Merry-Go-Round

I really love a carousel. I always have been drawn to them. My favorite is one up in Victoria, B.C. Canada -- Butchart Gardens. The creatures were beautiful:

One year we were in Idaho at a fun splash park and my daughter was drawn to the carousel like a magnet. I kept finding her, having wandered back over there - standing in line.

Tonight, we got to ride on a carousel in our city, celebrating our centennial year -- pretty cool eh? It was even free of charge. My "laugh" of the day was when I turned around to look at my seven year old on her horse. She was acting as though the horse were real and bucking her a little bit, she kept kicking at it with the "stirrups" -- it all looked so awkward and funny. She has such a cute little sly smile. I love that innocence of playing "pretend" but not really wanting anyone to see you pretending.

I played pretend till I was in 8th grade. I remember thinking, "How could anyone ever give this up?"

I had the Ace this time

I've been telling you all along, I have a strong-willed daughter. See if you can pick her out of this recent family picture:


Could my children look any more clothing coordinated?

Well, yesterday I took her into the doctor for an issue she has been having. She was prescribed an antibiotic - which she has taken before, and she has taken it in liquid form and with a syringe.

We came home, I wanted to get her started on the treatment right away, so I administered the first dose. She proceeded to take the medicine and then do the "kid thing" where she tries to hold a conversation with me, while her mouth is full. So, there was a lot of expression in her eyes and mostly just gurgling of the pink, thick medicine.

She still thinks it is funny to see how long she can hold that gross, thick medicine in her mouth - this picture was taken a day after the incident initiating this blog post.

Fortunately, none of the medicine escaped her lips. I am not exaggerating here when I say this went on for a full five minutes. I tried to get her to swallow, offered her a cracker, a drink (for after the swallow) anything to get her to swallow. Finally, she went running off to the bathroom and spit out the medicine, which by now came out in gross curd chunks. Do you know what she said to me?

"I forgot how to swallow."

And here's where I have the ace up my sleeve. Totally.

I looked at her in disbelief, loaded the syringe up with more medicine and gave her some more (I wasn't even being abusive - I promise). This time, I proceeded to go through the steps of swallowing.

Cha-ching -- who said education wouldn't come in handy?

I've taken a few classes :-). I've read chapters and I've taken tests. She's in my ball field now. I may be no "Swallowing Expert" but I do have something upstairs. When I started rattling off the steps, or at least how to initiate a swallow, I think, she knew she had been beaten. She took another full five minutes to do it, but she did swallow her first dose.

Now we are on Dose #6 -- I wonder if she'll forget. Ever. Again. heh heh heh

I will dedicate my first professional post to Daughter #3.

No Socks

My girl, my girl.

My four-year old is going through some kind of stage where she prefers not to wear socks.

The lack of socks kind of takes away from the cuteness of the shoes, huh?

When I took the kids on a hike the other day, (doesn't that make me sound like hiking with my children is a regular thing -- well, it isn't. It has been on my bucket list for something like years now), I commended her for getting ready so quickly. Then, while hiking, I realized how she had been so speedy. She didn't take the time to find and put on socks.

Lime Kiln Trail - cool name huh, say it again just for fun

 I am reminded of long ago when my family was in St. George for Thanksgiving. I must have been 12 or so and some of us were going to go on a walk around the neighborhood. Uncle Mac put on his shoes without socks. It struck me as being so strange - which is probably why I can still recall the visual image. My dad and his brothers all wear the same type of shoes - plain, dark loafers. Wouldn't putting your bare foot in a close-toed shoe feel slimy and scratchy?

That said, I hardly ever saw my dad's bare foot. He puts his shoes on first thing in the morning and wears them the entire day, except when he needs to change into his big work/hunting boots. He used to sing a song to us with his sock dangling from his big foot. One of my sisters can happily put that in as a comment :-).

I hope, as you are reading this, that your bare foot isn't nesting in a shoe. . .

A New Way of Communicating

I don't know that I need to explain much on this one other than that my phone is getting the best of me. I recently got a new cell phone, and because it is touch-screen only, I can't stand to text on it. Texting takes forever on touch-screen only. I much prefer a slide-out keyboard style of cell phone. But, alas, I digress.

My phone has a feature where I can talk to it and my voice is transcribed into text or email. However, sometimes my messages aren't quite what I meant to say (the phone thinks it can guess what I am going to say). Here are two LOL moments from the past two days - both totally innocent and sincere:

• Texting my husband about our upcoming date:

Me: Hi Dare, What time do you want to leave our house for our date tonight?
My phone's interpretation: Hi dear what time should it what time do you want to leave our house for our date tonight

Response: Well lovey, I cannot be ready until midnight, whew whew !! Where we going sugar?

Me: Sweetie, you know what I mean   (I had to get a babysitter lined up you know)

Response: OK, by this time, I realized I hadn't been texting my husband all along. I had actually texted my sister. I started laughing and could barely give a response.

• Fast Forward to the next day

I get an email message from my other sister asking if I was watching our nephew's football game. I got excited and turned the football game on right away. Within about five minutes, our nephew scored a touchdown (in a most awesome way - he broke free from the defense and ran a whole bunch of yards). So, I quickly got on my phone and wrote/voice-typed a message to her that looked like this

Me: Go Tate Go Tate
Phone's Interpretation: Go take go take a s***

Response:  Did you just swear? What the heck are you saying.

Oh -- I can't believe all of this! I am getting burned by my phone. I will still voice type, but I promise to be more careful. Good grief . . .

The Carver

There are some novels out there, "The Giver", "The Help", "The Road".

Well, this post is about "The Carver". I'm pretty sure you've all been one. Just admit it.
I found this:

when I was wiping the table the other day. I wonder if I can doctor it up a bit for you so you can know what I know :-)

OK, here goes:

Now, for the "Ghost of Carving Past" -- heh heh. I did a little carving on my parents' wood pillars, in their living room. The pillars are still there and I imagine my carving is still there too. I think I carved my middle name, "Marie". I wonder if my parents knew who it was. . .

 

I asked my husband about his carving past (b/c I know for sure his mom has told stories about it) and he gave me this innocent look and denied any carving. He said, "My work was not art. I was scientifically testing the different wood layers present in my parents' piano. I made a single, very deep gouge." Then, he went on to tell me all about the different layers.

What a man! He is still that curious kid . .