If Your Child Gets Stuck in a Baby Swing . . .

...here's what you do. Ignore the yelling of strangers, codependent teens climbing the wrought iron fence between the park and the pool. Even when they gasp, cover their mouths, point, and yell, "Call the fire department!", remember your calm old friend Diane. She told her daughter that since she climbed up the tree, she could also climb down. You're not too far away to see what's going on. You saw this coming. Your 7-y-o dear daughter is not going to die. She may be really really stuck, as the smoking stranger insists, but that doesn't really change anything, now does it? Let him try to dump your darling, 80-lb daughter out of the baby swing on her head by trying to turn the whole thing upside down!

You got up on top of that graffitied multi-slide playground hunk of plastic and metal in order to see something, and see something you SHOULD. Your 12-y-o daughter is competing in the very first swim meet of her life, and you are not about to miss it just because your darling 7-y-o wanted to swing like a baby. You won't actually see her swim because you can only glimpse, over the sea of swimmers and their families and their canopies, a tiny patch of pool, just the last two lanes, in the middle of their race. But you don't know that yet, and you don't want to feel guilty later, so you just keep those numb feet planted right next to the curly slide, and lean on that heavy-duty plastic.

And besides, who wants to get any closer to the drama, and risk getting kicked?
Be sure to tell that darling 7-y-o to calm down, and that you're not coming down to help while she's kicking and screaming. And when her 9-y-o sister whispers that this is embarrassing and that people are taking pictures, just keep your focus on that oldest sister, the one blissfully unaware that this drama is unfolding just yards away from her, but who is probably sadly aware that no one she loves is watching her swim. Even in that crowd of crocodiles and piranhas and all their families, how can she not notice that she does not feel the gaze of her family, or hear their voices cheering her on?

But when you are good and sure that you have done all you could do to see her swim, and to let the 7-y-o feel the weight of her consequences, go straight over to her and squat right under that baby swing, and pull with all your might on that swing, while the kindly stranger and your older child also pull with all of theirs (him on the 7-y-o, and sister on the swing), and that darling 7-y-o pushes her feet on your thighs, until you feel your heart skip a beat, and the stranger says, "Wiggle!", and you ALL do, and she finally slips free.

Then go home and do nothing, because nothing is what you will get done around the house, because your darling 7-y-o daughter will be asking you and telling you all about that dramatic event all evening long. She will say, "I'm never going to the park again!" and you will try to reassure her that you understand she's afraid of getting stuck again, but then you'll give in to the temptation to tell her that you just don't believe that she'll never go there again.

Adamic (Eveish) Language

At the grocery store recently, I was pushing a bright blue car cart with my two youngest darlings at the steering wheels. We were headed down the health food aisle for some sunflower seeds when Louella burst out with "Donut catchers! Can we get donut catchers?" I looked where she was pointing, and saw only pumpkin seeds. Sure enough, these little libido-raising snacks were the very catchers she was asking for. I agreed to buy some, and had a good time telling everyone who would listen about the new name these seeds had been given. When dh Sonny heard the story, he was a little less surprised than I thought he would be. He had been out of town on a campout with our son on the day of the donut catcher christening. And on that day, over two hours away, for the first time in just about forever, he was eating donuts.

Schoolbuses, Sinovial Fluid, and Sobriety

My current gratitude short list.
A cross-section of our family life right now.
Tellingly Mormonish alliteration, tantalizingly randomish combination,

what do we do when we feel something we don't like?
when choosing what to do in order to feel better, do we get feedback about whether the choice is appropriate and healthy?

Sobriety requires that an addict check in with his sponsor when feeling doubtful, anxious, tempted. Before acting out or taking action which might be unhealthy, the addict is supposed to run his plan by a seasoned sober addiction-recovery graduate.

Reminds me of prayer. I can imagine that running a mile in the pouring rain would feel so good while I'm tempted to yell and scream and cry. I might tell someone that's what I'm thinking of doing. Someone else might say that exercise is a healthy way to cope with difficult emotions. But then if I pray about it, I just might get a very specific directive TO do that very thing, but in a certain place at a certain time with a certain someone, and wearing a certain reflective coat. And the answer might not make sense, to me or anyone I might tell about it, but to a loving all-powerful Divine Daddy, these are the best conditions for my plan to work to my best advantage . . . and then again, perhaps He will answer, "No, you will not."

My daughter with the mile-wide aura kept bringing up the idea of walking to school and home every day. I thought I had dissuaded her a time or two, but when the topic arose again, I knew it was time to give her the only answer she would understand. I said that if she was going to walk that route, she'd have to know that route, and how long it would take. So I offered to take that walk with her on the following Sunday evening. Sunday morning came, and my dramatic darling appeared and announced that today was THE day. I reminded her that we would take the walk LATER after supper.

Supper came and went. On went the walking shoes, and out WE went. Right on our street. Right on the street at the bus stop corner. Left at the end of that street. Right at the next corner. Left at the big street. Left soon again. Then just keep walking and mentally reviewing the directions for a long time. Lots of things to see and talk about. Finally this winding street ends and we go left, and we're almost there! We insisted on her going all the way to the front door and touching it before the timer was stopped. 45 minutes, one way!

That means that I would have to get up and get EVERYBODY ready quite early. My walk would be an hour and a half long, if there were no distractions, disruptions, or injury. Not that I couldn't use the exercise, but . . .

When I think of that big yellow schoolbus, I am grateful. No worries of whether my darlings make it all the way to their school. No having to get everyone up 45 minutes early. And no driving for me, which means less stress, and hopefully, fewer self injuries . . .

Several weeks ago, I was driving, and tried to put my left hand on the steering wheel the underhanded way. My index finger poked the wheel instead, and my finger was jammed. No breaks, no blood, just jammed. For a while it doesn't hurt, but then it does again. I had it checked out by a doctor, because I didn't want to suffer longer than I have to. He checked for breaks and assured me that I just have to give it time to heal. Having pulled this finger repeatedly, because that seems to alleviate the pain, I asked the doc whether that was wise. He said sure, that lets more sinovial fluid into the painful joints. It couldn't hurt.

Thank goodness these things I'm taking advantage of and grateful for are harmless enough.

That River in Egypt, or Emotional Roller Coaster Part 0.5

Trying to accept the apparently pregnant state of my body, I realized that I needed divine intervention. I knelt down to pray, and the serenity prayer seemed appropriate. So I tried to recite it, but to no avail. I started out all wrong: God, grant me the courage to change the things I can (that's the second phrase, not first), the ummmm ... what is it? ... no, it can't be serenity, I know that's not it ... in fact, I don't know WHY it's called the Serenity Prayer. I don't think that word is even IN the prayer! ... the whatever to accept the things I cannot change, and the courage to know the difference.

Yeah. It wasn't 'til the parents' support group meeting that night that I realized how ironic that was.

The actual Serenity Prayer goes like this:

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
As it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
If I surrender to His Will;
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life
And supremely happy with Him
Forever and ever in the next.

At Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, and other recovery support meetings all over the world, recovering addicts and their loved ones stand together and embrace as they recite the first verse.

Tonight at a parents' support group meeting again, I remembered that I had not recorded this juicy little piece of the story. So out of order though it may be, here ya go.

And as for Emotional Roller Coaster Parts II through XVII, stay tuned . . .

How Sweet It Is

It was a magical time. It was dinner time. The kids were here and they were hungry. We sat down to a home-cooked meal that I hadn't been super hopeful about, but which turned out to be very well received.

The Menu
Italian Green Beans
Steamed Broccoli
Lemon Chicken Pilaf

The Recipes

Italian Green Beans

3 c fresh green beans, cooked in boiling water til tender
GOPS all-purpose seasoning (1 part each: garlic, onion, pepper; 4 parts salt)
butter or olive oil
tomato paste
Parmesan cheese

Place green beans (drained) in shallow serving dish or pie plate. Sprinkle GOPS on. Slather with butter or drizzle melted butter or olive oil on top. Smear tomato paste over all, or over just half in case you have a tomato hater. Sprinkle Parmesan over, and heat in microwave or conventional oven just 'til heated through and melty cheese.

Lemon Chicken Pilaf

4 plump chicken breasts (boneless/skinless)
1 cup lemon juice
several cloves garlic
1.5 cups H.E.B. wild rice/brown rice pilaf
4 cups water
chicken bouillon

Cook first 3 ingredients in crock-pot 'til thoroughly cooked.
Cook pilaf with water and bouillon on stove top.
Shred the chicken.
Blend lemon juice and garlic in blender 'til milky.
Add chicken and garlic-lemon juice mixture to pilaf. Let simmer 'til you're done with prayer and salad.

Consider putting the steamed broccoli into the pilaf. Otherwise, place broccoli in covered bowl as far away from Mozy as possible 'til everyone else has had some.

Mmmmm-hmmmm!

Breakfast Table Banter

Louella (3) "When I grow up I'm gonna be a WOK STAR!"
I smiled and encouraged her. "What will you sing?"
"Tinkle Tinkle Little Star."
12-y-o Jolie: "That would be a shooting star!"

Anticipating Hurricane Esther Jenn

Hubby Sonny works nights every other month. On the evens, he misses church because he has to work on Sundays.

Jack will be moving out in a few months to go on a mission.

Bob will be moving out this weekend to live with a family whose son has attained sobriety.

That leaves me with four daughters. With only the occasional male presence. Can you say "estrogen overload"?