Creature Bug

VBC & Me

I have gotten the biggest kick out of reading your comments (here and over at Facebook) about your misnamed adventures. For one, I'm relieved to know that so many of you get called the wrong name. Makes me feel a little more normal. And for two, it's been an emotionally difficult week and your stories have brought some much needed humor to my life.

I mentioned last week that a close family member was in the hospital. This past Wednesday we got the results of that hospital stay, and it was the worst possible news we could have received. I can't really process the whole of it, and at some point I'll write through it, but I can't right now. I will say that your prayers for my family would be greatly appreciated.

As we all know, though, grief does not keep life from moving forward, and this was the week I was committed to helping out at my church's Vacation Bible Camp (evidently the new trend is to have VBC, not VBS...the theory being that "Camp" is more fun than "School," I guess...). I did some registration stuff and some photography stuff.

  

 

 

When I signed up a couple months ago to help at VBC, I had no idea that the week would come at a time when I'd be emotionally and physically exhausted. Nevertheless, starting my day surrounded by 500 kids ended up being exactly what I needed.

Plus, it turns out that it's good for the heart to photograph kids having lots of fun.

It's also good for the heart to listen to two little cousins talking excitedly about all the fun they were having at VBC. Oh boy, oh boy. These girls are something else.

I love seeing how they have different styles from each other, and yet they are so alike. Even though they do things on their own, they still want to be doing their own thing right next to each other.

In fact, they had initially been placed in different VBC classrooms, but of course that wouldn't do at all. At five years old, being apart from your best friend is about the worst thing that can happen. (And can you blame them? Who wants to be in a room full of people without a friend close by?) It was quickly fixed, and the week was smooth sailing from there.

On the drives home from church, they would talk about their drawings, about their snacks, about the games, about the crafts, and about the new verses they had memorized. One day's verse was "Do not let anyone look down on you because you are young." I asked Sydney if that meant me too. "No, Mom. You're not young."

Honey, Mama is ALWAYS young. No matter what. Remember that.

Just Don't Call Me Late for Dinner

I stayed after church on Sunday to help decorate for Vacation Bible Camp. At the beginning we all introduced ourselves, although I never really count on anyone actually remembering my name (probably because I never count on me actually remembering anyone's name).

Later in the afternoon, one of the women came up to ask me a question. "Jessica?" she inquired, her voice indicating her uncertainty that my name was, in fact, Jessica.

"Stephanie," I helpfully corrected her.

"Well. That makes sense. You look like a Stephanie." (Hooray!)

"No problem...most people call me Stacie."

The woman I was working with turned around and said, "That's what I always want to call you!"

It's true. Most people--friends and family aside--want to call me Stacie. Two of my co-workers who really ought to know better consistently call me Stacie. I've stopped correcting them; now I even respond to the incorrect moniker.

Nine times out of ten, when someone calls me the wrong name they call me Stacie. Occasionally I get called Jennifer (must be because of the middle "f" sound Stephanie and Jennifer share). I've now been called Jessica.

But for whatever reason "Stephanie" doesn't stick in the brain of a new acquaintance. "Stacie" does. Some people say it's because my last name sounds similar to "Stacie"; others say it's the similar beginning and ending sounds. Whatever it is...it's a bit mysterious. Familiar, but mysterious.

Yesterday morning as I was helping out with registration at Vacation Bible Camp, I was telling my friend the Stacie/Stephanie story. As I finished, the pastor of my church walked by and greeted me. "Hi Stacie!"

Does this happen to anyone else, or am I the only one who has a name no one can remember?

Week 262: Afterword

While I am all for reflection and taking life lessons away of the events from your life, sometimes I think there are moments that are better left unquestioned. Sometimes the best thing to do is just move forward and be thankful that you're breathing on the other side of whatever happened.

Jason came home on Tuesday, and even though his flight was an hour late (drat you Chicago O'Hare and your constant tardiness!), it was still amazing to have him home. The girls were determined to stay up until he got home, and Sydney, bless her, managed to stay awake until midnight, but as soon as she got in the car to drive to the airport it was too much to keep her eyes open. She felt like a real trooper though, exhausted as she was.

And the joy of having Jason home was enough to carry us through two grueling days of moving out of our third-floor apartment in Salem. Up and down stairs, hauling, packing, aching muscles--and even though we are now all moved up to Washington, we've still been moving stuff around the house here. Let me tell you, if I ever have to move a Tempur-pedic matress again it will be too soon. Mattresses are hard enough, but Tempur-pedics? As my dad used to say when he was a professional mover: they're like carrying a fat woman full of beer. Ridiculously unwieldy. Meh.

The details of Thursday, however, get a little less filled with joy. As Jason was moving the cover for our bbq, he unfortunately also moved a nest of yellow jackets who then moved with great force and anger at Jason. Nearly a dozen bee stings later, Jason wasn't feeling so great.

But still! We were joyful! Jason was home! Bee stings and all!

Except then Friday, Jason woke up feeling the effects of being stung and let's just say that his body didn't respond well. And despite our best efforts to get him feeling better, in the end there was still a phone call to 911. And paramedics. And an ambulance. And a trip to the hospital where they ran all sorts of tests and cat scans and listened to his heart, wondering why he was having trouble staying conscious.

They figured it out though. And all is well. Nothing to be worried about. (Easy to say three days later...)

And while I was, in fact, crazy with worry, I had to keep it together because Sydney and I had a wedding rehearsal to attend. I couldn't go to the hospital, I had to pack. I had to drive. I had to push aside the worry and summon up all the joy I had for Rebekah's wedding. Which was gorgeous, by the way. And which Jason was able to attend, although my dad and Jason's mom had to do the driving because Jason wasn't allowed to drive.

So Thursday and Friday...didn't go exactly as planned. But Saturday?

 

 

Beautiful. And perfect. And wonderful. The bride was beautiful, the flower girl was adorable, the little sister of the flower girl was happy to be chewing gum, and the father of the flower girl was relieved to be out of the hospital.

The mother of the flower girl was quite relieved too. Exhausted, but relieved.

 

I keep thinking that at some point I'll be able to stop thinking, "Gosh. What a week." But it just seems to keep adding up. On top of all this, all last week a very dear family member was in the hospital for something much more serious than bee stings. It's not good news; it's sad news. It's news that will lead down a very difficult road.

Sometimes I can't stop to think about how it's all adding up because if I do I can't stop shaking. Mostly, life is good. God is good.

I can't complain, even if I am feeling pretty worn down. We wake up and are thankful we're together, under the same roof, snuggled together--the four of us--in bed. "There's monsters!" Jules giggles as we hide under the covers. "Hide! Hide from the monsters!" We hide until we have to come up gasping for air. Jules's advice? "Give the monsters some soup...and all better."

There's no hiding from monsters, but mercifully I still find myself with bowls full of soup.

The only thing worth writing about today

Jason's flight arrives at 11:14 pm tonight.

And then it will be official: WE'LL BE LIVING TOGETHER AGAIN. Every day! Weekdays. Weekends. Holidays. Thursdays.

We'll get to watch So You Think You Can Dance TOGETHER.

I'll get to SLEEP IN every other day.

I might actually have time to blog. Or maybe, I'll just be spending all my time with Jason and so I'll never blog again. Goodbye forever. Or not.

I won't have to do bedtime routine anymore. EVER AGAIN. Except sometimes.

It's amazing. It's practically miraculous, in an understated way.

I did it. I survived 3 1/2 months of mostly solo parenting. I'm a little bit crazier for it, and a little bit crabbier, but no sense fussing about it now. We all do the best we can with what we have, am I right?

Just seven more hours to go...

Celebrate with me, people.

Week 261: The one that ends with a wedding

It's a big week. It'll be impossible for me to capture everything in words, but parts of it will be captured in photos. One part specifically will probably be capture in hundreds of photos.

It won't be Monday, the day that Sydney starts swimming lessons, although I'm sure I'll get a few pictures of that.

It won't be Tuesday, the day that Sydney's hair gets trimmed at the salon (as a result of me haphazardly chopping two inches off).

It won't be Tuesday night, when Jason comes home from his trip (hallelujah, praise God for Tuesday night).

It won't be Wednesday, the day that we pack up all our belongings in our Salem apartment and say goodbye forever to our beloved Oregon phone number that we've had all our married lives.

It won't be Thursday, the day that Jason packs up his classroom and says farewell to a school he has loved teaching at.

The pictures will start Friday evening, and then continue all day Saturday.

The blessed event? Rebekah is getting married.

It would be exciting enough that the World's Best Nanny is getting married, but there is a little something extra that makes it even more exciting: Sydney is the flower girl.

While being a flower girl is a plenty big honor, the real perk of flower girl duties is THE DRESS. Spinny princess dresses fill approximately 78% of Sydney's dreams (the other 22% being divided equally between princesses and ballerinas and kittens). And this one does not disappoint.

She got to try it on a few weeks ago when we went to a bridal shower for Rebekah.

Sydney took her duty seriously and helped unwrap presents.

Unwrapping presents AND a spinny flower girl dress? Does get any better?

Not likely. Check out her shirt, by the way (it says Flower Girl).

I got to thinking I probably shouldn't have cut Sydney's hair until after the wedding, but it'll be fine. She still looks cute as a button.

And we could always add some ribbons if we need to.

Yep, big week. My little girl is in her first wedding.

You can bet I'll be crying--at Sydney, at Rebekah, at the end of a week that'll be marked by beautiful beginning. I'm a sucker for weddings...and for adorable flower girls.

Father's Day Comes on Friday

Thank you for all your prayers and sympathies. It's been quite a week, not all good or bad, but here at the end of it I'm exhausted. All things considered, the family is doing quite well coping with their grief. They did find out a few days ago that Jason's grandpa didn't have cancer--the doctor on call had misdiagnosed it--that he, in fact, had a severe case of pneumonia and consequently had developed a staph infection. This was the reason why he deteriorated faster than anyone anticipated, and by the time he arrived at the hospital there was no treatment at all for his condition.

For whatever reason, the news of pneumonia instead of cancer was a kind of relief to everyone. I can't explain why except that complications from pneumonia seemed less heartbreaking than cancer. So. That was healing news.

And that seems to be the theme of the week: news, more news, different kind of news, details, arrangements. Not having Jason here has been hard. Not because I'm overrun with emotion, but just handling all the phone calls and such has worn me down.

Fortunately, I was blessed to be visited by two sweet friends this week. Devon came Wednesday and organized my books, as well as mercifully hauling away bags of teaching materials I was going to recycle. My dear friend Laura and her two boys visited Friday and much merriment ensued with jumps on the trampoline and rides on the Mule.

Of course, the packing and organizing continues. There are few breaks in that, and even though the joy of living here hasn't worn off, I tell you what has worn off: the adventure of solo parenting.

Truth be told, this weekday single parenting was never really an adventure for me. It always pretty much was horrible, but I was committed to being a trooper and a good mom and shouldering through it. I don't like being away from Jason, but having the weekends together has brought at least some stability to our lives. This week, however, he's away to the East Coast--currently in Washington, D.C.--and so this weekend he's absent. He's flying home Tuesday night, but then has to spend Wednesday and Thursday in Salem finishing up school stuff. And so Friday is D-Day.

It's helped that my family is here to help me out. It's helped that the girls get to spend a few hours a day at preschool with Jason's mom. It's helped that I have friends who visit and invite me out to lunch. All that keeps me going.

But still. I'm not winning any awards for my parenting skills.

The thing is I'm a better mom when I have Jason with me. Really, I'm a better person all the way around. It's more than just missing him; it's needing him, needing his presence, needing someone to consult with, commiserate with, complain to. Even if I wasn't a mom, I'd be missing living apart from Jason. But living apart and trying to juggle parenting is hard. Really hard. And this week with all its dynamics has worn me out.

So tomorrow is Father's Day, and even though I'll be thankful to the high heavens for Jason, I won't get to make him breakfast or give him a card. And while some people might think it's easier to be let off the hook from any real celebration, I'm bummed. Because of his trips, he's missed Father's Day for the last four years. This year, though, is the hardest.

We just want him here. We just want us all to be together.

And the next five days can't be over fast enough.

Absence

Early Sunday morning, Jason's grandpa was taken to the hospital because he had trouble breathing. He has not been feeling well for a little while now, and so we initially thought pneumonia might be the culprit.

Jason's parents drove down to Eugene to visit Grandpa, but we stayed here because we had a birthday party to attend. Also, I admit we weren't too concerned because we figured he'd be out of the hospital in a few days, as has been the case before.

*

Monday morning, I talked with Jason's mom. They had found a tumor in Grandpa's lung. Malignant.

Monday afternoon, I talked with Sharon again. Cancer throughout Grandpa's body. Two weeks to live.

Two weeks.

The girls and I made plans to drive down to Eugene on Saturday. Jason left last night for an 8-day field trip of the East Coast. He hated to leave in the midst of all of this, but planned to visit his grandpa as soon as he got back.

*

The hospital called this morning: the family needed to be down at the hospital. Forty-eight hours left, they said. Jason's dad--who owns and runs a coffee shop--had someone coming to work for him at 12:30, at which point we would all drive down to Eugene.

Less than two hours later--as I was packing snacks for the drive--Jason called to tell me that his grandpa had just passed away. Jason's dad was devastated at not being there for his father.

*

I debated about taking the girls down to Eugene anyway, wondering if they might be some comfort to Jason's grandma. Sharon appreciated the gesture, but said it would be best if we stayed here. That Jason's uncle--who lived with his parents as their caretaker--was wrought with grief. He can't imagine his life without his dad.

*

The funeral might be this weekend. Jason will still be gone. Jason's brother, who lives in Rhode Island, will also be unable to attend.

*

Please pray for Jason's family, particularly his dad, uncles and grandma. The loss was too sudden, the heavy grief of absence weighing on their hearts.

 

Week 260: The Tale of Templeton, chapter one

Although there are at least four, maybe five, cats on this farm--the newest addition arriving yesterday in all his lovely free-kitten-from-the-grocery-store-parking-lot glory--clearly they are on summer vacation. And by "vacation" I mean they aren't doing their mousing duties.

This can only explain why a mouse ended up in and under and (what sounded like) on top of the house.

I'd heard her scratching in the heating ducts for a couple days and hoped that she would find a way out of the house and into the field where life would be so much more pleasant for both of us. But it was not to be.

On Friday night, when Jason went into the kitchen to get a snack, he saw the mouse in the kitchen. He saw her. She saw him. And then she skittered into the vent. Jason relayed the news to me. I was unsettled.

The real kicker, though, came later that night as I was getting ready for bed. I could hear Miss Templeton--that's what Sydney had decided to name her--scurrying around behind the bathroom wall. There I was exfoliating my face, and scratch scratch scratch went Miss Templeton. I rinsed my face, holding my breath as I turned off the water. Scritch scratch. Sounded like more than just moving around; sounding like nesting.

"There's a mouse in the bathroom wall," I said to Jason, who had just fallen asleep but woke up to hear my complaint.

"Okay," he said, and went back to sleep.

I reached for my toothbrush, and then I heard it: a soft thump. A whisper of a thud. right. beneath. the. sink.

Carefully, I opened the cabinet doors and peered inside. Rustling.

I peered under the sink. Saw a flicker of movement. Stepped back. Held my breath. Nothing. Closed the door.

As quietly as I could, I finished brushing my teeth, and then cracked open the cabinet door again.

AND THERE SHE WAS. Sitting on a bath towel. Her nose twitching.

"JASON!" I hoarsely whispered so that I wouldn't wake up the girls. "JASON! The mouse. It's right here!"

He was so not interested.

I persisted and eventually woke him up. "GET UP. GET UUUUUP. Get the mouse. She's right here."

Jason got up, but he was tired and he wasn't happy. "What do you want me to do? What...what...what am I supposed to use?"

I whispered loudly, "THE MOUSE IS RIGHT HERE. Kill it!"

Jason walked down the hallway, and came back. "I can't...what...can we do this in the morning? What am I going to use?"

"Uhhhh..." I mentally searched the house for usable unpacked items, "a fly swatter?"

"A FLY SWATTER? A fly swatter will not kill a mouse."

I didn't want to leave the mouse unattended, but knew that Jason would need some help finding a suitable killing object. I started opening drawers in the kitchen. "A hammer? A newspaper? How about this wooden spoon?"

"You'll have to throw that spoon away, you know." I hesitated. It was a solid wooden spoon, one of my better ones. I remembered a less sturdy one was in the drawer. "Use this one," I said.

Of course, by the time we got back to the bathroom sink, Templeton was gone. Jason cleared out the area under the sink, at which point I realized that the little mouse had been using my, ahem, under-the-sink items as nesting material. Fabulous.

She was gone. Jason, bless him, kissed me and went back to sleep. The wooden spoon lay unused on the dresser.

It was a long night.

To be continued.

Just so you know...

...our kitchen is almost unpacked, my pots have found a new cupboard, and our gigantic Kitchen-Aid mixer still needs to decide where it belongs. Also, I do not understand why I have six ladles and seven spatulas. Furthermore, I don't remember buying any of them. If you're missing a ladle, I have it.

And that--along with 3 dozen other box-unpacking adventures--is what I've been doing this week.

The end.

It's Never Too Late for Pictures of Cupcakes

In the midst of all the packing and unpacking (thankfully, not of the same box or then you'd know I had totally gone off the deep end), I neglected to post pictures of Sydney's birthday bbq. Here's a smattering of the day's festivities, and if you're so inclined you can click on a photo and be transported to the Flickr set for more pictures.

Since the weather was hot enough for swimming, I decided to have the party down at the creek. It's usually a couple degrees cooler there, and then the kids can swim and all is well. Plus, we'd never had a full-blown birthday party at the creek, and I like being original like that. Or difficult. The line between the two is a bit thin.

It requires a little bit of extra work having parties at the creek.

There is a certain amount of finesse required to get a bbq down a steep hill. I didn't see how it got to the creek, but as if by magic, it was there when I got there. The BBQ fairies delivered it, I guess. Just like they delivered the tables and chairs. I love the BBQ fairies. They're so handy.

Sydney had requested a butterfly cake, so I did my best.

I was happy with how it turned out. I'm totally converted to icing in sandwich baggies. They're a cake decorating miracle.

I knew the cake wouldn't feed everyone, so I did some cupcakes as well.

That blue icing? It was purple until I took the cupcakes outside. And then the sun turned them blue. Fortunately, Sydney saw them when they were purple and so she didn't mind the color shift. Icing in baggies was again my decorating trick. As well as microwaved canned frosting to dip the cupcakes in. Makes them smooth. Or in my case, "smooth-ish."

I got my cupcakes tips and inspiration from this book. If you like creative cupcakes, you need this book. It's very cool.

All in all, it was a great afternoon. A little song,

a little sand,

and some big smiles

(that would be my super adorable nephew smiling like he always does).

Several of us stayed down at the creek long after the party ended, watching the kids build sand castles, the swallows swooping across the water. It was a perfect day for the greatest little five year-old I know.