The Death of a Trampoline

Sometimes in life, the-not-so-nice happens.

 Like when 3 of your young adult children and 1 still-a-kid kid all jump on the trampoline after supper and one of them decides to go through the trampoline…

Okay, let's back the bus up here.

It all started with a birthday supper for Aaron (whose birthday is 3/30) and Leo (whose day falls on 3/28). We planned a meal of gigantic proportion, including steak, wings, sesame noodles, stir-fried vegetables, cake and peanut butter pie. Oh, I forgot to mention the potato salad.

We were hungry.

Very hungry.

Until after supper, when we were very full.

Stuffed.

But then my aforementioned children run out, much like they did when they were 5, 7 and 10 and began jumping on the trampoline.

Did I mention that they are now almost 15, 17 and a day shy of 21? And they had just eaten a meal of gigantic proportion and all weighed more than they did before eating supper?

They laughed, they jumped, they played "Crack the Egg". Then my eldest son played "Crack the Trampoline". It was rather a surprise to him as he hadn't planned on doing a phenomenal trick that ended with a loud Riiiiiipppp. (The trampoline, not him).

I wish I had a picture of that moment. (In my imagination, it is quite funny.) I do have a picture of him with his grandma. He was assisting with the steak and asparagus, hence the apron. The silly face? I blame Leo Calvin and Hobbes comic strip. Ask Aaron sometime.

 The gathering of family was sweet, except we were missing one vital person. My newest daughter is taking a class and is out of town for a little while. She was missed :( but one has to love technology; texting at the table is sometimes quite polite. We will eat again when she gets home. Birthdays celebrated 2, 3, 5 times in a year….it is a good thing. Birthday cake without getting older. I think I may be on to something here.

Speaking of birthday cake…
Made from scratch and full of cream cheese and strawberries.
(Way better than the Rice Krispy Cake from another birthday. Don't ask Aaron; it was traumatic.)

Of course, maybe it was all the birthday cake that led to the trampoline's demise.

I should have a point to all this. Really, I should. But I don't. It's just a day in the life of my crew.
Yeah, sometimes the not-so-nice happens, but so does the opposite. I was out checking the damage this morning and if I wouldn't have, I would have missed this:

Love,

Dianne

The Fragrant Life

Last Thursday was the first day of Spring and one of my favorite aspects of the season is the scent. Fragrant with newly blossomed bouquets of hyacinth and lilac and freshly turned-over soil, it invites even the most indoorsy recluse to step outside and inhale deeply. Even the winds that ruffle the bare treetops delight the senses, inspiring a longing for more. 

Then my thoughts turn to a different kind of fragrance. Think "corned beef and cabbage with a whole lot of mustard". Then take yourself beyond the meal to the next day. What smelled mouth-watering and tasted delicious was nice going in, but let's just say that among the foods listed as "gas producing", these should rank in the top ten. 

Amy and I had an orthodontist consultation in Monroeville this fateful "morning after the corned beef dinner". Silent but deadly comes to mind. At the office I asked (trying not to appear desperate) where the restroom was. To this, the oh-so-helpful receptionist replied, "Oh, just use this one right through here." I went through the door and right there, directly beside her desk and in the hub of the office was a tiny room with the label "Conference Room".  Oh boy. 

I simply couldn't do it. And if we weren't already having problems with the insurance company covering this visit before, we certainly would now. If I could've done it. But I couldn't. 

Then there is the concept of applied fragrance aka perfume or body spray. Of this variety, I don't often wear. I own exactly 3 bottles of perfume. Lady Stetson, Lahana, and Aviance Night Musk. I wonder if perfumes have an expiration date? I wore the Aviance at our wedding and for a long time, our luggage had a hint of it every time a suitcase was opened. I liked it then and the smell brings with it some very good memories. But to wear it now? On a regular basis? It's just too much. Too heavy or something. Even if I just spray it and walk into the mist, it's just a little too much and honestly, it reminds me a little bit of an "older woman" fragrance. Older but wiser I am sure. Just not me anymore.  

Fragrance #1 Spring…..aaahhhhh.

Fragrance #2 The next day….ewwwww.

Fragrance #3 The perfume that used to be me….mmmmmm…..ah…ah…ah-choo!!!!

Which brings me to this thought:

"Thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing Him." 2 Corinthians 2:14 NRSV

In a crazy world, a busy life, when all feels a little like I am spinning out of control, what fragrance am I? Am I one that leaves my family running for cover? Or my coworkers needing an antihistamine? I think I am these sometimes, when I say yell words in anger,  join in the negative talk, or even gossip because I think it makes me somehow look better. Really, it just makes me stink. 

My prayer this week, this day, and for always is that I am fragrant with the fragrance that comes from knowing Him. 

Love,

Dianne

A Tale of Two Eyebrows

I got my eyebrows waxed and plucked the other day. I don't get my nails done, I don't go for a regular massage or facial (although this could be a possibility…hmmmm), but I do go every so often and get the brows corralled back into order.

They are rather beastly things and need to be tamed. They have been known to frighten small children and little dogs. And now? Well, let's just say that half of me looks surprised and the other side is not.

I now have uneven brows. Asymmetrical. One curves up as though I was just told something exciting, the other just says "oh, not so much going on here" How did this happen?

Let's just say, that for those that have never had their eyebrows waxed and plucked, that it is pretty much like stabbing pins in your face while ripping swatches of hair out by the roots at the same time. The warm wax feels nice but then it is interrupted quite rudely by a piece of paper being pressed into it. Then the paper, with the wax that now has your eyebrow hairs embedded in it, are ripped off in one quick motion. It is all I can do not to let out a very loud: "OUCH!!!" But that is better than the fine-tuning that occurs when individual eyebrow hairs are plucked out one-by-one-by-one. Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!

Torture.

I keep my eyes closed throughout the process and trust that the plucker knows eyebrows and will give me the desired result. The other day, as she plucked, I felt like their was a bit of a one-sided focus. I began to wonder if I would have a brow left after 437 individual plucks.

So when she asked me if they looked okay, I opened my eyes and through the haze of pain, tears and blurred vision I checked out the little beasts and just said "yes". Because I really thought they were okay and I didn't think I could take just one more pluck.

Then I looked in the mirror a day later and saw the kinda subtle, but odd difference. Kinda funny really, and I decided that a little quirk fits me to a tee. Because, in case you thought otherwise, I am not perfect. Startling revelation, I know.

This flawed body that I reside in, this mind that is forgetful and sometimes does the oddest things (like going out in public with a pair of mid-calf black boots and having one pant leg tucked in, the other left out until my brother-in-law points out this weird fashion choice. I've done this 3 times, now by the way) is just how I am. Not that while on this earth, I don't strive to be as good as I can be, but I can accept that perfection is unattainable in this life. And even with all the mistakes, the goofy missteps, the out-of-sync days, I am always loved by the God who created me.

That's pretty wonderful.

And I can still be the women I was created to be, because I know He's not finished with me yet. Eyebrows or not. And it reminds me of one of my favorite verses in Phillipians 1:6 and it goes like this:

"…being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." 

So thankful that God doesn't give up on this broken, chipped and cracked vessel, but that He keeps on fine-tuning, making me into the woman I am meant to be.

Love,
Dianne

A Company Dinner Kind of Date

A date, a date,

we went on a date. 

A company banquet 

for which we were nearly late. 

  At the WP Hotel at Two Waterfront Place we arrived,

all in one piece, my driving we survived.

We hastened to the banquet hall and into the food we did dive;

For we know that in eating, we all soon would thrive. 

Leo and I, no grill or canoe would we win,

but received gift cards to Red Lobster

for another date and even more grins.

                                         The view from Floor Nine at this glorious hotel;

with a scene such as this, I believe we'll stay for a spell.

Or at least until breakfast (served promptly at eight); 

from the looks of this tray, it was going to be great. 

 "Was it great?"you may ask,

and "Was it worth the wait?"

You be the judge…

just check out this fair plate.

 But all good mornings must come to a close,

and afternoon beckons and so do the rows.

Rows? What rows? Now let me do tell,

of a bookstore so wonderful, so glorious, so swell.

Among the books numbering a million

(or so the sign said),

we soon settled in to look for award winners

among the titles we read. 

                                                    Even the husband joined in the search,

drawn in by the titles

and not the research.

And what did he find so engrossing, so gripping?

I was sure this was more than just a newspaper clipping. 

What are you reading dear husband of mine,

looking so sweet, so refined and dignified.

Not Dr. Suess, or a Caldecott Winner,

but a Junie B. Jones (I really should've known). 

For this was a favorite of our children when younger

and not a surprise that it caused him to linger. 

But then I smelled coffee 

as we made our way to the counter,

paid for our novels and continued our banter.

He got his plain with just a little whipped cream,

I got a dark chocolate mocha…oh this must be a dream. 

We got back in the car and traveled the hills,

nose pointed homeward;

back to the chill and the bills.

For everyday life resumed once again,

but a date, yes a date makes it all much less insane. 

The moral of this tale goes something like this:

 Take some time with your spouse, to renew and revive, 

to talk and to laugh, dance a waltz or a jive. 

And if what it takes is a company dinner,

don't turn it down, it's sure to be a winner. 

Love,

Dianne

Oh, Just A Typical Morning...

Does anybody else drool in their sleep? Anybody? Because I do. I don't remember doing that when I was a kid, or really even as a teenager. But as an adult? Oh yeah. It's gross. Like a St. Bernard I am. It's a wonder I don't wake up dehydrated. That's how I awoke this fine morning. At least it's not every morning.

Then after I wiped the spittle trail from my cheek, I turned to see Ryan in the room. He'd just come in to tell me that "Amy can't open her eyes!" Well, that sounded interesting. I headed downstairs to find Amy, lying supine on the futon, forearm across her eyes. She could open the right eye, but the left eye looked a little swollen. She could hold it open, but couldn't just open those blond-lashed lids; it hurt too much.

Between Adrienne and I, we used a cell phone flashlight (sure does come in handy!) to peer into those baby blues. Amy held her eye open. I held the light. Adrienne looked to see if she could see anything that could be the cause of the distress. Light hurt Amy's eyes but it was kinda funny. You see, she has these amazing blue eyes and usually her pupils are larger, more noticeable. Shine a light in and wow, do those pupils constrict. She could be the model for science class the day the eyeball is discussed. But, back to the I-am-in-pain-something-is-in-there-I-think moment.

Adrienne thought she spied a hair on the surface of the orb. Amy did not want her touching her eyeball. I couldn't see a thing. Really, I couldn't because I'd left my glasses upstairs. So, getting a Q-tip we thought the hair-thing could be snagged. Amy said to make it wet first. Adrienne suggested that Amy put it in her mouth to moisten it. Amy and I looked at Adrienne with a "that is a weird and odd suggestion" and suggested that tap water would be just fine. Once she came back with the wet Q-tip, poised it ready over the eye, and Amy opened her eye, rolling it around so beautifully, we couldn't find whatever it was we'd seen before.

Amy decided to go look for herself in the mirror but then realized she didn't have her contacts in and it was pointless. Then she suggested that I look in the bathroom trash can for the tiny, clear, nearly invisible lenses. In case one of them had torn in her eye. I tried. I really did, but there is just some things a mother can't do. Sifting through the bathroom trash is one of them. I'd had enough to do with spit already.

But then, she suddenly realized that her eye was open of it's own accord. She was back in business. I looked out the bathroom window whilst she got in the shower. Then I turned and looked into the sink. From one side to the other was leftover toothpaste foam and spit.
Amy: "Oh Adrienne always does that."
Me: "Seriously, she can't rinse it down?"
(On a side-note, when this girl brushes her teeth, she means business. She looks like she has rabies with all the foam she produces. She could be the tooth brushing demonstrator at the dentist. )
Amy: "I take water and lick it down."
Me: "What?! You lick it down?!"
Amy: "FLICK! I flick it down, with water."
Much laughter ensues.

But where was Heather in all this drama? I went to her room and knocked. She was just sitting up, no spittle noticed anywhere in evidence, her eyes open, no foaming at the mouth. Was she the only normal female in this house? Then when I told her it was getting late, she just shrugged, "It's Saturday." Umm, sorry but it's Friday. She stepped it into high gear really fast. So maybe she does not know what day it is, but compared to the rest of us, still pretty normal I'd say.

And that is how a morning goes some days in this household. May you all feel either "more normal" after reading this or at the very least that you are not alone in the everyday things of life.

Have a Good Day!
Dianne

A Little Conscious Sedation

Conscious sedation is a combination of medicines to help you relax (a sedative) and to block pain (an anesthetic) during a medical or dental procedure. You will probably stay awake but may not be able to speak. Conscious sedation lets you recover quickly and return to your everyday activities soon after your procedure. (http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/007409.htm)

Or here's my definition: 

 Conscious sedation is a combination of working night shift and then not sleeping at all afterwards. Not even a little nap, because life is busy and you didn't have time. This is not recommended by any doctor, any sane nurse (which would exclude me), or anybody in general. You will probably be awake, able to speak, but not always with rational thought. Everything, and I mean everything that is funny suddenly becomes insanely hilarious, often at the most inappropriate times. 

Let's take yesterday for example.

I worked Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. I did sleep Saturday and Sunday during the day in preparation for the night's work. Then Monday morning happened. I left work feeling quite alert. I didn't even struggle (much)  to stay awake on the drive home. I called Leo and told him that I would meet him at home, then take him to his appointment in Meyersdale. The lucky man was scheduled for an EGD. 

Esophagogastroduodenoscopy (EGD) is a test to examine the lining of the esophagus (the tube that connects your throat to your stomach), stomach, and first part of the small intestine. It is done with a small camera (flexible endoscope) that is inserted down the throat.

(http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/003888.htm)

He had conscious sedation of the first definition variety and he did very well with the whole procedure. I did not watch, nor did I want to watch. In nursing school, we had to observe this procedure. It was the first time in my nursing career that I nearly passed out. The doctor made me leave the room and go sit down. There is a reason I do not work in the GI lab. 

After Leo was done, I went back to retrieve him. I joked with the doctor about who should drive home as I hadn't slept. He seriously thought I was being serious. On the other hand though, when I am sleepy then driving is not such a smart option. So there we were. Leo with Conscious Sedation #1 definition and me with Conscious Sedation #2 definition. Oh, this was going to be good. Especially since he was very happy, kinda giggly and talking loudly. If you know Leo, you know this is not how he normally behaves. And he was kinda wobbly on his feet. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.

Off we went to Thomas Drug Store to pick up a prescription. I thought Leo would stay in the car. He didn't. I held onto him so he wouldn't weave about the store like a drunken man. He asks the pharmacist is his prescription is there, telling her what it was, the doctor, everything. Well, everything but his own name. What was that again? 

As it turns out, the prescription wasn't there; we could come back in about 45 minutes. Making our wobbly way to the exit, we both got distracted by the card rack. On it were a variety of cards featuring cats. Funny cats. REALLY funny cats. I pointed one out to Leo. He starts chuckling, than chortling, then outright laughing. Then he pointed one out and I giggled and laughed, then realized if we didn't stop, I was going to pee my pants. My green scrub pants. I tried to get him away but then he saw another mad cat, and a droopy eared dog. Oh this had to stop or we would get tossed out of the drugstore.   

We got home, safely and without too much hilarity. He took a nap, I didn't. His conscious sedation wore off, mine lingered. Will I never learn? But then I slept last night. It helps, really it does. So, if anyone is looking for a fun date with their spouse, I'd recommend a little conscious sedation. Especially if you haven't laughed together for a long time. It's guaranteed to work.

Love,

Dianne