Mud Season

When I learned the seasons in school, I was only taught four, spring, summer, fall, and winter.  I believe this is because the majority of my schooling was done in Utah, where they actually have four seasons.  Had I gone to more than just kindergarten in Wyoming, I would have learned the truth.  There are five seasons.  Spring, summer, fall, winter, and mud.  Mud season is most prevalent in the country, where there is a lot of snow and dirt roads.  I happen to have both.  I live at the a mile of dirt roads.  Mud season starts whenever the temperatures reach high enough to melt the snow.  When this happens, everything turns to mud.

This year is especially bad, because we have the pleasure of welcoming new neighbors who are  building a new house next door and they dug up the road. The gravel is gone and the road has turned into mud slide. The cars are caked in mud, the animals are caked in mud, all of the shoes are caked in mud.  When my nine year old came in yesterday, she left two little piles of mud on the front step, they were her shoes.  When kids get caked in that much mud, the only solution, is to pull out the hose and hose them down.  This solves the immediate problem, but it creates a much larger one.  Once the hoses are back on the spickest after their long winters nap, and the water starts flowing guess what this means…more mud. 

A lot of people say that spring is their favorite season.  The whole renewal of the earth thing.  For me, this is a to close to the mud season and it is ruined for me.  Maybe there is something to be said for living in the concrete jungle especially when new neighbors only bring MUD.

Rules of being a kid

I know we think back on our childhood as carefree, but thinking back on my own childhood, I realize that the opposite was true.  I remember looking at the adults around me and wishing I had their freedom to boss people around.  It was the truth, this is what makes kids lives so difficult, adults are bossy, this is were the rules of being a kid come into play.

As a kid dealing with bossy adults you learn that the more rules you figure out the better off you are. 

A good rule  was, if you are outside playing, don’t go in.  Outside is a safe zone, if you go in for any reason, you could get stuck there.  This rule was especially true in the winter time.  Don’t go in, if you were freezing, just wait, you would get a good numb going soon and couldn’t feel anything.  If you went in for any reason you could get caught in the chores trap, (out of parental sight, out of mind), or   you would thaw, get wet and begin to feel how cold you actually were.  Once you were wet you were in, the clothes came off and everything had to dry again before you were let out again, this could take hours.  

Usually, the only reason you would go inside, was for a potty break.  This usually came after too much waiting and the potty dance while stripping off six layers of sopping wet clothes ensued.  The memory is still vivid in my mind. 

My younger siblings actually beat the potty problem and the poo crew was born, but that is a story for another time.  Lets just say, when they sold the vacant house next door, it needed more than just paint.

Another good rule was be careful when, and on whom you tattled.  Usually tattling occurred when you were all doing something you weren’t supposed to.  I found that I screamed for a parent after I had slugged a sibling and they were about to slug me back.  I learned quickly that this didn’t work, because when you tell on someone, if they are crying and you are not, guess who got into trouble.    

There are just a couple of examples of how tough is was to be a kid.  Every once in a while, when I find myself bossing my kids around, which is by the way, as fun as I thought it would be as a child, I have flashbacks to my childhood, and I actually have pity on the poor things. 

Childhood memories are awesome, especially when you forget about how tough it can be being a kid.

The Olympics are here!

The Olympics are here and for the first time since we shut off the T.V. I am sorry.  I am an Olympics junkie.  If I could, I would settle myself down and do nothing but watch them from the opening ceremony, to the closing.  I don’t know if I like winter or summer better.  I don’t even know when it started, I just know I am hooked.  I have very vivid memories of watching the torch being run through Tacoma Washington while we lived there on it’s way to L.A..  I watched when it ran through Sheridan on it’s way to Salt Lake.  I remember Nadia’s perfect ten, and Mary Lou’s  ten with her injured ankle.  I have seen the Jamaican bob sled team, before the movie, and that English ski jumper that was so bad that they set new standards entry in to the games.  

I know it won’t be the same catching bits and pieces on the internet, so all of you who have television, sit down with a bowl of popcorn and a warm blanket and watch an event for me. 

I love having a nine year old.

I am getting old. I am seriously middle aged. The women who are my age are putting their kids through college. Some of them are empty nesters. I am one of the lucky ones though, I have a nine year old.

Most of the people I work with, spend their time traveling, going on cruises and spending money. My life is a bit more colorful. I still have a child who tried to crawl in bed with me when the wind blows. She came in just last week and woke me from a dead sleep by yelling, “ I can’t sleep, I am totally serious!” I still get to read the Tales of Despereaux and Ramona the Pest as bedtime stories. I still buy tacky Valentine cards each February.

I get to answer questions like,” Why ain’t ain’t a word if people use it.” I get to laugh at knock knock jokes. I make pinkie promises and do knuckles when required. I still get to buy corn dogs and pop sickles. There is a constant noise in the background when she is home that I miss terribly during the day. I get to hear humming and singing and the voices of toys talking to each other.

I am still doing long division and multiplication tables after school. I get to go on field trips and go to orchestra and Christmas concerts. I have to help write talks for primary and am thrilled to get homemade bookmarks and Christmas tree ornaments. I have never regretted the choice I made to forgo a career to have six kids and stay home with them. I am so glad that one of them didn’t come until nine years ago, because I would be totally lost without a wonderful nine year old.

It looks like chocolate but…

I got a phone call from my sister the other day.  She was laughing so hard she could hardly talk. 

“What’s so funny?” I asked. 

My mind went back to the time that another sister called, laughing hysterically also.  On this occasion, it was about the first sister I had mentioned, and a certain incidence with a gas hose and her car.  Something about it parked out in front of the house with the pump and hose still in it.

Back to my story…   Apparently, my dear mother had found a bag of potting soil that had gotten wet.  One thing you have to know about my mother is that she will waste nothing if she can help it.  The potting soil was no exception.  She spread the soil out on some old cookie sheets and put it in the oven on low until it dried.

My parents work in the Temple.  On this particular day, my mom was filling in for someone and so she went to the temple and my dad was left at home.  She completely forgot about her little drying project.  Part way through the day, she realized what she had done.  When she got a break, she called my dad to get him to pull the dirt from the oven before it… I don’t know, does dirt burn?  According to my sister, the conversation went something like this.

“ Honey, I need you to turn off the oven and pull the cookie sheets out.  Don’t eat it, it looks like chocolate, but it is not, it is dirt.”  My dad assured her that he would take care of it.  She hung up the phone and turned around.  She had not been alone.  Another  sweet temple worker dressed in white stood there looking at her with a puzzled expression on her face.  It was too long to explain, so my mother just smiled and walked away leaving the other worker wondering if she had heard right.

The lesson here is, if you go to grandma and grandpa’s, check before you eat.  It may look like chocolate but….

Patches wild weekend

We recently lost our 16 year old Dalmatian Patches.  Before you get too upset, I must clarify.  He didn't die, we lost him.  This was a very odd thing to happen considering, he is very old and quite decrepit and he generally stays pretty close to come, simply because he can't walk very far.  One beautiful Saturday a couple of weeks ago, he disappeared.  Michael went for a run and apparently Patch followed.  We usually don't take him running anymore because it is too hard on him.  He can't keep up.  Michael didn't realize this because he has just started running and hasn't learned all of the tricks like putting the dogs in the kennel before you leave etc.  Anyway, Michael got ahead of the dog.  He turned around to make sure he was coming after he turned a corner and the old guy was gone.  He turned around to find him and there was no Patch.  We didn't worry too much about it, we figured he had just taken a detour into someone pasture like he often does.  When he didn't show up, we went looking, no dog.  We looked and looked.  Finally Sunday afternoon, we were thinking the worst.  The run must have been too much for him he had crawled away and died. We were sad, we had had this dog for years, and were upset that he would just be dead somewhere and we were not able to even say goodbye.  We notified Karlee that her dog was most likely dead.  She posted it on her facebook,  this lead to the phone call. 

"Hello,  I think my sister took your dog to the pound"  she said.

What!    

"Yes, she found him on East Lane and he was walking funny, so she took him home,  he didn't get along with her other dogs so she took him to the shelter"

Well, he walked funny because he is 16 years old. 

It was Sunday afternoon so nothing could be done until Monday at noon, when the pound opened.  Monday morning, we got the call from the pound,  "We have your dalmatian Patches here, you can pick him up after noon."

We headed to the pound and were there awaiting anxiously to get this poor old dog. We were met by an animal control officer and the whole story of Patches wild weekend unfolded.

I was told that because they had picked the dog up, it would cost us $60 on top of the $46 we had to pay the shelter for 'boarding' our dog for two days.  (you see it was over the weekend, so it was two days).

"We live in the county, I told her there is no leash law in the county."

she shook her head, "I am sorry, he was picked up on Dow and Lewis street,  I am going to have to issue a citation for dog at large"

suddenly the pieces all fell into place.  " He was dognapped" I informed her.  My son had gone for a jog and a 'lady' who used to live in the neighborhood had been visiting her parents, she was headed back into town when she passed Michael who was jogging home, and turned the corner and ran across a dog that was so abused and mistreated that he was WALKING FUNNY!! She snatched him up, less that 200 yards from his own home, and just around the corned from my son.  She took him home.  My guess is, she got him home and realized that instead of rescuing an abused animal, she had stolen someone's very old dog.  Her solution was to call the animal control officers and tell them she had found a stray, she didn't mention that she had picked the dog up in the county and actually transported him into town and the reported him as a stray.  So instead of poor old Patches being able to waddle home, and sleep in his own comfy bed with the family who had cared him years, he was forced to go to the pound and sleep on concrete for two nights, wondering what he had done wrong. 

At first the animal control officer didn't believe me, "I am sorry" she said,  it said here he was picked up in town. "  Just then, they brought Patches out.  He came out shuffling like the old man that he is.  She took one look and realized that this dog, did not walk the six plus miles into town, she checked with the shelter to make sure that we did actually live in the county and that unless she was willing to pursue dognapping charges, it was all over. 

She let us off with just a 'warning'  I guess we have learned our lesson,  Never turn the corner while running with an old dog unless he is right by your side. 

I feel sorry for the silly lady who picked him up,  I guess I worry about people who keep their nose snuggled up into other peoples business.  I am sure that on the surface, she thought she was an animal hero,  the sad thing is, if we just assumed that he had just crawled off somewhere and died, and Karlee had not posted it on facebook, he would have probably been eternized, far away from those who love him, never knowing what he had done wrong. 

Thank goodness for busy bodies.

'Had a Bad Day'

Have you ever had one of those days?  Wrong side of the bed and all of that twattle.  The other day, my third grader came home bummed out.  She announced as she got in the car at the bus stop  "I had a bad day".  When I asked her about it,  she related to me how the little girl who has dogged her throughout the year, had been picking on her again.  Unfortunately,  my daughter does not have the temperament to put up with this, and usually gets in trouble for the comeback to the insults that are usually whispered to her, while the little instigator, who has the appearance of an angel, gets off scotch free.  She is the 'nice girl, my daughter is a very exuberant  girl who is not known for her mild temperament. Anyway, to make a long story less long,  short of getting into fisticuffs and taking this girl out, my daughter just has to put up with it. 

On this particular day, it had been especially bad.  I took her home and doted on her, gave her hugs, cookies and the usual mom stuff.  I then settled her down and played the bad day song for her.  You know the one by "Bad Day" by Dan Powter, that says " you had a bad day your taking one down , you sing a sad song just to turn it around..." She stood there leaning against me until the song was over, dried her eyes, said thanks and was off. 

Fast forward until this morning.  My husband and I were preparing ourselves to go to my eighteen year olds seminary graduation this evening.  I got a phone call from a woman who was in charge of the musical production that by boys are involved in this summer.  There was going to be a practice this evening.  I informed her that they would not be able to participate because of seminary graduation.  This is when I got the horrifying news that seminary graduation was actually last night.  We had missed it.  I was devastated, how could we have done something so stupid.  Tears ensued.  I was in my room crying and feeling terrible about the whole situation when I heard from my third graders room the high peals of the Chipmunks singing  "You had a bad day your taking one down, you sing a sad song just to turn it around"...  My sweet little girl was playing the bad day song for me.  I turned and saw her slipping into my room to check on me.  With a big hug and a few kisses, by daughter had put a smile back on my face. 

My sons situation turned out less than terrible also.  The wonderful counselor who had the night before, driven all the way to Gillette to present him with his diploma, handed it to him in sacrament meeting in front of the whole ward.  Just another tender mercy.  My bad day, turned out not so bad after all.