Ethical Dilemmas

Now that I have typed that dilemma word, it doesn't look right.  Wright.  Rite.  Good thing we have spell check.

Anyway...

I just spent the afternoon with my dad, hemming up some of his pants.  It was fun to just sit in my mom's easy chair and chat.  Of course, it helped that I had left my (coughing) little ones at home.  More peaceful, and more healthy for my dad.

So... Dad wants me to look up his old flame.  Wha...?  They were high school sweethearts, but she didn't wait for him when he went to Germany.  Broke his heart that she got married.  As a side note, my mother, who was also in Germany at the time (living with her brother at the Air Force base) went to console my dad after the Dear John.  I can just hear us now, calling from Heaven, "Future Dad!  Ditch the deserter!  Marry this lovely gal instead!"

Now, Dad's lonely.  Can't blame him, not one bit.  But from everything I can figure out, his old girlfriend is still married.  That makes it awkward.  What to do?

And another ethical question.

When a man's employer gives the green light for salesmen to wear very conservative shorts to work, what kind of footwear is involved?  I keep seeing this in my head:

or this:

I get that athletic shorts call for tennis shoes and white socks.  And obnoxiously loud Hawaiian tourister shorts on an old man are worn with over-the-calf black socks and dress shoes.  (Horrors!)  To me, shorts are best worn barefoot, and that's the kind of gal I am.  But for a man in a work environment?

As I am researching, I came across this lovely quote:

Socks and sandals is an appropriate pairing for old German men on vacation and no one else. 

And the best thought of all:
 Be remembered for your friendly conversation, not for being the over-dressed peacock or under-dressed ruffian.

I think I shall recommend that he wear light slacks to work in the summer. With dark shoes and socks. But not shorts. Not at all.

Driving Definitions

Hey, other drivers on the road with me!

I just wanted to let you know that the space in front of my moving vehicle is called a "safe driving distance."  It is NOT a "gap in traffic."  Please do not think that you can pull into that space and occupy it without causing me to slam on my brakes.  Also some muttering.  Like "Bad Words!"

And while I have your attention, I'd like you to understand that I am driving at a "safe speed."  I am neither the fastest nor the slowest vehicle around.  I observe the "speed limit" which is, like it sounds, a limit.  NOT a minimum.  I understand what these words mean.  I hope you do, too.

So please be courteous as you share the road with other safe drivers like me.  We are not out to make you late for your appointment - your tardiness in leaving did that for you.  We are not trying to make your life miserable or cause you undue duress.  Please do not call me a granny driver.  I am not yet ready for my offspring to be producing offspring.  

Share the road, drive safely, and enjoy the ride.

Were you children of mine (AKA backseat drivers) listening?

Born Hot

I was reading a bedtime story to our little trio about baby farm animals.  On one page, it says, "Baby horse we call a foal.  She could walk the same day she was born."  Yes, I have it memorized.  Why do you ask?  It's one of their favorite books, so I read it to the all.  the.  time.

After the word "born," Freddie always interjects, "Just like Baby Jesus was born!"  Proud of himself to make the connection.  Tonight, I didn't hurry away from his thought.  "Yes, honey, and you know that you were born too."

Surprisingly, he agreed.  "Yes, I's was born."  After a moment's reflection, he added, "I's was hot borned."  It was a hot birth for him?

Intrigued, I turned to Georgie.  "You were born, too.  Was it hot?"

His answer was startling to me.  "I was cold."

Interesting.  See, Fred and George were born with a condition called twin-to-twin transfusion, where their placentas fused together.  Because the blood vessels in the fused placenta ran together, it shunted most of the blood toward one twin and away from the other.  The "donor" twin is often born white and small, as he is anemic.  The "recipient" twin is born big and red, with too much blood.

And thus it was for our twins.  First-out Freddie was our big (more than 7 pounds!)  recipient twin, "hot borned" with too much blood.  Georgie was pale and small, just over 5 pounds.  We had a hard time getting him to perk up and breathe.  Yeah, I'm sure he was cold.  So glad we got to keep them both!

Interesting.

Distractions

I was calmly making dinner and went downstairs to the storage room to get a can of cream of chicken soup.  OK, with our family, it was getting four cans.  Suddenly, I heard panicky yelling coming from Chris's room.  It sounded something like a muffled, "Oh no!  I have a band concert right now!"  I wasn't sure, so I moved closer to his room and peeked through the doorway.  I saw a fifteen-year-old boy, hopping up and down on one leg while frantically stuffing the other leg into a tuxedo pants while yelling, "Mom!  We've got to go!"

Hate it when we forget about these things.  I put dinner on hold, raced him (fulled dressed by this point) to the junior high school (made it with just a couple of minutes before curtain), zipped back and finished throwing a broccoli chicken casserole together.  I barked out instructions to David and Eddie, located Angel and the twins, and rushed back to the school.

Whew.

I only missed the intermediate jazz band and the first number of the advanced jazz band.  Chris later told me that he had a solo in that first song.  Drat!  It turned into a double drat when he confessed that it was an unintentional solo - he was playing during a silent space.  He's a good sport.

I enjoyed the symphonic band playing selections from Lord of the Rings and Narnia.  I have some real favorites in those collections.  But just as the tempo picked up and the dynamic swelled, a clarinet would squeak.  Or the drummer started to lag.  Or the French horn missed his high note.  And I'm distracted.

So instead of focusing on the beauty of the music, and letting it fill my heart and soothe my soul, I end up picking out the mistakes and dwelling on the sour notes.  I realize that these are junior high kids.  They make mistakes.

It didn't really sink in until Chris's wind ensemble started playing a medley of some of my favorite Aaron Copeland pieces, that I was also making mistakes.  I smiled and shook my head at myself, then concentrated on being swept away by music.  I was alone, without any children to tend to, sitting in a new auditorium with great acoustics, listening to live music.  Don't concentrate on the errors.  After that, I was content.

I sigh and let the harmonies dulcify my jangled nerves.  The rhythms smooth my worry-wrinkled face.  It's Botox and Valium, but better.

To catch the beauty of the world around me, I need to not be so taken by the jarring distractions.  Lesson learned.

Reading

...can't blog today.  Have new books (ebooks).  Must reeeeaaaddd...

Dinner?  What's that?  Make a PBJ, kids.  

Need help?  Just a sec, honey until I finish this chapter...

The 90 Percent Off Sale

I'm giggling.  It's just funny how different two people can be.

All I'll say is that I got up at midnight to take this picture before he could hide the evidence.  And that the people at the store love to see him come in when they have put their clearance racks up.

If we might one day need one of something, then five are better, especially if they are on sale.  And if an item is normally of questionable use, then it is a no-brainer if it is on sale.

I love this man!  And I'm so glad that he puts up with my quirks, too.  Like when I get the giggles late at night.

Mothers' Day

It was a nice weekend.  I always worry about how Mothers' Day will turn out, but this year everything was fine.

I woke up on pillowcases that my grandmother had embroidered probably 50 years ago.  I wore my mother's pearls  - a surprise gift from my dad (to her and then again to me).  I got a "best mom ever" apron from the twins (thanks, thougthful church nursery teachers!).  I wore a silver signet ring from my Oma.  We took lilacs to my mom's grave, and then more to my grandma's and Trent's grandma's graves.  We had a nice dinner party with Trent's mother and the rest of the family.  A nice day....

...in spite of the fact that none of my children did anything!  Wait, I need to let David out of the doghouse here. He brought me a little project he had made in school, and he cooked me eggs for breakfast (trying, too late, for a breakfast in bed - bless his heart!).  He was my favorite, for sure.  Trent did get me the ebooks I had asked him to get for me, but left me to download them and install them by myself.  And I had to get the gift for his mother because he forgot about that, too.  And the dish for the family party.

So why was it a nice day?  I could have been so grouchy and mad at everyone.  I could have felt so martyr-ish because I do so much for everyone else, and then I get nothing on my day.  How fair is that?  I could have sunk into the depressive pit of despair and cried myself to sleep.  It's easy - I know because I've had all these reactions before.  And actually, it's not fun.

I was happy on Mothers' Day because I made up my mind to be happy.  I'm a pretty dang good mom, if I do say so myself.  And evidently I'm the only one saying it, so I can say whatever I want to!  I love my kids, I work hard.  I'm SuperMom - without tights.  Next year I think I'll make myself a neato costume, just for kicks.

But the Lord took away the sting of being forgotten and replaced it with his love.  I'm worth something, because He says so.  He gave me a gloriously beautiful day and lots of flowers.  This year, the holly bushes, the lilacs, the forsythia, and the viburnum all bloomed at the same time.  And the dandelions, too.  On Mothers' Day.

It was a nice day, and my heart is full.