Home Emergency Kit Failure

I hate it when the kids get sick or hurt. I love them. I hate to see them suffering, hate to hear them suffering too. V is in a particularly whiny phase. So when she jumped off the bunk bed and began wailing, I told her to buck up, be quiet, and put some ice on it: I was in the middle of Homeworkland with L-boy.

I gave her little ankle a gander about an hour later.

"Oh crap," saith I. A swollen, tender, red ankle. V screamed her protest at the exam, then doubled her volume during the torturous ten minute ice application. I looked everywhere for the rolls of ace bandaging. No dice. Looked everywhere for the ibuprofen. Nada. I did find some low-dose aspirin. I checked for flu symptoms. As I calculated the odds of V succumbing to Reye's Syndrome, I tried to remember that I received baby aspirin a bizillion times prior to my twentieth birthday with no ill effects.

[In fact, I had this little nap-time ritual in Kindergarten. As I lay there in the dark, pondering the injustice of the grownup-controlled world, I'd get a hankering for the chalky, vaguely orangish taste of a St. Joseph's children's aspirin, and I'd take action. I would rub my face until it was warm and red. Then I'd squint up my eyes, walk out to the teacher, and pitifully whimper, "I don't feel so good."

"Hm, you look a little flushed." (Oh yeah!) She'd touch my forehead with the back of her wrist. "You feel a little warm." (That's right!) "Maybe I should give you an aspirin." (SCORE!)

"My mom gives me two," I'd whisper. Two it was. I'd munch them happily as I slowly limped my way back into the classroom.]

Anyway, I decided the odds of aspirin-related death were low and the lucky child got to swallow her first pill. Since the ace bandages had disappeared, a couple strips of cloth became an improvised splint. (Of course every pair of scissors we own had mysteriously disappeared and I had to use a paring knife to cut the cloth, but hey, par for the course around here.)

Yesterday morning we took a little trip to the ER for X-rays. We had the pleasure of meeting P.A. Chin again. She's doing well. (Oh, did I forget to mention V's stitches a couple weeks back? That was fun too.) We're pretty sure that Mr. Ankle is not broken, but there could be a hairline fracture in the growth plate. Those growth plates can mask the little breaks. They're tricky that way.

Broken or sprained, that ankle needs to be pampered—no weight at all for a week or two, the longer, the better. Since she monumentally failed the are-you-coordinated-enough-to-use-crutches test, Vi got a cute little walker. Which she loves.

Not that she's using it, mind you. Crawling like a baby and begging mommy and daddy to carry her around is much more fun—for her.

So my dear friends, learn from my experience. Be sure to throw a pair of scissors into your emergency supplies, don't forget the earplugs, and be sure to hide the whole kit and caboodle from the pre-pre-med little folk in your household.

Silver and Gold Have I None

...but such as I have, give I unto you. A blog post announcing...

Sue's Blog Book Project

to benefit Stephanie and Christian Nielson

Everyone in the blogosphere and the bloggernacle already knows that Nie-Nie and her husband were severely burnt in a plane accident two weeks ago, but for my non-blogging friends I just want to let you know that this wonderful couple is in need of our prayers. If you feel inclined to learn more about their family or to help them financially you can click here.

Sue's book will be a compilation of some of the wittiest and most amusing bloggers' take on the theme "Sometimes Life is Funny." You can enter a piece for consideration. The deadline for submissions is September 15th, 2008. You can send your submission to Sue at sometimeslifeisfunny at gmail dot com.

I can virtually guarantee that it's going to be an amazing book. When it comes out, you can buy a physical book or an e-book and all proceeds will benefit the Nielson family.

I now go to dig in the depths of my soul to see if I've got any giggles in there. Go and do thou likewise.

Since Last I Posted

Ten days, come and gone.
A cat lost, a cat found.
A beautiful funeral for an amazing woman.
The first day that any of my children have ever attended a plain old normal public school.
(And the second.)
The first day of homeschool co-op.
The E-teen's first driving lesson (which oddly enough included no driving).
Our first two days on a comparatively firm schedule.
Four migraines.
Some gastric distress.
Hundreds of hives that come and go.
It's been grand.

Sorry, Kids.

Jami can't come out to play right now. She's got some homework she needs to get done. Enjoy yourselves and she'll come out again when she's all caught up.

I'm Not Talking About It...

...and you can't make me. But they are. And so are they. And it's looking like they are going to get into it too. And for those of you who can't get enough, here's one more. You can talk about it with them. Unless you'd rather sing "Kumbaya" with me. Or maybe "As I Have Loved You."

And now for a new feature I'm calling...

Name That Country!

All readers who correctly name the country pictured above will be entered into a random drawing to receive a delicious Toblerone candy bar. Entries will be accepted until 8 pm, November 4th, Pacific Time.

So Many Books, So Little Time

I admit it—I'm a dabbler. A fickle bibliophile. I know should settle down and get serious, but it's just so fun playing the field that I haven't been able to talk myself into it. Here's a partial list of my current flings in no particular order.

• Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling (Bushman)
  
• Chicken Tractor: The Permaculture Guide to Happy Hens and Healthy Soil (Lee, Forman)
  
• The Real Thomas Jefferson (Allison, et al)
  
• In Sacred Loneliness (Compton)
  
• Paradise (Morrison)
  
• Leadership Education: The Phases of Learning (DeMille/DeMille)
  
• Archimedes and the Door of Science (Bendick)
  
• A Disciple's Life (Hafen)
  
• Fascinating Womanhood and The Fascinating Girl (Andelin) [Man, in a really twisted way, these are two of the funniest books I've ever read.]
  
• The Measure of the Universe (Asimov)
  
• Eternal Man (Madsen)
  
• The Book of Mormon [Perpetually]
  
• The New Testament [Perpetually]
  
• Algebra 2 [Perpetually]
  
• A slew of magazines

Really I need to be reading, not writing, so off I go. I'd love to know what you are reading. Not that I would add it to my pile. No, no. I am totally on my way to being a monobibliofin. (Of course, it's a real word. Do you think I'd make something like that up?)

[P.S. It occurs to me that my fluffy books aren't on this list. That's because brain candy— romance, teen fiction, fun books, craft books, etc.—is generally polished off within a day or two and never hits the pile.]

My Sacrament Meeting Strike and the Tender Mercies of the Lord

I've been on strike for about two months now--no sacrament meeting (our worship service) for me, V-girl or C-Baby. Here's how it started.

About a year ago, a Relief Society (women's meeting) lesson on inviting the Spirit through music, quickly turned to the shameful lack of reverence (silence) during sacrament meeting. Mothers were failing in their duty to keep their children reverent (silent). Children were walking up and down the aisles during church. (Um, ow, mine's the only one who does that.) The constant din of babies and small children was ridiculous. No excuse for that kind of disrespect!

A few kind souls offered up the suggestion that perhaps the mothers were doing their best, that perhaps we could offer to help rather than stew in irritation. They and their kind suggestions were promptly shot down. (Pow. Pow. Ka-POW!)

The next week the lesson was actually on reverence and we (the moms of young children and their sympathizers) were toast. (Ka-POW! Ka-ka-ka-POW!) I left. Fast.

Then our meeting moved to the 1 pm time slot. My baby's nap time. Misery. Pain. Suffering. Every week.

So there I was a few months back, sitting in the foyer (as always) with two children on my lap, both hitting me, pinching me, bashing their heads against me and full-on shrieking.

"Let go! You're hurting me! I hate you," screamed the older one. "AHHHHHH! -et -o, hurt," echoed the younger. "I am a Child of God," sang the mommy.

Meanwhile all four of my other children were wandering through the halls aimlessly, in spite of the fact that I had asked them to stay in their seats while I helped the littles calm down and be reverent. My husband, the sleep-deprived chorister was sitting in a daze on the stand. Something had to change. I was going to snap.

On the way to church the next week, I reviewed our sacrament meeting expectations. Because we had (once again) played church reverently with stuffed animals, the kids were able to spout the right answers as I quizzed them. Do we walk around and visit with friends during the meeting? (No.) Why are we quiet during church? (So we can hear. To show God we love him.) How can we help each other pay attention? (Not fight.) Remember we have a yummy treat at home if everybody behaves reverently. (YAY!) So far, so good.

We walked into sacrament meeting. The baby began crying the moment we walked into the chapel. (She's no dummy. She knows how to get out of there.) We sat down and the middle kids began poking and picking at each other. (Ouch. Moooooom! He...) That was it: I was done. I filed the children out of the meeting, into the van and went home. I ate all the yummy treat by myself.

That afternoon I informed my barely-conscious husband that I was on strike. No more sacrament meetings for me, V-girl or C-baby. I showed him the bruises on my arms from last week's torture. He cocked his head, said "hm," and went to bed.

And so for months now, the bigs have been getting up and going to church with dad then the littles and I would come later, if the baby didn't fall asleep. I was completely unrepentant. I wasn't a wimp. Any sane person would have made the same decision. Even N-girl's sweet worry about my absences failed to move me.

Last week, however, I had a kid break, a math epiphany, and my spirit began to heal. I told God on my way back to my real life that I was ready to go back, to do it again. I told my family when I got home. N-Girl was overjoyed. My husband said, "Hm," and went to bed (got to love night work).

Dutifully, with a vague sense of dread, I went to sacrament meeting on Sunday. Unfortunately, I was unprepared when the baby had a horrifying diaper, so I missed the majority of the meeting taking care of the mess. I missed the announcement that our meeting time was moving, four months ahead of schedule, to the delightful 11 am time slot. Never, in the twenty-five years I have been a member, have I seen a mid-year time change that didn't involve a re-organization of some sort.

So to recap-Jami snaps; Jami rebels; Jami stubbornly persists in her rebellion; Jami feels the Spirit; Jami repents; Jami does the right thing; Jami blinks in disbelief because something just got easier; Jami blinks back tears.

Tender mercies? For me? Oh, thank you, God!

Math? Who Knew?

I went to school with a guy who my sister and I called Perfect Steve. He could write, act, ballroom dance, play two musical instruments, sing, do advanced mathematics and science. He was wise, kind, funny, spiritual, and didn't look like a troll. I would have fallen in love with him except he was several years younger than I was. He graduated from high school early and headed off to college where he majored in math of all things.

I was chatting with him during his sophomore year and asked him how he could stand it. Why in the world had he chosen Math when he could have studied anything? What is there to even learn after calculus?

My questions sent Perfect Steve into an enthusiastic description of the joys of mathematics, the orderliness, the questions, the answers, all truth turned into neat little proofs. He began describing the sheer exhilaration of being able to mathematically turn a sphere inside out.

At least that is what I was able to gather. He lost me pretty quickly. I stopped him and told him I would just have to believe him. I knew that it would take me years of studying math (of all things) before I could understand anything he said. Sorry. Love ya, Steve. Still hated math.

So last week I promised to return with a report about my experience at my homeschool training last week. What in the name of all long-windedness does Perfect Steve's sphere have to do with my LEMI (Leadership Education Mentoring Institute) training? The LEMI trainers have finally given me the vision that Steve was trying to share.

Math is cool!

I want to know how to turn a sphere inside-out mathematically! I want to know enough that I'm willing to work hard for the knowledge. Years, if necessary. I want to thrill my kids and students with the sheer exhilaration that is to be found in asking questions, finding and analyzing patterns, in math. Of all things.

Thanks for trying, Steve. Thanks, LEMI: I needed that.

For the fun of it, here's a picture of a sphere turning inside-out.

[For you TJed/LEMI=a cult folks—I'm running the final blood tests now, but preliminary testing shows that no mind-altering drugs were administered to create a delusional epiphany. Other than chocolate, of course.]

I'm infiltrating the Thomas Jefferson Education reactionary, fascist, evil training scam this week.

Gentle Readers,

There been much lip-flapping and hot air blowing on the subject of TJed and LEMI and Oliver DeMille. I'm not naming names but a certain person has been so nasty about the entire TJed community that I wonder if Mr. DeMille didn't leave said person at the altar at some point.

So, gentle readers I am going to a LEMI training Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I shall relentlessly dig out their logical fallacies and expose their illegal pyramid scam.

I still have a lot of reading to do, and so it is with regret that I must inform you that I am walking away from my computer until Sunday. It's true. Please come back next week to read my expose on the reactionary, evil, dangerous, fraud-riddled homeschool scam of the 21st century.

Most sneakily yours,
Jami La

My sister and I are morbid.

I could be wrong, but here's some strong anecdotal evidence.

One summer thirty years ago, my mother decided that she would have no summer brain atrophy among her children, so she handed us 100 Best Loved Poems and told us to pick one we liked and memorize it. We did. We can still recite both poems.

(Notice the common the common morbid theme in both poems. Pure coincidence.)

(Notice all of those stinkin' indentations and dashes. Did you know that you have to stinkin' use HTML code to make those happen? Can I get some stinkin' applause, please?)

(Go ahead read them out loud. They're kinda cool. Plus if you read them out loud, you'll feel the lovely cadence AND people will look at you funny.)

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
     In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
     By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
     Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
     In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
     I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
     Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
     In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
     My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsman came
     And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
     In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
     Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
     In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
     Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
     Of those who were older than we—
     Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
     Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
     Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
     Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
     Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
     In the sepulchre there by the sea,
     In her tomb by the sounding sea.

—Edgar Allan Poe



O Captain! My Captain!

                                            1

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
     But O heart! heart! heart!
          O the bleeding drops of red,
               Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                    Fallen cold and dead.

                                            2

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
     Here Captain! dear father!
          This arm beneath your head;
               It is some dream that on the deck,
                    You’ve fallen cold and dead.

                                            3

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
     Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
          But I, with mournful tread,
               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                    Fallen cold and dead.

—Walt Whitman

V & W are right next to each other.

V & Westley

Life is Pain...Anyone Who Says Differently is Selling Something

In the eighties, my sister, my mother and I, separated by hundreds of miles, had a bonding ritual. Each week we would watch "Star Trek: The Next Generation" then call each other to have a little trekkie chat. My sister and I were completely unified in our mockery of Counselor Deanna Troi, an empath, a really irritating empath. She'd stand on the bridge, stare out into space and look pained. "I sense confusion [pain/sorrow/negative emotion
du jour]" We were fairly certain that a good laxative would take care of poor Deanna's constant suffering.

Recently, I've felt a bit like the well-intentioned, but infinitely mockable Deanna as I stare into the vast Internet and feel the suffering. I wander around peeking into the lives of amazing people, their marriages, children, jobs. Their tragedies. It hurts and a laxative has given no relief. The pain is spiritual: the death of a loved one, the loss of faith, mental illness, disability, unemployment, poverty, pregnancy complications, the sorrows of real people I have come to love.

I promised when I was baptized that I was willing to mourn with those who mourn, to comfort those who stand in need of comfort. When a local friend has a miscarriage, I can hold her, cry with her, bring her a casserole and some helpful herbs. When an Internet friend suffers a miscarriage, all I can do is cry and pray that someone will hold her, bring her a casserole, and maybe some helpful herbs.

Perhaps there is some wisdom in the concept of not becoming emotionally involved with strangers, but as I ponder the Savior taking upon himself all of the physical, emotional, and spiritual pain of the world, I have a have a hard time believing that emotional distance is how we become more Christ-like. So I pray and occasionally send a poem. It's really all I can do which is, I guess, better than what Deanna, the hand-wringer, would do.

Life is pain. The joy that the scriptures talks about is not smiling through the death of a child, or humming happily as someone relearns how to walk. It is an eternal joy that comes when Jesus who vicariously suffered for us, who knows and loves us, removes the pain, brings peace to the troubled, heals the scars, and makes us whole again.

Our House is a Very, Very, Very Fine House...

...with two cats in the yard. And I get to keep them. Hurray! Hurrah! The La household gives an nearly unanimous cheer.

To the ever patient La Man, I love you! The La Kids love you! And just to irritate you, the cats will love you!

This one came with a name—Westley. As you wish...

And we've named this one Edward after The Edward of Twilight fame. (I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of twin puncture marks on my thumb.)
A list for my mom:
Positives

1. They love being touched. (Kid overload occurs, frequently around here.)
2. They are so gentle with the little ones. (A must.)
3. They like outdoors. (Requirement.)
4. Litter box use? Perfect. (Non-negotiable.)
5. And they are young enough to qualify for the super-cheap neuter. (Nice. Very, very nice.)

Negatives:

1. I owe my man a serious concession somewhere down the road.
2. I hate the litter box.

Why, it would appear that the positives outweigh the negatives! Woo-hoo! If I could make my blog do a little happy dance, I would.

Most Embarrassing Combo Purchases

The previous champions were a pharmacy combo: birth control pills, migraine meds & anti-depressants. (No really, Ms. Pharmacy Tech, I am perfectly normal. It's all under control, really. Stop LOOKING AT ME!)

Yesterday's contender: the mega pack of toilet paper, antidiarrheal medication & saltines. (I chose the self check out, but I still think the person behind me in line might have been looking at me.)

And you? What have your red-faced purchases been?

Three Miscellaneous Thoughts in No Particular Order

1. I hate my pop-up blocker, but if I don't use it my computer begins chanting dirty limericks at me while chorus lines of leprechauns high kick their way across my screen. Very scary. But it is also very scary that I am developing unsightly muscular bulges in the fingers on my left hand, from having to press Ctrl & Alt to override the stupid pop-up blocker every time I want to make a comment or click a link. So here's a little plea...for the sake of my poor children who have to appear in public with me and my weirdly muscled Pointer and Tall Man, please make it so I can just click on your links and have my browser just magically go there. Pretty please.

2. I brought home two little kitty brothers tonight, because I'm a softy. I'm banking on my husband being a softy too. Not about the kitties (no chance of that), but about the kiddies, begging to keep the kitties. Perhaps I'm being a teensy bit over-optimistic. I hope not.

3. I've made part of my decision about the homeschooling issue. V-Girl and L-Boy will most likely be going to school. My middle school kids, N-Girl and J-Teen, will be homeschooled. E-Teen remains in limbo. Four out of five decisions ain't bad. Especially for indecisive me.

Hey, I promised miscellaneous and I delivered. Impressive, aren't I?