SB, the Dolly, once was lost and now is found!

SB in her prime. Though one hand is bandaged even then.

SB, the dolly, was lost at Wal-Mart when I took my youngest daughter with me into town two weeks ago.

When Sylvia asked if she could bring her in to the store I thought, "That dolly's so banged up nobody will think she's being shoplifted, so sure!" I never considered losing her, but once we did I worried she might be mistaken for a rag and thrown out.

You see, this dolly has been with my daughter since...forever. A friend gave the doll to my 4 month old baby girl to help her through her mommy aches when I had to be hospitalized for two weeks. Fast forward five years and SB's hands are now completely worn away. She's faded to a beigey pink and she can no longer hold her head up. All the same she is beautiful to my girl.

All parent's know that sinking feeling that hit hard when we searched through the store until we had to leave without her. I never thought we'd see Sylvia's oldest friend ever again.

Over the next several days we checked in at the Customer Service desk frequently with no luck. That doll was a goner. We'd all but given up. Then the other day my husband and I stopped in just to check. There she was, sitting in the lost and found, waiting!

 My daughter was thrilled.

So was I.

7 Quick Takes

--1--

I love history. I love novels. Historical fiction is a joy for me if the writing and the history are done well. Anachronisms drive me batty. I can’t say that they are entirely possible to avoid. Our modern viewpoint is bound to intrude here and there, but blatantly compromising history through ignorance or through marketing considerations causes books to become airborne around here.

Post Sexual Revolution mores stand out like beacons of silliness in the Fourteenth Century. In the real history of the actual people referenced in a book I chanced upon, the consequences for their moral choice was banishment from the kingdom. In the novel that was glossed over as if it were of no consequence. Can you imagine years of your life cut off from your friends and family and homeland as no big deal? Me, neither.

Novel tossed.

(And no, I'm not giving free publicity to it by mentioning it by name.)

--2--

My mother is out of the hospital and felt well enough to come by to see the grandkids Friday. Walking is now a part of her must do list. If you’re wondering why she was in the hospital, she unknowingly had pneumonia. If you’re wondering how she could not know she had pneumonia, she has Cystic Fibrosis. If you’re wondering what Cystic Fibrosis is, click the word. If you’re wondering how she can have that disease and be in her 70s, you’re not the only one. She’s a medical astonishment, but she’s better now.

--3--

First World Announcement

Whoo! Whoo!

Celebrate good times!

We now have bathrooms! (Note: plural s on the direct object!) That’s right, we’re a two potty party over here! The second bathroom is finished except for the painting. I’d say the lines to use the bathroom are reduced at our house, but since all the kids want to exclusively use the new toilet, everyone is still waiting and whining outside one bathroom door. If you come over for a visit, use the bathroom at the back. No lines. No waiting.

--4--

Large Family Announcement

Whoo! Whooer! Whooest!

Celebrate even better times!

At 7:45 February 12, 2013, all the laundry at my house was done. All of it. I had to make a note of that somewhere. The last time this happened my washing machine was broken and I ran all 15 loads simultaneously at the laundry mat.

Please note that the date is actually from last Tuesday. We had a slew of bed wetting that very night and throughout the next week, so I was so busy washing bedding and blankets last Friday that I totally forgot to make this announcement in last week’s Quick Takes. Those of you who have families of 3 or more kids totally understand why the accomplishment bears announcement even when evidence of it did not last a full 24 hours.

I did it. I folded it. I put it away. All of it.

--5--

Speaking of folding laundry, I was calculating how many times I’ve been through the entire Bible the other day. I’m on my fourth time through, not counting Daily Masses. If the first sentence doesn’t make sense to you, folding a pile of laundry bigger than your head is mind-numbingly stimulating: you will think of anything to keep yourself mentally occupied. If the second sentence doesn’t make sense, you have to know that the Catholics hear the entire Bible in Sunday Mass every three years (it only takes one year for Daily Mass attendees), so I figured out how many times I’d heard the Bible since I’d converted. I counted up the years, then divided by three.

How many times have you been through the Bible? Anyone actually sat and read  through the whole thing? If you don’t count the Epistles, the book of Numbers, Leviticus, and Matthew 1, I’ve read it all the way through, too!

--6--

If you haven’t read this yet, read this. It will help you when you are thinking that you’re the only one who feels this way. All my friends who have children reacted to this piece with a “That’s me!” reaction. All of my friends who have children with special needs reacted the exact same way.

Which brings me to this point I’ve made before: parenting children with special needs is not a different kind of parenting, it’s just more intense. We’re doing exactly what good parents do for children, we are just having to do it longer or harder for this child than that one. Parenting is parenting and children are children. We don’t stop being human just because our bodies or our minds work quirky.

Here We Are
by Simcha Fisher

--7--

On a related note, here’s a story poem that someone shared with my husband and me shortly after we received the news that our son likely had Autism. It helped.

Welcome to Holland

by Emily Perl Kingsley

To view this poem, click here...

Rite of Passage

We've got sicko kiddos over here and mom caught it, too. So, after the schoolwork was done, we took the afternoon off to watch movies. It gave the sick kids something to focus on while they drifted in and out, and it gave the healthier ones something quiet to do while mommy attempted to rest (ha!).

Image Source

Today's choice was Star Wars, Episode IV, the Star Wars that started it all. I was about my oldest girl's age when I first saw it and now it's her turn. Her summation?

Anna, "Well, the guy in black was playing and then the father guy..."
Daddy, "That's not Luke's father. That's his friend."
Anna, "The guy's father..."
Daddy, "It's kinda important, Anna. Ben is not his father."
Anna, "The guy that was the father guy, well he..."
*spoiler alert* Daddy, with pleading eyes and desperation, "That's not his father. Actually the guy in black is his father. Not that you know that yet, but still!"
Anna, pauses thoughtfully. "Well...that guy in black was playing and then the father guy," puzzled look at dad, "he put his hands down like this and that guy just kills him and he all disappeared. It was weird."
Daddy sighs.
Anna, "Why did he just die like that?"
"That was sad, huh."
Anna, "He could have played with him. He could have runned away. Why did he quit playing and die?"
Daddy, "Uh...I don't know."

How did those brave daddies of the 70s answer that one? Anyone?

Checking in...

We're still trying to regroup over here. Since I last checked in, my husband has been to another funeral in the family and on yet another business trip. His schedule has also changed from leaving in the middle of the night and being home in the afternoons, to working evenings. Our daily routine is resettling.

We're still here and still managing to keep our heads above water. I'm not blogging, but I'll be podcasting this week. We're going to hit the Book of Revelations again.

Tune in here Wednesday, August 1, 6 p.m. Eastern. 

P.S. I got bit by a spider last week. My adrenaline is still pumping, but no limbs have rotted off, so we're still good here. See you Wednesday.

Terribly sorry, m'am. I thought you were someone edible.

Goody Goody Gumdrops: Easy Christmas Candy

Sheila's over here getting eaten alive by trolls on the blogosphere. One even strayed over to bite me for saying essentially the same thing (she says it way better). I do advocate practicing accommodating hubbies on this side of the sheets first so that the shouts of delighted surprise emanating from the bedroom doesn't wake the neighbors. (Those would be your shouts, by the way. Hubbies are generally very accommodating to accommodation in the bedroom.) All of this oppressive politeness and Neanderthal niceness seems run of the mill to me, but you never know what will tick people off. Makes you have to work hard for it.

Hubby and I on a vacation in Europe

At any rate, since being sweet to your husband is this year's outrageously offensive behavior, I thought I'd be even more scandalous and advocate cooking again.

I know this cooking habit of mine is downright stereotypical of me, but I can't help myself. My husband eats. My children eat. Even I have been known to eat. My family is referred to as the "Plague of Locusts" among our friends. We descend upon a kitchen and leave dishes spinning in our wake. If I didn't cook, just imagine the effort entailed in feeding the Martin Hordes. I'd have to strap five children in their age appropriate car torture devices and appear with them in public. I'd have to comb hair, wipe faces, and even wear shoes! Anything but that! Have you seen my shoes? Cooking is my only recourse against such horrors. 

I wear them because he likes them!

It doesn't help that I'm cheap. To move Martins, we must use a vehicle. The vehicle has about 6 round trip town runs in its tank. I have to tell you that what I cook, for the most part, is better than the food we can afford once we feed this member of the Martin Family.

Most restaurant food isn't worth the gas.

So, now that I've got my daily recommended allowance of snark out of my system and have once again implied that I seriously believe that wives should at least act as if they like their husbands, I guess I should give you the candy recipe. I adapted it from a magazine that advocates, among other anti-happiness propaganda that wives should have boyfriends to practice being nice to. I guess that makes sense. Since we gals are supposed to treat our husbands authentically (i.e., rudely, impulsively, irrationally), we have to make nice somewhere or we'd lose all social skills before our divorce.

Gumdrops
 

6 tbs (8 envelopes) of unflavored gelatin

1 1/2 cups cold water

2 1/4 cups boiling water

6 cups sugar

Sugar to coat

extract to taste (5 drops butter extract, 3 drops mint extract is super yummy!)

food coloring as desired (try some of the neon colors)

Don't hate me because I'm sweet!

Begin boiling 2 1/4 cups of water. Coat 2 8x8 pans with cooking spray and set aside. In another pot, sprinkle gelatin evenly over cold water, avoiding clumps. Let stand for 5 minutes. Pour boiling water into gelatin and water mix. Stir until dissolved. Add sugar. Gently boil mixture for 25 minutes. Pour mixture into the 8 x 8 pans. Add extract and coloring and stir gently until uniformly colored. Chill for 4 hours or let stand overnight. Coat a knife with cooking spray (this is important) and cut gumdrops into cubes. Coat in sugar and let stand for a few hours for the sugar coating to crystallize. Store in an airtight container. Tastes great! Ships great!

Everything on my Housework To-Do List

is on this list!

...if I had been smart enough to write it down, that is,