Thanksgiving Week

Lyndsay came home the weekend before Thanksgiving.  She had planned to catch a ride back to California with some boys that are in our ward.  All along, they had hoped they would be able to leave Friday, Saturday at the latest, and get to enjoy a longer break.  Lyndsay had been planning on it for weeks and had diligently worked to clear her schedule of tests and assignments so she wouldn't be missing anything.  She worked really hard.  But on Thursday she got the news that one of the boys (who would be the driver) had to go to class on Monday, so they couldn't leave until Monday night.  She called me in absolute hysterics.  That would mean getting home early Tuesday morning, if they drove all night, and that was 4 less days, and she had been counting on it.  I was bugged for her, and I knew how much effort she had put into being ready to come home.  So, I bought her a one-way ticket that left early Friday morning.  As in, the shuttle picked her up at 3:30am in front of her dorm.  

It was the right thing to do.  The boys ended up not leaving until Tuesday late at night and getting home Wednesday around lunchtime.  That would have been such a let-down.  

I like to think Lyndsay just misses me so much, and all the comforts of the home I have created for her for 18 years, but in reality, I think she misses me a little bit, and she misses her boyfriend so much.  Don't get me started.  

But he's a nice enough chap, and he and Lyndsay wanted to make dinner so I wouldn't have to.  (They think I'm such a sucker.)  But they made us sausage and spinach turnovers, which were delicious, and for that, I was grateful.  

During the week, we played lots and lots of Just Dance! on the Wii.  With and without Lyndsay's boyfriend.  That game was one of the best purchases I've ever made.  So. Much. Fun.  And I love that they love to do it together.

Lyndsay and I got to watch the final installment of the Twilight movies on Tuesday night.  We've gone to watch each of them together, every November, as a tradition.  Dylan has always been with us, but this time we went without him.  It was awesome.

I had school that week, so I was juggling wanting to be at home with my kids with having to go to class, which is always a drag.  On Wednesday I rushed home to start making pies.  While the pie crust chilled in the fridge, I ran over to the park to attend the mandatory parent meeting for the All-Stars Football team that Aiden had been selected to play on.  I was very impressed with the coaches and so grateful for this challenging experience that Aiden would have, but I was also grumbling inside that these men would schedule a meeting the night before Thanksgiving when I needed to be home making pies, and then let the meeting run for two hours.

On Thanksgiving morning, the kids made our traditional Apple Turkeys.  My mom did this with the nine of us each year and most of us have carried it on with our own families.

The proud display of turkeys:

Then we sat down to eat a delicious Thanksgiving dinner, just the basics this year, because I am pretty tired in life, let's just admit it.

We had everyone around the table except Dylan.  Oh, how they've all grown up.

Aiden used a lot of Thanksgiving break to work on a book report about Nazi prison camps.  He's not listening to music, as I thought.  He's just blocking out noise.  But I took this picture because I love how the kitty loves him so much.  Aiden is the kitty's absolute favorite.  Wherever Aiden is, Maestro will be with him. Those two have been bosom buddies since Aiden was 4 when we brought the kitten home.

On Saturday, we decided we'd put up the Christmas tree so Lyndsay could be here for that tradition.  We were the first to buy a tree from Kathy's Tree Lot, just like last year.  It was hard setting the darn thing up without Dylan here, but Aiden did a great job.

The tree ended up to be shorter than we normally get, but we had such a time trying to get it set up in its stand that I think that was a good thing.  And then, once it was up and decorated, I could tell that it was ever-so-slightly crooked.  I tolerated it for two days and then had to have Adam help me fix it.  So my mind could be at ease.  You know.

There's that kitty, under the tree.  His favorite place to be if not with Aiden.

And then, because I didn't give Aiden his birthday present when his friends were over, we had to have a second fake birthday celebration for the family, while Lyndsay was still home.  I was sort of birthdayed-out, but there must be a cake, so in 45 minutes I presented Aiden a Texas Sheetcake.  It was easy and awesome.

Another wish, and he still wouldn't be officially 13 until Monday!  (But on Monday all I did was get up extra early and make him his requested breakfast.  And stuck a note in his lunch.  Done.  Officially birthday done.)

Every holiday we have the problem of Conor not being able to keep a secret.  I had purposely not told him what Aiden's gift would be.  That afternoon, he begged me to know.  I thought maybe this time he was old enough to handle it.  It's a Cardinal's watch, I told him.  One that Aiden has really wanted.  But do not tell him!

So Conor's doing well, and Aiden opens the wrapping paper and exclaims, "It's a box!" to which Conor shouts out, "With a watch inside!"  And then realizing what he's just done, he throws his hands in the air and says, "I couldn't help it!"

Oh, that boy.

A very happy watch recipient with his devilish little brother.

And then Aiden was thrilled to get some cash from his grandparents.  Cash always comes in handy.

It was a full week.  Lyndsay headed back up to BYU after church on Sunday (which is a whole other adventure story.  She didn't get back until 4am, with an 8am class that morning and virtually no sleep on the way.  But I'll spare you the details.  Bottom line, she made it safe and sound.)

Then she and I buckled down for the last few weeks of school and finals.

Scary! Aiden's a Teenager!

Well, I have some catching up to do!  Let's start here.

In November, Aiden turned 13.  He is a delightful boy, and only gets better with each year, so I'm not really scared that he's becoming a teenager, but he loved the theme that we used when Dylan turned 13, so we used it again.  Aiden hardly ever gets Friends Parties, so I wanted this to be special for him.  We held it the Saturday before Thanksgiving.  Lyndsay arrived the day before on a break from BYU, so she was a huge help in getting ready.  She and Aiden were the decorating committee, and I did the food.

The Zombie Hand Cake:

Witch Finger Cookies:

Color-coordinating candies.  Because I'm weird like that.

Meringue bones (which I need some practice on):

Spooky decorations: (It's funny to me that I didn't decorate at all for Halloween, but then did all of this a few weeks later.  Oh well.  But hey, FYI, Halloween decorations are way cheaper after Halloween.)

Lyndsay and Conor mixing up the punch:

The jello brain: (The color was pinker in real life....)

The Bloody Hand Punch:

The spread:

More food!

I found these leftover Halloween-themed sodas at the grocery store, so I got them and put them in a cauldron:

Aiden's crew of friends.  Such great kids.

Make a wish!

His friends know him so well.  He got lots of Cardinal's gear, which is his absolute favorite team.

The boys had a great time.  They ate lots of pizza and all the goodies I made.  They watched a scary movie in the dark, they played lots of Just Dance! and they had a great time being together.  Aiden really has the nicest friends.  I loved that after he opened each gift, he went over and hugged the friend that had given it to him.  Such good kids.  The last friend finally went home a little after 11pm, and Aiden was tired, but glowing with happiness.  The night was a huge success, and happy kids make for happy moms.

Happy 13th Birthday, Aiden!

Halloween, A Bit Late

To those of you who haven't given up on me, and keep checking my blog, thank you so much.  I'm so sorry to make you wait so long between posts.  I feel like I'm so behind in just about everything in my life and am constantly in survival mode, from one day to the next.  But I do consider this blog to be part of my journal, so I wanted to report back about Halloween.  I never heard from Dylan about his care package.  I sure miss that kid.  But Lyndsay was thrilled to receive hers, and she was even a good enough sport to decorate her pumpkins and send me pictures.  It was a welcome Sunday afternoon creative diversion for her.

Here are her pumpkins and the pictures of her desk area in her dorm, all decorated.  She's so cute.

You can see all the other drawings and paintings she has up.  She's so creative and talented.  I loved seeing her space up there, that looks so much like her.

She even got herself a little costume of sorts to be in the Halloween spirit:

Back here at home, Aiden was a nerd for Halloween, but still so cute.

We did something funny with this picture for his upcoming birthday party invitations, that I'll show you later.

And little Conor was a triceratops, costume courtesy of my angel mother, who once again saved Halloween for me.  I didn't know what to do, since I have zero time and no sewing machine.  We got by purchasing Star Wars costumes for the boys last year, but I just couldn't do another store bought costume this year.

He actually won the costume contest at his school on Halloween.  He also got a serious heat rash from it though, and missed two days of school.  That's a story.  I'll finish with the pics of the Big Night, and then tell that one.

Halloween was unseasonably warm this year.  That week had temps in the 90s, but the evening had cooled down considerably.  Still, by the end of trick-or-treating Conor's face was flushed and his hair matted with sweat, poor baby.  The next day in school (I was at the hospital doing my clinical rotation), Adam got called to pick him up because his face was swelling and itchy and everyone was afraid it was one of his serious allergic reactions.  He was given Benadryl and seemed to be fine.  The next morning he came downstairs around 5:30am while I was making lunches and was scratching his face saying it was swelling up again and itchy.  He had raised wheals on his face and neck and his torso was covered in a rash.  I gave him Benadryl again, but knew I couldn't send him to school.  This didn't seem like one of his usual allergic reactions, which go straight to his respiratory system.  I thought, "Oh, great, he's got a new allergy developing."  But we couldn't for the life of us figure out what it was.  The Benadryl controlled the itching, but not the rash, as it usually will for a mild allergic reaction, so I called the doctor who wanted to see him.  

So, there went my day of studying.  It's always something, I tell ya.

The doctor was very puzzled too.  It didn't fit his usual allergy pattern.  We went round and round trying to get to the bottom of it.  Then she said, "It looks like a heat rash, but it hasn't been that hot.  What was he wearing?"  Jeans and a t-shirt, I said.  "What about the night before?" And as she said that, we both just looked at each other with recognition of having solved the puzzle.  The night before had been Halloween and he was in head-to-toe polar fleece.  There it was.  A gazillion blocked sweat pores.  Wheals formed from the scratching itself.  Got it.  What a relief to know the cause!  She said it might hang around for 5 to 7 days, but then it would clear up.  But she did want to do more allergy testing, so we headed over to the hospital for a blood draw.  Conor was less than thrilled with that news, but we were so close and the day had been blown anyway, so I was not coming back.  

"It will be cool," I told him.  "Don't you want to see how pretty your blood is?"  No, not so much, but he was brave.  I held him on my lap and there were two techs helping.  One to do the draw, one to hold him down, somewhat.  His first question to them was, "How many seconds is this going to take?"  The tech told him 20.  "TWENTY?" he repeated, completely shocked.  "Well, that's for the first vial, and then 10 for the next, 10 for the next, and then 5."  This was clearly more than he had bargained for, but I told him it only would hurt a bit while the needle went in and then not at all.  Boy, did he take his counting seriously.  

And when it was done, I let him hold the vials and swish them around and see how lovely his blood was and told him how many things about his body his blood could tell the doctor.  I showed him the labels with his name on them, to which he responded, "They spelled my name wrong.  Conor only has one 'n'."  He felt like a hero though, and he had been very brave.  He got a milkshake on the way home.  

So a food allergy panel was done, and I also had them do a Celiac test while we were at it.  All of that came back just fine.  (relief!)  He will have a skin allergy test as soon as I can work that in.  His bloodwork did reveal that his iron is very low (like, it should be 23.9 and his was 7.4, but he's not anemic because his hemoglobin was normal), which is weird, because he eats really healthy foods (green veggies and lots of beans, but not much red meat), so he's getting an iron supplement for the next three months and will then have his blood drawn again.  

The rash lasted 3 days and was gone.  Everything is fine.  Life goes on.  

And my favorite part?  Halloween is over.

Halloween Care Packages

Just about the only thing I like about having my children living away from home is the excuse I have to make up care packages for them.  It is so much fun to get a package in the mail, and I love the idea of making them happy, surprising them, and cheering up their day with a little something unexpected from home.  Plus, I always want them to know that wherever they may live, they are continually on my mind.

So, I wanted to send some sort of Halloween care package to both Lyndsay and Dylan.  Of course, pumpkins come to mind, but pumpkins would be ridiculously expensive to ship, so I thought of Jack-be-Littles and their bigger cousin Tiger Stripe.  And since they're too little to really carve (and carving would be messy in a dorm, in Lyndsay's case, and in Dylan's, he'll probably get to do that with his dad), I thought that decorating them with markers could be satisfying for both of my artistic children.  So began my hunt for mini-pumpkins, which I finally found at Trader Joe's.  (Should have started there.)

Of course, some candy had to go in the package.  The Cadbury Screme Eggs are new to me this year (thank you, Cadbury!) as are the White Chocolate Candy Corn M&Ms.  I sent more candy to Lyndsay, because I imagine Dylan will still have access to lots of candy either through Trick-or-Treating, or from raiding the bags of his younger brothers.  And, I wanted Lyns to have some to share with roommates or friends.

I went to Office Depot to get the markers for the pumpkin decorating (which I'm sure will get lots of use beyond that), and I saw this cute owl USB that practically screamed Lyndsay's name to me, so I picked that up and tossed it in her package too.

Plenty of color options.  Little ribbons for the stems would be cute too.  They each got their own set of markers and 3 pumpkins.

And I sent Lyns some Halloween-colored lights that she can decorate her dorm with.  I think they'll fit perfectly on the shelves above her desk.

Then I got them each a card and we all signed it for them with a little message.  I asked them in my message to take a picture of their decorated pumpkins, so we'll see if they do, and what they come up with.  Off they went to the post office!  I hope they enjoy!

(And I hope they're not reading my blog, or that others who do will not spoil the surprise!)

Ice Queen, Melted

I kept Conor home from school today.  He stopped throwing up yesterday, and had begun eating and drinking small amounts, and his fever had passed, but I just wanted him to have one more day of rest.

I'd made a doctor's appointment for Aiden this morning to have his foot looked at.  I don't know what it is with my kids and their feet, but we've been through it, and thankfully have a wonderful podiatrist.  Aiden started complaining of foot pain after his first football practice, and I thought, "Oh, dear.  He will come unglued if he can't play."  We'd been getting him through the best we could with tape, ice, Advil, and prayers, but it needed to get looked at.  His doctor's appointment was for 8:45am, so I got up at 6:30am with the following plan:

6:30   Pack Sean's lunch--he was at Seminary (Sean lives with us now, have you heard?)
6:45   Make breakfast for Sean
7:00   Have scripture study with my kids
7:15   Feed Aiden and Conor (oh, and me)
7:30   Go shower and get dressed
8:15   Leave for the doctor's office

But, you know what they say about the "best laid plans."  Adam had stayed up all night working, so he was really tired, and when he heard that I was going in the general direction (sort of) of the town where Sean's school is, he asked if I could just take him "on my way."

So, that's why I didn't get to shower today.  And sort of why Sean was 5 minutes late for school (Adam told me it started at 8am, but at 7:49, stuck in traffic, Sean clarified that it starts at 7:50.  Precision isn't Adam's forte.)  And why we got to the doctor's office 38 minutes early.

Good thing we'd both packed books.  And I, mascara.

Aiden was relieved to hear that his growth plate had NOT broken again.  This time, just as his sister had earlier this year, he "just" has tendinitis.  And he is not forbidden from playing football, provided he follows some basic rules.  He is excused from all running in P.E. for a month, however.  But he is over-the-moon happy about it not being the worst case scenario he'd been dreading.

From the doctor's office in Glendale, we drove to Burbank to pick up an ankle brace, and then clear out to Northridge, where his school is.

On the way home, Lyndsay called me in hysterics about her Calculus 2 test.  She'd taken her first college exam and it did not go as she'd hoped.  I could barely understand her on the other end of the phone.  I pulled into a parking lot and talked her down for thirty minutes.

Things like, "It's okay.  You are allowed to do poorly sometimes.  It was your very first college exam."

And, "Who cares?  You're still awesome, and smart, and capable, and every wonderful thing you were before you took that test."

And, "This test, even if you do fail (which I know she won't) is not your semester grade, and all your preparation and hard work is not wasted.  You're finding your groove.  Hang in there."

And, "YOU are not your grades or your test scores, and you've got to separate your identity from your performance."

And a whole bunch of other things, some combination of which seemed to work, since by the end I think she laughed a little.

I didn't get home until just after noon.  Noon!  Tuesday mornings are my study hours.  (And this is prep for another exam week!) And after all that driving and the emotional highs and lows I was so tired.  I just wanted a 15 minute nap.  Maybe 30, if I got lucky.  Because Tuesday afternoons are piano hours.  But when I walked in the door, Adam was ready to hand off Conor to me, with an added, "The freezer repairman will be here within 30 minutes."

Crap.  There went the nap.

And my study time for the day, because at 1:30 back to back lessons begin.  Seven students on Tuesdays, which finish up right at dinnertime, and just before Scouts and bath time and bedtime.

Don't get me wrong, I was thrilled the repairman was coming.  Our ice maker, for the last YEAR has not stopped making ice.  It's a daily chore to keep up with it.  It just keeps on making ice!  And if you don't keep on top of things, regularly emptying out that bin, it overflows and ice comes crashing down on you when you next open the freezer.  And, about 4 months ago, it got worse.  Not only does it perpetually make ice, but now it also drips water into the ice bin, so that the ice slowly melts and refreezes into one gigantic block of ice.  Every single day, the bin has to be taken out and has to be manually sprayed with hot water to melt the entire thing out.  Because if you forget (and I did sometimes), the water rises up over the top of the bin and freezes to the bottom of the ice maker, making it near impossible to remove from the freezer, and spills down the sides and freezes and creates stalactites and stalagmites of ice throughout your entire freezer and everything inside of it.  I can't even tell you how annoying it's been to have this as a daily chore in my life for MONTHS.  Or of the nights when I've awoken in the darkness with terror seizing my heart: "I FORGOT TO DO THE ICE!"  When I've gone out of town I've had to leave specific instructions with the babysitters.  And I've called home, "Don't forget to do the ice!"  It's been a nightmare.

I called the landlord months ago about it, but his resident repairman gave me a "Uh, you have to lift that little metal bar up," at which point I wanted to climb through the phone and grab him by the throat till his eyes bulged.  "This is way past lifting the little metal bar up," I said, sarcastically.  Jerkwad Stupidface Male Chauvinist Pig, I wanted to add.  (This was the same guy who when I called him over here to fix our leaking-for-the-7th-time bathtub faucet, told me that maybe I didn't know how to properly turn off the water and I was wrenching it too tightly.  I replied, "Um, I've been turning water off and on now for going on 40 years and I think I've got it."  Retard Butthead Womanhater Pig.)  Well, if it wasn't that little metal bar, then he had no idea how to fix it, and I'd have to call an appliance repairman.

(LIKE WHAT DO YOU GET PAID FOR????)

So, that being the situation, I had to wait until I had money to do that.  Which was today.  At a little after noon, when I was supposed to be studying, and wanted to be napping, and was about to get hit with a barrage of piano students.

"I hate today," I said to Adam when he told me.  He giggled.

But then, when I went downstairs to wait, I decided to change my attitude.  I could feel Grouchy setting up a tent, and he wanted to stay. Yes, it's true that I'm a creature of habit, predictability, and constancy.  I don't like errands and driving around, and changes to my schedule.  However, I melted, I was able to help Adam out by taking Sean to school so he could sleep.  I have a really good podiatrist who knows me and my children, and even better, their feet, and then he rarely charges me for his services.  I got to spend the morning with Aiden, whom I adore, and we didn't get the bad news that he'd have to quit football.  I had the gas to drive all over creation.  I was available for Lyndsay when she needed me.  Conor had recovered.  The freezer was about to be fixed!  I am really, really blessed.  This has been a good day.

The repairman did not show up in the next 30 minutes.  (Do they ever?)  I could have taken a nap after all, but instead of feeling grumpy about that, I was grateful that in my waiting, I'd vacuumed the downstairs, thrown some chicken in the crockpot, and swept up the laundry room.  The repairman showed up at the same time as my first students.

Well, come on in!  Because I just got 20 minutes a day back on every day from here on out, now that I'm off of ice duty for good.

Conor's Heart

I love this boy of mine.  What a gift he is to me, each and every day.  His little heart is huge, and the depth of his feelings and compassion, combined with the way he sees the world are such a privilege to behold.  He just came this way, and it's really fun to watch him grow.

Conor adores his 1st grade teacher.  She is a member of our ward at church and the mother of one of Lyndsay's best friends, so he was familiar with her before she became his teacher.  Several weeks into the school year, she was out sick for a day.  He was worried about her.  In his prayers that night he prayed, "Please bless Mrs. Pinkston to get better and to not be sick anymore.  Not even a bit."  The next day, more of the same.  Once she was back to health, he kept up the prayers for her: "Please bless Mrs. Pinkston to be so grateful that she is not sick anymore."

But while she was under the weather, he wanted to "make a craft" for her.  He asked me for black and white paper, which I gave him, and he pulled down the scissors and glue and crayons.  Then he proceeded to cut out black and white squares and glue them to another paper, and then draw each of the chess figures, placing them in their positions and folding them up so they stood aright.  He worked for several days, a little at a time.  He was so proud of his homemade chess set when he was finished.  I almost hated to see it go, but he'd labored over it as a gift for his beloved Mrs. Pinkston, so the morning after it was finished, he toted it off to school.

Conor loves adults, if you haven't noticed.  Other children are fine, though he prefers them just a bit older than himself, but he makes interesting connections with adults in his life.  Take the Iranian bus driver.  Conor doesn't even take a bus to school, but every day the busses line the streets in front of his school and the bus drivers wait outside their busses for their children to board.  Conor and I would walk by them each day on the way home from school, and for some reason, he really took an interest in this one.  They didn't exchange too many words, but once that bell rang, Conor would run down the street to see him and give him a high-five as he passed.  The driver would say in his thick accent, "Have a good day, Mister."  And Conor would say, "You too! Have a great day!  See you tomorrow!"  And that was it.  Every. Single. Day.  And the bus driver wouldn't take his busload until he had seen Conor.  He stopped me one time on my way to the school to ask if it would be okay if he gave Conor a small gift.  I said sure, so he brought Conor a small toy school bus.  And he gave him several other toy school busses of various sizes over the months, which Conor cherishes.  Towards the end of the school year, the driver asked me when Conor's birthday was and I told him it was the day before the next school year started.  So he brought me a gift to save for the summer and give him when it was his birthday.  Conor was so thrilled to receive a gift after a summer of not seeing his friend.  (Another toy vehicle.)

Well, when this school year started, and we headed home that first day, passing by the busses all lined up, Conor's old friend was not among the drivers.  Each day that week we looked for him, but he was gone.  I think his route must have been changed.

 Earlier this week, after Conor had been put to bed, I heard him crying.  I went in to see what was wrong.  "I miss the bus driver," he sobbed.  And his little heart broke wide open with his sadness.  I tried to comfort him, but I felt so helpless.  I didn't even know the man's name (Ashat?  Ashrat?  Something like that, but still, that's only a first name.)  Conor wanted to write to him, to find him somehow, and I didn't know how to do that.  I sat with him for several minutes, and then, in such an astute way, he asked, "Can I get up and draw a picture of a bus?"  He knew that's what he needed to do to process his grief.  He does that sometimes.  When he was missing Dylan, he would ask to draw pictures for him.  When he was missing Lyndsay, sometimes even late at night when his thoughts become more clear to him in the silence of his darkened room, he would ask to get up and draw pictures.  I understood that that was what he needed to, much in the same way that when I am processing emotion I am overwhelmed with a feeling to turn on the light and write.

I didn't care that it was past his bedtime.  I loved that he loved this Iranian bus driver for LAUSD, and I loved that he was so in tune with his feelings that he could channel his grief into action that would be healing for him.  So, I let him out of bed and he came downstairs and got out his journal.

(I'm not sure why the bus is purple and blue, except that maybe purple and blue are "sad" colors for Conor.)  He dictated just a few sentences to me, which I wrote on the top of the page, but when I prompted him to see if he wanted to talk more about his feelings of missing the bus driver, he said, "No, I'm done."  And off he went to bed.

He knows so innately how to take care of himself, and he seems to realize, even at age 6, that taking care of his heart and his feelings are just as important as taking care of his body, which is astounding to me.  He reminds me to honor my feelings and express them in healthy ways.

Just part of the magic of raising a child.