Fred is Dead

Fred the fish died on Sunday.  He was a good goldfish.  He lived a good long fish life.  Lydia purchased Fred two and a half years ago at Walmart.  He was 23 cents.  We already owned the fish bowl, so all we needed to purchase was a bottle of goldfish food, which ended up outlasting Fred.

Every time we left town for a few days, the kids would cart the fish bowl over to the neighbor's house.  Mr. P was kind enough to fish sit for us on numerous occasions.  Mr. P's grandkids loved Fred, too.

                                     Jude--hamming it up for the camera--he's over Fred now

We got home from church Sunday afternoon and found Fred on the kitchen counter.  I guess he took a risk and decided to jump out of the bowl and see what life on "the outside" was like.  It was a risk that didn't pay off.  Jude was especially sad.  "That was my favorite pet!" he said.  Fred was our only pet and now he's dead.

Memorial Day Plans Gone Awry

We had big plans to take a road trip on Memorial Day weekend.  We were going to go see my Uncle Keith and Aunt Leanna and catch a much needed change of pace on the farm.

When Matt woke up on Thursday morning complaining of a stomach ache, I didn't think much of it.  Tummy troubles are not too extraordinary for him.  When Paul's energy lagged all morning and he barely made it through his math lesson, I didn't think much of it.  When most of our family arrived at horse camp to see Elizabeth ride and Lydia began complaining about her stomach, I didn't think much of it.  "Go sit down for awhile," I said.  "It'll go away in a little bit."  When Joel complained on the way home that he felt like he was going to throw up, I didn't think much of it.  "He got too hot at horse camp," I thought.

It wasn't until evening, when I emerged from the work of putting my lesson plan together for that night's Bible study and found every single person in my family sprawled out on the furniture and the floor of the family room that I realized I had an epidemic on my hands.  THE STOMACH FLU.  The bane of every large family.

I went to Bible study without Grace, praying that I would not succumb to sickness before I got through the next few hours.  The Lord answered my prayers.  When I got home at 9 p.m., a very sick Matt had the carpet spot cleaner going to clean up Jude's mess.  Paul informed me that he didn't think we'd be going to the farm the next day.  I knew the kid was sick when I heard that.

I immediately went into prevent-any-more-puke-on-carpet  mode.  Years of mothering has taught me a few things.  I pulled old comforters to cover the couches, placed beach towels on the floor in front of all the couches and on the floor beside the beds.  Knowing they'd most likely need help in the night, littles were arranged in the master bedroom.  I pulled out just about every Tupperware bowl I had to give to each family member.  I steeled myself for a long night.  It was, indeed, one long night.

I got up the next morning to monitor breakfast and make sure no one thought his stomach was up to bacon and eggs.  Instead, I passed out Gatorade and matzoh crackers (good thing I found that awesome clearance deal right after Passover!).  I felt a bit run down, but thought I'd make the best of our change in plans to tackle some of my neglected to do list.  Wrong.  By 11 a.m. I was in bed.

For two days our family subsisted on little bites of bland food.  Jude finally gave up on the Gatorade because he kept throwing it up.  By Saturday night, Elizabeth was desperate for some real food.  I suggested she make the Pioneer Woman's Chicken Spaghetti.  She did.  Paul went full bore into the first meal he'd seen in several days.  Right after dinner, he regretted that decision.  After seeing Paul's demise, Elizabeth said, "I don't care if I do throw up.  It'll be worth it.  I finally got to eat real food."

So that was how we spent our Memorial Day weekend.  Every. single. last. one. of us (that's ten, in case you forgot) got the stomach flu.  And we survived to tell the tale.  I believe this might go down in the family archives as an incident that rivaled The Great Sickness of Deep Lake (at least in my mind it will).

P.S.--I'm sure glad I have a sanitize cycle on my washing machine.  It got a good workout this past week.  Also, I'm getting a little crunchy in my old age and I'm not really keen on the ingredients in Gatorade any more, so I did make up  Jessica's homemade version, which my family liked, but were ever so happy when they no longer had to drink it.

 P.P.S--Yes, both Matt and I had the pleasure of giving lectures on the importance of proper handwashing after we were all better.  Maybe Mom's not so crazy after all.  That's right, soap has to actually come in contact with one's hands in order for it to qualify as a proper handwashing.

Boys

I bought some interlocking bunny toys at a yard sale a couple of years ago.  The boys have recently rediscovered how fun they are.  Who knew one could make guns out of bunnies?

Best Meal in Town

Matt and Elizabeth prepared a lovely Mother's Day dinner for me (Grace was attending the symphony with her Grandpa Tom).  Matt grilled wild Alaskan salmon (caught by my dad) and fresh local asparagus. Elizabeth prepared quinoa pilaf and these brownies for dessert.  I'm loved and blessed.

Carnage & Encouragement

Our family attended the homeschool conference this past weekend.  While we were away, ten of Paul's chickens were killed by some sort of animal.  An eleventh chicken died of her injuries several days later.  One day it's chickens, the next it's feathers.  The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.  The egg production has been cut in half.  Matt will be looking to replace the lost chickens with new chicks, but they'll take six months to reach maturity and start laying.  If it's not one thing, it's another.

On another note, I was greatly encouraged by the talks given by Kelly Crawford at the homeschool conference.  She wrote a summary of one of the talks she gave at the conference on her blog, Generation Cedar.  If you're a momma, check it out here.

Mr. Paul, Knifeman

Last Monday Paul came to me with a request.  He wanted to send his Dad's knife away to get it sharpened.  It was the day before our annual Seder and fielding knife sharpening queries was not on my "to do" list.  However, I took the time to hear Paul out.  He wanted to send Matt's old Gerber to Indiana to be sharpened by an expert knife guy.  I asked Paul how he knew about the man.  "From You Tube," he replied.

"Aren't there any people here in town that could sharpen a knife, Paul?"  No, he was quite sure there were not, at least not at this particular man's level of expertise.  The man would even give Matt's knife the "spa" treatment to get it nice and clean.

Paul then handed me a pricing list and the man's phone number.  I said, "You call him.  Confirm his prices.  Ask him how we should package the knife for shipping, etc., etc."

So Paul called the guy.  He picked up right away.  The two had about a five minute conversation.  After Paul hung up, I asked him what the man said.  "He said he could do it."  That was all.  No further detail was provided to this curious Mama.  Typical man.

Anyway, Paul got the knife all packaged and we drove to the Post Office.  I jotted a quick note to the man which I stuffed into the box before we mailed it.  This morning, Paul found this video on You Tube:

(Edited to add--I had a super busy day yesterday and threw this post up without having watched the video in its entirety.  Last night I watched it.  Let me just say that both Matt and I are humbled by Mr. Bixby's remarks.  The truth is, we're just a couple of messed up sinners saved by grace who screw up this parenting thing each and every day.  But somehow, in spite of us, the Lord keeps working in our children and we're just flat out amazed by it.)

Joel's First Tooth

Joel finally lost his bottom front tooth.  The tooth had been very loose for a number of weeks.  I encouraged him to keep wiggling it back and forth to get it out.  He didn't want to do it.  The new tooth grew in while the baby tooth was still in place.

 So Lydia decided to take things into her own hands.  She marched into my bathroom one day with a stool and needle nose pliers in hand.  Joel was right behind her.  Lydia had convinced Joel that her plan would work, that he would indeed finally be free of his first baby tooth.  I said, "No way," before she commenced with her amateur dentistry.  If that girls isn't a Dean.

Anyhow, Joel eventually got that tooth out on his own about a week later.  He was pretty proud of himself.