"Mommy, is this number 7?"

It was the first day of unleavened bread where I got to see and spend a little time with my sister and her family. I had been holding baby Sebastien for a while, and as he started to doze, it was almost time for the second service. So I laid Sebastien on his blanket where he decided he didn't like it as well as my arm and started to fuss.

Meanwhile, little Jean-Philippe says, "Auntie Sarah, is this number seven?" Hmmm, what could he be talking about? So I said, "no, this isn't the 7th day, but the first day of unleavened bread...so, it's number one." Confused and in disbelief that he could be wrong, he turned to Anna and said, "Mommy! Is this number seven? Or is it number one?" Mommy replied, "yes, this is number seven." Jean-Philippe looked at me. "This is number SEVEN!" Well, what does auntie Sarah know?


I shouldn't have questioned the four year olds' intelligence. I looked to Anna and said, "Mommy? What is he talking about?" Being so close to the start time of the second service, they always play the hymns to send subliminal "time-to-sit-down" messages. As it turns out, the hymn that was being played was you guessed it: number 7! What four year old can tell you the hymn number by just hearing the music? What ADULT could tell you the hymn number? Will Jean-Philippe ever be able to trust his auntie Sarah again? Perhaps after I learn the hymns myself and one-up him...but until then, I'm sure he'll always question the one who thought hymn number seven was number one! I mean, wouldn't you? 



A Busy Time of Year

Perhaps it's all in my head, but it seems when the Spring Holy Days come, so does everything else. The flu, new dog, allergies, new job...

So, I've told you about Polly. And she's great, but it's back to getting up in the middle of the night; going outside every hour in the day to keep from accidents in the house. It's nice that I can

take a break from my own projects, but sometimes all those breaks make one project last all day. The flu put me two weeks behind in my  deleavening, so at this point, it's like I need to be getting at least 3 projects done in a day. By the end of the day, I go over my list of what needs to get done and make half an "x" through one item. I'll finish the rest of that tomorrow.

Did she say, new job? Yes, Sam took a new job. There's a long-ish story to it, but I'm going to be out of character here and not go into all the details because I don't think the whole Internet world needs access to it. Sam loved his other job, and the people there--and they were happy with him (I mean, his boss had driven something like 80 miles just to bring us homemade chicken-noodle-soup when we were sick!) But without burning any bridges, he took a new job (after time and much counsel) that was offered to him.

And so, with a new job comes change; change in big ways, change in so many details. Different phone, computer, insurance, vehicle, etc, etc. All these things hit at once and we've found that it's a perfect environment for bad attitudes to creep in unawares, because who likes changing when they're already comfortable? Yes, I can tell it's Spring Holy day time!

The new job called for a cake--though, it did feel a little sinful baking a big fat cake the week before the days of unleavened bread. It was delicious! But can you go wrong with Betty Crocker's cake mix? It was originally a vanilla cake, but I turned it into a lemon cake, with lemon cream-cheese icing (Wendy, that's the best recipe EVER!) You can see my last minute decorations. I just never know when to stop decorating...like when is enough, enough? I added the words, then the strawberries, then some blueberries on top, then some sprinkles, then some blueberries on the side. Before I could ruin it with real lemon slices, I quit while I was ahead.

While deleavening, I came across a box of ice cream bars. I shoved them aside and continued to clean the freezer. The following day, I got some chicken out of the freezer for dinner. I caught another glance of the ice cream bars. I quickly did a run through in my head of the ingredients in the bars: "chocolate coating, peanuts, caramel, and ice cream." I started to laugh at myself for even considering the possibility that ice cream bars (with no bready anything) would have leavening in them, but I reached for the box anyway.

 ..."blah, blah-blah, blah, blah-blah, sodium bicarbonate, blah, blah-blah, blah, blah-blah."...wait what! Isn't that baking soda? Shocked I was to find that creepy little ingredient in my ice cream bars! I was so floored, I started checking the ingredients in literally everything....yogurt, milk, ketchup. There's a reason we examine ourselves--we find we're not as spotless as we were so sure of. God can only do so much--I have to be doing my part to start with.  

Allergies. What can I say about them other than they suck? I wrote a blog about allergies last year. They've struck again! It seems early for their attack, but alas, the trees are budding already and my hyacinths have come up and are blooming. However, with everything else looking dead and shabby, they just don't seem to look as pretty.

It's Sunday morning, and the day is afoot. And so I must keep up with it. I will see you on the other side of the beginning of the Spring Holy days! I hope everyone has a most enjoyable Night To Be Much Observed. To those who are hosting this year, we're wishing you much success! It's always exciting to serve in that way.

Happy trails!

When Harley met Polly

Polly said, "rar rar rar rar rar!" So Harley did what most males do--wondered what in the world she was going on about.

A couple Sundays ago, we brought home a playmate, friend and sister for Harley. Her name is Polly. It's funny to see the differences between them when Harley was just a pup. He was calm yet playful, very quiet, and a slow learner. Polly is definitely a girl with something to say about everything, ready to attack Harley at every corner, and she's a quick study. She's already obeying the "go potty" command (and she's only 7 weeks). She gets the idea of "no," however she's a diva; obedience comes with an attitude.

Harley tolerates his baths and at times, when the water is just right, he seems to enjoy it. He doesn't love the hair dryer, but he lays there and "takes it like a man."

Polly has had two baths since we've had her and she becomes cat-like. On the bath side of it, she becomes stiff and all Frankenstein-ish. And yes, she thinks she can tell me the what-for. She hates the hair dryer and claws at me to escape. After a while, she decides playing the pitiful puppy will work and she starts to whimper. When it doesn't work, she lets out sharp yells like she's being endlessly abused or something. All I can think is: DRAMA QUEEN!

At times the two play rough together where once again she gets vocal. Harley can get aggravated with her get a little aggressive--I guess even dogs can build steam and explode! Still, other times I turn around to see precious things like this:

And when Harley gets in trouble for playing too rough with her, she comforts him.

The two have the same father but different mothers. They may look completely different and have two completely different personalities, but I think I've found a common gene in them...

 

With Harley being well trained already, it's made Polly's training a little easier. For example, when I say, "Let's go outside!" Harley knows what it means and immediately heads for the door. Polly is constantly at his heels, so she comes running too. It's been two weeks, so now when I say, "Let's go outside!" Polly is the first to go running to the door! I wasn't sure what to expect in training another puppy, but I gotta say, it's kinda nice. :)

In 6 Days...

When Harley woke me up this morning with a bark, I hopped out of bed and stopped. Wait a minute. No dizzy spell? 

Rewind.

Wednesday morning, the alarm sounds at 4:00. I pry my crusty eyes open, reach for the clock. My body hurts. Back to sleep. Harley barks. I slip out of bed. Steady myself. Take Harley out to potty. Crash on the couch. Harley jumps on the couch and sticks his face in mine--and I don't care. Sam comes out in his robe.

Day 1: The Flu.

"I think I'm dying," says I.
Sam grunts. He must think he's dying too.

We sleep more.

Sam reminded me of a post on google+ that had a kick-the-flu-quick recipe.

Recipe: 6 squeezed lemons, 2 tbsp honey, 3 cups pineapple juice, 1 bulb garlic, 1/4 tsp cayenne pepper, 2 tsp ginger powder (blended together). A cup every few hours and you'll have the flu licked!

I made a quick run to Food Lion for the ingredients I lacked, then made the wonder-juice. I took two gulps and I was hurling over the pot. Sam managed to kick back a whole glass with no side effects--except aftertaste. He never braved another cup.

Day 2: Sore throat and fever.

Just when I didn't think the flu could get any worse, Thursday morning I woke up to the addition of a sore throat.

The "fever check" has always been a hand to the head. So when I was reminded that I actually have a thermometer, I got a little excited about being able to check my temperature. It was 103.

It was a sad, miserable day. I called our minister for anointing. He said I didn't sound like myself--I'm sure he meant to say I sounded like Sam.

I called our 68 year old neighbor lady who suddenly disappeared two months ago, but this time, she actually picked up the phone.

"I finally had surgery," she said. Hip surgery.

"Well Pam," says I, "you can only imagine what we thought when we saw them carrying your mattress out the door!"

"Yes, I can't do without my mattress," says she.

Day 3: Immobility.

Still sick, weak and miserable, whether I was really able to walk or not, I played the more pitiful role and crawled my way to the pantry to get Harley his food. I sat on the floor exhausted. Once his bowls were refilled, I crawled back to the living room and sunk myself into the couch. Harley thought it was a game and as always, assumed his character: playful friend.

Day 4: Scotch.

By this point, sabbath had arrived and we were zombies.

Someone mentioned "scotch" to me a couple different times--all in jest. But perhaps because of my delirious state, I suddenly thought taking a swig might help. So I did. Wrong. Once again, I assumed my position at the toilet bowl.

It was not a happy Sabbath.

Day 5: Chicken noodle soup and Daffodils.

The day is Sunday and Sam gets a call from his boss saying that they're bringing over some home-made chicken noodle soup for us. They live an hour away. What special people!

(Sam finds two more of Harley's teeth).

The soup arrived along side a vase of daffodils--now sitting atop our tuneless piano.

The soup was delicious! Harley ate the portions that fell down my chin and onto to my lap. He loved it too.

After five days, I lost 13 pounds.

Day 6, here we are, Monday, and I'm feeling "better." Not 100%. Everything is still settled in my chest where it reaches up to tug on my tonsils and swing on my bobber-wobble, making me cough every 5 minutes.

What does it mean when you reach to position your glasses better on your nose, and as your finger meets skin you realize you're not wearing your glasses? Just happened.

We can only go up from here!