Circumstantial Evidence

The following were found together today at 10:23 AM.

Exhibit A: James-Boy. Wet chin and shirt, big grin.



Exhibit B: Cup, water on all surfaces.



Exhibit C: Open toilet with very wet seat.



Ewww.

You are AFK

When my husband is on the road, we WoW together (play World of Warcraft) when we can manage it. While we beat on bad guys in the game, or run to a new area in which to beat on them, we can "whisper" comments to each other on the screen that only the two of us can see. (Sounds romantic, doesn't it?) This works very effectively as communication between the two of us, and the whole endeavor serves the purposes of (a) making us both feel like we're getting some "down time" in our respective days, (b) relaying information to each other about our days in a context where we're getting rid of any stress related to the events, and (c) relating to each other from afar in a playful way in which we achieve mutual (albeit trivial!) goals. As you can tell, it's all very well reasoned-out, marriage-enriching stuff. :)

Well, while playing the game, if I need to walk away from the computer to do something, and it takes long enough for me to get back, I might find my game character sitting idly on the ground, and a line reading "You are AFK"--Away From the Keyboard--in the chat box on my game screen. I think it would be cool if I could hack in somehow and make the image of me do what I'm doing "IRL" (In Real Life): throwing laundry in the washer, checking on a coughing kiddo, feeding the baby. . . uh, well, OK, I guess there are limits!

Anyway, bizarrely, it made me think about what has been in my life this week: some little stuff that I got to be there to see and hear and experience because I wasn't the life equivalent of AFK.

Actually, my mom had been up for a few days, and I felt a little sheepish that our life seemed so complicated while we were living it in front of her, if you know what I mean. We had an unusual amount of appointments and such, but it's usually a good kind of busy that we stay while Glenn is gone. I guess in retrospect that, in our own small way, we did have a big week, both during and after her visit.

For instance, my baby girl Genevieve learned to sit by herself. She had to concentrate, though: she puts a lot of energy into responding to people, so she would repeatedly knock herself over by smiling if we caught her eye. She also started on rice cereal this week, and was eating like a champ by her second time trying it.

Priscilla had a friend stay overnight. They slept in a tent in the basement and made shaped pancakes for everyone in the morning, using batter put into a washed-out syrup bottle. (The spider, puppy, and teddy bear pancakes were my favorites.) Priscilla got a reply to a letter she'd written to the people at Big Idea (who make Veggie Tales), and received her issue of Clubhouse, so she had a great mail week! She also made yummy spicy gingerbread cookies this afternoon.

The kids started rehearsals this week for the Christmas play. Thomas is one of the three kings, and I heard great reports about his first day. Priscilla had been really disappointed about not getting a particular role, but really likes the way the girl who got the role plays it, and I know she'll be hilarious as ever in her own part.

I have been having a great time reading Ginger Pye out loud at the lunch table. Thomas recommended the book, and it's been so fun! (My mom listened, too, while here.) I've also been surprised at how much both Thomas and Priscilla have enjoyed listening to G.A. Henty's The Cat of Bubastes in the car: Priscilla said it was one of her favorite books ever (see her below reading a less favored one upside-down). It prompted great thought and discussions on the origins of polytheism in Egypt and other countries, and on how the lives of people on the fringes of Bible characters' lives may have played into God's plan for those we know most about in those passages.

Thomas made my homeschool teaching week with some of his observations about the epic of Gilgamesh. He and Priscilla both also volunteered help at some key times with "the littles" with such good will. Oh, God is so good to me.

James-Boy got into some fairly large scrapes, but also had some extremely cute moments. For instance, he would repeatedly put a doll into Genevieve's bouncy seat (the kind that hangs in a doorway), then take the doll out to kiss and cuddle it. Wish I could have caught that on camera.

We got to take our dog Kiyoshi for a couple walks in some woods we hadn't tried before, and the paths had room for the stroller! James got out for part of the way the first time through, and walked the paths with great enthusiasm (though inevitably he managed to step in another dog's leavings).

And I went to a session of women's Bible study that was really good and challenging; among other things, it (and the text) encouraged me to take a look at both "wilderness times" and worship in ways I haven't in a while.

All added up, as crazy-making as it can be, this little stuff of home and family life makes me glad I can't be AFK regarding it . . . that often.

Soft Laughter in Heaven

Aunt Rose Marie died last night. She'd been really sick: she was diagnosed with ALS a year or so ago and had already lost the ability to walk. When she faced a bout of pneumonia, it was too hard for her to recover. In fact, back in late May I thought I was sending a last card to her (she'd sent a gift for Genevieve right before the pneumonia).

She was in hospice for quite a while and rallied somewhat. Originally they wanted her to get a stomach tube put in, but she refused, and managed to start eating again. Typical Aunt Rose Marie: The hospice nurse asked her about whether it was encouraging to be eating food again at the hospital. Aunt Rose Marie eyed the liquidy mush they'd served her. "Well, all in all, I'd rather have a Kit Kat bar,"she quipped, quoting an old commercial. Whereupon the literalistic nurse mushed up a Kit Kat bar for her, and Rose Marie ate it with great amusement and relish!

When I saw her just a few weeks ago, she wished she could hold Genevieve. So I set the baby propped up right at her side on the bed, and my aunt marveled at Genevieve's soft skin, chunky thighs, and drooly smiles. Rose Marie was really thin, but very much herself - talking and softly laughing like ever. She'd always seen the funny side of situations. Even as her late husband (my dad's brother - Uncle Chuck) was dealing with terminal cancer, they'd talked to me about wanting to reply to an oversentimental "I'm sorry" with mock surprise and a glint of vengeance: "Did you do this, then? I've been looking for you!!" After Uncle Chuck (who overall seemed a pretty stern guy) died, Aunt Rose Marie re-met and married Dick, a rather eccentric bachelor who'd carried a torch for her throughout his life. He is a real character, always very verbal about being unabashedly head-over-heels ga-ga for "my blondie." He came with his own set of challenges, but the quiet laughter got more constant and uproarious once he came along.

Aunt Rose Marie dealt with a lot during her life, but always retained her sweet demeanor and generous spirit. She had real gifts of hospitality and service to others - making meals for others, helping with anything and everything at church, ensuring my widowed mom had company by inviting her over at least once every single week throughout the years, and so on.

She was a great cook, too. She would make really simple fare that was delicious - her "yogurt pie" (graham cracker crust, Cool Whip, yogurt - done!) was always the first thing I went for at Thanksgiving dinner as a kid. During my early marriage I stole her recipe for biscuits, but still can't make them quite the way she did.

I just can't imagine family gatherings without hearing her voice and laughter. But now I'll have to wait for the ultimate family gathering in Heaven to hear them again. Love you, Aunt Rose Marie.

Encounter: "Tomato"

There James-Boy was at the table, contentedly taking toys out from a metal box and putting them back in. Granted, the toys belonged to Thomas, so I alerted him. "It's fine, Mom," Thomas called. "He's not hurting them." So I went back to changing baby Genevieve. I glanced back to find James pulling apart what looked like red paper, and went to investigate. Ah, another cherry tomato, I thought as I drew closer.

James-Boy has been snitching cherry tomatoes from the garden during the last couple weeks. I've tried to discourage him, but haven't been completely strict simply because he and I are the only ones in the family who will even eat tomatoes, and he's done pretty well at choosing the ripe ones. Well, the boy may never want to eat a tomato again
. . . because it only LOOKED like one this time. By the time I put down Genevieve and got to James, he had taken several bites of one of Glenn's habernero peppers.

As he screamed and clawed at his burning mouth, I grabbed him and tried to use enough soap and baking soda to get rid of the habernero oil from his hands. I stuffed him in the highchair and gave him bread and milk. He started to calm down. OK, I thought. At least he didn't get it in his eyes. So I washed up my own hands and grabbed the crying Genevieve, only to put her down again as James renewed his screams at higher volume. Sure enough, he'd managed to rub habernero oil into his eyes.

Now he was wildly kicking, screaming, and making it worse by rubbing more oil into his eyes. I grabbed him, rewashed his hands, tried to hold them down at his sides and simultaneously run a bath, called for Glenn, and appreciatively saw Thomas pick up the still-crying Genevieve. By this time, my hands and forearms, which had contacted the oil briefly while cleaning James, were actively stinging - so I could only imagine the pain he was in!

Into the bath he went, and at Glenn's suggestion I added Aveeno oatmeal bath to it. The Aveeno package says it will do no harm if "accidentally ingested." Hopefully they mean "deliberately" as well: after a bit, the curiosity of James-Boy won over his pain and he grabbed at the globs of oatmeal to stuff them into his mouth. He seemed downright delighted at having gotten away with said action. I figured this did more good than harm and let him sprinkle more from the packet into the bath. He actually giggled (from his poor swollen, bright-pink face) as he made Aveeno "snow" fall on his bath toys.

A half-hour later (after more drama: why must toddlers poop in every bath that lasts longer than five minutes?), the swelling had gone down and there were only traces of pink across his face and under his eyes. This morning, you'd never know it had even happened. Hmm. Will this have inoculated him to spice, so that few things seems hot in comparison? Or will he shy away from all things the least bit spicy?

I'm thinking I'll still have to watch him around the tomatoes.