A New Milestone

"My toof is bleeding again!" Medium shouted as she came into the kitchen.

This is about the third time in the last week that Medium has come in to tell us that her loose tooth is bleeding.  This particular sucker was tethered especially well with well-fed tissues, so it bled when she bumped it with her toothbrush.  Or her spoon.  Or wiggled it hard.

About a week ago, I'd tried to pull it, but Medium yelped, even with orajel applied beforehand.

It was a lot looser this afternoon.

I figured it would come out easily.

I put more orajel on it when Medium asked me to.

"Do you think you can get it?" she asked me.

Ohhhhhhhh, I really wished Daddy was home instead of in the midst of a youth group event for the afternoon.  This makes me really squeamish.  It must be because it's been so long since I've yanked any of my own baby teeth.  Or something.

Either way, I confessed to Medium that I'm a wimp, and didn't want to do it...and that maybe she should wait and ask Daddy to do it.

"But it'll huhwrt if Daddy does it!"

Oooookay.  All right, I'd try it.

I grabbed a napkin, knowing that loose teeth are known to be a bit slippery and that the napkin would help me get a better grip.

But Medium wouldn't open her mouth.

I finally gave up on getting her to let me take a shot at pulling the tooth.  "I just want to look," I told her as she clamped her lips shut.

"You'wre gonna try to get it!" she squeezed out between clenched teeth.

I set the napkin down.  "See?  I'm not gonna pull it.  Let me see."

I looked again.  Yeah, that bad boy was ready to come out.

"I wanna try it."

I gave Medium a dubious expression.

"I wanna do it."

"Okay."  I handed her the napkin.

She fiddled with the napkin a little, and then grabbed hold of her tooth.

Not a peep of discomfort and two seconds later, the tooth was out of her mouth.

Yep, all by herself!

Holey moley.

Hubby puts the "fun" in "funeral"...

Hubby and PeeJay do not have a church secretary that works for them and the church.

No, Miss Wanda is so much more than that.

Her official title is "Ministerial Assistant," but that still glosses over all that she does.

So, when we heard that Miss Wanda's mom passed away earlier this week, it was a no-brainer. Hubby and I would be attending the funeral.

The Fries, who just looooooove Miss Wanda, made her a wonderful card before they went to school on Tuesday.

Hubby managed to get lost on the way to the funeral home. This is significant for two reasons. One, this may be the first time in nearly 17 years of marriage that Hubby has admitted to being lost. Two, we live in a town with a population of about 5300, not counting horses, sheep, llamas, and cows. And the funeral home is on the main drag right through town. Kinda hard to miss. And Hubby has a map in his head that would rival Rand McNally's.

So, once Hubby reoriented himself, we arrived at the funeral home.  The last time I'd been at this place, the officiating minister had interspersed over 60 "amens" in less than 12 minutes of homily. (Yes, Hubby counted.)

We went in and paid our respects to Miss Wanda and her family, and took our seats.

During the first hymn that was played, Hubby leaned over and whispered that he wanted a church funeral. I nodded, already having that one figured out.

The he whispered,  "And I want 'The Trumpet of Jesus' played...on bagpipes."

I tried desperately to contain my bubbling giggles.  And I poked and elbowed Hubby several times.  He sniggered at me.

I'm still chuckling as I think about it.

My dad is going to be either horrified (that's a favorite song of his) or entertained.

Nobody does indignance quite like Medium.

Last night...

I'm at the end of our tuck-in routine with the twins.  Hubby had board meeting last night, so he wasn't home for bedtime.

Me: I'll tell Daddy to come up and give you hugs and kisses when he gets home.

Medium:  Will you really?

Me: Yes.  I'll tell him.

Medium:  Before he starts talking?

Me: Yes.  But remember, he probably won't get home until after you're already asleep.

Medium: Okay.

I ended up telling Large Fry the same thing.

Large: Text!

Okay.  So I sent Hubby a text.  He got home from board meeting around 9:30, and went upstairs to peek in on the kids.  He was back downstairs within a minute.

Hubby: All three of 'em are out cold.


Tonight...

Once again, I'm at the end of tuck-in time.  Hubby was still at praise team practice (which always happens on Tuesday nights), so it was just me tonight, as well.

Me:  I'll tell Daddy to come up and give you hugs and kisses.

Medium [indignantly]: Like you did last time?  Daddy didn't come up!

Me [trying to hold back my amusement]:  Daddy did come up last night when he got home.  You were already asleep!

Medium [deflated]:  Oh.

Mother's Day

This is a holiday I have such mixed feelings about.

On the one hand, it festers deep in my soul.  A lot of times, I feel like a "fake" mom. I didn't give birth to my kids.  I didn't adopt them.  They're not even fosters.  "Children of my heart" sometimes seems like a catch-phrase that allows me to horn in a holiday I shouldn't have...no matter how true that phrase is.  There's nothing worse than being honored for something and, at the same time, feeling like a fraud.  (Yes, I'm well aware that I'm legit.  Feelings aren't bound by logic.)  So, sometimes Mother's Day makes me feel a little squirrelly.

On the other, I feel delight that goes clear down through my toes.  I love being mom to my three girls, and I love their unabashed expressions of love that come with Mother's Day.  This year, I got a tissue paper flower from Large Fry, which she made at school; two plastic plates lovingly and enthusiastically decorated for me by each twin, with "About My Mom" books they'd written in, also done at school; a styrofoam cup and gold glittery pipecleaner trophy that Large Fry made in Sunday School; and two small potted begonias that the twins picked out for me, along with big cards made in Sunday School.  And, of course, my mom made me a card, and I got a card from Hubby and one from the Fries.  No jewelry.  No expensive gift.  But what I got were priceless things, made by my children, and nothing you could find at the jewelry counter at Kohl's would be better than the gifts my girls made for me.

This year was special, because I had both my mom and my mother-in-law with me for Mother's Day.  That doesn't usually happen.  I do not have mother-in-law issues.  (I was smart, and prayed for good in-laws, and God chose to answer that prayer with a big ol' YES.)

Mom and Dad chose to come out for church at PSC for Mother's Day, so the whole bunch of us, plus Ultimate Babysitter (one of our youth group teens; she babysits for us and the girls love her), crowded into a pew.  Well, except for Hubby, since his dual role as pastor of both youth and worship ministries means he's on the platform for the first half of the service or so.


I was sitting on the end of the pew, with my mother-in-law on my right and my dad on my left.  To Dad's left was Small Fry, who was happily sitting between both Gramma and Poppa.


Hubby and PeeJay wanted to find a nice way to honor moms, and so, during the first half of the service, they showed this video:


As we walked outside to the cars after church, I strolled alongside Dad, who told me that he'd observed a couple of things during the video.

First, Small Fry and I had connected gazes right at the time the narrator spoke of how moms rubbing their kids' backs makes them feel safe.  She grinned impishly at me, I know, and I smiled back in return.  I do that a lot when they come up to me and want a hug or a snuggle, just gently stroke my hand up and down a few times.  Or when they're sick.  Or when they're crying and hurting.  The look on Small's face, while impish, also communicated quite obviously—to both me and Dad, apparently—I know that's why you do that, Mommy, and I like it.

Second, which I didn't know about, was at the end of the video, probably right around where the narrator paraphrases Proverbs 31.  Small looked directly at me again.  I was still looking at the screen, and thinking about my moms who were there with me, and about my kids.  Dad said it was once again obvious on Small's face that she knew I was the one who did all the stuff mentioned in the video, and I did it for them.  And that it was clear she knew I was really Mom.  "It was so precious," Dad said.

Yeah.

And I missed it!

I kinda want to kick myself for that, but then, Dad saw.  And he told me.

And I have it here, so that I can go back and remind myself...my girls know how much I love them, and they know I'm their mom.

That is a gift beyond compare.

Overheard

Hubby: What are you doing? Medium Fry: Snuggling! 'Cause you're the best. And the snuggliest. And so is Mommy.

Just now...

My cell phone just rang.  It's Hubby.

Hubby: Did you know my mother was coming?

Me: Um, noooo...

Hubby: Well, she's here!

Me: Cool!

And, honestly, it is cool.  I love my mother-in-law, and I'm delighted she decided to visit.

By show of hands...

Has this ever happened to you?



A friend on Facebook posted that picture, asking that same question.

Several folks responded, with their own stories or ones they'd overheard.  One even acknowledged that it was surprising it had never happened to them, given that they had 13 kids.  (I winced when I read that.  Ow.)

I've never been left behind by my folks.  However, Hubby wasn't so lucky.

Now, there's a few key things to be aware of here.  One, Hubby refers to himself as the "What do you mean, you're pregnant?" baby.  He freely admits he was trying to be prevented, and has also called himself the Defective Latex Poster Child for his year of birth.  He came along 9 years after his parents thought they were done.  His oldest sister is 12 years his senior, the next sister is 11 years his senior, and his only brother is 9 years older.

Two, the town Hubby grew up in can best be described as...well...HeeHaw would have saluted this towns 1017 residents.  (It's closer to 1200ish in population now, which is still only about a fifth the size of the town where we live now.)  There's ONE traffic light.  They got rid of the blinking yellow by the school years ago.  It didn't get a McDonald's until 1994.  It fulfilled the definition of a small town that I read in Reader's Digest moons ago: a place where everyone knows whose check is good and whose husband isn't.

Now, when Hubby was about five (which would make sister #2, Lou, about 16), his mom, Lou, and he went out to their church during the middle of the week for some reason.  I forget what, exactly.  While Mom and Lou worked or did whatever, Hubby happily played in the church nursery.  After awhile, he came out of the nursery to look for them.  They weren't there.  He found the pastor's wife instead, and asked if she'd seen his mom.  Mrs. H, the pastor's wife, told him that his mom and sister had left several minutes before.  She drove him home.

So, since I didn't have a story of my own to share, I shared Hubby's.

And then I told him about the post my friend Jan had made, shared some of the stories with him, and he proceeded to tell me that history had very nearly repeated itself.

Last Saturday, Hubby took the Fries with him to praise team practice, since I had come unglued at the thought of having to survive another morning on my own.  He'd only just gotten home Friday night.  And since I was shaking and crying at the thought of Saturday morning without him, he kindly took the girls (ages 7, 6, and 6) with him so that I didn't end up checked into a room with rubber wallpaper.

Let me explain a bit about our church.  It's been here in this town since...oh...well, around the turn of the century.  The 20th century.  It's been at its current location in town since some time in the early 1920s or '30s, I think.  The current sanctuary was built in 1959.  More space was just added on when it was needed.  It took most of the first year that we were there for me to figure out the layout of the church.  There's no real obvious "front entrance."  It's one really old building that's had more and more and more added onto it, so that now it seems to not have much rhyme or reason.  It's a great place to play Sardines.

And a great place for three little girls to whoop and holler and giggle and run around.

Which, naturally, is what they did after Hubby had wrapped up practice and was finishing a few final things before leaving for home.

Finally, when he was just about ready, and all the Fries were actually in the sanctuary, he hollered at them to go get into the van.

They scampered off.

Hubby was, he said, about sixty seconds behind them.  Plenty of time for them to get to the van, get in (bless those powered doors), get buckled, and be ready when he got to the van.

And that's exactly what he expected.  Since the Fries can operate the van's sliding doors themselves, he thought nothing of the fact that both doors were closed when he got in the van.  He buckled up, started the van, and shifted into drive before asking, "Is everybody buckled?"

Silence.

He looked in the back...and discovered he was alone.

I am happy to report that he did come home with the children, so it's not like they were actually left behind.

Almost, though.

Almost.

Yes, I'm still chuckling at him.