"Can we call Daddy?"

It's Thursday night.  Hubby has to work late, running worship team practice for Sunday's second service worship set.

The twins are missing him now, during tuck-in time.

My cell phone battery indicator has gone from green to a smidge of yellow, but I place the call anyway.  Voicemail.

I call again, and this time, I let the twins leave him a message.  Medium Fry goes first, telling him she loves him and misses him and wants him to come home soon.  And that she wants him to come up and give her and Small Fry and Large Fry hugs when he gets home.

I stepped closer to Small's bed and asked her what she wanted to say.

"I love you!" she chirped.  "An' I want you to give me an' Medium an' Lawrge an' Mommy hugs.  An' you should come home."  She gave me a goobery grin as she talked.  "Amen."

Wrong Father, kiddo, but it's uber-cute.

Sentimental Journey

Last night at youth group, Tab was setting up snacks just before group started.

She brought E.L. Fudge cookies.

Instantly, a bittersweet smile crossed my lips.

In what seems like a zillion lifetimes ago, I worked as a caregiver for the eldercare agency that still employs me as an independent contracted office staffer.

I'd gotten into the field quite by accident.  A lady at our church was looking for someone to sit with her husband's elderly aunt (she was 95), who was now living in a nursing home and had her first cold.  They wanted a little more care and interaction beyond what the aide staff could provide, just to kind of help her get over the cold, push fluids and juice and stuff, and generally interact with her.  Her mind was still sharp enough that she wanted to get her hair done weekly along with a manicure, and go to the church services the nursing home offered, and to try to escape the secured wing she lived on.  The church secretary recommended me.

It was supposed to be a two-week gig.

I stayed for two and a half years.  I left the job only because my patient passed away.

I loved the simplicity of the employment hierarchy, the knowledge that I was making a visible difference in the life of someone.

I'd hoped I would get another job privately, because I knew the pay would be better.  That turned out to not be in the cards, and I applied to the agency I work for now.

As a new caregiver, I didn't have a regular client schedule right away; I was plugged into the schedule wherever I could fit.

My first regular client was a sweet lady named Polly.  She'd lost her hair due to a high-stress illness, and so one of my jobs was to help her bathe and dress and fluff up her wig after she got it on.  It was only a couple of hours each day, but we developed a relationship.  I would make her lunch.  I knew about her sweet tooth.  I would collect the trash on trash day.  And I would keep her company.  We would do cross-word puzzles together.  We would talk about her daughter's cat, Jasmine, who seemed to control the whole neighborhood.  We became good friends.

And I had five all-too-short months caring for her before the effects of a stroke took her.

Around the time that Polly turned 85 (I told her she could flip the numbers and be 58 instead, which amused her), late summer/early fall had arrived.  The days were temperate and gorgeous.  When the weather was good, and Polly felt up to it, we would have lunch on her daughter's newly-rebuilt front porch.

One such afternoon, we were sitting on the porch, finishing lunch, enjoying the sunshine and the blue skies and the birds singing.

Polly loved cookies, so her daughter almost always stocked some in the house.  I'd brought out a small plate with several cookies on it for us to share.  Today, it was E.L. Fudge cookies: little sandwich cookies with one of four elves pressed into the front, a saying pressed into the back, and chocolate creme in the middle.

Polly selected a cookie.  "Buckets," she read the elf's name.  She flipped the cookie over.  "'Dunk head first.'  Okay, honey," she said, and promptly bit the cookie's head off.

This sent us both into giggles.

Polly died about six weeks after that afternoon, and I grieved hard.  For a long time, I couldn't even look at E.L. Fudge cookies.  The memory was too fresh, the pain too deep.  I'd spent more time with Patsy, but Patsy's decline meant that, after about a year, she mostly slept and occasionally did therapy, and I cross-stitched and watched her breathe.  We hadn't had nearly the relationship I'd had with Polly.  I got a lovely note from her daughter about a week after Polly's death, thanking me for all I did, especially for just plain loving her mom.  (I still have that note.)

I crossed the room at the youth house, stood at the snack table, and picked up a cookie.

Wouldn't you know it...the first one I grabbed said "Dunk head first" on the back.

I swallowed a huge lump of more-sweet-than-bitter emotion and whispered, "Okay, honey," and then bit the head off the cookie.

It's like this...

My dad had rotator cuff surgery on Tuesday.  So, he's kind of getting a taste of what my recliner-confinement was like, post-wreck and -surgery and stuff, since he's spending a lot of time just sitting in the recliner.

At least he can walk.

But I digress.

This afternoon, I got a series of text messages from him, detailing what had just happened.

Apparently, my sister was on the phone.  My mom was tethered to her nebulizer.  My brother-in-law was at work.

And four-year-old Roo (previously mentioned here as simply R) was on the potty.

Roo had concluded his business.

Sis was still on the phone, unable to come help.

Dad, being only two days post-op, can't exactly help Roo.

Who is still sitting on the potty.

And saying, "Dooooone!  Dooooone! DOOOONE!!"

There is increasing insistence and volume.

And an echo from his one-year-old brother, out in the hall: "Daaaaahn!"

Dad sat in his recliner, laughing 'til it hurt.

Many miles away, I had the same reaction.

Stoot

Overheard at dinner tonight....


Hubby: You're silly!

Medium Fry: No, I'm not!

[pause]

Medium: Daddy, you'wre a weiwrdo!

Hubby: I'm a weirdo?  [turns to me]  What do you think of that?

Me: I think she's very astute.

Medium: What's astoot?

Me: It means you're smart.

Medium: No, I'm not!  [giggles]  You'wre a stoot!

And it just devolved from there.

Conversational Vignettes

While I'm working, Hubby piles the Fries into the van to go pick up pizza for dinner.  En route...

Hubby: Kids, you're going to need to eat fast when we get home.  We have a concert to go to tonight.

Fries: Yay!!! [pause]  What's that?

Hubby: People sing.  Jester and Mitzy will be there.

Small Fry: Medium, dat's youwr boyfwiend, an' dat's my giwr...she likes Dohwra.  I know.  Jester told me.

*     *     *     *

During dinner....

Medium [sing-song]: ♫ I want to see my boyfwiend!  I'm old enuff to haff a boyfwiend! ♪

Small [not to be outdone]: I haff a giwrlfwiend!  Mitzy is my giwrlfwiend!

*     *     *     *

And on Sunday, during the potluck dinner after church, Medium confided in my dad that Jester was her only boyfriend.

The other college guys from Local U...she's apparently just using them.


*snicker*

A Moderate Success

I wish the Bee-Be-Gone (aren't I clever?) spray was working better than it is.

Despite being in constant use since Friday, the placebo effects are not what I'd like to be seeing.

Saturday night, Large Fry was up and downstairs twice after bed.  We gaped at each other in shock after her third trip down, the one she was told would result in discipline.  She didn't care; she was ready to accept it.  Hubby couldn't believe it.  But after that, she stayed in bed.

Last night...oy.

Last night, she came downstairs before she even got her teeth brushed, in tears and panicky, because there was a bug in the bathroom.

Which we knew already, because Medium Fry had come downstairs to inform us of this not thirty seconds before.

Hubby went up to dispatch the "bee" that both Medium and Large insisted was present in the hall bath.

He came down, irritated at having had to get up (yesterday was exceptionally long for him), and not having a bug in any line of sight to squash.

I went up a few minutes later to tuck the kids in.  Small Fry still needed to finish brushing her teeth, so I sent Medium and Large downstairs to give Hubby hugs and kisses.  Small was still brushing when they came back up, so I opted to tuck Large in first.  She told me she'd already sprayed her Bee-Be-Gone.  Good deal.  And there was a bug.  Oookay...yup, a small spider.  It was quickly dispatched.

I pulled up her covers.  I turned on her radio.  I gave her a hug and a kiss and asked her what she wanted me to pray for.  "Everything," she said.  "The whole world."

Well, there's a tall order for a bedtime prayer.

I prayed.  Another hug, kiss, and "I love you."

Time to tuck in the twins, having had to shoo Small Fry out of Large's room and to her own while I was still tucking in Large Fry.

Hugs and kisses times two, prayers for good dreams, and exhortations to be quiet and go to sleep.

Large's door was open again as I closed the twins' door.  I went back down the hall.  "Why are you up?"

"I forgot to pray for you!"

Yeah, like I was gonna argue with that one.  I climbed up one rung on her ladder and she prayed for me.  More hugs and kisses.

I went back downstairs and faced my pile of copy editing.  I got through two articles (a total of 31 pages) and called it a night, going up to bed.

While I was in the bathroom, I heard Large's door--her room is right next to ours--open and close.  And open and close.  I went down the hall to check things out, finding her standing just outside her room.  A bug, she told me.

We went into her room, turned on the light, and sure enough, there's a spider up by the ceiling near the foot of her bed.  I climbed up, dispatched the spider, and settled Large back in her bed.  I turned on her radio, assured her that everything was fine, and said she needed to go back to sleep.

That was at 12:30a.

Not ten minutes later, she's opening and closing her door again.

Time for the big guns.

I called Hubby's cell, not wanting to shout down the stairs.  I told him I needed him to come up and why.

He came up, reassured her, got her settled in bed again.  He went back downstairs.  I went back to getting ready for bed.  And within five minutes, Large Fry was up again.  I met Hubby coming back up the stairs as I came down the hall to see what was up.  I happily let him have it.

I finished up my bedtime routine, and heard Large whimpering that she needed her angel bear.  Her angel bear would protect her.  I went in to help look, and found that Hubby had loaded up nearly every stuffed friend that Large had, so she wouldn't be alone while she slept.  Hubby found the angel bear, and reminded Large that she was not alone.

That's when she said that there was a bee, so being among friends wasn't going to help.  It was behind her door.

"Where?" we both demanded.

"It's a pretend bee, down at the bottom."  The same rust spot that she screamed, a week ago, was a real bee.

Progress.  At least she knows it's not real.

She was up one more time before I finally fell asleep, and I had Hubby handle that.  Thankfully, it seemed that she was only up to use the potty.

I need more brilliant ideas for combating this.

Monster Spray, Repurposed

I made it a point to talk with Large Fry's counselor at her Wednesday appointment.

I have absolutely zero shame in admitting that we needed advice for our burgeoning bee problem.

They aren't there.  Large's mind is playing huge tricks on her.  She's hallucinating, really.  Her brain is so hopped up on the idea that she is convinced she's seeing things that aren't there.

Plus, I wanted her counselor aware of the immense phobia we're now dealing with.

Her counselor advised the same thing that I posted here not long ago: Monster Spray.  An ordinary spray bottle, filled with water, and given an important label.

"But it has to smell," she said.  "It doesn't work otherwise.  Use old perfume you don't like.  Or anything to give it a scent.  Then she can spray her room, her clothes, anywhere she needs to in order to keep the 'bees' away."

We had an extra spray bottle kicking around, and Hubby filled it with water today and put in mint extract to make it smell.

I printed off a label this afternoon.

Large is over-the-moon ecstatic, and disappointed that I didn't put her first initial anywhere on the label.

Hopefully, this will help...we've had several nights since last Saturday in which we've had to get her physically past where she thinks her new biggest fear is located, nights where she's flat-out refused to go upstairs, has kicked and screamed cried and flailed.  (I've got bruises.)

Fingers crossed and all that.