Once Upon a Time

Is anyone else watching this show? Someone recommended it to us. I didn't think Wick would like it, but he is as intrigued as I am.

If you haven't seen it, the show is based on the idea of taking familiar fairy tale characters and putting them in a town in our world, which seems to be the UNreal world, and the Magic Forest is the REAL world.

A few liberties have been taken with the characters as previously known, but by and large, they are true to their fairy-tale counter-parts.

So....okay, we have Snow White, who is looking for her Prince Charming, who seems to be married to someone else, but maybe she is not real, and maybe their memories have been magically altered.

We have Emma who came to Storybrook in search of the son she gave up for adoption, who just happens to have been adopted by the Evil Queen, who apparently controls all the characters in Storybrook.

Rumpelstiltskin is just as unattractive as in the fairy tales, living in Storybrook as Mr. Gold. But we get a back story to explain why he became wicked and evil.

Henry, the biological son of Emma, has a book of fairy tales, and has assigned character equivalents to each of the people in Storybrook.

I just reread this, and am not sure if it makes sense or not.

We are hooked on the show, and tivo it every week. I grew up reading fairy tales, and loving them, so I guess that explains my obsession with it.

What I can't really figure out is why Wick likes it. He is normally the logical, sane, sequential one of us, while I am totally random and abstract.

Whatever the reason, we enjoy it.

Try it; you might like it.

Grits: That's What's for Breakfast

If you are not fortunate enough to be from the South, or live in the South, you may never have encountered the (mostly) breakfast dish called grits.

We Southerners love our grits. No self-respecting Southerner would ever make instant grits. We cook grits until they are creamy, smooth, lump-free. Then we add plenty of butter, a little salt, and a sprinkle of black pepper, and dig in.

You can eat grits alone. Or you can eat grits as part of a big ol' breakfast platter.

I love grits with fried eggs over easy. I like the way the golden yellow yolk runs into the grits, and I love sopping it up with toast.

I have no problem with a little of that skillet gravy slopping over onto the grits; I just sop that up with a biscuit.

Sausage is good with grits. So is ham. And bacon, of course.

Some people add a little syrup over their sausage, or pancakes, and like for the syrup to run into the grits. I don't care for syrup on my grits, but hey, if they like it, I am fine with it.

What I do not like is grits with sugar. You can put sugar on oatmeal, or cream of wheat, or whatever other kind of hot cereal you like. You can add it to your cold cereal, even your frosted flakes. I don't mind. But sugar on grits is just not right.

What brings all this up is that Wick and I had breakfast at the Shed, in Chandler, last Saturday. The Shed is an East Texas legend, and serves up all kinds of down-home cooking, but what we like best to eat there is breakfast; we ordered fried eggs with runny yolks, biscuits with gravy, and a side of sausage, with a big bowl of grits.

As we were waiting for our food, we saw a couple at the next table. She had grits with lots of butter, and salt and pepper. He, however, was pouring sugar on his grits.

Not just a little sugar. A lot of sugar. As in, about an inch of sugar topping his grits, so much sugar that when he stirred, the sugar ran over the side of the bowl.

He must have put half a cup of sugar on his grits. We stared in amazement.

Then we looked at each other, and started laughing, and saying, "did you see that??"
"what was he doing??"

When we finally stopped laughing, I said, " Well...what I say is...if you don't like grits, don't order grits, and then ruin them with sugar."

Next time you go to the store, get you some grits. Go home and cook you up a big pot. Add plenty of real butter, and some salt and pepper. While you are at it, cook you up some sausage and fried eggs and buttered toast. Enjoy.

And if you have plenty left over, I can give you some recipes for great stuff to do with left-over grits.

Just don't add any sugar.

Chihuahuas Are Like Potato Chips

We used to have a Pomeranian. Frankie was with us for 16 years, and I always figured I would have another Pom when Frankie left us.
But instead, we rescued a Chihuahua, Sissy, 5 pounds of sweetness. She is a very submissive little dog, and totally attached to me. She is not interested in anyone else, which is hard on Wick, since he is crazy about her.
She does, however, love Little Bob, a Chihuahua who belongs to our friends Bob and Dean. She always wants to play with him, jumping and running and trying to get him to play with her.

So we decided that we would get another Chihuahua, a puppy who would love Wick, and who Sissy would enjoy playing with.

Cassie is eight weeks old, with a black muzzle, and she loves everyone, especially Wick.

But for ten days, Sissy avoided her, refused to sit or lie next to her, and didn't even want to go outside when Cassie was taken out for her house training lessons.

We had been told that Chihuahuas recognize fellow Chihuahuas, and that they were much more inclined to bond with their own breed than with other kinds of dogs. So we were surprised and saddened that Sissy seemed so unhappy about our new puppy.

Then, suddenly, yesterday Sissy initiated play with Cassie. They are so funny to watch, and such a source of entertainment to us.

So that's why I say Chihuahuas are like potato chips. You can't have just one.

This Is Important Stuff Right Here

I believe that life should be lived every moment. Life never goes on hold. The moments spent with loved ones are the foundation of life, and we should never waste an opportunity to be with them.
I believe in prayer. Constant prayer. Giving thanks for all things, because we never know what lessons we are learning until we live them out.
Treasure every minute with your babies. They are grown and gone before you know it.

I believe in chocolate. Chocolate makes everything better.
I believe in real food:
Real butter, not margarine, or oleo as my grandmother used to call it, which makes it sound even more gross.
Real cream, not whipped topping made of vegetable oil . Ugh.
Real vanilla extract, not imitation, which definitely alters the taste of anything.
Real potatoes, not flakes.
Real rice, not instant.
Real eggs, not stuff in a carton or box. What's really in there, anyway?
Real food, not fat-free. The manufacturers usually replace the fat with sugar, because fat carries the flavor, and sugar is what they use instead, so it isn't really better for anyone.

If it is man-made, in general it is crap. There may be a few exceptions, but I can't think of any right now.

I believe that children are a gift of God, and a blessing.

I believe that mothers who sacrifice their own desires in order to stay at home with their children are blessing them for their whole life. These mothers are raising their own children, instead of paying someone else to do it. I realize that some mothers have no choice but to work, but I believe that God designed us so that two parents, both mother and father, are the ideal people to bring up their children, not paid strangers.

I believe that family comes first.

I believe that it is possible to forfeit one's place within a family. I believe it is possible to renew the relationship, with true love and repentance.

I believe that we are born into a biological family, but we also create family as we grow older.

I believe that I am not a particularly interesting person, and I am always surprised when people remember me after not seeing me for a long time.

I believe that God gives each of us a gift, and that we have a responsibility to use it for His glory.

I believe that I am still alive because God still has a plan for me, something I am supposed to accomplish. I'm not sure what it is, but I am always listening for His guidance.

I believe in marriage. My husband is my best friend, my lover, my greatest fan, and the love of my life. I don't think I could live without him.

I believe that I have talked too much, and should stop now.

Adventures with a Toddler

Holy Mama asked me to write about the time when Scott was a toddler. There are several stories I could tell, so this may turn into a series.

When Scott was a toddler and Jeana a baby, we lived in a two-story house that was more than 100 years old. The bedrooms were all upstairs. I put the kids down for naps every afternoon after lunch, and usually lay down for a little while myself. Because of Scott's propensity to run off, I locked all the doors and put on the security chains before I lay down.

One afternoon someone knocked on the door about half an hour after I had put the kids down for their naps. When I opened the door, there stood my sister-in-law with Scott by the hand.

She and my brother-in-law were driving down a busy street just a block from our house. They found Scott in the middle of the street, with a rolled-up newspaper, "directing traffic" by swatting at the cars as they passed.

They threw on the brakes, grabbed him up and brought him home to me.

The curious fact is that the doors were still locked and the security chains still latched.

How did he get out of the house? I never found out.

But this is why, when we went out in public, he wore a special harness, with a leash. It was the only way I could keep up with him. I'm not saying it is ideal, nor is it for everyone. But for Scott, it was the only safe option.

I swear the child could climb a straight wall. Maybe he could even walk through them.

Freeze!

Wick and I went shopping for a deep freeze this week, an upright, about half the size of the one we had when the kids were younger. That one was the biggest one Sears had, and you could have buried a couple of people in that thing.

Thinking about that freezer reminded me of an experience one of our cats had with the freezer.
She was a little Siamese kitten, full of curiosity. She loved to jump into empty boxes, suitcases, paper grocery sacks--anything enclosed.

Our freezer was in the carport, so unless I needed something, it was out of the usual traffic patterns.

One day I went to the freezer to get some meat to move into the refrigerator freezer.
A couple of hours later, I realized I had not see the kitten lately, so went in search of her. She didn't seem to be anywhere in the house, but cats are good at hiding when they don't want to be found, and rarely come when called, so I wasn't too worried.

Later in the afternoon, I realized I needed something else from the freezer. Normally, I might go several days without opening the big freezer, so this was unusual.

When I opened the freezer door, I found the kitten. She was sitting on the bottom shelf, shivering. When I picked her up, her whiskers were frozen, and just touching them broke some of them off.

If I had not forgotten something from the freezer that day, she would have frozen to death. I guess there must be a special angel for curious kitty cats.

Fortunately, even though we have a new freezer, we no longer have cats. I just hope Sissy isn't as curious as that kitten was.

Seven Random Things

Kelsey at holymama.org asked me, among several other of her blogging friends, to tell seven random things about myself.

1. I haven't been blogging much lately, because I haven't had much to say. I know, unbelievable, right? I, who *always* has something to say, can't think of anything to say. I suppose it has something to do with Wick retiring, and doing stuff together every day, but then...I wasn't blogging in the months before he retired, either.

2. In case you haven't heard, our Pomeranian, Frankie, who lived to be 16 years old, passed away last month. His demise left a big hole in my heart, and in my life. I still miss him, but not as agonizingly.

3. Probably because this week we got another dog, Sissy the Chihuahua. We named her Sissy because she is scared of everything. She spent the first year of her life locked in a cage, as breeding stock. But her first season, she had one huge puppy which died, and she almost died too, so she was no longer of value as a breeder. Which is how she came to live with us, and we are very happy about that. She has brown eyes, is the color of honey, and weighs about 4 pounds.

4. We are looking forward to warmer weather, and the yearly influx of family and friends who come to the lake during spring break, Easter weekend, Memorial Day, and every chance they get. Last year we had about 35 people here for 4th of July. Swimming, fishing, cooking outside, catching up on all the news, and loving on my kids and grandkids, nieces and nephews and cousins--it's great.

5. Wick built a raised-bed garden for his tomatoes, and I for one am hoping the tomato plants outdo themselves. He plants big ones for him and the tiny grape or cherry size for me. I love them, and could eat them like candy.

6. We finally found just the right kind of drop-leaf table, at a good price. It needs refinishing (thus the good price) but it has 2 extra leaves, and I love the Duncan Phyfe style. Apparently, I don't know how to spell the name, but y'all know what I mean, right? No chairs, but chairs generally don't last nearly as long as tables do.

7. We had a good rain storm this morning, which we needed. We haven't had much rain lately, and the lake is so low we can't get the boat out of the boat house until the water rises. We have one of those pontoon thingys, big enough to take all our kids and grandkids out at once, so we are hoping the water rises enough, before hot weather.

There are a lot of red squiggly lines under words in this post, but I don't know how to spell the words blogspot says are misspelled, so...oh well.

How's that for randomness?

Sew What's New

I've been working on Pie's quilt for almost a year. I have ten days to finish it.

Naturally, nothing has gone smoothly. When I sewed the first seam of the backing to the top, one side puckered up. I had to pick out the whole seam.

Then I had to go to the sewing center to buy a walking foot to do the quilting.

When I went to use the walking foot, I discovered that it required an adapter.

Of course, I didn't have the adapter.

So I had to go back to the sewing center to order one.

While waiting for the adapter to come in, I decided to work on embroidering her bath towels with her name.

I discovered that I couldn't remember how to embroider towels.

So I had to go to the sewing center and get a refresher lesson on how to embroider towels.

Then I realized that I didn't have the materials I needed.

So...I had to go back to the sewing center, where I bought sticky paper. And Solvy. And new needles for the machine.

This morning I did a practice towel.

It actually turned out pretty well.

So I did one of her towels.

And it turned out pretty well.

So what is the trouble now? I'm too tired to do the rest.

So I'm going to take a nap, and do the rest of the towels this evening.

Assuming I don't run into any more shortages, problems, or missing parts, and have to go back to the sewing center.

Oh. I forgot. I do have to go back to the sewing center to pick up the adapter.

I wonder if they are getting tired of seeing me yet.

New Year's Eve

For the past several years, we have been invited to New Year's Eve parties, but have stayed home and had a quiet evening together.

Last New Year's Eve we spent in a hospital room, drinking cranberry juice and watching New Year's Eve on t.v.

This year, our niece and her family, who have a place here at the lake just a few doors down from us, wanted to have a party.

Hey, a party we can walk to and walk home from, without fighting traffic and dodging drunks. What a deal.

Our son and his family came.

Some cousins came.

Some extended family came.

About fifteen of us, five of whom were teenagers, and we had a great time playing a game called Werewolf, the point of which is to see who is the most convincing liar.

A little drinking.

A lot of eating.

Family stories that made us laugh until we cried.

A guitar lesson that made me laugh so hard I couldn't breathe.

Some people want to be out among the crowd, with all the alcohol and smoke and noise, waiting for the ball to drop at midnight.

For us, midnight came and went without much notice, because we were so involved with each other.

We told our resolutions, some funny, some serious, and talked about the future, with one of the teens leaving for college next summer, and about the past, and good times together.

Not very exciting by some people's standards, but for us...it's the time of our lives.

A Progressive Christmas

We started by visiting Wick's brother Tommy and his wife Betty in Oklahoma City.

Next, a Saturday with my mama, step-father, siblings, nieces and nephews, their spouses, and kids, and our kids and grandkids.

Then we spent a couple of days in Houston with his cousin Skip and wife Kathaleen.

From there we went to Scott and Jamie's, where Jeana and family met us for a few days.

After a couple of days' break, we spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with our dear friends Bob and Dean and their family.

Different foods at each stop. Gifts to open, and the joy of watching loved ones open their gifts from us. Lots of family stories, and laughing, and a few tears as we talked about those who have gone on before us. Kisses and hugs and promises to see each other again soon.

It was wonderful.

But we are glad to be home.

It just seems awfully quiet all of a sudden.

You are what you eat

Well....if you are what you eat...then this is what I am:
Fritoes
bean dip
raw broccoli, celery, yellow squash, zuccini
fiesta ranch dip
Triscuits
cheese (smoked gouda, colbyjack, cheddar, provolone, havarti, pepperjack, and a couple of varieties I couldn't identify)
ranch dip
onion dip
guacamole dip
fudge
divinity
pumpkin pie
apple pie
candied sweet potatoes
chocolate chip cookies
raw cucumbers in sugar and vinegar
jellied cranberry sauce
cranberry sauce with whole berries
cranberry/orange/pecan relish
spiced walnuts with cumin (Jeana made those)
spice tea
hot spiced cider
hot cocoa
coffee with cream and/or Irish cream and/or spiced rum
hot buttered toast with eggs sunny-side up
smoky maple bacon
pulled pork
ham
roast turkey
smoked turkey
turkey salad
turkey casserole
turkey soup
turkey and dressing (cornbread/biscuit/sage, not light bread stuffing)
beef stew
black eyed peas and cornbread
lime cake (the one Wick's mama used to make)
chocolate covered pretzels
white chocolate covered pretzels
chocolate cookies
red velvet cake

In the weeks from Thanksgiving to New Year's Eve, this is just what I can *remember* eating. I may have forgotten a few things. But not much.

If anyone wants me, I'll just be sitting over here looking out the window, drinking my Slim-fast.
Groan.

Indian Summer Day

Gaggle of geese, sleeping on the banks of the lake, heads tucked under wings.

One gander, neck stretched high, head swiveling, watching for predators.

Sunshine on our shoulders, warm as a hug.

Lake rippling in a light breeze.

Chicken salad, fresh whole-grain homemade bread, crisp lettuce, sweet onions for a picnic lunch.

Wick laughing as a goose eats stale bread from his hand.

Grandchildren running, climbing, laughing, shouting to one another.

Sated geese drifting away across the water like scattered bread crumbs.

Cast your bread upon the waters, and it will return to you ten-fold.

Mostly in the form of goose poop all over the grass.

An Airline Brat Goes Camping

Jeana's husband works for an airline.  Most of their traveling is by airplane.

However, a few weeks ago, they decided to go tent camping.

They were in the process of gathering up equipment, packing clothes, and putting food in ices chests, when one of the kids asked:

"Hey, will the campground provide towels?"

No, and they don't do hot breakfasts, either.

She Has Her Mother's Sense of Humor

Conversation between daughter Jeana and her eldest, Katoushka, age 13:

K: Why are you wearing a Christmas sweater in October?

Jeana: It's not a Christmas sweater.

K: Yes it is, it's red and green.

J: No, it's red and shades of grey, see?

K: Red and grey? What kind of Christmas sweater is that?

Drugs, Mayhem, and Chihuahuas--The Saga of Little Bob

One night Jeana and I were talking about our friends Bob and Deen. I happened to mention their little dog, Bob. Jeana wanted to know why they would name the dog the same name as the owner.

So I started telling her about Bob, who is Frankie's only doggy friend.

Now this is an East Texas story, which I pieced together from different sources. I can no longer remember who told what part of the story, but the most noticeable feature of all the narrators was the sense of place--the East Texas way of telling a story, rambling from one thing to another, from one person to another, and all told in that deep East Texas vernacular.

I have consolidated all those voices into one narrator, and tried my best to reproduce how those voices sound.


Wall, y'all ain't been in the neighborhood long enough to know who is who and what is what, but y'all know that house that's right opposite y'all's house on the circle? [We live on a road that makes a full circle.] The one with the fenced yard?

They's just somethin' about folks as would fence up their front yard. Don't seem very welcomin' somehow, does it? Like they don't really want you to come visit. Don't set out on the porch, nor in the yard, nor come 'round nobody else's place neither. And they had a big boy, nearly growed up, and he don't go to school, nor work, nor nothin', far as any of us could tell.

Never seen his daddy hit a lick at a snake with a stick, don't know as he ever worked much either.

The mama, now she had a whole passel of them lil ol dogs, you know them little Mexican dogs, like that'un on the Taco Bell ad, that always said Yo, Key Arrow Taco Bell [yo quiero Taco Bell]?
Them lil dogs ain't big as a minute, none of 'm.

Wall, she had a whole herd of them lil dogs, and she sold'm to folks as wanted one. But then they fell on hard times. Couldn't even pay the light bill. Said they just couldn't afford to feed so many dogs, no matter how little, and just opened the gate and turned 'm loose on the neighborhood.

Wasn't long after that the laws showed up. Just went right in through that open gate, busted down the door, and hauled 'm off to jail.

We always suspected they was dealin' drugs or somethin'

Lots of folks took one of 'm, just picked 'm up off the road. [We are back to the dogs now.]

But a few of 'm hung around, all skinny and scrawny, and lookin' pitiful.

Joyce, across the road, she felt sorry for 'm, and she took up with lil Bob. He was so skinny an' poor lookin', she just had to feed him.

Then, o'course, he kep' on comin' round to her house, lookin' so pitiful, she just couldn't turn 'im away. But you know she's got two dogs already. That big 'n, the one with the crazy blue eyes, that she calls Sonica cuz they found her at the Sonic, and that little'n that looks sorta like them Mexican dogs, that she calls Puppy--that Puppy is mean as a snake, she'd as soon bite you as look at you.

Anyways, she couldn't keep lil Bob cuz of her dogs, she was scared they'd eat him up, so she calls Bob and Deen and asks 'm to take lil Bob.

Now Deen, after her chows Sam and Pam died, she said after somethin' happens to Tabby, that lil black cat, she ain't havin' no more animals.

But she seen lil Bob, and he didn't weigh but two pounds, just skin and bones he was, and she couldn't turn 'im down.

She carried him home, and took him to the vet, and fed him up til he weighed more 'n five pounds--real plump he is now.

Bob, he didn't care much for havin' a dog with his own same name, so they tried to change it, but he wouldn't pay them no never mind no matter what they said, unless they called him Bob.

Wick said it would be easier to change Bob's name than to change the dog's name.

So we call him Bobby, or Little Bob, and he just loves on everybody that comes around, licks on 'em, and wants to sit in their lap, and just wags his tail til he nearly wags hisself off his feet. Cute as a button, and real smart. Hardly ever barks, except at the cows.

He's a good little dog, that Bob. If you like them lil ol' bitty dogs.

Not an Early Morning Sort of Person

I've never liked getting up early. I need time to wake up, to gather my thoughts, to drink coffee, and pull myself together.

When I worked, I liked to get to school about an hour early, to get organized and ready for the day ahead.

I still get up early, to have time with Wick before he leaves for work, but he doesn't expect much more than minimal communication, a little snuggling, and a few kisses before he goes out the door.

Morning at Jeana's house is different. Saturday morning.... I was not at my best.

First, I had to get up earlier than I wanted, because Frankie insisted on going outside at the crack of dawn.

Then everyone else was up.

All those kids' smiling faces.

Paul Simon's Graceland playing in the background.

Jeana making coffee.

Scott chirping like the early bird who gets the fat, juicy worm.

All that cheerfulness--it's downright depressing.

A Fishy Story

For the past few years, our daughter and family have invited us to join them for a couple of days of their vacation at a condo on a lake. It's always fun, and we usually do something special while we are there, such as going to the wildlife sanctuary or visiting the diosaur tracks in the river nearby.

This year, because I am still not as strong as I hope to be eventually, we just hung out at the condo. The condo has two decks; one is at the level of the sliding glass door, and is lovely for sitting outside and watching the moon come up.

The lower deck, down a flight of steps, has a boat slip, and plenty of space for chairs. The kids spend a lot of time there, swimming and fishing.

Jeana's husband told the kids to keep the small fish they were catching, and later they would use them for bait.

Lolly was excited about catching fish, even tiny ones, but when it came time to cut them up for bait, she got a little teary.

Since I still have trouble with stairs, Scott brought one of the little fish up to show me. As he stood over me (he was standing, I was sitting), the little fish, which we thought was dead, suddenly leaped out of his hand and went right down my cleavage.

Predictably, I squealed and started digging for the little fish, which was squirming his way right down my shirt.

Scott, Jeana, and Wick were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes.

I finally had to go take a shower and change clothes, because I was so certain I smelled like fish.

I'm telling you, I couldn't make this stuff up!

First Monday

We went to First Monday in Canton Saturday.  First Monday is the biggest "garage sale" in the world.

It started in Canton many years ago, when farmers came to town on the First Monday of each month.  Court was in session, and while people took care of their legal business, they could swap for fresh butter, eggs, and produce, and then by a natural evolution, they began to swap for all kinds of other things.  First Monday is now a huge tourist draw.  

We are lucky enough to live close.  We went Sat. morning, poked around for a couple of hours, and had lunch before heading home.

I have missed going to First Monday since I haven't been able to walk far.  I still couldn't walk from the parking spot to the first pavillion, but Wick got me a powered chair, and it worked great.  He loaded it into the back of his pickup with a couple of ramps, unloaded it when we got there, and presto, I was able to keep up with him and our niece all morning.  It was great.

We didn't buy much, but got a lot of ideas about decorating the cabin when we get to that stage.

We lookked at life preservers, ship's wheels, fishermen's floats, old nets, everything from fine antiques to pure dee junk.  It was fun just to look and browse, and watch people bargaining.

If you have never been to First Monday, it's worth the trip.  There are all kinds of places to stay, and even if you don't buy anything, it's an adventure just to make the rounds.

Of course, buying stuff is sort of the point. 

Obsessions, Compulsions, and General Craziness

I'm not really obsessive/compulsive. But, like most people I think, there are a few things that I really have to do.
1. Folding things: t-shirts, towels, sheets, pillow cases, underpants...all have to be folded into thirds.
2. Stacking things: all washcloths have to be stacked so that the nice fold is on the outer edge, and the edges of the washcloths are to the back or side. Same with sheets and pillow cases.
And towels.
3. When I fold socks in pairs, I alternate the folded edge, so that the stack stays even, not lop-sided.
4. I count things. Like steps. When I go up stairs, or down stairs, I count the steps. If I walk on stepping stones, I count them. If the ceiling tile has rows of dots, I count them. If we are at a football game, I count the number of players on the field, the number of girls in the drill team line, the number of kids in the band playing percussion.
5. When I eat M & Ms, I lay them out in rows, sorted by color. I eat only one at a time, starting with the color of which I have the fewest. I suck on each M & M (if it is only one, is it still M & Ms, or just M?) until it melts before I put another one in my mouth.
6. When I eat dip and chips, it has to come out even. If I have dip left, I need more chips. If I have chips left, I need more dip.
7. I sit on the back deck every morning and drink coffee with lots of cream and a spoon full of Splenda in it. If, for some reason, we have to leave early, and I don't have time to sit out there, my whole day seems off.
8. I don't check my e-mails every day, because when I check, I have to answer anything that needs an answer right then. I can't stand to leave one unanswered. So if I know I don't have time to answer, I don't read.
9. I like for my shoes to match my outfit. If I don't have a pair of shoes that match, that's okay, but if I do, I have to wear them. I can't just wear another pair. I have to wear the ones that match.
10. There are certain blogs I have to read, if I am on line. I don't necessarily comment often, but I do have to read them. It's a good thing there aren't too many of them, or I'd be on line all day.
Well, there you have it, the general nuttiness of my day to day life. Could be worse, I guess. At least none of it hurts anybody else.

Child-speak, part 4

When Katoushka was two years old, she did not talk baby talk. She talked in complete sentences, in a very melodic voice, quite clearly, and not only seemed to remember everything she heard, but also to be able to use new words appropriately.

Her parents had a discipline plan, which I had not totally grasped yet, but it seemed to be working very well, and I had a great deal of respect for it, and for them.

So when they left Katoushka with us, I tried to do as I thought they would do. But one day Katoushka did something that she knew she wasn't supposed to do. I told her I was not sure how Mommy and Daddy would handle it, and we were going to wait until they got home and find out what they wanted to do.
She sat in the little red rocker quietly for a few minutes. Then she said, "Mimi, Mommy and Daddy say that those who love me chastize me."

I knew that chastizement meant some kind of punishment, so I called her to me, and gave her a couple of little swats on her thickly diapered bottom, saying, "Precious, I would not want you to think that your Mimi doesn't love you." She returned to the little red rocker, rocked vigorously for a few minutes, and wiped her tears.

I could hardly stand it. My precious little grandbaby was hurt.

But before I could say anything, she came back to my side, spread her arms wide, and said, "Mimi, can we reconcile now."

My heart twisted in my chest. I gathered her into my lap, hugged her, and we rocked until Mommy and Daddy came home.

Note: For clarification, I am adding Jeana's response: " We told her that we chastise her because we love her. I think the difference is important. We certainly do not expect everyone who loves our children to chastise them, nor would we be happy at all if they did."

Jeana wants to be sure there is a distinction between what they actually said, and what Katoushka and I thought she said.