Thank Goodness for Gedney

Thanksgiving 2007 - over and done. And Josie is thankful for "Special Treats." Her words, exactly, as we went around the table and told what we are thankful for. Treats as in, the bribes she gets for eating a good supper. Like pickles. And suckers.

Sunday night the girls were all decked out in their footie jammies, delaying bedtime by being super-cute and getting along. Evie picked up a basket I have in the living room, slung it over her arm and toddled off, waving bye-bye. We got quite a kick out of this, and Jo, upon seeing our delight in someone else's cuteness, decided that she should be part of the action, too. So she picked up the other basket I have in the living room, slung it over her arm and told me that she and Evie needed to go to the hardware store and shop. So they came and went, in and out of the living room together with their baskets, returning from "shopping" trips, then needing to go to the store, again. Evie was so happy to be playing with her big sister. Her little nose crinkled up when she smiled. Josie gave me a hug-unna-tiss every time they were "leaving" for the store.

And those few moments in time sum up exactly what I'm thankful for this year.

Comparisons

Both girls at about 16 months (Eve first, then Jo, in case you couldn't tell.) Hard to believe that Josie was a couple of months away from being a big sister at that point.

Big Game Hunter

My husband, thank all the good in goodness, is not a hunter. Not that I'm all anti-hunting or anything, I'll happily gnaw on some venison right alongside the next guy, but I just don't want any part of knowing anything about how that venison got on the table. Ignorance is bliss.

Anyway - I am not left stranded, a hunting-widow, each fall. And this may partially explain why. So back to the story. Here is my account of events in our house last night...

"CAROL!! WAKE UP! COME DOWNSTAIRS!!"

I look up to see Patrick standing by the bed, holding our cat.

"What??! Why???"

"Baxter got The Mouse***! Now it's in a vase! Downstairs!! Come down there with me!"

***We had an unwanted visitor in our house for the past couple of weeks. We were in the basement watching a movie a while ago, and I heard the distinct scurrying sounds of little mouse feet in the ceiling. Now, I grew up in an old house. I know what a mouse sounds like.

I expressed my concerns to my husband, only to be poo-pooed. So I dropped it. My philosophy is this: I've been pregnant. And been on bedrest. And given birth. Twice. Therefore, I'm way ahead of Pat in the "You Owe Me" department. So matters such as cleaning the litterbox, cleaning up dog poop, getting the spiders, and disposing of rodents - are not my job. Once again, ignorance is bliss. There are many things in life that I just want to happen. I don't want to know how, or when, or where... I just want them done.

And I can say these things. Because this is my blog. Now back to the story.

So then we heard the scurrying sounds again a few nights ago. And he looked behind the dogfood. And saw mouse poop. And then he decided to believe me.

He's been playing the mighty hunter for the past couple of days. By setting mouse traps with peanut butter. Only to be mocked by having the peanut butter licked off while not setting off the traps. But who am I to judge? He was doing something about it, and I wasn't, and whatever it took to get that mouse out of my house was fine by me.

Needless to say, at 11:00-something-p.m. last night, I was a little out of it. And as soon as I heard "mouse," I wanted no part of it.

"What do you mean downstairs? On the main floor?"

"NO. In the basement. I don't know what to do!!"

"Tough. I am not getting out of bed. I'm sure you and Baxter will figure it out."

Some time later, he came to bed. And wanted to regale me with tales of the fantastic mouse hunt. I begged for ignorance. And sleep.

Apparently, the entire process involved the vase, then a shoebox, then outdoors and then the St. Paul city sewer system. But I don't want to know.

I just hope the Mouse doesn't remember the way back.

And that there was only one.

I was all, like, "can you say Anal?"

As Eve stomped her foot and whined and pointed and said "Uh-oh" 50 times because the flip top on the syrup was left open.

So I closed it.

Then she turned her attention to same problem with the creamer sitting by the coffee pot being all offensive with it's top open mocking her.

So I closed it.

As I wiped the water droplets off the faucet and sink and turned the hand soap so that the label faced forward, I wondered, "Where does she get this stuff from??"

Seriously??!

Check out this article:

Then promptly go bash your head against a wall. All this de-Christmas-ing of Christmas makes me ill.

I just made you say underwear

Jo and I were sitting at the kitchen table this morning when Evie walked in with one of my bracelets. Upon seeing this coveted item, Jo immediately proclaimed that she needed to have HER bracelet.

Me: "First of all, that's MY bracelet. And secondly, Evie is looking at it right now. You may have it when she's done. So don't get your undies in a bundle.***"

***Does anyone else actually say this, or is it yet another one of those oddball phrases that I've dragged with me into adulthood from my parents? Like how my Dad always used to say when I hauled myself out of bed at noon on a weekend in high school 'Well, there's another country heard from.' Or when I whined about how much I wanted something or wished I had something, 'Well, you can crap in one hand and wish in the other and see which you have more of.' What the hell does that mean anyway?? I may not know, but I guarantee you I'm gonna use it on my own kids.

Jo: She sat in silence for a few moments, thinking, then turned to me. In a teasing voice, while grabbing at her underwear, says, "Mommy... I'm bundling my undies...."

Sweethearts

So Pat stood in line for an hour last night to get into the funeral home for the wake of a guy he went to high school with and played hockey with. 31 years old. Married. Two small kids. An electrician. Apparently, a work-related accident that could have had a very different result if he would have taken the time to put on all of the safety gear that he was supposed to. These kids will barely remember their daddy. Talk about a wake up call. Every single action we take, or fail to take now, as parents, affects so many people.

That's one thing about all this death crap. (I know. I'm just a frickin' grim reaper, lately, aren't I?) The constant reminder that we have to "get our affairs in order." It's been on our ever-expanding to-do list since Josie was born. We're relatively intelligent human beings and we know full well that we need to do it. It's just the actual DOING IT part that gets us every time.

Grandma Ashton's funeral isn't until tomorrow. She died last Wednesday, and The Family (I extend them the courtesy of capitals because there are A Lot of Them. 11 kids. 26 grandkids. 33 great-grandkids.) wanted to have everything on Saturday. But she's being buried at Fort Snelling, and they don't do burial services on Saturdays. And today is Veteran's Day observed. So that leaves us with tomorrow. It's going to be a relief when it's all over. It's horrible to be preparing yourself for so long for what you know is going to be a grueling experience. Grandpa Ashton, desperately in love with this woman for 66 years, picked out 2 songs that he wants played at the funeral home before we leave for the church. "You Are My Sunshine," and "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." AND, during the funeral, one of their daughters is going to read a love letter that Grandpa wrote to Grandma years ago.

Note to self: stock up on Kleenex tonight. And where is my waterproof mascara?

Speaking of mascara. Josie likes to play with my makeup. Not that I have a lot. Which is partially why I can't afford to let her play with it. But the other morning she was in the bathroom with me, and I made the mistake of turning my attention to my own reflection in the mirror for like all of 30 seconds, and she managed to get the brush off my mascara and rub it all over her forehead.

Speaking of foreheads. Eve is sporting yet another lovely bruise on hers. This time she flung herself between my legs, directly on her head, on the transition piece between our kitchen and the living room. If you'll remember this is exactly the same move she pulled when she had to go to the ER earlier this fall - except she did it at daycare instead of at home. At least she didn't cut herself this time. I swear. Child protective services is going to come a-knockin' any day now.

Grandma Ashton passed away last night, at her home. She was cracking jokes up to the end, and everyone was able to say their goodbyes. To say that she will be missed doesn't even cut it.

What will you do when faced with a business of ferrets?

This is what you get when I don't download pictures from our camera in three months.

Josie-isms

Jo: "Mommy - what are those??"

Me: "Well, Jo - those are breasts."

Jo: "HEY. (looking down shirt.) I don't have those!"

Me: "No - no, not yet. When you're an older girl, you will get those."

Jo: "Yep! Not too long now..."

**************************************

I looked in Josie's room to see a mess of flashcards on her table. Pat, Jo and Eve were all playing in the room. I made the assumption that Josie had made the mess.

Me: "It's almost time to go. I wonder who is going to clean up the flashcards?"

Jo: "Well, NOT ME. (climbs on riding toy - she calls it her 'bus.') I have to go to work!"

Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow

I've had too many reminders in the last couple of days of the beginning and the end. The stark differences between preparing and celebrating new life, and coming to terms with the ending of others.

Deep, I know. I'll keep this short.

It's just fresh in my mind, and also plays into the update of our past couple of days.

I went to a baby shower for my friend, Dawn, whom I've known since, geez, 5th grade, when she moved to Chatfield, on Saturday. It's awesome to be witness to the preparation and excitement of a new baby. The shower was in Spring Valley, and I was early, and the path I took carried me right by a little "town" called Pleasant Grove. To say it's small is an understatement. But Pleasant Grove is very near where I grew up, and in Pleasant Grove is a cemetery.

I've always had this weird fascination with cemeteries. They contain history, quiet and overwhelming peace. Maybe at this particular phase of my life, that's especially appealing to me due to the uncertainties of raising kids and worrying about their futures, the hectic pace of our lives and the unending chaos that evolves from having a family. Stepping into a cemetery brings with it certainty, finality, an absolute answer. This is the end. It's Plain and Simple. Something I don't have a lot of in my life right now.

And this particular cemetery has sentimental value to me as it is the resting place of numerous members of my family, including my Dad. A brother. A cousin. My Grandpas. I know it's silly, but it's always been important to me to "visit" the cemetery. To touch the gravestones. I know loved ones aren't really "there," but it's a place all its own to remember. To pay respects. I haven't been there in a while, and there have been changes since the last time I visited. Stones in place for my cousin and for the baby girl of another cousin that I hadn't seen before. It's a strange thing to see your family name, so clear and stark, engraved on a headstone.

Okay. Enough of that.

We celebrated family birthdays for Patrick's dad, sister and nephew yesterday. His nephew, Trent, will be 4 next week. It's fun to see how much excitement something as simple as a Garfield ice cream cake can bring to the life of a preschooler. There were so many gifts, it was like a mini-Christmas. With birthday cake.

Except hanging overhead was the sad news that Pat's Grandma Ashton is not well. She has made the Decision to stop kidney dialysis. And has numerous complications including a horrible bedsore, and pneumonia in one of her lungs. The family has been told to prepare for the end. What an awful thing to try to reconcile in your mind.

What a rollercoaster. New babies. Birthdays. Saying goodbye. Autumn. Guess it's all kind of apropos of the season.

Shocking

I'm going to divulge something shocking.

I don't like Halloween.

I know. I'm waiting for the agents to come and cart me back to whatever country it is that I came from. It's completely un-American.

I've never really gotten into it - even as a kid.

I don't know if it's because we lived in the country, and trick-or-treating involved trekking around the neighborhood with my mom or aunt behind the wheel (uh - why is it that we never went to TOWN to go trick-or-treating??,) crammed in the car with my cousins, and we had to endure the adults "visiting" with each stop for like an hour, so we only got about 3 pieces of candy, and it was usually raining or cold or something miserable, and our driveway went up the middle of a cornfield and there's always so much scary movie hoopla around this time of the year (seen Children of the Corn lately?) and have you ever walked in the dark through a cornfield by yourself?

Well. That's what I associate with Halloween.

And I'm only slightly exaggerating.

Granted, I've come to terms with the holiday in my adult-years. Pumpkins are fun - I'll give you that. (That's for you, Peg.)

Except when they start to rot in your college apartment because your roommate (PEG) wouldn't part with them yet and they start to smell like fish sticks and you blame your neighbors for cooking fish sticks at all hours of the day and night for weeks on end, only to move one of the pumpkins one day and discover a new cure for diseases growing right in your very own living room.

So, wait. I've just talked myself right back into disliking Halloween again.

Anyway. Little kids dressed up on Halloween are cute. I'm resigning myself to the fact that I'm going to have to endure the holiday with some enthusiasm (however feigned it may be) for the next few years. And trick-or-treating with the Gronaus last night was a blast. I enjoyed myself way more than I anticipated and Jo had a great time with Lucy looking for houses with the lights on, running down sidewalks and of course, the candy. Oh - the candy. Also another redeeming part of the day.

And the day after. Now who had those peanut butter cups again... gotta go. :)