I decided to keep silent for most of February to spare you the regular news of the Scourge of '13. The good news is that only half of the kids and one of the adults (sort of) had to undergo the regular gastro-intestinal difficulties that come with this most difficult of months.
Some of you might recall that we usually are busy with marriage preparation in February. Inevitably our two February marriage prep weekends exactly coincide with the arrival of the stomach flu at our home. Thus, last June, in a moment of remarkable foresight, I petitioned for marriage prep to be moved to April. The move was made official and April will be a busy month. The interesting thing is that the weekend that would have been marriage prep had we followed the regular calendar found Joseph at home on the couch with a bowl and a groan. Impeccable timing. My theory is that February is preceded by two things: 1. A January thaw that lets all those dormant viruses and bacteria begin to reproduce and take hold; 2. I suddenly become lazy and stop the immune-building regime that we usually follow and, thus, everyone is left wide open for an attack of sickness. Oh well, we're through it now and it so paled in comparison with prior scourges that I actually had to ask Dave if anyone had had the stomach flu this month.
In other news, Isaac is still toilet training. I think it has been two months. The longest any of our other children has taken was two weeks until all accidents were over. This, admittedly, has nothing to do with Isaac and everything to do with two tired parents who can't seem to get on top of their game. Isaac spends the entire morning using the toilet as he should but, once naptime ends, so does civilised behaviour. I keep waking up and telling myself that today will be the day that I get my act together; however, my purpose of amendment is obviously as weak as Isaac's potty skills. Oh well, we'll get there some day. Perhaps on that day I will tell you about the unique spots in our house in which he has chosen to practise his potty skills.
And how is Sarah? Beautiful, calm, placid, happy. Fill in the blank with any more adjectives that can be freely used to describe one of the happiest, most peaceful babies that I have ever met. A real joy, a gift.
Jacob and Hannah recently competed in the school's public speaking competition and Jacob opted to keep on going to the wider competition at the Legion. Thus, Dave was gifted with a Sunday afternoon marking papers at the back of the local Legion while listening to grade schoolers speak about porcelain doll collections, space travel, Mt. Everest and Marilyn Monroe.
The twins are approaching their tenth birthday and their planning is reaching epic proportions. I keep finding pieces of looseleaf stashed around the house with hastily written birthday party plans. These plans include lists of invitees, food choices and games. The entire thing is mapped out down to the minute: 1:33pm - watch movie; 3:01pm - begin to eat pizza. Perhaps they could join up with Pippa Middleton and make money with their party-planning skills. The downside to this all is that I hate birthday parties. Thus, our kids have been told that their tenth birthday is the year that they can have a real party. After that, they can wait 'til 21. Of course ten seems eons away for Joe and Ben who look on with sorrow and envy as their older siblings plan, plan, plan. Ben scowls while Joe cries that he will nevvvverr, evvverrrr turn ten. Maybe not.
Ben recently lost his first tooth and was the first of our kids to get that cute whistling lisp that comes with the new found gap. Very cute. He is progressing well at school and enjoying the backyard rink that Dave made this year. He's at that point in skating where he has learned to push off to the side rather than make tiny little steps as he crosses the ice. The new found momentum that comes with his gliding skill is not quite under control. Consequently, I often look out the back window to see him shooting across the ice like a high speed puck shot by a beginner hockey player. Picture a little boy rocketing between banks of snow, back and forth, back and forth. He is very wet when he comes in.
Joseph is Joseph. He still occasionally wears ties to school, has unknowingly wrapped the principal around his little finger and is following Jacob's trajectory when it comes to reading. He recently had an altercation with our dog. He jumped off the couch and landed on the sleeping animal bringing an altogether new understanding to let sleeping dogs lie. Sammy, reacting out of his latent canine skills, nipped Joe's leg. The timing of this event was much like the stomach flu, impeccable. I was nursing the baby to sleep 20 minutes before 6 women were to arrive at the house for a Bible study. Sarah was uncharacteristically refusing to settle when Joe came barrelling down the hall screaming in pain. I chose not to respond and reacted with a flurry of anger born of genuine panic. Joe appeared to have no visible injuries and I, ummm, spoke loudly to him, "What is wrong now?!" He responded, "I don't know but something is wrong with my leg." And then a trickle of blood hit the floor and he pulled up his PJ leg to expose a wound of unknown origin. I wondered at it: What did he land on that would do that? And then the bruise surrounded by the puncture wounds showed their true nature as the shape of a dog's mouth appeared in Joe's leg. Oh.
Dave abandoned the dishes, I cleaned the wound and wrapped Joe's leg and Dave took him off to the ER just in case he required antibiotics. I then rushed back to the bedroom where Sarah successfully fell asleep. I shoved the older children in the front room where they sat in various stages of grief over the possibility that Sammy might have to leave the family. And then the women arrived for the Bible study and Sammy sat outside on the back deck looking at the women and barking to be let in. I slipped out and put him in the garage where he could settle down and remain a sequestered nuisance. As the Bible study continued I could see in the reflection of the great room's window that Ben and Jacob were tiptoeing back and forth between the front room and the garage with great big tears flowing down their faces as they spent what they thought were their final hours with the family dog. Dave eventually arrived home with Joe (antibiotic and stitch free). Poor Dave had to fill out an incident report on the dog as any animal bite requires. Thus, the health unit officer had to visit the next day in order to remark that Sammy is extremely beautiful but is in quarantine for the next ten days. Dave won't let me put a quarantine sign on the door. I have argued that a quarantine sign will be even more effective than our current "Leave me alone it's naptime sign," but he won't relent. Joe really is fine, the wound has healed beautifully and he has no fear of the dog. His jumping onto the dog has been curtailed, though.
The funny part of the story has to do with the backyard rink. While the nurse was cleaning the wound, she noticed some chafing marks on Joe's ankles. She calmly asked Dave what those marks were from. He looked and couldn't immediately identify the cause. He did, however, think, "I've brought him in with a dog bite and now they think that I keep him in shackles at home." Thankfully, at the same moment, both he and the nurse realised that Joe's skates had caused the chafing. Thus, only the health unit has been by to investigate, not Children's Aid.
And, in one last piece of Joe news: At mass on Friday night I drew Joe's attention to the host that the priest was elevating. I whispered to him, "Joe, that's Jesus." He asked, "In the bread?" I replied, "Yes. Jesus is hiding in the bread." He smiled with a glint in his eye and whispered back, "Wow, that's a great disguise."
Monday, February 25, 2013
Saturday, February 2, 2013
A little story
First of all, to those who commented on the last post, thank you. I have decided to keep this blog private and, if and when I have the time, I might start another less personal blog. But, for now, this blog will remain a moment's rest within the very full day. I confess to quaking in my boots a little when I think of the kids' photos and stories out there on the big, bad web. I tend to be a little paranoid but I do sleep much better at night knowing that no one is tracing my kids' pictures to their home address. Also, I need to respect their privacy. They know about all that I post (especially the twins who love to read the blog and laugh and laugh and laugh). I think of this blog as our photo album and I hope to one day find a way to print it out and put it in a hard copy format for us and our extended families. It has been a real blessing to regularly record our life together and these years in which the kids are growing up far too fast.
Now, onto a story.
Most of you know that we have a dog called Sammy. We also have a son called Jacob. Both of these, in two different senses, belong to Dave. Sometimes Dave doesn't like to admit to 'ownership'. Last Sunday might have been one of those days.
On Sundays Jacob runs from our house to church, a distance of 2 km, in order to serve mass. Our priest requires all altar servers to arrive at least 15 minutes prior to the start of mass; thus, Jacob's early start. We, sans Jacob, leave for mass in order to arrive 5-10 minutes before the official beginning. Last Sunday Jacob left at around 10:30am for an 11am start. At about 11:40 we started to put on our winter clothes and pack ourselves in the van. I am usually the last one out as I grab the diaper bag, soothers and make a last minute rest stop. While I did my before-mass review, Dave called back in the house wondering if I knew where Sammy was. I quickly looked around the house and, not seeing Sammy, I responded that he must be in the backyard. And then we left for mass.
When we pulled into the parking lot my eye was caught by an unusual sight on the church steps. There was a boy and there was a dog. In fact, there was a boy with a dog. An average sized boy with a very large dog. The overly exuberant dog was being restrained by a boy that was quickly looking smaller than an average boy. My first thought was, "Will you look at that? Jacob found a dog and is holding him for his owner." And then I realised that I was one of the owners of that overly large, overly exuberant dog. "Oh," I thought, "That's Sammy." My heart sank just a little.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with our family pet, shall I just use the description, ummm, overly friendly. Add to that overly big and you have a good picture of a somewhat stupid animal who really likes people and, thus, is able to significantly harm unsuspecting visitors with his amorous welcomes. We regularly lock him in rooms when people come to the door.
I could only imagine what sort of injuries the average church lady would suffer when greeted by this domestic pet. "Oh, dear God," I prayed, "I hope that he hasn't hurt anyone."
Jacob had clearly been watching for our van and, when he saw the red Sienna pull into the lot, he came running over half dragged by the dog whose collar he was holding. Jacob was smiling and laughing which partly reassured me that all church ladies were still intact. Somehow someone asked what had happened and we realised that the back gate had been left unlocked and Sammy had embarked on the biggest adventure of his life running free through the streets of our town in pursuit of his little master. He must have had the time of his life.
With only five minutes until the start of mass, Dave barricaded Sammy in the back of the van, left the window down a crack and left him for the duration of mass. Jacob later told us the full story in which he caught sight of "something yellow streaking behind him madly." Yes, those were his words. He says that he noticed Sammy about halfway to church and thought that if he ran faster Sammy might decide to turn around. Clearly he has little understanding of a Golden Retriever in pursuit of his master. Not surprisingly, Jacob never once considered turning back home and bringing the dog back to our house. Rather, he said that he decided that he would find someone with a cell phone and call us from the church so that we could come and take the dog home. Apparently he carried this plan out as one of the men at the church saw the young altar server with his dog and offered the use of his phone. By this point we were already on our way and Jacob was forced to abandon his plan and wait on the steps of the church greeting all who dared enter there.
And so ends my story. Sammy survived his first (and last) mass and, as one friend whispered to us as we processed out, "I didn't know you were so Franciscan." Neither did we.
Now, onto a story.
Most of you know that we have a dog called Sammy. We also have a son called Jacob. Both of these, in two different senses, belong to Dave. Sometimes Dave doesn't like to admit to 'ownership'. Last Sunday might have been one of those days.
On Sundays Jacob runs from our house to church, a distance of 2 km, in order to serve mass. Our priest requires all altar servers to arrive at least 15 minutes prior to the start of mass; thus, Jacob's early start. We, sans Jacob, leave for mass in order to arrive 5-10 minutes before the official beginning. Last Sunday Jacob left at around 10:30am for an 11am start. At about 11:40 we started to put on our winter clothes and pack ourselves in the van. I am usually the last one out as I grab the diaper bag, soothers and make a last minute rest stop. While I did my before-mass review, Dave called back in the house wondering if I knew where Sammy was. I quickly looked around the house and, not seeing Sammy, I responded that he must be in the backyard. And then we left for mass.
When we pulled into the parking lot my eye was caught by an unusual sight on the church steps. There was a boy and there was a dog. In fact, there was a boy with a dog. An average sized boy with a very large dog. The overly exuberant dog was being restrained by a boy that was quickly looking smaller than an average boy. My first thought was, "Will you look at that? Jacob found a dog and is holding him for his owner." And then I realised that I was one of the owners of that overly large, overly exuberant dog. "Oh," I thought, "That's Sammy." My heart sank just a little.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with our family pet, shall I just use the description, ummm, overly friendly. Add to that overly big and you have a good picture of a somewhat stupid animal who really likes people and, thus, is able to significantly harm unsuspecting visitors with his amorous welcomes. We regularly lock him in rooms when people come to the door.
I could only imagine what sort of injuries the average church lady would suffer when greeted by this domestic pet. "Oh, dear God," I prayed, "I hope that he hasn't hurt anyone."
Jacob had clearly been watching for our van and, when he saw the red Sienna pull into the lot, he came running over half dragged by the dog whose collar he was holding. Jacob was smiling and laughing which partly reassured me that all church ladies were still intact. Somehow someone asked what had happened and we realised that the back gate had been left unlocked and Sammy had embarked on the biggest adventure of his life running free through the streets of our town in pursuit of his little master. He must have had the time of his life.
With only five minutes until the start of mass, Dave barricaded Sammy in the back of the van, left the window down a crack and left him for the duration of mass. Jacob later told us the full story in which he caught sight of "something yellow streaking behind him madly." Yes, those were his words. He says that he noticed Sammy about halfway to church and thought that if he ran faster Sammy might decide to turn around. Clearly he has little understanding of a Golden Retriever in pursuit of his master. Not surprisingly, Jacob never once considered turning back home and bringing the dog back to our house. Rather, he said that he decided that he would find someone with a cell phone and call us from the church so that we could come and take the dog home. Apparently he carried this plan out as one of the men at the church saw the young altar server with his dog and offered the use of his phone. By this point we were already on our way and Jacob was forced to abandon his plan and wait on the steps of the church greeting all who dared enter there.
And so ends my story. Sammy survived his first (and last) mass and, as one friend whispered to us as we processed out, "I didn't know you were so Franciscan." Neither did we.
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