I will NOT be your weenie wife

I remember reading about Kennedy family dinners from when Bobby & JFK were kids. Every day, the kids were expected to learn a new thing and tell the family about it. What a great exercise, right? So when I learn something new (and as I get older and my brain fills up, it takes a little longer to find my new thing) I like to check the time and notice how long it took for me to gain some new knowledge.

This week at Girl Scout day camp, I am finding that I learn that new thing well before noon, usually before 10 o'clock. Pretty cool!

I've learned a bunch of knots. Before camp, I only knew the square, overhand, & lark's head. Now I know the taut line, bowline, and clove hitch. And of course the granny knot which is kind of a derisive label considering it is usually an intended square knot that got messed up on the second step. I don't really know what a granny knot is good for and if I can forgive naming a knot that is in some way dismissive of grannies and the role they play in peoples' lives.

I've also learned how great it is to be open to gaining knowledge from young adults as well as my elders. I have been learning all kinds of outdoor skills from my 19 year old co-leaders. I've also been learning about the history of scouting and the history of the island from my retired teacher and Girl Scout 1st class recipient (gold award from back in the day) co-leader. I only hope that I have something valuable to teach them.

The girls themselves are not without wisdom to impart as well. In fact, on the very first day of camp, one girl informed me that blue berries and raisins were both bad for dogs. I had blue berries in my lunch and there were raisins served at snack. I tried to be vigilant with Holly given this new information. Another girl told me that Toto from the Wizard of Oz was a Cairn Terrier. I had no idea! You would think I would know that considering my life long love affair with that movie. I was writing out the girls' camp names and when I came to Doughnut, I had spelled it the Dunkin' Donuts way which is wrong. She told me that I had spelled it wrong and that she knew that it was d-o-u-g-h-n-u-t because she even looked it up in the dictionary. Damn spell check! I need it implanted into my brain.

I have become impressed with the teen aged Program Aides. Before camp I was all stressed out about not knowing enough Girl Scout skills to competently teach the girls their progressions but it turned out I need not have worried. The PA's are all very skilled and know their stuff. The girls in the unit all look up to them and I know both the PA's and the girls are learning valuable life lessons.

I am also enjoying the silly songs at camp. I do, however, wish the infamous Vegas commercial applied to GS Daycamp. What you do in camp *should* stay in camp. My princess is constantly singing a song about a weenie man who sells everything from hot dogs to buns. Someday she'll be his weenie wife and share his weenie life. Oh, how she loves that weenie man. Cute song the first couple of times. We're now on the 3rd day of the non-stop singing of this song. I go to bed with it running through my head. Please. Help. Me.

All in all, I'm having a blast. I'm so excited to be part of this community of women and 3 men. There are 2 young men watching the boys unit which is comprised of the brothers of the girls whose mothers are volunteering at the camp. There is a dad who is working at base camp and is our resource manager -- essentially he's in charge of the U-Haul trailer where we lock up our gear. It is amazing the kind of work and coordination that goes into this event.

As an aside, here is the boys' unit cheer. I loved it, and even though they've since truncated it because the little boys couldn't remember all of it, its brilliance must be recorded and shared:

We are boys
We are diverse
and noticeably loud.
We are boys
attempting one verse,
and we can't rhyme.

Oh, and my official camp name is now TESTING 1-2-3. Like it? I thought it would be a good one considering that it sounds so much like my real name. I actually respond when people call me.

Mother of four

Dog ownership is making me a much better person. I'm certain of it. I think because I no longer have a little baby in my arms, I am throwing myself completely into the training and teaching of this little puppy. I've read and reread an obedience book as well as one specifically written for her breed. At 3 months old, she is solid on coming to her name, sitting & waiting for her food, and walking nicely on the leash. She's learning settle, up, down, bed, stay, and the all important "do your business." I'm planning to teach her to fetch each of my kids by name and also my husband. That would be fun to send her out Lassie style. I also want to work on her psychic abilities. Like if I think to myself, "I need to take Holly out for a walk," she should instantly get her leash. Just you wait, she might learn how to do it.

She does display the usual dog like behaviors. While we NEVER intentionally feed her human food, in Holly, hope enthusiastically springs eternal. She sits alert and hopeful as I'm cooking or underfoot as Lil'T is eating. The other day, I was cutting up a zucchini. In the obedience books, they say that dogs like having raw veggies as treats. So when I dropped a piece of zucchini on the floor and she snatched it up like manna from heaven, I let her have it. I figured it would do no harm. That is until my husband came upstairs and saw the puddles of green vomit on the living room floor.

Hubby: Gross! There's green vomit all over the living room floor.

Me: Oh no. That's my fault.

Hubby: *pause* You vomited on the living room floor and didn't clean it up?

So for now, Holly only gets doggy biscuits for treats and she's a perfectly happy puppy. I may give her some sweet peas if she learns how to read my mind. Heck, I'll give her Chateaubriand if she learns to read my mind.

My musical Lil'T

I was surprised one day while driving along with Lil'T in the back seat. I was singing this song and she joined in on that one line through the whole song. Too cute! Forgive the change in the verse and also the random brain fart that made me forget the lyric in the middle. Also, I hope that Ingrid Michaelson can forgive my singing. No disrespect intended.

We don't negotiate with terriers

This is Holly, our rat terrier. The breed is also known as Feist Terrier. It gained its name "Rat Terrier," when Teddy Roosevelt's White House was infested with rats and mice. His Feist Terrier named Skip deftly removed the rodents from the White House and the breed became known as "Ratties." (Enough with the history lesson, right?)

So little Holly is now 11 weeks old. That picture is at around 6 weeks old. She's much bigger now. She's about 2-3 pounds in that picture. She's now around 4 pounds. She's a tank! What she lacks in size though, she makes up for in terrier feisty temperament.

I'm trying to be a good pet owner. I try not to yell at her, never have rubbed her nose in her numerous accidents around the house, and have never spanked her. I guess having kids has shown me the way to better patience. However, I almost sent her flying the other day when she playfully nipped at my face and bit my lip. I know she was playing. But it took all my self control not to throw her on the opposite wall when my lip started bleeding. You'd be proud of me. I left the room and then did some research on how to stop this playful nipping.

I did the stuff the books tell you to do, like substitute and reward an appropriate chew toy when she is chewing on something wrong, like my fingers. But this nipping thing! I was at a loss. I did my BING search (yeah, we love Bing and are rarely using Google now) and discovered that the puppy's litter mates and mother teach the pups what is appropriate with biting and how to inhibit their urge to bite. What she needed was play dates with other puppies.

Holly had her first play date last night with Julia's two Havanese pups, who are a few months older than she. It went really well. It was a strange experience for me because if my human kids were to bite and jump on their playmates, I'd have to intervene. But whenever the other pups nipped at Holly and she scampered away, I felt an inward thrill of self satisfaction. I did not jump up and say, "So what, Holly? You can dish it out but you can't take it?" That'll learn her good.

All in all, they seemed to have a fun time. There was a bit of "King of the Hill" played over Holly's bed. Whenever Messi or Deco would get on her bed, Holly would run to have them give chase, circle around, and then jump back on her bed. When they turned their backs, she'd jump on them and then run back to her bed. Very clever, Holly.

She comes when called and responds to her name. She's learned how to sit and wait for about 10 seconds and we're increasing it. She's also pretty solid on doing her business outside. She still does use the puppy training pad in the bathroom from time to time, but it is getting better. She's learning how to walk on a leash without pulling. That part is a constant struggle and makes walking with her take ages, but hopefully these summer walks will make for pulling-less fall and winter walks. Crate training is finally going well. She sleeps in her crate nightly and it makes for my nighttime slumber to be more sound.

Now I don't know how I went this long without a dog in our home. She's such a welcome addition to the family.

Jose, can you see?

We had a splendid 4th of July. 16 years ago, when we were planning our wedding, I wanted a 3 day weekend. In Hawaii, all the best places were booked at least a year in advance. 3 day weekends, even faster. So the only 3 day weekend available for us to get married in 1994 was on the 4th of July.

We joked back then that we would tell our kids that the fireworks were to celebrate our wedding anniversary. The whole nation celebrated with parades and fireworks our union and I suppose the union of all the states. Eh, splitting hairs.

Yesterday, we totally dug out on our friends with whom we usually watch the parade. See, years ago, you could drop off your chairs on the side of the road a couple hours before the parade started and it was great fun. Now you have to camp out about 5 - 6 hours ahead of time. The thought of sitting in 81 degree heat for 5 hours was simply not appealing. And for goodness sake. IT IS MY ANNIVERSARY! I shouldn't have to do anything I don't want to do. So over the protests of our kids, we decided to skip the parade all together and head over to Dan & Terri's most awesome lake house.

Their lake house is not only bigger, nicer, and better decorated than our regular house -- but it is on a lake. Okay, that kind of goes without saying since it is a lake house. But the lake is so beautiful, the water so swim-able, with canoes, kayaks, and rowboats readily available... I want them to adopt me. They have a son and daughter. Maybe I can get one of my kids to marry into the family. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, Dan & Teri also have a hot tub. After all the kids were done swimming in the lake, the whole bunch of them went up to the hot tub. Most of the kids were in the 12 - 14 year old range. Lil'T and Princess hopped in too to warm up. Hubby overheard some of the conversation.

Lil'T: What the f-f-f-f...

A hush fell across the group.

Lil'T: What the fireworks!?!

There was laughter and lots of, "I totally thought she was going to say something else." and "What other words start with 'f' that you know?"

The boys especially were hoping, hoping, hoping that my 3 year old might have something a little more scandalous to say.

Too bad, suckas!

Again with the drama

Let me start this story with the simple statement that the boy is okay. He's alive and his usual 12 year old self.

Things were a little shaky earlier this week. On Sunday, his Boy Scout troop went on a canoe trip from Bainbridge Island, WA to Bremerton, WA. This is in preparation for their 70 mile canoe trip scheduled for next week in Canada. So anyway, we dutifully got him his life vest and all other gear he'll need for this high adventure. He was paired up with Charlie who is a scout master, eagle scout and navy man. All good things. Except that some motorboat passed by too close to their canoe while they were waiting for the other canoe behind them to catch up. The wake from the motorboat swamped the canoe and my son and Charlie found themselves treading 50 degree water for 20 - 40 minutes. The time is differing only because the people on shore think it was more like 40 minutes and Charlie estimated it as only 20 minutes.

So I got an unexpected phone call from the woman whose summer house witnessed the entire scene. At the time, my son was warming up in her shower. She was very worried and asked if she should call 911. She said that she's not a medical professional but she would feel more comfortable. I told her that I was an RN and wanted to know what his status looked like. In recounting the story, I say that I asked her if he had lost consciousness, if he was shivering, if he had control of his extremities, if he knew who, when and where he was. She said no, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. I talked then to my son who was in the shower and knew exactly who I was when he heard my voice. He also told me that he couldn't hear me very well because of the shower. Then I talked to Charlie who said that he knows what hypothermia really looks like because of his training, but that my son was just cold and recovering quickly from their ordeal. That 911 wasn't necessary.

I ran outside during this conversation to get Hubby who was working in the back yard. I quickly told my girls to get shoes on and get in the car. That their brother fell into the Sound and needed to be checked out immediately. I grabbed his down comforter, a squid hat (because it was the closest hat at hand as I had just finished sewing it), and my first aid kit, thermometer, and stethoscope. Princess, with such concern for things other than her brother, complained loudly that the saimin I had just cooked for her would be cold and ruined by the time we got back home and could she please just finish it. Ah, the complete disregard for the welfare of her brother... so refreshing. We piled in the car and Hubby drove at 3 mph for the entire drive. Okay, he was kind of speeding, but it felt like he was crawling. We got to my son's location and he was bundled up in an electric blanket, 2 plush blankets, drinking tea, wearing a touk, and surrounded by 3 teenaged girls. Yeah, his life is so hard. Not a bad way for a 12 year old boy to be rescued. He was quite pink, no obvious neuro deficits, tympanic temp up to 95.2 degrees F, able to move all limbs with good capillary refill to toes and fingers, and absolutely mortified that I brought a squid hat and nothing else for him to dress in.

There were phone calls from all the scout masters that night. They've revised their plans for the 70 mile trip to include a motor boat trailing behind the boys just in case. My husband and son were furious with me at the mere suggestion that maybe he sit the 70 mile trip out. I was shot down pretty quick. The only thing that I could maybe work on is getting a layer of fat on the boy as he is so slender, he had no reserves to slow down the heat loss.

I suppose I better put some Oreos and fried chicken on my shopping list for the week.

I blow you up ... BOOM

This past Saturday was Princess's First Communion. Pictures to follow provided that Hubby gets back from his business trip and remembers to offload his camera. I don't have a card reader for the behemoth memory cards on his SLR. Anyway, Princess was dressed in a sleeveless Cinderella pick up skirt tea length white satin gown. Her hair was up in a big pouffy bun (ala Carrie Bradshaw in Sex In the City) and she wore my handmade veil under it and a rhinestone/pearl tiara in the front. Around her neck she wore my mother's gold cross which Lola gave to her that morning. She wore brand new white shoes with 1.5 inch heels. By the end of mass, I was holding those heels while Princess ran around shoeless. To complete her ensemble, Princess wore white gloves that went up to her elbows. She looked like a real princess. She just needed a scepter and cape.

The kids were asked to be there at 3pm so that they could have their formal portraits taken. I took advantage of my early arrival to reserve seating for the 18 people who were going to be coming to witness Princess's First Communion. We had Lola, Uncle Dwight, who came from Hawaii, Uncle Norm, Aunty Bridget, Cousin Katie, who came over on the ferry, Uncle Davey, Aunty Jan, their kids Alex & Ashley 4 y.o. and Aidan 18 mos., Grams, Gramps, and Aunty Di who came from California. I went to my car and got out every piece of clothing I could find. Came out with a raincoat, hat, bandana, umbrella, paperback, and a bunch of Monopoly money that the now defunct dollar store used to give out as coupons. So I laid out said items and sprinkled a bunch of reserved signs made with the play money all over the pews. Then I waited.

Aside from a couple of snarky comments from people who came later and I told that I had reserved the 2.5 pews, people were pretty receptive to me having reserved the spots. To the one lady who exclaimed in disbelief, "3 pews!" I say, 'Chick, I was here for over 2 hours before you moseyed your way to get a seat so shut it. And peace be with you.' In my head of course.

Grandparents and our family took the front pew and the uncles, aunts and cousins took the 2nd. We had a couple of friends in the 3rd. It all worked out pretty well. Except for when the homily started.

The way the church is situated, the main lectern is on the left side of the altar (stage right). We happened to be seated in the first 3 rows of pews directly to the left of the lectern. We were pretty much spitting distance from our priest. So when the homily started, Fr. Emmett (who is a very sweet man) started talking about Pentecost -- a pretty big day in our faith -- celebrating the Holy Spirit's coming to the apostles and giving them the gift of tongues. One might argue that the Spirit was moving my 2 nephews and my niece. After all, are we not instructed to make a joyful NOISE unto the Lord?

So all during the homily, there were some gender clarifications: "Mommy, Alexander called me a boy. I'm not a boy. I'm a girl." There were also some threats of violence: "I blow you up. BOOM!" And general discontent voiced by the youngest of the 3: your basic baby cry. All this peppered by my brother and sister-in-law's desperate whispers of shush, put that down, don't touch that, quiet, etc. It gave me a major case of the church giggles. You know the kind where you can't laugh out loud but your body can't help but laugh so your shoulders start shaking up and down.

Hubby's sister Diane waited to see the famous church pinch that my mother used to deliver to us on a weekly basis. You know the kind right at the back of the arm on a nerve apparently connected to your voice box. One well placed pinch and you are effectively silenced for the remainder of the service. My mother wasn't sitting in the same row as the kids so only could give a stern look which was miserably ineffective. When asked why the pinches weren't delivered, she said simply, "I couldn't reach." She also hoped that nobody would notice the family resemblance and that she could pretend that those grand babies were not hers.

For his part, Fr. Emmett made every effort not to look in our direction. He truly is a soft touch. One can only hope that he didn't hear the ruckus, that he may have left his hearing aid out... but I suspect that everybody heard them. My friend Steve had arrived late to the service and was sitting clear across the church away from us. When we talked about what the kids were saying, Steve said, "That was you? I heard that."

For the rest of the visit with my brother and his family, our catch phrase was, "I blow you up ... BOOM!"

I can't wait to see them again. Even if I get blown up several times a day.