The teen years should be interesting with this one...

After hastily finishing the twin Fries' kindergarten family projects for November, we hustled them up to bed.

Hubby went into Large Fry's room to start there, while I went into the twins'.  Tag-team bedtimes.

I went through the routine:

• prayers
• kicking out monsters, giants, wombats, dragons, and snakes (but the friendly ones can go to Gramma and Boppa's)
• singing their good-night song
• good night kisses and I-love-you kisses and hearts (the sign language sign for "I love you," and we touch fingers; then we make hearts with our fingers and touch the hearts together)
• turned on the radio

Then I went down the hall, where Hubby had been apparently lotioning up an itchy Large Fry.  I sang the goodnight song to her while Hubby went down the hall to do hugs and kisses for the twins.

We met at the top of the stairs, and Hubby related this conversation:

Medium Fry [glaring and disgusted]: Daddy, do you know you missed everything?

Hubby: I know.  I'm horrible.

Medium: You'wre nawt that hohwrrible.

Hubby: Okay, I guess I'm just a little horrible, then.

Medium: No.  You'wre nawt hohwrrible at all.

I somehow suspect that there was an eyeroll involved in the "nawt that hohwribble."  If there wasn't, in a few years, there will be.

Vignettes from Tonight

As we're driving over to the twins' friend Merry's house for their little Halloween party tonight, Medium is talking with Hubby about dogs after Small Fry expresses some concern about whether or not Merry's family has a doggy.

Medium Fry: An' she has a Chocolate Pudding dog!

Hubby: A Chocolate Pudding dog?

Medium: Yes!  That's what she said!

Hubby: A chocolate Labrador?

Medium: No!  Yes!

Hubby: So she has a chocolate Lab, then.  That's cool.

Medium: Yes.

~~~~~~~~~~

And then, on our way home from the party, Hubby was joking around with Medium, and asking "Who?" "What?"  "When?" any time Medium had a question, and using a creaky old voice to do it.

Medium was not happy.

Medium:  Daddy!  You'wre not listening! I'm twrying to talk to you!  Daddy!

Hubby: What?

Medium: Why awre you saying "What?"

Hubby [creakily]: What?  Who?

By this time we were in our driveway (it's only about five minutes to Merry's).

Medium [exasperated]: You'wre nawt heawring what I'm twrying to say!  Just goes to show that you'wre getting old.

~~~~~~~~~~

And here they are, in all their finery:

Spidergirl, Rosetta, and Iridessa

There are things I just don't understand about this world.

Hubby got a call last night from a friend who was worried about his girlfriend.

This morning, Hubby got another call from the same friend, who said his girlfriend was out walking in the rain, apparently not wanting to be at home.

Hubby went out and picked Lesl up.

I just want to smother her with kindness.

I gave her some clothes to borrow, and threw her soaked things in the washer and washed them with a bunch of our stuff that needed to be washed anyway.

She said I didn't need to go to the trouble of drying them (I didn't tell her I washed 'em until they were in the dryer).  Well, right now, we still have power.  Might as well use it while we have it!

I asked her if she'd like something to eat, or something hot to drink.  I boiled water for the tea she requested and offered her a cookie first and then a sandwich.  Nothing fancy, just peanut butter and jelly or turkey and cheese.

Lesl said she felt like royalty.

She was flabbergasted when I said this is just how we treat our friends.

Cowboy (her boyfriend) came over after she'd been here awhile, chatting with Hubby and occasionally the Fries, about some of the heavier stuff that's been going on in her life.

She mentioned a little while ago that she felt icky, so we offered the use of our shower.

It astonishes me how little kindness she must have been shown, just because of how astonished she is by stuff that doesn't faze us in the least.  "Cowboy cares about you, and because of that, so do we," I'd explained as I got one of my thick, fleecy sweatshirts for her to wear while I washed and dried her clothes.  We'd have done this for anyone.

So I took her to the upstairs bath, which is decorated in a cheery Mickey Mouse theme (with all the gleaming black tile, it begged for Mickey treatment), got her a thick towel and a washcloth, and left my hairdryer outside the door for her for when she was done.  I told her she could take her time; she could even take a bath if she was so inclined.

"I'll pay you back," she said.

I thought she was referring to the cotton leggings I'd lent her, since she'd said she'd fallen in love with them and was keeping them.  "$6 at Walmart," I said.  "It's no big deal.  Don't worry about it."

"No, for everything," she said.

I must have looked shocked, but I recovered quickly enough to say that wasn't necessary, and we weren't looking for her to pay us back.  There was no need.

To us, a sandwich, a cookie, a Dr Pepper, a quick wash and dry of clothes, and a simple shower isn't putting us out at all.

It's not out of the norm of stuff we would do for anyone we consider a friend.

But it almost breaks my heart that she's had so little compassion shown her in her life, that she's never experienced people who are nice just to be nice, and not expecting anything in return except a smile and a "thanks."

Are there really that few people in the world who are kind just because they're kind?

Hatches Battened Down

I'm finally feeling more like myself, which is a good thing.

We are pretty much in the "go to a liquor store" and "screwed" section of this weather map:

Actually, now that I look a little closer, we're more under the "screwed" part of south-central PA than we are the "liquor store" part, but we're pretty darn close to it.

Needless to say, we're hunkering down.

School has been canceled for the next two days, and trick-or-treat night on Tuesday was canceled early this morning.

Rosetta, Iridessa, and Spidergirl are beside themselves.  They were so looking forward to trick-or-treating.

I would imagine that Hubby is not planning on going in to work on Tuesday (Monday is his normal day off).

We've offered our home as a hangout for any of our youth group kids who are uncomfortable being home alone while their folks are at work.

And, weather permitting, we're taking the girls to an indoor scavenger hunt on Tuesday night at the home of one of the twins' classmates, just so that they can do some kind of candy thing.  Hopefully, the borough will reschedule trick-or-treat night.  Otherwise, I've got a glut of excess candy.

And, unlike PeeJay's wife, I bought the good stuff.

Which I really don't need to eat.

So...it may be the end of the week before I'm on here again.

Those of you who are hunkering down along with us, in the line of Sandy's wrath, stay safe.

The rest of you?  Those of us who are preparing to ride out a fury of wind and rain sure would appreciate your prayers for our safety, our communities, our EMS/police/fire/rescue personnel, and for few injuries and no fatalities.

See you on the flip side of Frankenstorm!

Halloweenies

So I've been after the Fries to tell me what they want to be for Halloween.

I finally have answers, and Gramma and I both hope that they don't change their minds between now and tomorrow when Gramma goes to the store for material.

Large Fry has said for months that she wants to be a fairy for Halloween.  Specifically, she wants to be Tinkerbell's fairy friend, Rosetta.

Medium Fry has also decided she wants to be a fairy.  She chose Tink's friend, Iridessa, who looks remarkably like Medium does.

Now, my youngest child...the contrarian...what does she want to be?

Spiderman.

Yep.

This should be interesting.

Poot.

So...I'm sick. I'm pretty sure I caught Large Fry's bronchitis.  (I kind of already had the cold, and with my asthma, this should not have surprised me, but it did.)

I can't tuck in kids at bedtime. I feel like death warmed over.  I'm pretty sure that, at this point, I'd probably have to be dead three days to feel worse.  Whatever this is, it's settled in my lungs and I'm doing an admirable job of trying to hack them out while still keeping them contained in my chest cavity.  (More than you wanted to know, I'm sure, but I've been on Nyquil for pretty much the last 24 hours.)

At bedtime, Small Fry climbed into bed next to me.  "I'm gonna snuggle wif you til bedtime," she tells me.  I changed the channel from Investigation Discovery to PBS's Sprout (which I loathe, but is child-safe; ID is not) and decided I didn't care how much I hated Sprout.  My baby wanted to snuggle with me.

She ran out when Hubby called to her and had her and Medium Fry get ready for bed while Large Fry nebulized downstairs.

The twins wanted me to come to their room and tuck them in.  Getting up and walking down the hall sounded like a bad idea to me.  Sooo...I sang to them right here in my bedroom.  If, that is, you can call my raspy frog-voice "singing."  I kissed both of them on the cheek at the appropriate point in the song, and they headed down the hallway, happy that I'd at least done that much of the bedtime routine.

A few minutes later, Large Fry came in for hug and kiss.  Then she skipped out to go to her room and get in bed.

Hubby followed her into her room and passed gas on the way in.  "Large Fry!" he accused.

And that was what I heard of the conversation.  After he finished tucking her in, he came back to the bedroom and related the rest of the conversation to me.

"Daddy, you lied!" Large Fry had said, aghast.  (Lying is something we don't tolerate in our house.)

"Noooo," Hubby had replied, teasingly.

"You lied!" Large insisted.

"Nooooo."

Large Fry got mad, and balled up her fists and covered her cheeks as Hubby began to sing the "Goodnight Song."

"You're not gonna kiss my cheek! I'll kiss my own cheek!" she said.

And so he sang...

♫ Good night, good night, I'll tuck you in, good night. You'll kiss your own cheek... ♪

Large kissed her fist, touched it to her cheek, and then covered her cheek with her fist again.

♪ ...so you will sleep, now close your eyes, good night.  ♫

And, almost as if on cue, Large Fry passed gas herself...two small poots.

"Daddy!" she accused.

"You lied!" Hubby retorted.

"I copied you!"

Smart girl.

More than a Little Unusual

Large Fry and I spent four hours in the ER this morning.

Before you panic, we're home now.  And Large Fry is fine.  (I'm still getting over my attack of the Worry Gremlins.)

But this morning, it was obvious that Large Fry's cold (the same one the twins have) had progressed to something worse, as she wheezed and gasped for breath, inhaling rapidly and shallowly.  It was bad enough that I canceled the appointment at the pediatrician's that I'd just made and opted to take her to the ER instead.  (Her insurance is far more likely to cover the ER visit than a trip to the Urgent Care.)

Two breathing treatments and a couple of chest x-rays later, and Large was breathing much easier...and so was I.  No pneumonia, just a very nasty bronchitis.  Steroids, albuterol, follow up with her regular doc—the usual drill.

So we departed with discharge papers, an emesis (spell check suggests nemesis, which, given my usual reaction to violently upset stomachs, isn't far off) basin just in case the liquid steroid suspension made her nauseous, and two prescriptions.

And I dropped the scripts off at the pharmacy we use on our way home.

There we were...waiting at the red light to exit the CVS parking lot.  I'm the only one awake, as the morning's adventure had wiped Large out.

And that's when I saw something I've never seen before.

A horse and buggy clip-clopped through the intersection, the horse prancing smartly and looking for all the world like he knew how handsome an animal he was.

That was not the unusual part.  We have a lot of Old Order Amish and Mennonites around here.  Horses, buggies, wagons, and bicycles are extremely common.

No, what astonished me was the racing flames decal that was affixed to the side of the buggy by the left rear wheel.

Yeah.

Only here, folks.  Only here.