A Very Nearly Tea

I hereby interrupt all this sentimental, homesick-for-Australia posting of late for something cool.

Due to a bad experience early in my blogging life where I inadvertently allowed my daughter to (unknowingly) name her blog after an international that kind of star, I learned to occasionally google the names of my blogs.

And searching for "simple pleasures" revealed this little gem: Simple Pleasures, a comprehensive guide to the simple pleasures in life. It is a sort of community project to document these fleeting moments which bring joy to our hearts. Too much of it is about all that mushy teenage first date kind of thing for my taste, so I'm making up my own list. Imitation is the best flattery, right? I have to think of some things to start off my list and I'll put it in my sidebar.

You are welcome to add your thoughts for inclusion...but none of that mushy stuff. Besides, some of that goes a little beyond mere simple pleasure and thus is outside the scope of this list.

One week ago yesterday, at the age of seven months and four days, my baby learned something new: the incredible joy of peek-a-boo. Now, it isn't as if we hadn't played this favorite-of-games before. Little L. E. Fant had held her breath in suspense as Mommy hid her face behind a blanket before this momentous day.

But last Tuesday, dear little L. E. Fant realized she could pull the blanket over her own head. And then whisk it away just as suddenly.

I think everyone in the YMCA heard her ecstatic squeal of accomplishment.

If only we were so easy to delight as we grow older.

Yesterday, I had a temper tantrum. I yelled at my son. I yelled at the wall. I yelled at my daughter who saw it necessary to correct something I yelled at the wall. I even stomped my feet. I could have passed for any two year old.

Like most temper tantrums, it was a result of immaturity combined with tiredness and a sense of powerless with a small catalyst to ignite the frustrations. While making dinner after four hours of driving in a car with small children who were entertaining themselves by seeing how loudly they could sing, my son decided to drool on the piano and spit on the kitchen floor.

That is disgusting. Not normally cause for a meltdown, but it is disgusting.

It also leaves me feeling powerless. I may have learned a lot from my son because he is different. But I haven't really learned to accept that difference. I lack that casual, come-what-may attitude full of grace and patience. I must admit that I really do not want all that. I just want him to be "normal." But it is not in my power to change.

We dragged our feet in ordering the Chewey Tubes, an occupational therapy toy to help him with oral sensory stimulation. Somehow, that seemed like affirming there was a problem. His arrived in the mail yesterday, and I made him a little necklace so that he can keep it with him without losing it.

So now my little four year old boy has about his neck the mark of being different. I worry about how he will be received at church. I worry about how he will be received at the Y, where he has already had trouble with the workers trying to stop him from chewing on the sweatband we put on his arm to help with some of the licking and chewing. I wish I didn't, but I worry.

So I have a meltdown. The person who admittedly matters most in determining how my son is going to accept himself through all of this.

A few minutes later, he was giggling on my lap, gnawing at his Chewey Tube while I tickled him. And I was so thankful for the forgiveness of a child.

Thoughtfully observing the conversation at dinner, my two year old suddenly connected the dots. She pointed at her gradnfather and exuberantly exclaimed,

Pop-Pop a daddy! Pop-Pop a daddy, too!

Now, it isn't as if we hadn't told her that before. But today, during Thanksgiving dinner, she discovered it for herself.

And she is excited and proud of the revelation.

Maybe it is just me, but nothing makes my heart go pitter pat like watching my husband with our children.

What better place for a nap than in arms that love you? I love him, I love her and I love watching my babies sleep.

Sir Isaac Newton was reportedly a virgin, and therefore had no children of his own. Somewhere in his life, however he must have had some experience with children.

Take this bit of famous wisdom, known as Newton's Third Law of Motion:

For every action, there is an equal but opposite reaction.

Around here, it is more commonly known as the Law of Reverse Readiness. The more imperative it is for us to be someplace on time, the more difficult it is to get the children to cooperate. The later we are running, the slower they move. This is especially true when they are excited to go. Then there is a great deal of running about the house, grabbing things, jumping around and not actually accomplishing anything.

Mom says,

Get your swimsuits and a water toy. We have time to go swimming before karate.

Then, insanity ensues.

• Mouse collects the swimsuits and dumps a box of old clothes looking for a backpack to put them in.
• Bug dumps the bath toys all over the bathroom, looking for a toy.
• Bear runs up and down the hall, too excited to really be of any help.
• I get the baby dressed, and bring her into the front room to put her in her car seat.

This is where I discover that the list of things which need to be done has grown. Rather than "grab your swimsuits," it is now, "pick up the clothes, clean the bathroom, and whatever possessed you to pull all the books off the bookshelf when we are trying to leave?!"

Five minutes stretches to forty five and I begin to wonder if there is indeed time to go swimming.

Newton knew what he was talking about. No wonder he was knighted.

Since you missed the grand arrival of the much anticipated package, I thought I would preserve a bit of the excitement for you.

What is it? What is it?


Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Can we jump in them?


Are you sure we can't drink the beer? It looks like root beer....COOOOOKIES? COOOOOKIES!!!


Please, mom? Please? Just one Vegemite sandwich?


And as per your instructions, we ate only one hundreds and thousands each. The kids were not very impressed and Mouse thinks she is going to be ill. She still wants the Vegemite, however.

It shall take incredible willpower to stay out of the Kingstons, but I shall prevail. I am not sure yet if that shall be the angelic me or the sneaky me, but either way, I shall prevail.

But I don't have time to do anything with it right now. So pardon the mess...I'll sweep up a bit tonight.

Sometimes it really is the simplest things in life that give us the most pleasure. It can also be the loss of the simplest things which seem to cause the most pain. My son, for example, has eczema. Now, tons of people suffer from eczema and have it a lot worse than he does. He gets little bumpy patches on his elbows and knees and occasionally itchy red spots between his toes. Oh you should see the look on his face when he lays back with his feet in my lap and I gently rub lotion between his little toes. Such pure and unadulterated relief I have never seen.

For those of you who have experience with eczema, you probably know that one of the first recommendations you receive is to limit baths and eliminate bubble baths. Ouch! Because bubble baths happen to be one of my son's mostest favoritest things in his day.

You look into those bright brown eyes and tell him to take a shower. That just takes all the fun out of it for this touch oriented young man who has enough issues to worry about without losing bath time.

Luckily, his eczema is mild, else this might not work. But it does work for us:

It lathers up into nice, soft little bubbles which satisfy his desire for snuggly bubbles, Santa beards and fluffy mountains. And it doesn't aggravate his eczema.

For more Works For Me Wednesday posts, check the list over at Rocks in My Dryer!

My daughter overheard me reading My Near Death Experience to my husband and lodged a protest.

That doesn't happen, mom.

What do you mean, 'that doesn't happen?'

You never swatted anyone with a spatula.

I thought about trying to explain poetic license. But then I thought this would be easier.

So I confess. I have never swatted anyone with a spatula on their fingers or elsewhere on their person. When the little ones running about the house attempt to sneak unauthorized samplings of whatever is being cooked, mom shakes the spatula at them. They actually think it is quite funny.

That is all.

I am sorry.

(Is that better, Mouse?)

She says that is better...

A few days ago, I was making one of our families favorite quick lunches when I almost died. Granted, it would have been a long and slow death. I likely would have held on for years before succumbing to infection. But I was close.

My recipe for death, er, potato burritos:

Dice several potatoes and half an onion. Fry in a mess of butter. Add several eggs when almost finished. Stir and serve in tortillas.

While frying, I sampled the potatoes. Because you have to make sure they are just right, not because I like buttery, salty and peppery potatoes or anything. Besides, sampling is the chef's natural right in our house. Everyone else gets fingers swatted by a spatula.

Mid sample, I sneezed. Normally, that results in the opposite problem to what happened here. Here, the potato got sucked back into my lungs and started a fit of coughing. I finally went and sat down on the couch with my face reddenend and tears in my eyes. Between hacks, I informed my husband that when I finally went to the hospital and they inserted a tube straight through my throat to clear the liquid out of my lungs to please ask them to remove the potato.

'Cause I saw a movie once where the exact same thing happened to a kid. Except for him it was a nut and the staff didn't believe him and it was a problem for years and he almost died before the nut was finally removed.

I didn't want that to happen to me.

My sweet little two year old held my hand and told me I was going to be ok. She even kissed me all better. Except that didn't work very well. I kept coughing. I tried to stop, just to give myself a break because coughing was starting to hurt worse than the burning sensation in my lungs. I was also amazed at the amount of mucus I was suddenly producing. I know that is kind of gross, but it was fascinating. Your body immediately takes defensive measures to protect itself, even if they are annoying and gross measures.

And then, after all that coughing and wondering if it was indeed possible to cough up a lung, I made just one little one. Like one of those polite little coughs you do when you are trying not to cough but cannot help it. And up came the potato.

It feels really good to not have a potato in my lungs. I realize now how much I took it for granted, that feeling of not having a potato in my lungs. Now I appreciate and even savor that sensation. I can breathe. It doesn't hurt. In fact, I can go on about my day not really even thinking about the fact that I even have lungs. They go on about their business even while I ignore them. That is the way things should be and I'm glad of it.

Getting started:

Are you ready to start on your entry?

What entry?

The one for Simple Pleasures.

Why do you think I'm posting on that?

Because you said you would.

I never said that.

I believe your exact words were, "Ok. We can work on it tomorrow evening."

Oh, that.

Yes, that.

Setting up the account:

Do I have to sign up with Skynet?

What are you talking about?

The computers from Terminator. They are taking over the world you know. It starts with Google.

Well, you may as well be on their side then.

Ok. How do I sign in.

Long pause. I finally come over to see what is taking so long and he is just typing and retyping passwords.

Are you having trouble?

Yeah. My password is strong. How do I get it super strong?

I roll my eyes, thinking "men."

I do think I need a way to make it clearer whether Dana or Four 'n Twenty is posting, but for the time being, those of you who have hung out here for awhile may note the rather drastic difference in writing styles.

If you missed his blogging debut, it is here.

I may have to change the title of this blog again, but after much teasing and cajoling, my husband has decided to begin blogging here now and again. The teasing is because, although he himself does not have a blog, he occasionally is guilty of thinking in blog posts.

Maybe I do talk about it too much.

Anyhow, I am getting ready to add him as a contributor to this blog. His very first post should go up tomorrow. He was explaining it to me before he left when I finally convinced him he should just write it himself.

I get to be editor. That will be fun.

Trying to get four children to all look at the camera at once is at times more of an event than one might think. Getting them to all look into the camera and present a "normal" smile is a feat I have not yet accomplished.

They may be a goofy bunch, but they are also an adorable bunch. I have here my artist, my lady bug, my firefighter and my little tiger. The lady bug wasn't sure what to think of her little ensemble, but she seemed to like to hide under the hat.

So the baby didn't really need a costume for the AWANA program. But we were at Goodwill and there it was and how could we not? Just look at her!

There is something in a baby's soft fuss. Not the inconsolable cries, but the gentle fusses...the ones I know will stop the moment I pick her up. In fact, I am often rewarded with one of her famous, full-body smiles while a tear yet stains her cheek.

I am often inspired by the simplicity of a baby's view of the world. They are acutely aware of their needs. And who satisfies those needs.

As we get older, we add to that such a lengthy list of wants, we begin to confuse them with needs. We set ourselves up for a life of frustration because we pursue these desires with all our energy and forget to seek rest in Him who supplies all things.

I love you, Anana.

No, Anana. Don't cry, Anana.

You 'tinky, Anana?


You 'tinky, Anana!


Mom, Anana 'tinky!