It's Like Fetch

.... but with babies instead of dogs.  This is Peanut's explanation of the game she and Sissy played with Cute Little Nephew, wherein they would roll a ball down the hallway and Cute Little Nephew would squeal with delight while crawling at the speed of light to retrieve it.

I am thankful for my third Thanksgiving dinner, and for getting to meet my six-month-old baby cousin for the first time.  She is so sweet, I wanted to eat her for dessert.  Instead, I settled for the dreamy Oreo stuff my sister-in-law makes.

I am thankful for pumpkin and pecan pies that turned out very well, and for a clean kitchen right this minute.

Perhaps most of all though, I am thankful for leftovers.

Whatever Gets It Done

OK this is going to be quick - we're supposed to eat at 4:00pm and I haven't even peeled the potatoes.

The girls are washing up the "good china", which there is a bunch of, but they don't mind because:

1. These dishes don't have yucky food all over them and
 2. They are pretending to be servant girls in a castle with 1000 dishes to wash, and if the work is not finished by dinnertime, they will both be hanged.

Isn't that cheery? I thought so.


Happy Thanksgiving!

Remember the Alamo

Suddenly, powder-stained, Almeron was there.

"Great God, Sue, the Mexicans ...." 

All of Santa Anna's bands were playing the deguello together so everyone could hear it above the gunfire.

"....they're inside the north wall, hear them?"

Viva Santa Anna! Viva Santa Anna!

"If they spare you, save our child."

And he was gone.

Forever.

Every once in a great while,I discover a book that presents a paradox.  The book is sometimes educational, but always so rich and full-of-life that I HAVE to read it to my kids. Here's the paradox.  When reading it to my kids, certain passages evoke so much emotion in me, that I get choked up, consequently finding it very difficult to read the book aloud.

Such is the case with "Susanna of the Alamo" by John Jakes. 

It is the true story of Susanna Dickinson, the only white woman to survive The Alamo. 

I remember reading it to Brother 10+ years ago and how I fought back tears as I read the above passage.  I was pregnant with Sissy at the time and blamed it on hormones.  I've never been one to cry at the drop of a hat.

Last week as we studied the Mexican-American War, I read it to the girls.  This time I pre-read it, hoping to desensitize myself enough to get through the thing without losing it.

No such luck.  The same passage had the same effect.

 

In 1836 Susanna and her husband Almeron are a young couple in San Antonio. They have a baby daughter and a long life together to look forward to.  They are happy.

Then Santa Anna and the Mexican army ride into town.  Most of the town flees, but Susanna and Almeron are among the few hundred who stay, turning an old mission called the Alamo into a fort.

There is so much drama in the Battle of the Alamo, it seems like fiction.   Less than four hundred men hold off an army of 3,000 for twelve days.  Twelve days!  .... the famous "Victory or death!" declaration by Colonel William B. Travis ....  the presence of  Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie.....

My girls don't understand why I get so emotional ..... how could they?  How  could they possibly imagine what it's like to be a young wife caught up in this battle, spending a few frantic seconds saying good-bye to her husband for what she knows is the last time?

I remain composed for the rest of the book - although my voice wavers dangerously when Susanna proudly refuses the blanket and $2 offered by Santa Anna -  until the very end, when Susanna is told how General Sam Houston defeated Santa Anna at San Jacinto, and how Houston's soldiers shouted like wild men when they charged.

"What was it they shouted?", Susanna wants to know.

And my throat swells so that I can barely get out the words .......

"Remember the Alamo!"

She Lives

I have to break my silence tonight. Today I turned 42. Here's how my day went.


This morning while I was sitting in the rocking chair drinking my coffee , Peanut surprised me by bringing me chocolate chip waffles that Brother made. Brother made chocolate-chip waffles! I've never even seen him use the waffle iron!

Then Sissy and Peanut made my bed. When I observed aloud how sweet they were being to me today, Peanut calmly responded, "It's what we do."

They were extra helpful around the house, extra compliant about schoolwork, and they secretly made me a cake with their grandmother's help. Peanut also made me a paper crown.

My Mom and Dad gave me some money and told me to go buy myself something, which I happily did. I now have blue jeans without holes in them.

I got taken out to dinner.

And finally, my crazy husband bought me a brand-new laptop. If I were to list the things we need here in order of importance, a new laptop would be # 297 followed by # 298 - a hole in the head. But I'm typing on it now and it is a dream. I feel like I did when I was sixteen and got my first typewriter.

Why can't every day be October 2?
Wait..... then tomorrow I would turn 43 and the next day .... no I can't even think about it.
Once a year is plenty.

We Card Under 40

I was feeling pretty good when I got to the checkout counter at Walgreen's.

You know how you feel right after you color your hair? Like you just knocked several years off your age? That's how I was feeling. Probably because I had just colored my hair.

Also, I was wearing my favorite jeans and a top that was the perfect length -- long enough to provide strategic coverage, but not long enough to conjure up images of that tall Golden Girl.

Also, and the significance of this cannot be overstated, I was going on a full night's sleep.

So it was with a spring in my step and the confidence of a girl half my age that I approached the counter to pay for my purchases.

Suddenly there it was.

Facing me as I waited my turn, was a huge yellow sign that read:

WE CARD UNDER 40


Of all the times in my life when I was struck with the realization of how old I am, including the time Peanut marvelled aloud at my age, and the first time I ran into an old schoolfriend who is now a grandmother, I have never been made to feel so ancient as when I read those four words.

WE CARD UNDER 40. The underlying message was unmistakable:

For those 39 and under - have your ID ready. Please don't be offended by the inconvenience... after all, some of you look young enough to pass as minors, and some sixteen year-olds look every bit of twenty-three. We just want to be sure we're following the law.

If you're over 40 --- don't bother. There is absolutely no chance on earth we're going to wonder if we're making an illegal sale to you.

When my turn came, I laid my items on the counter, and smiled at the clerk. Smiling makes you look younger doesn't it? Silently, I begged her to card me. How do they KNOW who's under 40 anyway? 41 is just over the line. I kept my eyebrows raised hoping to pass for a 39 year-old who'd had a hard life.

No such luck.

There was some consolation in the knowledge that proof of age is not usually required for purchasing milk and nail polish.

I briefly considered asking for a pack of Marlboro Lights.

Deciding it wasn't worth the risk to my ego, I relaxed my eyebrows and left with all the dignity an old woman can muster.