usual method. All the day's clothes are thrown into the washer - no sorting. If there are any fairly new/still might dye bleed clothes included, a Shout Color Catcher is added in for good measure. Then, 1 TBS of Charlie's Soap into the drawer along with 1 TBS of baking soda to soften our ridiculously mineralized water followed by a splash of vinegar in the fabric softener dispenser later, I walk out and let my servant, LG, perform his duties. I adore my servant LG - he is quite capable at his duties, freeing me to any number of other activities I might choose to pursue. And he quite amicably works extra-duty should the stain cycle be required, or an extra rinse be called for, or any of the other laundry-related skills be deemed necessary.
Once LG has completed his task then his fraternal twin, also named LG, takes over with the drying. Again - amazing that I can do so many other things while he does his job! Generally, once this second LG takes over I retire for the night under the guise of reading (for all of 10 minutes, max) before being unable to avoid sleep any longer. Which means that I, along with my Little Rutherfords, awake to completely, wonderfully, cleaned clothing just waiting for us to finalize the process. Truly - this is still a marvel to me, especially after particularly muddy-play days.
Folding is, as I have said, a family affair. The younger Little Rutherfords sit around the table and wait for hand-outs such as square rags, face wipes, or napkins so they are able to join in the folding. Some are in the more advanced stages of training: t-shirts, shorts, and balling up the sock pairs. A few have the knowledge of folding but lack the height to accomplish hanging the clothes on the bar in the laundry room, which requires enlisting the help of one just a wee bit taller. And so our morning usually begins over the flat surface of a table working to accomplish one common goal together. It is a good way to begin days which find most of us within the same rooms accomplishing many goals as time progresses.
The "is any one available" method leaves a lot to be desired. For one, it is completely random. There is no dependability whatsoever. Times and availability are completely determined by chance and open windows of time. For an activity which generates upwards of 40 - 75 items per day, chance isn't a great catch net. Secondly, I am amazed at how quickly Little Rutherfords become busy when they are given the option of being available. Suddenly there is great activity about me as books are being read, puzzles are being assembled, and great towers are being constructed. And yet, incredibly enough, each of these oh so busy individuals expect that laundry will be replenished with regularity, regardless of their input. I don't really see how this attitude contributes to a family growing together.
While I don't care for the laundry results, I do appreciate the occasional bout of "is any one available" simply because it reminds me that there is value in routine. We rarely feel overwhelmed by The Mountain precisely because we climb it daily as a family. When we remove several parts of our family, when we allow our outside activities to crowd out our usual time or, such as this week when we do both, it is a wonderful reminder that our family needs balance. A reminder that my business it to be a keeper at home rather than having home be a pit-stop in the day. A reminder that mixed in with all of the experiences life brings their way, each of our children is being trained to no longer need Scott and I. Which means that they, too, must learn to balance the outside activities with the demands of a home and family. A reminder that their most important experience is learning when to say yes and when to decline.
Who knew laundry could do so much?
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