5:30 am is really early for a one-year-old....and a sixty-one-year-old.
A 2 1/2 hour nap is not nearly as satisfying as a 4 hour nap....especially if one has been up since 5:30am
Paper comes out the same way it goes in....'nuf said.
A one-year-old can be on his knees pushing a plastic baby wipes holder across the floor, fall over and bloody his nose and mouth. Go figure!!
There is a certain kind of sippy cup that I hate, yes, hate. The pressure builds up, and sprays my glasses with milk. Really, I hate that thing.
Handing a one-year-old a Baggie of shredded cheese to eat on his own is not smart.
A Baggie will seriously impede the suction of a Hoover Linx vacuum.
Reading Spot Goes to the Library does not necessarily promote library etiquette. Sorry about that, folks.
The glass in a picture frame will break just as thoroughly when dropped by a one-year-old as when dropped by an adult.
A 4x6 piece of glass can disintegrate into a lot of little pieces.
Glasses that sit under a kid's nose do nothing to help said child's vision.
Trebuchet!! The battle cry of little boys both of whom can seriously launch a pumpkin. Sorry about that Johnny Howell market workers.
Max has never seen a Better Homes and Gardens magazine that he does not enjoy tearing up.
Trying to put a diaper on a one-year-old who does not want his diaper changed is like wrestling a tiger.
With determination and a bit of a downhill slope, Simeon can push Max in the wagon across the whole front yard.
A 24 roll package of toilet paper serves many purposes....a step up for Simeon to get in his car seat and a soft place to land when Max takes a dive out of his.
For today, I wish you fond reflections on your day, and I wish you
Blessings
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Danger! Danger! A Grandmother's Warning
This world is fraught with danger, and I am not talking about weapons of mass destruction...well, yes, I am, but not the kind that have been in the news. Keeping one-year-old boys has newly opened my eyes to the perils of this life. As a grandmother, dangers loom much larger than they did as a parent.
The kitchen sink is clogged. A cup of soda down the drain followed by vinegar (I just really love the results of that combination) with a chaser of boiling water was what was needed. Oh, wait. If I boil water on the stove, one of the boys might somehow figure out how to open the gate, or worse, they could be in cahoots and somehow help each other get over and what if I don't hear them and they get underfoot and I spill scalding water on them? Never mind, the sink will have to remain clogged.
Who knew a kid's rocking chair could be such a hazard? A couple weeks ago, while Fizzie sat right beside him, Max flipped the chair over, hit the floor found himself trapped underneath, and let out a cry that would have waken the dead. Telling him to "shake it off" was not going to be helpful. The same chair yesterday, whacked Simeon in the head as he rocked. Yep, the dead were roused yet again.
And, then there are the toys. Who makes these things with buttons that could fall off, or hair that somehow could get tangled in their teeth and pull them out. How can such a tiny mouth hold an entire plastic Easter egg? Don't the makers of bubbles know that little eyes can be burned by bubble soap? Maybe, I will make some with baby shampoo, but, no wait, what exactly is Polyquaternium-10? That can't be good for a baby. Forget the bubbles.
Why is the drawer in the table upon which the TV sits such a fascination? Well, they are boys, and that is where the remotes are, but there are batteries in the remotes, and what if they think they are candy and eat them,and what if they remain in cahoots after attempts to breach kitchen security by crashing the gate and decide to rock the TV table turning it and the TV over on them? Maybe I will block the TV with the rocking chairs, but they could climb on those like they do on the table by the sofa and then there will be real trouble. I will just sit here and not take my eye off them.
Simeon and I took a walk this morning I am certain he was eyeing the drainage pipes going under the driveways. We had a talk about never, never, ever crawling through those, and he will never, never, ever hear the tales of his Mellie and her siblings and friends doing such crazy things growing up. Sometimes hiding in the drainage pipes under the Kornmeyer's drive was the only way to get away. But, never, never, ever are Simeon and Max to know such a thing.
Shelves are tethered, tables and a birdcage stand are moved to a locked room before the boys arrive. I did not think of the birdcage stand until Simmie pulled it over on himself yesterday. He did not cry so, oh, dear why isn't he crying? Wonder if he has a concussion. Well, no, he got right up, he seems fine, who would have thought he would even find it something worthy of notice, how did he not break the glass boboches on the little chandelier hanging on the birdcage stand, and who hangs a chandelier on a birdcage stand anyway, and how did he manage to break every one of the turquoise candles in the chandelier, oh, well, he seems fine, better move that thing into a locked room. What? Now he has knocked himself in the head with the little plate stand in the hallway!! Okay, into a locked room it goes too.
So, life is full of peril, especially if you happen to be the grandmother to two one-year-old boys. Did you know there is a website entitled the "Hidden Dangers of Yogurt?" I will not even mention all the possibilities for harm the wooden back scratcher carries. Yep, that locked room is really filling up.
For today, I wish you the company of one-year-olds, safety, and I wish you
Blessings
The kitchen sink is clogged. A cup of soda down the drain followed by vinegar (I just really love the results of that combination) with a chaser of boiling water was what was needed. Oh, wait. If I boil water on the stove, one of the boys might somehow figure out how to open the gate, or worse, they could be in cahoots and somehow help each other get over and what if I don't hear them and they get underfoot and I spill scalding water on them? Never mind, the sink will have to remain clogged.
Who knew a kid's rocking chair could be such a hazard? A couple weeks ago, while Fizzie sat right beside him, Max flipped the chair over, hit the floor found himself trapped underneath, and let out a cry that would have waken the dead. Telling him to "shake it off" was not going to be helpful. The same chair yesterday, whacked Simeon in the head as he rocked. Yep, the dead were roused yet again.
And, then there are the toys. Who makes these things with buttons that could fall off, or hair that somehow could get tangled in their teeth and pull them out. How can such a tiny mouth hold an entire plastic Easter egg? Don't the makers of bubbles know that little eyes can be burned by bubble soap? Maybe, I will make some with baby shampoo, but, no wait, what exactly is Polyquaternium-10? That can't be good for a baby. Forget the bubbles.
Why is the drawer in the table upon which the TV sits such a fascination? Well, they are boys, and that is where the remotes are, but there are batteries in the remotes, and what if they think they are candy and eat them,and what if they remain in cahoots after attempts to breach kitchen security by crashing the gate and decide to rock the TV table turning it and the TV over on them? Maybe I will block the TV with the rocking chairs, but they could climb on those like they do on the table by the sofa and then there will be real trouble. I will just sit here and not take my eye off them.
Simeon and I took a walk this morning I am certain he was eyeing the drainage pipes going under the driveways. We had a talk about never, never, ever crawling through those, and he will never, never, ever hear the tales of his Mellie and her siblings and friends doing such crazy things growing up. Sometimes hiding in the drainage pipes under the Kornmeyer's drive was the only way to get away. But, never, never, ever are Simeon and Max to know such a thing.
Shelves are tethered, tables and a birdcage stand are moved to a locked room before the boys arrive. I did not think of the birdcage stand until Simmie pulled it over on himself yesterday. He did not cry so, oh, dear why isn't he crying? Wonder if he has a concussion. Well, no, he got right up, he seems fine, who would have thought he would even find it something worthy of notice, how did he not break the glass boboches on the little chandelier hanging on the birdcage stand, and who hangs a chandelier on a birdcage stand anyway, and how did he manage to break every one of the turquoise candles in the chandelier, oh, well, he seems fine, better move that thing into a locked room. What? Now he has knocked himself in the head with the little plate stand in the hallway!! Okay, into a locked room it goes too.
So, life is full of peril, especially if you happen to be the grandmother to two one-year-old boys. Did you know there is a website entitled the "Hidden Dangers of Yogurt?" I will not even mention all the possibilities for harm the wooden back scratcher carries. Yep, that locked room is really filling up.
For today, I wish you the company of one-year-olds, safety, and I wish you
Blessings
Saturday, September 7, 2013
"Christians are bipolar," he said...
He sat on the steps of the church eating Ramen noodles. I asked him how he was doing. "Having to eat out of the dumpster today," he said.
I admit, I wondered who had thrown Ramen noodles in a dumpster, but could not think of a graceful, non-incredulous-sounding way of asking. He quickly satisfied my curiosity by explaining that a fellow homeless gentleman shared the noodles with him.
"I am really sorry," I replied. "I have $2.00, and you are welcome to it, but I realize it won't get you much. I wish I had more."
He said he had been back in Nashville for two weeks. Someone had stolen his backpack and the clothes in it. I am thinking, seriously? Not, seriously are you lying to me, but seriously, who steals from a homeless person? How very privileged of me. I suspect it was taken by someone who is hopeless and desperate as well.
He seemed embarrassed that the jeans he had on were dirty, but he had no others.
"You know ma'am lots of Christians are bi-polar. You know what I mean by that?"
"I'm not sure. Help me understand what you mean."
"We'll, they go to church, and they look good and are all right acting there, but you get them out on the street and they don't do a thing to help."
"Hmmmmmm, I am afraid that I do know what you mean." I see a bipolar Christian in the mirror every morning.
I asked him if he was aware of resources available to him. He had not heard of the ones I suggested. He did not know of Father Strobel, and said that he is not Catholic. I assured him that he did not have to be. He shared that he does not have an ID. I had no idea if that was a problem or not. I tried to reach a minister at church, but he was not available. I knew I would be able to get help at church, I just did not have time at the moment to work it out as I was about to begin a tour.
"What is your name?"
"Earnest."
"My name is Marilyn. It is a pleasure to know you."
"I's nice to meet you."
"Well, Earnest, give me some time, and I will work on finding you some clothes. Where can I find you, say tomorrow morning?" I do not have time for this, I have to be at church tomorrow morning. Really? Church is going to keep you from meeting Earnest in the morning? Really?
"I will be down on 2nd Avenue tonight, and then I usually come sit on the church steps every morning."
"What time?"
"Sleeping on the concrete, I am usually up here by 4:00."
4:00 a.m.? Not going to happen, Earnest.
The people I was waiting for arrived. "It was a privilege meeting you, Earnest."
"No, ma'am, it was my privilege."
We parted ways, probably with each of us thinking there was no way we would meet in the morning....me thinking that he was a "typical" homeless person who just cannot be depended on to be where they say they will be, and him thinking that I was a "typical bipolar Christian."
Neither of us was taking into account God's grace in making sure that His children meet their divine appointments.
For today, I wish you a church that responds, I wish you trust in a God who will see that you meet the most important divine appointments, and I wish you
blessings
I admit, I wondered who had thrown Ramen noodles in a dumpster, but could not think of a graceful, non-incredulous-sounding way of asking. He quickly satisfied my curiosity by explaining that a fellow homeless gentleman shared the noodles with him.
"I am really sorry," I replied. "I have $2.00, and you are welcome to it, but I realize it won't get you much. I wish I had more."
He said he had been back in Nashville for two weeks. Someone had stolen his backpack and the clothes in it. I am thinking, seriously? Not, seriously are you lying to me, but seriously, who steals from a homeless person? How very privileged of me. I suspect it was taken by someone who is hopeless and desperate as well.
He seemed embarrassed that the jeans he had on were dirty, but he had no others.
"You know ma'am lots of Christians are bi-polar. You know what I mean by that?"
"I'm not sure. Help me understand what you mean."
"We'll, they go to church, and they look good and are all right acting there, but you get them out on the street and they don't do a thing to help."
"Hmmmmmm, I am afraid that I do know what you mean." I see a bipolar Christian in the mirror every morning.
I asked him if he was aware of resources available to him. He had not heard of the ones I suggested. He did not know of Father Strobel, and said that he is not Catholic. I assured him that he did not have to be. He shared that he does not have an ID. I had no idea if that was a problem or not. I tried to reach a minister at church, but he was not available. I knew I would be able to get help at church, I just did not have time at the moment to work it out as I was about to begin a tour.
"What is your name?"
"Earnest."
"My name is Marilyn. It is a pleasure to know you."
"I's nice to meet you."
"Well, Earnest, give me some time, and I will work on finding you some clothes. Where can I find you, say tomorrow morning?" I do not have time for this, I have to be at church tomorrow morning. Really? Church is going to keep you from meeting Earnest in the morning? Really?
"I will be down on 2nd Avenue tonight, and then I usually come sit on the church steps every morning."
"What time?"
"Sleeping on the concrete, I am usually up here by 4:00."
4:00 a.m.? Not going to happen, Earnest.
The people I was waiting for arrived. "It was a privilege meeting you, Earnest."
"No, ma'am, it was my privilege."
We parted ways, probably with each of us thinking there was no way we would meet in the morning....me thinking that he was a "typical" homeless person who just cannot be depended on to be where they say they will be, and him thinking that I was a "typical bipolar Christian."
Neither of us was taking into account God's grace in making sure that His children meet their divine appointments.
For today, I wish you a church that responds, I wish you trust in a God who will see that you meet the most important divine appointments, and I wish you
blessings
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