Actions speak louder

1st Photo: May 2007

This is one of my favorite pictures of my dad. Oh, he's a tease! See his look of delight as he pushes Elise to great heights in the tire swing? See her tentative smile but worried eyes and tight grip? Do you better understand now his look of delight? Yep, he is a tease. (She loved the swing, by the way.)

2nd Photo: May 2010

What do you get the man who has already bought everything ... at rock-bottom prices?

I asked him myself. "Dad," I explained in desperation, "I've really struck out coming up with a gift idea this year. Is there anything I can get for you?" (It felt like such a cop out. I felt terrible.)

He smiled, his special soft, reassuring smile. Just kind words, he answered. Kind words.

Perfect! I can DO words.

Yet every time I tried to compose the love for my father in a meaningful way, I couldn't do it justice. Heck, I couldn't do any typing or writing at all. I'd grasp a spare minute only to again have it commandeered by my children.

Samuel's interruption was the most pressing. The bloody footprints presaged his announcement, "Mommy, I hurt my toe." At first I couldn't even tell which foot was injured for all the blood, and I carried him to the bathroom sink. The faucet made him cry. The running water made him scream. His mom trying to hold him still beneath the stream made him shout, "I want Emma!"

Samuel was fighting me with all he had. Wedged high up in a hinged flap of skin on the cut was dirt the water couldn't dislodge, grit that I knew I must remove from the tender wound. This child was kicking and shrieking, but it had to be done. By me.

I drew from a sense of calm I'd seen as a child. And at that moment I knew how to form my tribute.

So, Dad, if you see me hug Samuel when you know he put me through the wringer (day in and day out!),

If you see me playing on top of the playground slide with my children,

If you see me remove the pressure by quietly setting aside the training wheels when today's lesson turned tearful,

If you see me ready to try again tomorrow,

If you see me stop to point out the intricacies of a spider web,

If you see me scratch my head at someone's homework problems but plow ahead anyway,

If you see me triumphantly say, "Hey, let's try another!"

If you see me make my children clean the campground (including the trash that was there before we arrived),

If you see me bite my lip and pause long enough to answer gently,

If you see me know how to tease smiles out of my children one minute but intently listen to them the next,

Then you will know how much you have shaped me, and how much I love you.

Rain dance

"Woo hoo! This is my rain dance!" 

My Memorial Day wish

I hope I see her again this year.

Really, I would hardly recognize her. I only saw her bouncing blond ponytail for a few minutes last Memorial Day in the cemetery. She could have gotten a hair cut, for all I know, or experienced the kind of growth spurt that propels her beyond a "little" girl. 

If I recognize her at all it will be by her handiwork.

I hope her parents bring her to the cemetery again to honor loved ones who have gone before. I hope, for her sake, that the names on the family stones she helps decorate are generations removed, that even as she forges a connection by learning the stories of their lives, it won't be with a pang of loss. 

I hope, that while the grownups are visiting, she will again skip toward the ancient lilac bushes on the cemetery grounds and pluck stem after stem to place on all the barren stones, so that no one is forgotten.

Then I'll smile to know she's been there. And as I search for a blond ponytail I'll pledge to do what I can -- no matter how small -- to ease the loneliness of others around me. 

Rhubarb armor

Eat your veggies, kids! They're good for you.

Hmm ... even in dessert form?


Rhubarb crisp
I hardly ever measure for stuff like this; these quantities are guidelines.


2 pounds rhubarb, sliced into 3/4-inch pieces (I used three gigantic stalks)
1 cup sugar
3/4 cup flour


Crisp topping:
2/3 cup margarine or butter, softened (not melted!)
3/4 cup brown sugar (or more, to taste)
1 cup flour
1 cup oats
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon


Heat oven to 375 degrees. Lightly grease 9x13 pan. (Or don't! I usually forget and it turns out fine. James loves this dessert so much he'll scrape every bit from the edges for me.)


Add cut rhubarb to pan, mix with cup of sugar. Let sit for a few minutes to draw out juices, then sprinkle flour and stir well. (You can do this step in bowl if you must.)


Meanwhile, use pastry blender to mix crisp topping into pea-sized crumbs. Crumble over rhubarb mixture and bake in 375 degree oven until top is lightly browned and rhubarb is bubbling, about 30 minutes. Serve warm or cold. Ice cream or yogurt are a delicious topping. 

Clarification

I kid you not. I just got a phone call from a genuinely concerned relative wondering about the bars James is gripping in a recent post. "Is he in jail?" No, he is not.

In my efforts to pair a funny expression with a funny story, I badly misfired on the context front. The picture is from our adventures at Baby Animal Day. The bars adorn a child-size caboose on the small train we rode there around the farm. No, the school does not have such a facility to punish latecomers and other miscreants. Although, if it did, I think all the students would clamor to go inside it --  it's that alluring.

Here's a shot of the caboose. The children were locked in from the outside, but I'm pretty sure that was only a safety measure while the train was in motion. Pretty sure.

As you can see, James made it out.

Baby Animal Day

Baby Animal Day at Jensen Living Historical Farm
April 24, 2010

Truth in advertising

James woke up in a grumpy mood this morning, refusing all motions aimed at getting him to school. His teacher didn't even know yet to be grateful when I told James, "Fine, then, go back to bed."

Later when James moseyed out of his room he was ready to play. I stood firm: back to school or back to bed. School it was.

The office requires you check in at their computer and indicate why your student is late. I didn't know James was aware of these particulars, but he looked over my elbow as I typed and told me:

"For the reason -- put LAZY."