Everyday life

One of my least favourite activities is to look at my last blog post and realise that it has been two weeks. Excuses?  Many, mostly just the busyness of life.  Fortunately, we are still healthy at our house.  There have been minor colds; but I don't count colds as compromised health when compared to the usual scourges that the school year brings.  I have told God in no uncertain terms that there are to be absolutely no trips to the emergency room this year.  In an effort to curb the presumptuous nature of my plea, I did add that broken bones and stitches were allowed.  Fractures and lacerations cause me no distress; fevers and pneumonia do.  That said, have I told you about how Isaac likes to throw toys down the treadmill as I run?  While these obstacles break up the monotony of treadmill running, they also increase the probability of those bones and stitches belonging to me.

Have I bored you yet?    No?  There is more.

In an effort to strengthen the Afelskie immune systems, I have instituted a rigorous cycle of supplements (on medical advice):  multi-vitamin, vitamin D, probiotic, oil of oregano and fermented cod liver oil.  Yikes. They don't receive all of that everyday.  No, in fact, I have a schedule!   A schedule that both divvies up the supplements throughout the week and saves the chequing account from bankruptcy, were I to give that cocktail daily to six children.  Plus, I imagine that if they received those doses on a daily basis our children would be so hale and hearty that we would never sleep again; thus, the schedule proves Chesterton's maxim, If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.  (Or, at least every third day.)  Also, we need to keep the kids' immune systems just under maximum efficiency in order to curb the sheer tornado of energy produced by our young'uns.

What else?   The last two months have been filled with lots of trips to Renfrew where both our doctor and dentist practise.  We lived in Renfrew, an hour away, for four years and I am unwilling to change
either of our healthcare providers.  Both doctors are really great and I don't feel like restarting such intimate relationships all over again.  Thus, we drive an hour, get a vaccination, stop at Tim Hortons and drive another hour home.  As you can imagine, days are easily eaten up by these visits.  I like to keep these trips to a minimum.  Thus, when Jacob tells me that he thinks he chipped his molar on Friday and that it really, really, really hurts, I gently introduce him to the concept of redemptive suffering.

And onto other subjects.


We made it through marriage prep and it all went quite well.  Thank you for all your prayers.  I really enjoy these weekends, despite the loss of sleep and inevitable anxiety-related exhaustion.  I quiver with excitement waiting to present while Dave marks papers and yawns.  (Marriage prep is a lesson
in marriage, especially for the presenters.)  The funny thing about these weekends is that I never
know how things go over with the engaged couples until the feedback comes in a few weeks later.  We are usually confronted by blank and tired stares, couples forced to sit in a church basement on a beautiful Saturday in the fall.  So many of the men wear a look that says, "My eyes are open but I am really sleeping."  Some check phones hidden away in pockets and others begin to clear tables if they feel the talk has gone on too long.  Really, they are not much different than Dave's grade eights.  (Except that there is no recourse to the principal's office.)  But, amazingly, there are hearts there that are taking in what is said.  Usually, the ones who experience the greatest conversions are the ones with the blankest of stares.  For some reason body language, that to me says comatose, often means the opposite to the Holy Ghost.

For example, there was one guy on the weekend who checked his phone pretty regularly throughout the talks, spent the breaks negotiating a better mortgage rate and checked out early on the Saturday
afternoon in order to attend a wedding.  However, two days later I was in the grocery store and a man
 in a paramedic uniform stopped me with a huge smile.  I knew that I recognized him, but the uniform sent me into PTSD mode and suddenly I was back in that helicopter with a sick Isaac.  Or, in an ambulance with an in-utero Sarah.  He kept smiling and held out his hands as if presenting himself to me.  "You don't recognize me?  But I thought that I was your favourite!"  Then I realised that he was
the phone-checker from the weekend.  His experience must have been positive because:  a.  He recognized me;  b.  He didn't run away after recognising me.  So, I guess that we must be doing some good.  At least that good comes around once a year.  I don't think that I could handle much more.

P.s.  Pardon the typoes and strange indentations.  The iPad is a stubborn customer, at times.