I just let Rose have the last PushPop, warning her first not to let Henry see it because he’d be jealous.  Seconds later she ran into the living room (where Henry was watching Isaac and his friends play Wii) and shouted, “Guys, this is the LAST PushPop.”   Grrr.  (I should take it away from her.  But I’ll probably just make her share it with Henry.)

———–

Here’s a conversation from earlier today:

Me:  “Oh, wow, someone made a real mess with the butter in the butter dish.”

Rose:  “It was me — ‘Little Rosie!’”

(That was cute enough for me to forget about the butter mess, at least until I found a heavily-buttered slice of bread put back in the fridge next to the bread bag.)

Last night Dean was making himself some ramen noodles, and after putting the noodles on a plate, he slipped and bumped the glass bowl he’d cooked them in into a drinking glass, shattering the lip of the drinking glass. It wasn’t a large part of the glass that was broken, but the pieces were small and there were a lot of them, and, surveying the damage, I was pretty sure I could see a tiny piece of glass in Dean’s noodles.

Me: “Dean, please don’t eat that ramen. It’s just not worth it. I don’t want you to risk hurting yourself badly over thirty-three cents’ worth of ramen.”

Dean: “There’s just the one piece of glass in it.”

Me: “There could be more. There’s glass all over the counter.”

Dean: “I’ll throw away half of it.”

Me: “Dean, PLEASE don’t eat the ramen.”

Mabel: “Daddy, please don’t eat it! There could be more pieces of broken glass in it! It’s dangerous!”

Isaac: “Dad, it’s not worth it!”

Me: “Dean, even if you’re sure it’s safe, just please don’t eat it, if only for the sake of your pleading wife and children!”

Dean, reluctantly scraping it into the trash,: “Okay, I’ll throw it out.”

All the rest of us sigh in relief. A couple minutes later I’ve finished wiping bits of glass off the counter and sweeping the floor.

Me: “I hope I got all of that. I really tried, but there were a LOT of tiny pieces.”

Dean: “Just think, some of those could have been inside me now.”

Me: “I can’t believe we had to fight you so hard to get you not to eat that.”

Dean: “I was only going to eat half of it. I would have thrown away the other half.”

Me: “But you couldn’t know the glass only landed on half of it! That’s the whole point — the glass was everywhere.”

—————–

Since Isaac is allergic to milk, we never got the habit of eating many of the easy kid foods a lot of parents rely on, such as yogurt, string cheese, or macaroni and cheese. Isaac has partly outgrown his allergy, but there are still some things that make his mouth itch. But, the other day at Costco when Mabel wanted me to buy a multi-pack of Kraft macaroni and cheese, I agreed, realizing that when I fed it to the kids, Isaac could just fend for himself and eat something else. (He’s very partial to ramen and corn dogs, and can “cook” them for himself.) So, mac and cheese is the new novelty food at our house, and Henry enjoyed his so much yesterday that when I said “Would you like more?” he said, very clearly, “Yes!” — which is the first time he’s said that word that clearly. So today when Rose and Henry asked for some more for lunch, I gave in — and regretted it. Lunch took over an hour. Usually we do sandwiches and finger foods, and although my kids dawdle a lot (because they know naps come after lunch,) I think we’re still usually done in half an hour or forty minutes. I’ve decided that having to boil the water and wait for the macaroni to cook and then letting it all cool down enough to be eaten is just too much fuss for lunch — we’re going back to finger foods, and we’ll save the mac ‘n’ cheese for kid dinners if Dean and I are going out on a date (etc.) Also, halfway through lunch there was a loud crash — and I was very grateful to discover that Rose had only knocked on the floor and broken an empty ceramic plate from breakfast — not her ceramic bowl full of mac ‘n’ cheese. Still, she got off her chair twice after I told her not to move until I’d swept up all the pieces. (She thought she’d be safest if she went and got her shoes, despite all my warnings to the contrary.) Oh and before any of this, Rose and Henry had managed to spill half the box of the uncooked macaroni on the floor, and I’d had to sweep that up. And then the novelty had worn off (or he was less hungry,) and Henry didn’t finish all his mac ‘n’ cheese this time. So, like I said, I’m swearing off the stuff, for at least a few days.

———————

When Dean went back for a follow-up visit with his podiatrist yesterday, we’d made an appointment for Isaac, too. It turns out Isaac has the same type of feet Dean does: “hypermobile,” meaning that the joints all bend too easily, which can lead to bone spurs or bunions or all kinds of fun things like that. The solution is that Isaac will wear orthotic insoles — basically for the rest of his life, I guess. Fortunately our insurance will pay for 4 sets a year for kids — he’ll need that many because kids wear them out quickly, and his feet will of course still be growing. I guess I need to get Mabel in to see the podiatrist, too, and find out whose feet she inherited.

Dean has permission now to occasionally remove his bandages and wash his feet with disinfectant soap, so he was doing that last night and I got to see the damages. His incision is about 5 or 6 inches long, running along the top of his foot (parallel to the first metatarsal) and his foot’s still quite swollen. I said, “I guess it wouldn’t be kind of me to call you ‘Frankenfoot’.” Dean took a couple of photos of it and said it reminded him of the photos of crime victims they show in “Prime Suspect” (which we’ve been watching while we’re stuck at home in the evenings.)

————-

So, those are some scintillating details from our scintillating lives. In other news, my two youngest kids are officially the worst-behaved children in Sacrament Meeting of all time — especially when I’m alone with them at church, as I was this past Sunday — for a second week in a row, after Dean came down with a sudden one-day stomach flu (or Independence Day Food Poisoning — although I ate all the same things he did and was fine.) Most people I talked to after Sacrament Meeting expressed sympathy, and one even said, “You’re in the right place!,” which I really was grateful to hear, since I’d been wishing I’d just stayed in bed that day, and had felt like crying by the time the meeting was over. It took me about an hour just to get my blood pressure back down to normal. In hindsight I wish I’d called someone beforehand to help with the kids — but then, I could hardly have imagined how bad it could really be. (I’d describe how bad it was in detail, but, along with the fact that it would probably be even less scintillating to read than the rest of this post, I’d really rather just block it all out.)

So, that’s all for now. But one last thought: life is good. Really. I love Dean, I love my adorable kids, I love that food is cheap and broken dishes can be swept up — and I even love Sacrament Meeting, most weeks.

Our neighborhood has an annual extravaganza that just keeps getting more extravagant — it’s gone from fireworks and a potluck barbecue to a deejayed event with a guest star appearance (which is always the same neighbor; in previous years he’s appeared as Neil Diamond and as John Cougar Mellencamp.) Isaac reminds me that they also had a Guitar Hero III contest this year on a giant outdoor screen. So here’s the main entertainment event from this year:

Me, reading aloud: “Every night at bedtime Mama told him the same story. ‘We chose you when you were a tiny baby because you had lost your first family and needed a new one. We liked your spots, and we wanted you to be our child.”

Rose: “You didn’t say the part about the garbage can.”

Me: “What?”

Mabel: “When I read it to her, to make it easier for her to understand, I say that Horace’s first family put him in a garbage can and his new parents took him out of the garbage can and kept him.”

To get a chance to win a lovely tote, go here. This talented desinger has been my sewing friend through the Delphiforums.com “Heirloom Sewing and Smocking” forum for several years now. (We’ve yet to meet in real life — one day, when my kids are older, I hope to get to some sewing conferences and meet my virtual friends in person.) Besides being pretty and stylish, her totes are top quality. I own a couple of them and never fail to get compliments when I carry them. If you want a chance to win one of your own, click the link above and find out the terms — it’s easy, and great odds to win something really fun and pretty.

Well, in spite of the brain fog induced in me by my husband’s being on narcotics not being on narcotics, (which I consider the cause of his tossing and turning all night — he says he doesn’t need the drugs, but does he realize I do need the sleep?) where was I*? Oh, yeah, at some effort I’ve managed nonetheless to collect a couple kid stories for you:

Rose calls Dean’s healing foot and crutches his “bone,” and, although we tried to tell her what he had on it was a cast (which he’s now swapped for a special boot since he didn’t tolerate having a cast on well,) she settled on that term, and since it works fairly well, we leave her alone about it now. So, she’ll hop around in one slipper saying, “I have a bone, Mom!” or, yesterday when Dean came home from work, she greeted him with “You’re home, Daddy! With your bone!”

—————–

Here’s my conversation at dinner with Mabel last night:

Me, watching Mabel gouge her baked potato awkwardly with fork and knife akimbo, clutched in her fists: “Mabel, let me show you the right way to hold your fork.”

Mabel: “You can show me when I’m older. I don’t need to know yet.”

Me: “Eight is old enough to know how to hold a fork.”

Mabel: “It hurts to hold it that way!”

Me: “It hurts my eyes to watch you use it the way you are.”

Mabel: “No, it doesn’t.”

Me: “Yes, it does.”

Mabel: “Just looking at something can’t hurt your eyes.”

Me: “You can’t know what does and doesn’t hurt my eyes. And this does hurt my eyes. Okay, so you put your fork in your hand this way –”

Mabel: “Isaac can be your golden boy! I’m not going to be your golden girl!”

———–

(She did finally relent, sort of, when I told her I wouldn’t let her eat dinner at friends’ houses any more if she wouldn’t let me teach her how to hold her fork.)

P.S. In spite of Mabel’s insinuation, Isaac is hardly the world’s great example of how to hold a fork — let alone of how to care that you’re walking around with ketchup all over your face all day.

*To be a bit fair, Dean says that it’s not pain at his surgery site keeping him awake, but that his dressings and the boot he has to wear to protect his foot seem to cut off his circulation quite easily, so it’s the numbness that bothers and worries him. The other night at 3:30 AM he decided he needed to loosen his bandage, and I really didn’t think he should do it himself and strenuously objected (also not restful,) but he did. So I made him call the doctor the next day, to make sure that had been an okay thing to do — and the doctor did say it was okay, as long as Dean doesn’t fiddle with the gauze underneath the bandage. (There, I managed to clear Dean’s name and also bore you with a lot of detail.)

My sister Lili, who’s doing an MA in book conservation at West Dean College in England right now, has some beautiful photos up on her blog (Click here.)

They have been taking this test over here and here so I thought I’d give it a whirl. I’ve heard you can get different results on these things depending on the day (or time of month?) you take the quiz, but at least today I’m a fairly uncommon type:

“INFJ - “Author”. Strong drive and enjoyment to help others. Complex personality. 1.5% of total population.”

Well, so far I only write a blog, but if more authorship is in my future, I surely won’t fight it. But: really a lot of the questions do not make sense to me:

“I favor the surreal.” Huh? I like Rene Magritte’s artwork — does this count, or do I also have to wish men would wear bowler hats and float around with apple faces? How does one “favor the surreal” in real life? (Are they just trying to say “I like to daydream”? And if so, why don’t they just say that?)

“I tend to value competence more than compassion.” And these are mutually exclusive traits? What if I value competent compassion?

“I tend to value fairness more than feelings.” Again, when did these become opposites? (I guess if I had been thinking about all the times this week when I’ve told Mabel to stop trying to discipline Rose, even though Rose may have been in the wrong, because Mabel’s not the Mommy, maybe I do favor feelings — Rose’s feelings anyway. Or do I get in these arguments with Mabel because I think it’s not fair for her to discipline Rose?)

“An argument with feeling has more effect on me than a cold rational one.” What do they mean by “has an effect on?” The argument is persuasive to me? If I favor emotional arguments that are firmly grounded in reason, do I click the middle box? (I think I did click the middle box.)

“I base my goals in life on inspiration, rather than logic.” Inspiration can’t come in logical ways? Okay, I’ll admit that inspiration and logic are generally considered to be opposites, but the “study it out in your mind, then ask God if it is right” method often works well for me.

“I greatly appreciate strangeness.” Context? I greatly appreciate quirky humor, but not so much strange hygiene habits. I appreciate exotic food, but not food that is strangely unsanitary or indigestible. I like eccentrics, but dislike perverts and sociopaths.

“I tend to be more realistic than conceptual.” These are mutually exclusive? How about I like to conceptualize realistically?

“I often start/do things at the last minute.” Are they talking about spontaneity or procrastination? (No to the first, a huge yes to the second.)

“I rely mostly on my feelings to guide my decision-making.” Sure — and my feelings are guided by logic.

“I tend to trust the mind more than the heart.” Can’t the mind and the heart just be friends?

“I value compassion over analytical reasoning.” Because analytical reasoning would tell us not to be compassionate? Only the reasoning of the cruel and selfish is logical?

By the way, I was pretty near 50% on all of the areas but the “J.” But I think they need a new scoring system for me that includes the option of “TNEA”: Too Nitpicky to Easily Assess.

Update:

Okay, I found this webpage, and actually I have to admit this does sound a whole lot like me (unless personality tests are like astrology, where no matter what you read, it will sound like you.) I’m actually very good with details, though, so I don’t know about that part — I guess that means I’m supposed to be judgmental of people who aren’t? Or I’m easily mired in details — that part’s sadly accurate. It’s definitely true that lots of times in my life I’ve had a feeling about a person or situation and then later (sometimes years later) something has come to light that completely vindicated my feeling . . . so, hmmm.

(Now I SO need to go put away the leftovers and do the dishes. Bleh.)

2nd update: I had the wrong link for the test and I’ve fixed it.

I got Dean to take it last night and he got “ISTP” which this quiz labeled as “Engineer.” While he was taking the quiz his comments were:

“They’re just asking the same question over and over again. I guess they’re trying to show you’ll be consistent.”

“I’m a scientist, so of course I’m going to favor logic, but I’m also religious and I have a family, so there are other dimensions to me, too,”

and, when he got to the “surreal” question, he snorted and said,

“Has anyone in life actually experienced ‘the surreal’”?

My house is clean (kind of — as much as it ever is,) the dishes are done and counters wiped, my laundry is mostly done and folded and put away, my pantry is well-stocked, the kids are bathed and in bed (as of 10:00 PM — the best I could pull off tonight.) I even made homemade macaroni and cheese for dinner with green beans garnished with bacon as a side.

I might be a better homemaker without Dean to help me than when I can assume he’ll take up the slack.

I’m not a better parent, though, unless yelling at your kids all evening is good parenting (how many times do I have to ask Mabel to do something before she hears and remembers and does it?!) (Four times.)

And I have no brain left over for blogging.

Isaac and Mabel, by the way, (other than my previous complaint,) are GREAT helpers — I am finding out they can do more than they or I knew they could. It was almost a whim a few months ago when I taught them to change diapers — I thought I’d still be changing most of the diapers, but it was still a good thing for them to learn — but guess what, when you have kids around who can do a decent job of changing a diaper, you will start to take advantage of the fact more and more* — especially when your husband is laid up with a healing foot. The older kids are also pretty good at bathing their younger siblings and brushing their teeth. Wonderful. (And a big part of why the shopping and laundry and dishes and cooking were able to get done today — the other reason is my aching feet.)

Dean’s coming along fine — he slept mercifully well the last two nights, and he told me he “only” had to do his anti-hiccuping exercise about ten times today, and was even able to safely laugh a few times. (Yesterday evening I was pleased when I said something that made him laugh — until his laugh triggered painful hiccups.) He did have to change his plans to go to church and bishopbric meetings tomorrow and to go to work on Monday, though — the hiccuping misadventures made him lose rest and set him back, so he needs a couple more days before he can get back on his foot. (I was about to say get back on his feet, but he’s still supposed to stay off the surgeried foot for 5.5 weeks longer. So I guess he’ll be getting on his foot and his crutches.)

I don’t think I mentioned here that on the day after the surgery, when he was pretty sure the narcotics were causing the hiccups (or at least worsening them) he got a sample of a different pain medication — and that one made him vomit every time he hiccuped. That was a really long day. Now he is back on the narcotics (although he’s pleasantly surprised to so far not need the highest dose) and although we still think they played a role in aggravating the hiccups, we’re very grateful that that side effect hasn’t proved to be permanent for him — since we really didn’t find a satisfactory alternative for dealing with his pain.

I *do* still have other, non-surgery topics I could write about . . . (still have lots of photos from DC I could post,) but for that I’d have to find my writing brain.**

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*I just remembered that when Isaac’s school friend showed up at our door today to bring him an invitation to his birthday party, Isaac came to the door holding a balled-up dirty diaper he’d just changed, and was completely unselfconscious about it. So cute.

**Oh, and I just remembered another cute thing — ever since Dean first came home with his cast and crutches, Rose loves to put on one of her red boot-style slippers for a cast and use whatever makeshift crutch she can find. And Dean realized yesterday that Henry’s been a little scared of Dean’s cast and crutches, so he’s been wooing Henry back with ball-tossing and cuddles. Which reminded me of one more cute Henry story, but that one needs a photo taken to go with it, so . . . remind me to get to it.

Although I hate to even think about how eventually I’m going to have to think about a whole, whole lot of stuff that hasn’t been getting done while I’ve been on Husband Care Duty, there is one good thing that came out of this past week: I played “Cash Cow 2″ on Webkinz.com enough times to earn Mabel the Kinzcash to buy her mouse Kate the “Princess Bed” she’s been trying for weeks to save up for. (Reading over my shoulder, Mabel says you should know that that bed was 1750 Kinzcash. Which is a lot of games of Cash Cow 2.) Dean says that I’m altruistic in my time-wasting.

Once upon a time, I was addicted to “Animal Crossing,” and used time travel to get enough money to buy four of the largest size house you can get — one for me, and one for each of my family members at the time (this was before Rose and Henry were born.) Dean only ever went in the house I bought him one time, and only because I begged him to, but about a year ago I found Mabel playing Animal Crossing and trying, with little luck, to save up enough pennies to enlarge her little shack. I was able to tell her, “Oh, Mabel, you don’t have to do that . . . I already have a house for you. A much bigger house. And the complete set of Princess furniture. Here, let me show you . . .”

(In my Animal Crossing town are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.)