On the Edge of Irene

We mostly missed Irene.

The kids and I decided as we drove around that we would categorize Irene by the number of trees we saw uprooted.  We found 2, thus we decided Irene was a Category 2 hurricane.

Here are some pictures.

Typical debris in our neighborhood, along with dead branches of all sizes.  

Thank goodness for a gasoline blower.  The whole yard looks like this.

The tree we're glad stayed strong. 

Another tree that doesn't give us warm fuzzies in a storm.

This one aims for the car, which we parked in the garage.  Below is the mosquito dunk in  the hole in the tree.
At some point this tree needs to come down. 

I added the new mosquito dunk when I found the little wrigglers  the  morning after the storm.

Sure glad this didn't hit our house.

In all seriousness, we're thankful to have missed the brunt of this storm,
and our prayers are with those who are dealing with physical injury or property damage.  

Flavorful Medicine

Henry has been having some unidentified mouth pain for more than a week now.  I'm not sure whether he has a tooth coming in or a long-lasting sore throat.

Either way, he makes a sound like a hissing opossum (I only know what that sound is because I ran into a possum in my garage once.)  If you have never heard one, feel free to find an example on youtube.   Then he asks for some ibuprofen.

Tonight I brought him a medicine cup with medicine made by a different company than usual.

"Mom, it's red," he observed.   Normally his medicine is a light purple color.  "What does it taste like?"

"Maybe strawberries," I guess, "but I'm not really sure."

Henry slowly takes a sip.  "It tastes like chicken nuggets.  And apples mixed together."

Hmmm . . .

Sssssssss . . .

One Sunday morning as my husband and I were walking through the neighborhood, he suddenly jumped back and pushed me over into the road.   There on the side of the road, only a few inches from our feet was a baby copperhead.

This is not the first time I've encountered a copperhead.  One time we were driving back from piano lessons, and my kids were arguing in the back seat.  So I pulled the car over, got them out even though they were bare foot, and talked to them by the side of the car.

As I talked, an older man pulled up in a truck next to us.  As he rolled down his window, I assumed he thought I might need help, so I nodded my head and said, "We're o.k., thank you."

"Oh no, I'm here for that thing," he said, pointing and shaking his head.  In the middle of the road, maybe 15 feet away, was a huge copperhead, curled up into a tight circle.

He climbed out of his truck with a shovel and hesitantly walked over toward the snake.  In the meantime, I've told my kids to get back into the car.  Within, I could feel a giant, angry, protective mother bear awaken.  I watched as the man hesitated and then took a few steps back toward me.  "I admit," he said, "I'm just really afraid of these things."

Mama bear took over.  "Give me that shovel," I growled.

Surely and swiftly, I walked over, lifted the shovel, and with three strokes chopped off the snake's head.

I can't decide if I'm proud of that story or not.  It really seems like I can't take credit for the natural instinct to protect my children.

So back to the baby snake story.  After we saw the snake, we decided to turn around and walk home.  Worried about other walkers--the snake was really hard to see on the side of the road--I grabbed a shovel and drove back to kill the snake.

After some considerable effort to find him again, I first took a picture, and then chopped his head off with the shovel.

This time I was a little more proud of myself, until I got closer.  Here's the snake:

You might not be able to see, but when I chopped the snake's head off,  no blood came out.  In fact, a puff of powder blew into the air.  As I got closer, I saw tiny ants carrying out their decomposition duty.  I had killed a dead snake.  

Just call me The Snake Slayer.

The New Record: 15

Thanks to our friend Abby for showing us this totally cool but totally nerve racking for Mom trick:  pushing pencils through a bag of water.

Our current record for the numbers pencils pushed through without a leak:  15.   Congratulations Jackie.

Please take that back into the kitchen!

Mom's Birthday

On the way home today, Henry worked hard from the back seat of our minivan to get my attention:

"Hey, mom."
"Hey, MOM."
"Hey, MOM!"

"Yes, Henry?" I answer.

"Hey, Mom, when is your birthday?"

"Well," I say, counting on my fingers while I'm stopped at a stoplight.  "Just about exactly four months."

"Mom, I have your birthday present for you already."

"Oh wow, Henry.  That's nice," I reply, sincerely, though I am wondering at this point what my five-year-old could possibly have for my birthday.

"Mom . . . but it's not a toy,"  he apologizes sheepishly.

"That's o.k.  Sometimes Mommies like things that aren't toys."

I wonder if he'll remember to give it to me . . . whatever it is.  I'm kind of curious.

Venus Fly Trap

On the way out the door, I discovered this cup on the porch rail.  

It was a What in the world? moment.  I believe that most parents have many of these moments.  When I questioned the kids, Jackie (7) displayed a knowing smile.  

"Mom, it's a Venus Fly Trap," she confidently explained.   

"Hmmm . . . , " I responded.  Wondering what the tiny balls were, I asked, "What is in your Venus Fly Trap?"

In a sing-song voice, Jackie proudly disclosed her secret recipe:  "Some mouthwash . . . a bit of toothpaste . . . water . . . some air freshener . . . fish food . . . soap.  That's it."  Pause.  She enthusiastically adds with a nod of her head, "The bugs are addicted to the smell."

Funny. . . . we've been talking about Venus Fly Traps.  The kids want to plant some.  We all decided that it would be a good idea to plant them near the garbage can.  But why plant one, when you can make one, right?

Homemade

Looking through my old pictures, I found this old gem from 2009:  the homemade umbrella.

Tested and soon to be patented.    Anyone want to invest?

Devotional

I've been substituting for the 4-year-old class at church for about four months.   Depending on the day, I have anywhere from five to 15 kids.  That number is not exact--just my perception, but close to the truth.  We've had so many move-ins and move-outs that I'm not really sure how many kids are in the class.  I admit that you could walk in at any moment, and my reaction to such a responsibility would be dramatically different than the moment before.  Generally I love it.  We have moments when I can see a little light turn on, and a child clearly understands what I'm teaching.  And we have moments when one boy is sticking his fingers in another boys ears or twisting in his seat.   And all the other kids' eyes are glued on them.  We have moments where five minutes into my lesson half the class needs to use the restroom.  And moments where we sing a song, and the only person singing is me.  

Yesterday when we came home from church, my two youngest kids were talking about their lessons, which somehow they remembered.  It was the same lesson I taught--the Brother of Jared.  Jackie was so excited about her lesson, that she decided she wanted to teach the upcoming family home evening lesson.  And she wanted to teach the same lesson she had just had in her class.  In fact, she got my lesson book out of my church bag and used it to prepare.  She collected small rocks from outside and gathered paper for us to draw on. 

.

With all the preparation, she was too excited to wait until nighttime to give us her lesson, so when we all woke this morning, she insisted on doing a morning devotional with us.  Here she is in her jammies with my manual on her lap.  She's telling the story of the Brother of Jared:

After her lesson, Henry did the activity.  He demonstrated it for us, spitting a ball out of his mouth and into the bucket.  He, by the way, was amazingly precise, landing the ball in the bucket from several feet away. 

Needless to say, we weren't too interested in that game.  The girls groaned, "Ewww!" 

So Henry spontaneously created a different game.  The goal is to bounce the ball out of the drum.

Notice that in the background Jackie is still trying to finish her lesson while Henry is making sure he has the activity ready . . . 

It all ended with us being able to pick our favorite light rocks.  Mine was special.  The rock was inside a shell.

The final lesson learned from the story of the Brother of Jared:  We must have faith in Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.  Though we cannot see them, they are there and they love us.  

Thanks for the lesson Jackie!