Charlyn’s Web

The kids seem to have missed the really bad part of this cold.  They had runny noses for a bit before I got sick but not a cough like what The Col. and I have experienced.  I don’t know if we had the same virus or not- it always amazes me how a cold will effect each of us differently.  TG had been doing fine until Thursday night when she started coughing.  It is not a croupy cough but a chesty cough- sounds like it’s in the chest.  It seems different than our cough because there were no other symptoms before the cough started.   She woke herself up  with coughing fits during the night but in the morning seemed fine again.  Friends came over and she only coughed a few times.  She seemed as full of energy as ever.  Although, by the end of the day, with no nap, she was a mess and was herded off to bed early.  More coughing in the night and a bit of a runny nose on Saturday.  As I listened to her cough during the night, I determined that she should stay home from Church the next day.

I thought I should be the one to stay with her as The Col. plays guitar during church and I just pew sit.  I started to make plans of what I could do at home with only one child.  Until I felt a bit guilty that I wasn’t planning on spending the time with my Baby and determined that we would spend some time cuddling up on the couch.

But the best laid plans of me and mice (yick) are often put asunder.  The Col. decided that he needed to stay home and get extra rest.  Sigh.  He was still dragging from the cold he caught two weeks ago- still blowing and coughing.  It’s the cold that just will not leave.

I rounded up the other two kids and informed TG that she was going to stay home to take care of Papa.

She did a real good job of taking care of him too.  She let him watch Barney instead of James Bond.  He was thrilled beyond measure.

After every explosion of activity there is the Day After.

They are not usually very pretty.

This one was no exception.

Everyone was tired.

People were cranky.

And it was all hanging out there.

No one wanted to do school. Oh the wailing and gnashing of teeth.

The Girls were acting like….oh, horror… girls! Oh, the whining, shrieking, tattling- it was all so, so, so girl like.

I, of course, the parent, the teacher, the adult, was the picture of calm, tranquility, peace. I was enthusiastic, energetic, full of vim and vigor. I was wise, patient and kind.

I am lying through my teeth.

The Girls took naps, including me. The Boy is much too old for that though, but he knew enough to leave me alone so that I could get one.

For some reason, the Day After stretched into the Week After and we are still out of kilter. Right now, I am just hoping for a better next week.

Where has the last week gone? Here I was doing fairly well about posting things and then a whole week plus passes. I will just say that for a person who is easily overwhelmed by life in general, last week was a tidal wave, tornado and hurricane all at once.

Our little church decided to put on an Easter production titled The Living Last Supper- you know, like Di Vinci’s painting. (OK- for you technically accurate people out there- it’s not a painting but a mural or fresco or some artsy term or other. Accurate enough for you? Oooh, she sounds cranky!) The production would take 12 disciples, 1 Jesus, 1 narrator. 14 men would be quite a stretch for us but, well, we’d beg help from friends and family. Then there was talk of a choir. Choir? The women that could sing were roped in (that would not include me, I might add). Then talk of townspeople… Roman soldiers… angels!!! Alright, only ONE angel but still, we are talking more and more people here. We were beginning to wonder who would actually be left to watch the thing- the whole church was in the cast and most of the Pastor’s family and friends too!

The Col. carried a heavy load as he was the narrator and he sang a solo- Watch the Lamb by Ray Boltz. It’s an old song but tells a wonderful story. Plus he was one of the three men in the choir. Then disaster struck.

His wife got a cold. And shared. Ain’t she sweat?

So we sent up prayers.

And continued on with our busy week. Tuesday was a choir practice, Wednesday was a potluck and a meeting at Church, Thursday was a play practice and Friday was the dress rehearsal. The Col. stayed home from work and slept on Wednesday and was home until noon on Thursday. Plus our regular activities. Plus fighting a cold on my part also.

After two run throughs at the dress rehearsal, The Col. could hardly speak. But we took it easy on Saturday and things looked good for Sunday except I didn’t have any eggs for the kids to hunt on Sunday at our friends house. I was feeling drained of all energy so I shamelessly called a friend, the much respected Mrs. L, and begged her to pick up some plastic eggs at the store for me. Luckily, she was at the store at the time and so she saved my goose, see why she is the “much respected Mrs. L” and not just by the kids.

Even with 44 people in the cast (including the choir) we had 81 people show up Sunday morning! Praise God! And it all went very well. The Col.’s voice held out and he sounded good. We did the play twice and it went well both times. The Lord took our feeble efforts and made them into something Glorious.

…. who needs head protection.

I could hear the riotous laughing and giggling as I came down the hall.

Don’t those girls know they are supposed to be getting ready for bed?!?!? What are they doing?

I stalked in to the bathroom, put my hands on my hips…. and then I heard what they were saying.

“P**p!”

Laughter.

“Panties!”

Shrieks of laughter.

Girls! You know we don’t talk like that!

“But Mrs. L said that it’s potty talk and that if we are talking like this we need to go to the bathroom and we’re in the bathroom.”

How can I argue with that?

For the record, I, myself, me, their Mother, have said this also but when The Mother talks it’s all “blah, blah, blah” but
when some one else says these things, well, that carries a whole lot more weight. They might actually hear it when someone else says it.

And what is it that makes those words so funny?

Disclaimer: These photos were taken on the same day as Ditch Day. She is wearing different clothes today! Honest.

Taking turns even!

It’s hard work!

Brother’s turn!

Unfortunately, their combined weight made it too hard to pedal in the gravel. They didn’t get very far. I guess I can’t use the song “He’s Not Heavy, He’s My Brother” and I don’t think there has been a song written titled: “She’s Too heavy, She’s My Sister”. Which is a good thing.

Let’s have a mini-contest. Well, contest might be too strong of a word as I have no prizes to give out. This isn’t one of those high class/high volume/money making blogs. We be low class/minuscule volume/no money type blog. But we are all for having fun!

So… how many clocks did you have to “spring ahead” the other day? I, personally, did my watch on about Monday but the brave, intrepid Col. Panic reset our clocks Saturday night- all 11 of them (not counting my watch). Plus two that reset automatically. Although, the one he had to set outside in order to pick up the signal to reset it might not be totally “automatic”. His watch reset automatically. The computer did it all by itself. The number 11 includes the van but the clocks in the other vehicle has not be corrected.

The Col. is a stickler for time- it must be accurate. None of our clocks are set ahead… or behind, with the exception of the antique clock which keeps it’s own time. He sets clocks accurately based on GMT standards. Until a certain young lady messed with his watch, he had it set to GMT and he knew to add hours automatically. That would confuse my poor little brain, I’m afraid. I’d never know what time it was (let’s all break into song now! )

Anyway, I’m sure I had a point here, somewhere….

Oh, yeah- can you beat 11?

When Col. Panic was a younger man he worked for a family that ran a custom harvesting business. They owned combines and trucks and would travel to different areas that had crops that needed harvesting. They harvest wheat, corn, milo, and barley. I’m sure I missed something but they will let me know. The Col. would often play with the, eventually, four children of the family. He was a great kid himself and would engage in games of hide and seek, basketball and various other things. I know that at least once, he scared the heebie geebies out of at least one of the girls in a game of nighttime hide and seek. They remember these things- well.

Fast forward many, many years and the youngest is all grown up and in college. For some unknown reason (itchy feet?) she decided to go on a college exchange program to a college close to us. Imagine that. So we have been enjoying her company the last couple of months.

But what goes around, comes around and she now enjoys coming and getting our kids all riled up. I am sure The Col. NEVER (you hear that? NEVER) did that with their kids.

The piggy back ride- or as my kids call it “Monkey Back”- as they enjoy a game of hide and seek.

Why, yes, TG is wearing the same outfit as the last post. You have issues with that? I can assure you that I have peeled it off of her body and it is now in the wash.

Going after The Boy.

Her best hiding spot.

The Boy didn’t find her until she sent TG to tell him where she was hiding. TG was also hiding with her and I don’t know how she kept TG quiet all that time.

The Boy’s best hiding spot, his tunnel.

She didn’t realize that it went down under and so missed him when she checked there.

It’s been great fun getting to know as an adult the child we used to know. We look forward to more fun times.

And, yes, she is going to kill me. But her sisters will thank me.

Some days are just meant to be spent in the ditch.

Going down!

Pedaling hard to get out!

New tactic- use the feet.

Refuse all help from Sissy and insist you can do it on your own. Until your Mother gets tired of standing there and pulls you out while you protest.

Then do it again. Same thing, new ditch.

Except this time manage to get yourself out of it .

Encouraged by success- ride on the unbroken territory of the bank until the slope calls your name.

Try to get out there and fail so in order to save face ride along in the bottom for awhile.

You planned to do it that way!

But there is still the sticky problem of getting out.

Grunt!

Let’s try something else. Does this look easier?

No, it wasn’t and after much effort on her part- her Mother again had to help. This time she asked.

But that doesn’t mean she learned anything. New un-blazed territory! Who needs boring old roads?

Same old story. Help a neighbor out here, Dog!

Until Mom rescues again, and insists you stay out of the ditch. The thrill is gone so you give up the bike to Sissy and discover that roads aren’t really that bad after all.

Ah, the feeling of wind blowing through your pigtails!

I can take a hint. You want to see more photos of Col. Panic’s kids. Well, here is his favorite.

Oh, maybe not.  But it is his dog!