Sports Tip

Baseball games started yesterday. The boys' team lost 7 to 6. Tonight they face the "best" team - only a game or two in, and there is already a "best" team.

Somewhere, sometime, and I don't remember where or when, I read (on a blog, I think) the suggestion to have your child athlete place his uniform in a mesh laundry bag (designed for delicates) so that it can go in and out of the wash together. No missing socks or washing the jersey and forgetting the pants.

I thank you, whoever you are, for this tip, and I pass it on to all you other moms gearing up for a sweaty, dirty season on the diamond. Off to rotate my wash.

Makes me laugh

When I grow up, I want to work for The Onion.

Thanks to Mama on the Move for this link:


Increasing Number Of Parents Opting To Have Children School-Homed


If you are not familiar with The Onion, please note that it is entirely satirical.

Foot and Feathers

If you ask your husband to hang a picture and he hands you a hammer and nail, does that mean "No"?

I suspect he is tired of coddling me. {sigh}

*******

"Just don't move," said the MRI technician as she walked away. The table and I, with my left foot firmly clamped in a flexed position, moved into the opening. As the light flashed and the machine started doing its thing, I realized that one toe on my left foot was feeling itchy. Somehow I managed to distract myself.

I had hoped to take a nap, but I had not realized how obnoxiously noisy the thing is. Loud humming would have been fine; that's about what my house sounds like most days anyway. But the rhythmic and arrhythmic banging had me thinking that somebody needed to be redirected to a quieter activity. Nonetheless, I must have managed to start to doze because the tech came in and chastised me for moving, and I had to do the last scan again.

Fully alert, I noticed that itch again.

*******

Today, the doctor called with the results. According to the MRI, I have cellulitis. I momentarily wondered if they did lyposuction of feet.

"Do you have a red rash on your foot or leg?" asked my doctor. I looked down past my cut off jeans to my bare feet. "No," I answered.

"Fever? Hot flashes?"

Now I suddenly felt middle aged. Lyposuction and menopause all at once. "No," I said again.

The doctor then said something else, which I more or less understood to mean that since I had no symptoms of a bacterial skin infection, she was not going to give me antibiotics, but that I should call her at once, even at her home, if I should develop a fever or a rash. OK, then. I've been checking my temperature hourly.

She also said that I had fluid in my ankle and she was going to refer me to a podiatrist. Interesting. My ankle has not been hurting me over the last four years.

In fact, since I decided to run the Ten Miler and have been dutifully doing my training program, I have felt very little foot pain. Today I ran nearly 3 miles and only stopped because I was tired and because I had to start school. It's hard to believe that a month ago, I was convinced I would never run again.

God is good. I asked Him to fix my foot, and so far, He has. I really can't complain about His methods.

******

Being a strong woman is all fine and dandy, but why do it if you don't have to? Well, I suppose to avoid annoying a husband who is tired of hanging pictures when he knows you are perfectly capable with a hammer.

My "friend, with a deployed husband, who lives down the street" called tonight and asked for help because a bird had flown into her house. I told her my husband would be right down. I suppose I could have offered her some suggestions or gone down myself to cheer her on, but it just seemed like a job perfectly suited for a man.

When he returned, successful in the task, I thanked him and told him that there were many many nights when he was gone that I cried because I had had to be self-sufficient all.day.long. I just wanted to spare my friend one instance of doing her husband's job. He nodded. I hope he understands.

I suspect, though, that the more times I send him down there, the more often he'll be handing me the tools to do my own requests over here.

Monday

Now that the rain clouds have dispersed, the weather forecast is calling for a week of gorgeous. My only disappointment is that when my husband went to install an "outdoor dryer" this weekend, a part was missing. We didn't have the time to return it, so it will be yet another week before I can hang clothes out to dry. I do so miss the smell of sun dried linens.

Is it Holy Week already? So much to do still.

MRI today

Bill just had to show me this prank. Hopefully my MRI will go better than theirs.

Not from these here parts

I vaguely recall learning grammar in middle school. Or rather, I vaguely recall being taught grammar in middle school. I didn't actually learn it. I am fortunate that my parents speak in grammatically correct sentences most of the time, so grammar class was mostly me wording things the way that sounded most right.




Fritz is learning grammar (being taught grammar), and he is doing the same thing: resting on his knowledge of what sounds correct versus actually understanding things like what it means to combine a helping verb with a past participle to form a compound tense (huh?). Up to now, his exposure to, shall we say, unrefined conversations has been very limited. Sure, we say things like "It's me" or "Who does this belong to?" but that's probably the extent of our poor grammar, and we know it is improper and we don't speak that way in formal conversations.





But, oh my, what my kids are hearing on the baseball field. "Where you at, Fritz?" I suppose it doesn't matter that the words end in a preposition...because it's not a sentence. It makes me cringe. Other things make me laugh: "Stop your jibber-jabbering on the bench and pay attention to the game!" Hoo, boy.




Now, not all the good ol' boys have Southern Drawls or speak like they were raised in the hills by moonshine swillin' elementary school drop outs. But there are a few other ways we Reitemeyers have proven that we're not from around these parts.




That ball cap Fritz likes to wear has this logo. Perhaps you recognize our favorite football team of frozen tundra fame? Down here they have never heard of a frozen tundra. In fact, I'm not sure they even know that there are football teams that don't have "State" or "University" in their name.







When the coach realized it wasn't the Georgia Bulldog logo, he forbade Fritz to wear it.







Last weekend, Bill went camping with the Cub Scouts. Our tent is one of these. We are 900 miles away from their nearest retail store.




Locals shop here.









One other way we show we aren't local: we don't know how to order a Coke, with a capital c. If you ask for a Coke, the waitress generally asks you, "Which one?" because in the South, coke, small c, means "carbonated beverage." A warning to Diet Coke addicts, ordering a Diet Coke might get you a Diet Pepsi without the slightest thought from your server that you might want a specific brand of diet carbonated beverage.



And we may never learn how to get a Coke without a lengthy conversation. I generally avoid "soda" (how I refer to carbonated beverages) and stick with water instead. Bill is trying to act like he's a native, so he's been ordering "sweet tea." And the kids like root beer and Sprite. So far, Sprite seems to mean Sprite, and not any old, carbonated, lemon-lime concoction.




Although I don't care if my kids think a soda is called a coke or if our supplier of outdoor equipment has a wide mouth in its logo, I do hope that my kids don't pick up the local jargon. In two years, if my son hears, "You ain't from around he-ya, are ya, boy?" I do hope he is able to answer, "No, sir, I am not."

The Very Thin Silver Lining

Bill was camping last night, and I took advantage of his absence to write an article for a magazine that is due very very soon. The editor asked me to incorporate "how my husband's military service has benefited my life in a positive way."

Right now, I am not a happy Army wife. This life is rough, new jobs require adjusting for everybody, and we've got residual issues associated with his return from deployment. As optimistic as I like to think I am most of the time, I was having a lot of trouble finding anything positive to say about this life he has dragged me into (it's all his fault). Finally, I managed to think of something.

Today, I was telling him of my struggles. "Did you finally say that all our separations make us appreciate each other even more?"

"Did you read my article?" I asked.

He hadn't. He just knows me that well.

Hoping it's good for the iTouch as well

For Immediate Release
March 19, 2010


Magnificat Launches Daily Prayer App on iPhone


YONKERS, NY - Magnificat USA, publisher of the monthly Catholic worship aid, Magnificat, today announces the launch of its daily prayer application on iPhone. Beginning on Palm Sunday, March 28, the Magnificat application will be available at the iPhone App Store.

Presented in a day-by-day format, the Magnificat app includes the following features:

• Morning, evening, and night prayers inspired by the Liturgy of the Hours
• Readings and prayers of each daily Mass
• Daily meditations drawn from the best writings of the Church Fathers as well as recent spiritual masters
• Essays on the lives of the saints from yesterday and today

Details about the Magnificat app:

• Available at the iPhone App Store beginning on Palm Sunday, March 28
• Free during Holy Week and for the whole month of April
• Free for the first week after downloading
• Rates: 99 cents per week; $2.99 per month; $14.99 for 6 months; and $19.99 for one year

About Magnificat

Magnificat magazine has become a worldwide phenomenon with nearly a million readers on five continents and in five languages. With 300,000 American subscribers, Magnificat is available in English-language and Spanish-language editions.

Magnificat is a pocket-sized spiritual companion beautifully printed on ivory Bible paper, that one can take anywhere at any time. The Magnificat app is one more convenient way of bringing the riches of prayer into the palm of one's hand.

March 17, 1966

I have mentioned before that my father stole fire from the sun. At least that's what his daughters believe.

He sent me this email a few days ago. Of course, I was raised listening to this story over and over again. It never grows old. I'm not a fan of falling or of drowning, so the image of my dad jumping from a helicopter into the ocean fills me with awe, even now. He has copies of each of the photos shown below. They are the artwork of my family history, as familiar as any family photo. Dad was nineteen years old at the time of this jump.

On this day in ARS History astronauts Neil Armstrong and David Scott blasted into space on the Gemini 8 mission. Their flight was aborted after only six orbits and the capsule splashed down in the Pacific Ocean 500 miles east of Okinawa. A three man PJ team consisting of Sergeant Larry Huyett, Eldridge Neal, and Glen Moore, jumped from an HC-54 to the spacecraft. This was the first time USAF air rescue forces came to the rescue of a Gemini capsule; and the first time PJs attached a flotation collar on a Gemini space capsule. The astronauts, spacecraft, and PJs were recovered by the USS Mason. (source data from Pararescue 50 Years)

This was a HIGH-visibility mission at a critical time. The PJs were invited on the Ed Sullivan show, and the publicity added support for approval of the beret and bloused boots - the distinctive uniform we wear today.


NASA Photo ID: S66-18603, File Name: 10074316.jpg Film Type: 120mm
Date Taken: 03/17/66
Title: Gemini 8 crew stands on deck of recovery vessel

Description: The Gemini 8 crew stands on the deck of the recovery vessel, the U.S.S. Leonard F. Mason, with three U.S. Air Force pararescue men. Left to right (standing) are Astronaut Neil A. Armstrong, command pilot; A/2C Glenn M. Moore; Astronaut David R. Scott, pilot; kneeling, left to right are A/1C Eldridge M. Neal; and S/Sgt Larry D. Huyett.




Photo source – submitted to USAF U.S.A.F. Pararescue Association Digital Historical Archive by multiple sources

Seeing Green

Savannah residents take St. Patrick's Day very seriously.

Baseball practice: canceled.

Ballet: canceled.

Even the Army was giving "training holidays" (a.k.a. bonus vacation days) to soldiers. Not my soldier, of course. But he is heading home, and it isn't yet 5 PM. Wow!

I ran to the grocery store, almost surprised to find it open. Mary and I were the only people there not wearing green.

setting goals

Crazy Friend #1 called me the other day. "Do you want to run in the Army Ten Miler?"

Boy, do I. There is nothing better than a big race to prep for that keeps you motivated to run. One tiny problem: my foot hurts when I run. The injury goes back four years (and when you blog about things like this, you can look it up and tell a doctor the exact day it happened). I had another x-ray on the foot two weeks ago, and the doctor put me in for an MRI, so perhaps it's something fixable. We'll see.

I would have to register in a few weeks for the Army Ten Miler or the tickets will be all gone, so I can't wait to see how the foot problem resolves itself. As I waffled on what to do, Crazy Friend #1 told me that Crazy Friend #2 was going to do it. Oh, the peer pressure. Of course, I agreed, and then called Crazy Friend #3 and convinced her to do it too. We'll have to make team t-shirts. Maybe somebody can come up with a cute name: CHARM (Catholic Homeschooling Army wives who Run like Molasses)?

I counted the number of weeks to the race (more than 30), and decided to do Hal Higdon's 8 week 5K training program, followed by his 8 week 10K training program, followed by his 10 week 15K training program. Today's 1.5 mile run wasn't too bad. I actually went about 1.75 miles because my foot didn't start throbbing until then. I haven't been able to run more than 2 miles since before Mary was born. Perhaps it will be a ten mile limp.

Another reason to raise strong daughters

NJ man accused of raping, beating 5 daughters :

"I'm sure my not standing up to him didn't help the kids."

Ya think?

Abuse continued until she left him. I will never understand this. I can not imagine the thought processes that keep women in these situations for longer than it takes to find the front door.

What's yours is mine

Mary and her siblings ate their fast food dinner in the car between picking the girls up from ballet and driving the boys to baseball practice. Later, when I sat down to eat my very hot potato soup at home, she climbed into my lap. I picked up a small spoonful, blew on it, and offered her a taste.

"Oooo, yummy," she said.

"Would you like a bowl of your own," I offered, "or do you just want to sit here and eat mine?"

"Eat mine," she said. Meaning, of course, eat mine.

Fabulously Creamy Tomato Soup

Two Lents ago, I was in Kansas (and, yes, it makes me dizzy to think that was two moves ago). The chapel on post did soup dinners before stations of the cross every Friday, as many churches do, and, as it was very child friendly, we attended every week.

One Friday, I was happily gulping up one of the yummiest cream of tomato soups I had ever had. A woman sitting at my table confessed to being the cook and generously gave me the recipe. I ate it often until the cool days of spring gave way to summer when I don't prefer to eat hot soup.

And we moved.

Last Lent, I remembered the recipe and searched high and lo to no avail. I poured through every online recipe exchange I knew of and found nothing that was remotely similar. I was disappointed, but I got over it and the recipe faded from memory.

And then we moved.

A few Fridays ago, my friend-who-lives-down-the-street-and-whose-husband-is-deployed invited us over for dinner (Bill was gone). "I have tomato soup," she said. "It's not YOUR tomato soup, but it's good."

"MY tomato soup?" I said. "What tomato soup?" I tried to think of the last time I had made tomato soup...and that had been two Lents ago...in Kansas...where I met this friend... "You mean from Kansas? You have that creamy tomato soup recipe?"

She did. She also explained that she had lost it, so she googled it and found it online. I don't know, maybe I spelled it "to-MAH-to."

It's the cream cheese that makes it delicious.


Creamy Tomato Soup

Ingredients:
1 medium onion, chopped
2 tablespoons butter or margarine
2 (14.5 ounce) cans diced tomatoes, undrained
2 (10.75 ounce) cans condensed tomato soup, undiluted
1 1/2 cups milk
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon dried basil
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/8 teaspoon garlic powder
1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, cubed

Directions:
1. In a saucepan, saute onion in butter until tender. Stir in tomatoes, soup, milk, sugar, basil, paprika and garlic powder. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and simmer for 10 minutes.
2. Stir in cream cheese until melted. Serve immediately.

Helping others by clicking the mouse

Via email:

Our Military Kids applied for a grant from the Pepsi Corporation called “Refresh Everything”. In 2010, Pepsi will give millions of dollars to fund good ideas that make the world a better place. Our Military Kids applied for a $50,000 grant award to provide grants to cover fees for enrichment activities for children of members of the Armed Forces who have died while serving our nation. Our Military Kids receives many requests from the families of these fallen service members, but to-date, our organization does not have the funding to award grants to these children who so richly deserve our support.

The good news is that the Our Military Kids’ idea for a grant to fund this new project has been accepted by Pepsi. Now Our Military Kids needs your help in order to receive the grant. Starting on March 1, you can go to the www.refresheverything.com site and vote for the Our Military Kids project to support the children of fallen service members. You will find the Our Military Kids’ logo, a picture of one of our grant recipients, a You Tube Video about Our Military Kids, and a description of our proposal which begins with, “I want to help children of fallen soldiers deal with the loss of their parent.”

All projects will be eligible for a public vote and the projects that receive the most votes will be awarded grants from the Pepsi Corporation. Please vote for our project and vote often. You can vote once every day during the month of March.

The children of fallen service members who died while serving our country definitely deserve our thanks and acknowledgement for their sacrifice. Our Military Kids can fund a new experience that will offer them excitement and joy. It may not take the pain of losing a loved one away, but it will assist children through the healing process. With your help we’ll be able to show them how much our nation appreciates them. Thank you for your support of the Our Military Kids program and the children of our fallen service members.

*************

My family received over $1500 from this organization last year, which went to pay for fencing and ballet for my children. Their funds are for families of deployed soldiers who serve in the National Guard and Reserves. I am pleased that they would like to include children of fallen soldiers as well.

If you go to Pepsi's site, you have to click on the $50,000 amount to find their listing. Or you can go here for a direct link to their ballot. You can vote for 10 different organizations per day.

Sleeping on the couch

While my husband was deployed (as in, not living with me and the children for six months), I took over his job (one I thrust upon him) as Awards Chair for Billy's Cub Scout Pack. Once a month I headed to the Scout shop and bought all the awards for all the boys in the pack and then filled out the necessary forms and cards. Once a month, things were a little extra hectic. No big deal. Organizations like Scouts rely heavily on volunteers, and that was one way we could do a big job without a daily or weekly commitment.

That pack was a very large pack and sometimes the awards were pretty expensive. I could ask the Treasurer for an advance of funds to purchase awards, or I could get reimbursed after the fact. The smart thing would be to get the money in advance, and I did once, I think. But, honestly, I never saw the guy who was the Treasurer. Nor am I really good at that sort of pre-planning. So, usually, I would use my credit card and then I would mail the receipts with a self-addressed stamped envelope to the Treasurer who would, at some point, not necessarily very quickly, mail me a check. I am fortunate in that we could afford this inefficient system. I do not recommend it, though.

One of the last things I did before we moved was put one last lingering receipt in the mail. It was for less than $50, which is not going to break my bank, but is certainly an amount worth the trouble to get returned. The check finally came in the mail today. Fine.

What gets me is not the length of time it took to get the check. No, what gets me is the message scrawled on the OUTSIDE of the envelope: "I miss you!!" (His exclamation points, not mine.)

Did I mention my husband was deployed while I did this job?

Dude, you're blowing my cover.

Ahem. Yes. Well. That looked just peachy to my husband as you might guess. Really, what was he thinking?

I, Naked

I'm not a big fan of Pull-Ups, mainly because they are expensive and, if you're trying to train a child to use the toilet, wearing a diaper is counter-productive. However, if you're not trying to train a child to use the toilet but she refuses to wear diapers, the cost of Pull-Ups might be worth it to avoid puddles on the floor if those pretty little princesses on the front convince her to stay covered.



My life right now is a little messy. "Mary, put on your diaper," I'll demand. "No, I, Naked," she'll respond. Well, hello, Naked.


The fact is, it is time to bite the bullet and train her. I really don't like potty-training.


I am amused by all the resources available to help a parent decide if the child is ready to be potty-trained. We don't wonder if it's time to teach a child how to use a fork or spoon. We don't ask all our friends if our child is old enough to be quiet in church. We don't look for signs to indicate that our child is ready to use words like "please" and "thank you." We just do it. Raising children is a process, not an event.







Experience with my kids has taught me one thing about toilet training: it is not so much the child who needs to be ready...it is the parent. Many people criticize the EC crowd by saying, "The child isn't trained, it's the parent who is trained." Perhaps. I'm not jumping on the EC bandwagon, but I would like to point out that these parents are not changing diapers, right? As I find out just how quickly I can dash from the dining room table to the bathroom with a naked toddler in my arms, I fail to see how the training process isn't parent conditioning as well, no matter the age you begin.


It would be nice if kids trained themselves. My daughter, Katie, did when she was just 2. It was great. Most kids eventually will. You might have to wait 5 or 6 years for that, though. And honestly, if diapers were socially acceptable, I think my older boys would prefer them to actually having to stop playing baseball or riding their bikes or chasing bad guys. Girls at some point prefer cleanliness. Boys, at least mine, prefer convenience.




Sometimes moms prefer convenience, too. That's where I find myself right now. Toilet training is work, and I just don't want more work at the moment. Or so I think. This toddler who presents me with stinky diaper in hand is surely not making my life easy. So I have put together a quiz to help myself and other moms decide if now is the time to begin training. Give yourself one point for every "yes" and a half point for every half yes.





1. Are you tired of changing diapers?





2. If you use primarily disposable diapers, are you eager add $100 a month or so to another line item in your budget? If you use primarily cloth diapers, would you like to have more hours in the week to do something other than laundry?





3. Is your child refusing to wear diapers (or screaming in agony if you force the issue)?





4. Do you have the patience of a mule? If no, can you fake it?





5. Do you have absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go for the next week or two? If no, do you have room in your vehicle for a kid potty and five extra outfits?





6. Do you think bribing rewarding your child with candy is a good way to get results?





7. Is partial or complete nudity of the trainee socially acceptable to all members of your household? If no, do you mind doing an extra load of wet and soiled clothes every day for the next week or two or three?





8. Do you have only tile and/or wood floors in your home? If no, do you own a steam cleaner? If no, is the outdoor temperature above 70 degrees? If no, do you have the patience of a mule without faking it as well as a supply of rug cleaner?





9. Can you run 20 feet in 10 seconds at the first indication of a need to "go"?





10. Are you prepared to observe closely and to drop everything the instant you hear a whispered "potty", see a child grab the crotch area, or notice that particular look on a child's face?





11. Do you know the location of every public bathroom for every single store or outdoor venue you plan to attend in the next few weeks?





12. Do you own a large supply of worn towels or rags?





Scoring





Less than 4 points: If you have children, they are still infants. Please realize that kids are messy. You need to budget for a steam cleaner and save those burp cloths for many future spills.





4 - 8 points: You like the idea of having trained children, but aren't ready to deal with the mess and inconvenience. Inevitably, you and your child will have to do this, but now is not yet the time. Work on patience, stock up on cleaning supplies and start noticing where the public toilets are.





More than 8 points: You are physically and mentally prepared to dive into potty training. It's not going to just "happen" miraculously, so get to it already!





I scored a 10, so I think I know what I'll be doing for the next few weeks.