Mistaken Identity

I have been experiencing a series of events recently that can only be described as Mistaken Identity.

We ate pancakes the other night,formed in the shape of Pumpkins. It was Halloween, afterall. After dishes were cleared and bedtime routines were started, Mike brings a can with a yellow cap to me, looking perplexed, and says, "Do you think this furniture polish is toxic?"

I told him I wouldn't drink it if I were him. It appears we all had.
He thought it was PAM spray for the griddle.
The pancakes slid right off.

The benefits? Our house had a wonderful lemony smell all evening.
I have seen no ill effects, but I wouldn't suggest trying it at your home!

It reminded me of the time a dear one of mine was in agony, and chose the muscle pain relief cream, BEN GAY, instead of PREPARATION H. Another case of Mistaken Identity.

Or the time that Mere was a baby, and daddy was in charge of bath time. When I snuggled her to bed, I realized she had a different scent that smelled vaguely familiar, but not quite the normal baby lotion smell. Daddy checked.
"You probably wouldn't use NAIR on a baby, would you?" As he whisked her off my lap and back into the bath, I realized the identical pink bottles had caused a case of Mistaken Identity.

And the friend of mine who superglued her daughters eyes shut, thinking she was using eye drops. Mistaken Identity. No matter how bad it made her feel (both her and her daughter.) And come to find out, it happens alot, AND, eye lashes do grow back.

Bella came running in this week, saying, "There is a dead MOHAWK out there!"
MOHAWK?

Someone else ran in. It was a MOLE.

No wait, Mere reports that it's a WOOD PUCKER!!
Wood PECKER?
Mistaken Identity, for sure.

What about the times I call people by the wrong name? Like Keegan is Kaid, and Keano is Keegy? UGH! When I want Mere, I call Tara. When I am trying to get Tommy to come to me, I call him Scotty! Mistaken Identity!

I have seen old friends out in public, I think, but was afraid to call out to them, just in case it was another case of Mistaken Identity.

Of course, part of the fun of Halloween is Mistaken Identity. I mean, how many kids want to dress up as THEMSELVES to go trick or treating??

I have no doubt there will be more episodes of Mistaken Identity around our house.
And from now on, I will check the PAM before Mike is allowed to spray it on the griddle!!










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Rest In Peace, Dear Grandma

I woke up this morning to one of "those" calls. The kind that causes the thumping in your heart, the intensity while you try to focus on the words you are listening to.

"Grandma passed away peacefully in her sleep this morning. She passed just like I remember her mother passing when I was a teenager."

Dad left me a message. At 94 years old, and in a frail body whose heart was surrounded by fluids that made her breathing labored and painful, she closed her eyes and met Jesus. Just like that. Due to a form of dementia, she had left us years ago.

Dad assured me he was not grief stricken. Sad, yes. But also so happy for her.

As I look around, I experience a surreal feeling about her passing. We live in the house that her and grandpa built over 70 years ago. Coming from West Virginia, they settled here when Grandpa got a job at the train yards. From all the stories I heard growing up, he worked hard, helped anyone who needed it, and loved to tell a corny joke. Because their youngest daughter and I are less than 2 years apart, we became fast friends in our childhood and I spent many happy years as I grew up right here in this house.

When we bought the house 13 years ago, Grandpa had been gone for years and Grandma was still living on her own, but traded the responsibilities of this property for a small house trailer that was more manageable. She eventually moved to a much smaller apartment in town, just big enough to house her treasures until she finally had to be placed in a care facility. With the house, I inherited Grandpa's wonderful collection of books about World War II, along with the memories of him rocking contentedly next to them as he studied, almost as if he were preparing a great speech for thousands who would hang on every word he uttered. He slowly lost his ability to perform mathematical equations, a sad rekoning for a man who had built every inch of his family home with his own design and strong hands. The books sat silently on the shelf as Grandpa wandered aimlessly down the streets of our town, smiling and happy with the travels he took in his mind, until a neighbor would return him safely back to his home. The home that surrounds my family now.

So much of who he was is reflected in the hand sawed wooden floors I walk on, the walls that shelter us, and the barren property that is lush and grown up now all these years later for my children to thrive on just as I did. He was the first family member I had lost, and I was saddened by the death of a great man. I reasoned that his mind had left us several years before, and he was at peace. But grandma was still with us, so I cherished her in a different way now.

She was strong, loving, part of who I have become as a woman. She was my only grandma, since my mothers parents died before I was born. Grandma and I shared a love for writing, taking words and laying them out to express an idea, or recording an event that was important in our worlds. She wrote for the local news paper years ago, sharing her heart about how difficult it was to be the caregiver for an alzheimers patient, but how willingly she did that for her loving husband until his death. The first article I had published in the local paper, she clipped and saved in a folder that I received after she entered the nursing home. She had saved everything I had written, beginning with silly poems in my childhood, to actual articles that I was asked to cover for local events.

She sent me encouraging notes through the years, urging me to continue writing, expressing my thoughts, even if it were just in a journal that no one else would ever see. She believed in the power of words to comfort, heal and sustain us. She poured over the written words in Scripture, balancing her lifestyle with her own 7 children and setting an example for all of us to follow. One time she spent hours with me, as I tape recorded an interview about her first published work, "That Girl from West Virginia". I realized when I heard the recording years later that our conversation was so much more than an interview, and although I covered the article for our local post, the recording rests among my most treasured earthly items because it contained her giggle, her voice and our love for a craft that I had learned to enjoy as much as she had in her prime.

So now she is gone from my life for good. She was trapped in a mind that failed her many years ago, her body eventually giving over to the years it had supported this wonderful woman, her spirit floating above the earth to join her adored Savior, leaving us to put her to rest for eternity. I envision her wearing a colorful scarf at her neck, large earrings adorning her glowing face, perfectly matched to the heavenly garments that gracefully flows around her. She told me several times that a good pair of black slacks was a necessity in a woman's closet, because they always made you look slimmer. Such a beauty, so understated, a classic lady in whatever she wore. She will be beautiful today in Heaven, wearing all white on her perfect body, a splash of color to set off her eyes and smile.

I am, in large, a part of Grandma. Growing up in the home full of love and prayers, cherishing the times I saw her knelt beside her couch on an early saturday morning, her Bible open before her, hands clasped in prayer, beginning her day with appreciation to the God who created her. My security grew as I came back to live in the peaceful home she loved, a treasure in my life, I have become who I am because of my grandma's faithful prayers.

I have missed her for years. But her memory has lingered, and I think she would be proud of who I have become. Her great encouragements are nestled in a worn folder in my office, written in her beautiful penmanship until the later years when her hands grew weaker, a treasure that I will pass on to one of my children some day.

Even more than the precious pieces of paper I have to look at, Grandma's gentle spirit will remain with me forever. Today I mourn her passing, but continue on the path that will eventually lead me to eternity beside her, praising Jesus and holding each other tightly. I can hear her laughing this morning, basking in HIS glory.

Rest in Peace, Mary Thelma Thompson Meador. You are loved.

Things I Learned with a High Fever

If you could peek into my house right now, you would think it was nearly perfect. The Christmas tree is twinkling, little eyes are closed for a restful sleep and I am sitting in a darn near clean house, quiet and at peace.

But really, I am just waiting for the next storm to erupt. You see, our family has been battling the 'flu this week. The gut wrenching, run for your life type, that no matter how much you try to avoid it, it grabs you and won't let you out of its nasty grip until you feel like you were hit by a semi truck.

I am not sure who actually brought this gift of sickness to us this season, but Nicole and I were racing to see which one could reach the bathroom first on Wednesday night. We stayed neck-to-neck for about 24 hours, asking each other for assurance throughout the day if either of us were hurting worse or sicker than the other. We were miserable.

And then baby Bella got it. She fussed to daddy, and as he reached to console her, lifting her up to his shoulder, she "spilled her guts" and daddy about tossed his cookies right with her. I was slightly aware of their awkward rendezvous in the kitchen, but for the life of me I couldn't move a muscle off the couch to assist in anyway. I remember telling him to get the kindergartner's off the bus, and then slept until after supper.

The next morning I felt as close to normal as I did before the semi hit me, so I got kids to school, and went about the festivities of the "last day of school before the holiday break" mode, to which all was going as planned at the younger children's school when the principle showed up in the classroom and warned me that Nelly had gotten ill at school and was not allowed to ride the bus home.

Parties were nearly over, so we headed to her school to get her home safely before she decided all the party options were not all that attractive anymore, and then she went to bed without any complaint. So far, if you are keeping score, that's 4 down, 5 to go.

We had plans to cancel for the evening, dinner was carryout pizza, and we tried to watch a family movie, although some of the kids were not really up to much of that on this particular Friday night. Saturday morning, 5:30 am, Tara decided to join in the fun the other 4 of us were having, and that meant, only 4 left to succumb to the holiday 'flu bug. It was vicious. By noon today, Mike was down for the count, although he had put up a great fight until the end (and no, coffee does NOT keep away the 'flu), leaving a solemn bunch of characters in various stages of disarray.

Supper was cans of spaghettios if you could handle it, or sprite and soda crackers if that had more appeal. I was feeling much better by tonight, and figured I could accomplish something yet today, like dishes that needed washing badly since our dishwasher decided to quit this weekend also. As I finished cleaning the kitchen, Tyler walks up the stairs, reports his bad intent, and grabbed a bucket to keep him company during the long hours he is facing tonight. Just as Bella falls asleep, Nelly reads bedtime stories to the younger ones, grabbing buckets "just in case someone else needs them tonight..." when Tommy says, "I am sleeping on the livingroom floor tonight. My tummy is not very well...." and falls asleep shortly after that at my feet.

Mere is the last standing. Kinda. She said if she slept with Tara she will get sick, although Tara is on the upswing, I think. If she slept with Tommy she will get sick, and if she went upstairs to sleep with Dad, he might get sick on her!

Poor Mere. It's hard to know what is ahead, but in this house, this weekend, it's pretty safe to say she's gonna get it sometime really soon, no matter where she lays her head tonight!!

Oh, looks are deceiving. The house if perfectly quiet for the moment, but I know above me in the girls quarters, and below me in Tylers room, not much real rest is being had tonight. And I am thinking if I get any sleep tonight, it may just be right here on the couch, dead center of them all.

I hope the 'flu bugs don't find out where any of you live this season!! Stay well!!

Finally, sunshine. This has been the coolest, wettest summer I can remember. You would think my flowers would be stunning. There must have been a couple of days of sunshine that dried out some of the hanging pots. It's hard to remember those sunny days when there is so much rain in the between days.

I feel, in my soul, like I have weathered a huge storm. So many of the things in my mind that felt/seemed insurmountable days ago are finally resolving. I will spare you all the details. Suffice it to say that it's really comforting to see the things I feel connected to are now giving me peace instead of confusion.

In a great turn, we now have an appointment for our homestudy. That is a huge relief. Our social worker seems pleasant, open to our situation. We had fears of a repeat from the previous start to our homestudy, so this is a real relief.

Our newest goat, Frankie, had pneumonia. For $55 we were able to see her health improve drastically, and she is on the mend. Ashleigh, our oldest daughter, had half of her thyroid removed last Thursday, and a biopsy of her tumor appeared cancer-free. Much more money, and not nearly the desired results we got from the goat yet, but she is on the mend. Slowly. I hate seeing her pain and would have done anything to go through it for her.

I am now looking at the last week before our school year starts. There is still a part of me that wished I could have made the homeschooling work for us. I hate the negative influences the kids are subjected to on the bus, in the school, at the playground. I would love to keep them home and more protected. But it is not enough to "want" what's best for them. Several of their special needs can be met by professionals who are trained how to reach them. Some of their needs can not be. But I have wisdom to know that our team approach can work best for the kids we have now, and we have already met with several of the school team members in preparation of a promisingly good school year. I am keeping my fingers crossed, and praying hard already. I would love the weather to hold off, and make one last weekday trip to the beach, zoo and park. Does it seem to anyone else that this summer has flown by, and dragged by at the very same time??

We have a couple more camping trips planned yet this fall, and several more home remodeling projects to finish. Days and weekends are busy as usual. Kids are growing and changing, learning to face this world. I weathered a storm. Life is hard, but Life is Good. "Keep calm, and carry on."

Fireworks!

We sat in the cool evening air last night with kids at our feet stretched out on thick blankets. With family around us, and snacks galore, I wondered how much of this evening would pile up in the little minds in front of me and just what they were thinking as the bombs burst in the air?

Aaah! OOO!! The fireworks stretched above our heads, just slightly outdone by the shine of the nearly full moon shining high to the right of our seats.

They lay on their bellies, feet swaying. "Glow sticks" around all their necks, ankles and wrists, they were easy to find in the deep darkness. But they were not going far from us anyway.

I traveled back to my own childhood, where we sat in the same spot, surrounded by some of the same people. We are much older now, but the memories come back at me strongly, seeing them through wiser eyes. I remember falling asleep on the way home, pressed together with my brothers in the back seat of the car, listening to the other cars around us trying to escape the frenzy of tired drivers gathered in one common area. The radio played static music as we drove through town, headed back to our country home to land into our warm beds and dream the dreams of sleepy children whos lives are perfectly right with the world.

In the midst of memories, I wonder what my children will remember from these days of family times? And as I watch the bright moon peering through the clouds drifting past its splendor, I realize it's the same moon from my childhood that has shone brightly over me every night of my life, the same moon that now shines over the tow heads and curls of my children, and our world is at peace.

So we journey to our home, sleepily landing in warm beds, ready to dream the dreams that others have dreamed before us. Sleep. Sleep.