Blueberries and Friends

My brother drove the kids and I up to Ocala yesterday to visit my dear friends. It was so nice to catch up with Elizabeth--we met 10 years ago when we were camp counselors at the United Methodist Camp in Leesburg. She is Grace's godmother, and her daughter, Jodi, is my goddaughter.

Elizabeth is the proud owner of Pea Pie Baby, a fabulous online children's store. The kids loved playing with all of her demos. Next time I have a baby, I'm buying a "Bebe Au Lait" aka "Hooter Hider" and a pack of her swaddling blankets! As it is, we left with a boxful of merchandise that I just couldn't resist, like an Ellie Bellie messenger bag for Grace's birthday, monster bowling set, a monster puppet for our plane ride back to Utah, and some other fun items as well. Each kid also now owns a harmonica. Now they can play with my Papa!

While we visited, we took our kids to Southland's Blueberry Farm in Gainesville. Grace picked 1/2 pound by herself, and between Kyle, Grace, and I, we picked 5.5 lbs of blueberries! AJ picked and ate, picked and ate, and ended up with an empty bucket. He's had some diaper problems today. I'll spare the details. We had sour cream and blueberry pancakes for breakfast today, and anticipate baking a blueberry pie sometime this week. There's also a local produce stand next to the blueberry farm, so I picked up some fresh corn on the cob, peas and eggplant to supplement our meals. Tonight we're having beef stroganoff with corn on the cob for a side. It's AJ's favorite vegetable.

We finished our day off with Zaxby's, a delicious chicken place kind of like Chik Fil A. I think my brother had a good time, and we're so grateful to him for chauffeuring us across Central Florida.

Vacation?

My family (parents and sister, sans brother) went on vacation in North Carolina, and our cabin had no cable/satellite for tv or internet. My dad was a basket case--talk about television addiction! That's precisely why Terry and I choose not to subscribe to cable or satellite. All we have are videos. My dad talked to the kids and actually played card games with us, instead of staring at the tv for hours on end. It was quite nice. For a while. It turns out my father has no idea how to talk to children--my children always think he's mad at them b/c he speaks loudly and just gives orders instead of reasons. For example, instead of gently saying, "could you please move here," Dad says, "Get off the couch!" which scares them. So now my 2 year old son hits my dad everytime he walks by, either with his hand or with his blanket. Which pisses dad off to no end. They're both two stubborn males, glaring at each other whenever my father is home. Fabulous.

So now I'm here at my parents' house, trying to get along. My mom is very worried (in an OCD manner) about the house staying clean. Plus she is caring for my grandfather, her dad, during the days until his wife recovers from a recent surgery. My sister thinks we all owe her because she has a college scholarship, therefore she is entitled to everything. (Apparently, my degree, college and scholarships don't hold up the way hers do) Like: the bedroom that we shared (I was told when you go to college, it's not your room anymore, but apparently that rule only applies to me!) so my daughter is in the top bunk bed, my sis has "her" bed--it's a double on under my Grace's--AJ is sleeping on the floor next to my parents' bed (it's actually on the dog bed, but he seems quite happy, and their dog doesn't sleep in it anyways), and I get a cot by the front door, so when my dad leaves the house at 6:30, I get a nice wake up call. I can only use my brother's computer, not connected to a printer, even though there are two laptops, apparently holding top secret classified information. So I'm scribbling from allrecipes.com because cooking is the one thing I do well in my parents' eyes. Tell me again why I decided to stay here until July 31???? And carless???? I so miss my van--it's always been a symbol of freedom to me, because I didn't have a car until after DH and I were married and we bought one for me together.

You see, my parents, uber possession oriented, are quite reluctant to let me borrow their extra car. Apparently Princess Sister might need it to go to work (I never had a car--I had someone drop me off at work, or walked. . .which she could do. . . ) and I've been afraid to ask directly because I feel like I can't take any more rejection from them than I already have. . not recently, but accumulated over the years? I've made plans to lunch with a friend across town Tuesday, and I'm wondering how to get there. And I'm going to visit another friend on thursday and friday, who lives about 2 hours away. I suspect I'm going to have to rent a car. Even though their car would be safer with me, as I'm a better driver than dear sister, who I watched plow through a pedestrian walkway and cut off a bicycle the other day, plus run FOUR red lights down Highway 50.

My brother says it's funny how everything just stays the same. And he's right. I was hoping it would somehow be different--I'd be more mature, they'd be more understanding--but somehow, we've slipped right back into our old roles. Except I'm trying to be a mom to my children and a daughter to my parents and the roles don't seem to support each other. I want so desperately for this summer to heal some old wounds. Perhaps they can't heal until the scab is picked off, causing pain to bring about wholeness?

Tolerance.

I've been involved in an online discussion regarding tolerance. Here's what I think:

Tolerance is, IMO, basic. It's being civil. Its very definiton is this:

1. The capacity for or the practice of recognizing and respecting the beliefs or practices of others.
2.
a. Leeway for variation from a standard.

In this age, i think that Christians have a responsibility to lead holy lives. But we do NOT have the right to insist that others do what we say. I think that's the worst way to show people God's grace and mercy. And I think Satan runs rampant when we think that because we have certain moral standards, everyone should fall in line.

I mean, living in Utah--do you know how many times mothers at the park have gathered their children to leave when the kids and I show up? And it's not because my kids are poorly behaved. It's always on the days when I'm wearing a tank top, or shorts, or wear my cross necklace. Are they being tolerant?? I guess, in the sense that they're letting my kids play at the park while they hastily pack up and leave, not acknowledging me or responding to my greeting. Are they showing love? Kindness? Nope. I imagine they're terrified that my children will corrupt theirs.

I think that we need to teach our children our values. And let them be exposed to the world, in a developmentally appropriate manner, of course. If we insulate them, they're going to be shocked when they finally get out into reality. But if we integrate them from the beginning with people who are different than us, who make different choices than we do, and teach them how to respond, THEN we have hope of developing strong children who possess tolerance-and above that, kindness.

ETA: I also believe that helping someone else, even who is living a lifestyle you do not agree with, is an act of kindness and mercy. Jesus did NOT tell people to turn their lives around and THEN seek him. Jesus gave them what they needed and in response to that love, people choose to--are compelled to--lead holy lives.

Salivary Mucocele

Grace fell at school in mid-April, and shortly afterward we noticed a bump inside her lower lip. we assumed it was a blister or a canker sore. Turns out to be a salivary mucocele, which must be removed, or it will keep growing.  We finally found a doctor (bless him) who was able to schedule us for surgery before we leave for Florida this summer.

She had the procedure this morning, and was up last night, terrified. She was afraid that she would wake up in the middle of the procedure; she was afraid she was going to miss her dance recital (which was tonight). She didn't want to be cut; she didn't trust what was going on. She tried to convince me that the bump had gotten smaller, but to no avail.

We got up VERY early this morning and made it to the hospital. She wore her princess nightgown, flower robe, and fancy pink high heeled plastic slippers with feathers at the toes. The nurses loved her. And she liked them. Until the blood pressure machine came out (it's actually a sphygmomanometer--one of my favorite words, and I so rarely get to use it!).  It squeezed her arm and she wailed. She was terrified.

Then we met the anesthesiologist, who was very kind and soothing. He confided in Grace that he is a grandfather, and he knows just how to take care of little girls. He then explained what he would do--that he would give her a mask to breathe, and he would make sure that she slept during the operation. I watched her relax in his presence.

She came out in good spirits, loving the popsicles in post-op. We made it home, took a nap, and got ready for her dance recital. She was insistent that she go, and since she missed her Christmas recital due to a nasty stomach flu that almost landed her in the ER for dehydration, we consented.

Keep in mind that this little girl is 4 years old. In preschool. Why did they put her 2nd dance at the end? AFTER intermission, 3rd song from the end?  The recital started at 6:30pm, and we didn't leave until 9:30. And we left directly after her last number.

(At her other dance studio in FL, they had all the little children's dances first, and a mini-finale just for the little ones before intermission. Then they got to go home!!! Not to mention that the studio had us drop the kids off and took care of even the 2 year olds without their parents backstage. . . . so in UT I missed half the show taking care of grace ) I don't understand this at all.

She was so tired from this day, and very thirsty--we suspect due to the anesthesia. And her mouth was starting to hurt, but you would never know it from the way she insisted we stay and the way she danced so enthusiastically. We were very proud of her dancing. She was smiling, shaking her hips, and knew every move. Then we came home.

I gave her some medicine and a popsicle. Within 15 minutes of taking the medicine, she was screaming and shrieking over every little minute problem. I talked calmly to her, read her a story despite her protests (nothing like a little Fancy Nancy to brighten your day, you know) and helped her into bed. I told her that the medicine would make her feel tired and grumpy, and she seemed to calm down, knowing that it wasn't just HER feeling icky.

I finally got her to sleep, and made it to the phone to call out for pizza 5 minutes before closing. Now when Terry comes home from his soccer game, we can relax over some pizza (if only I had a bottle of wine!!!) and perhaps a short video. We're big fans of Hulu these days. Thanks for the site, karen! :)