Small Scribbles

There is illness in the house, a hacking cough deep in the chest, a general lethargy. Six of us are inflicted. One is healthy. One has a weird rash. It's nerve wracking but there is some humor mixed in as well. These chuckling scenes played out in quick succession and begged to be recorded in pixels. I broke out the camera to dwell on the joy, minimize the pain. One coughs and the healthy one cowers. Let's hope he stays healthy, he's on a plane in the morning. Synchronized coughing on the sofa designated for the plague. This needs a skull and crossbones. Sign on a bedroom door. It should really hang on the front door. And this. Whatever this is. We're going through rolls and rolls of the stuff. Ah, well. March in the Northeast is made for colds and misery. Who are we to escape unscathed?

John put pencil to PSAT this fall. He blacked in bubbles concerning interests and majors. He scrawled address and now the owls come. They drop beakfuls of college literature into our mailbox. John outgrew watching for the owls a long while back. He was happy to leave that to Claire and Faith and Charlie. Most of our mail is his these days so again he watches. Charlie and Faith and Claire are not happy with his meddling. John has a routine. Count the envelopes. Slit them open. Separate response cards from letters. Read the letters. Return letters to envelopes. Drop by websites of interest for a visit. Share gleanings from the daily dozen with me. "Mom, Bill Watterson went to Kenyon... Mom, I kind of like the University of Rochester. I can design my own major. There are no specified requirements." For a boy who thinks, lives outside the box, this has appeal. "Maybe I'll major in English or Mathematics. Maybe both." We're in the midst of a...

In September I went to a local fair with a fellow mama, I with my five mediums and she with her four littles. She coughed a bit through the art exhibits and the animal displays, and in November a surgeon slipped scalpel between ribs into lung. The cough is cancer. Body and life sliced open; sewn back together, different than they were. Grace pours down and friends, family pour in to pick up the pieces...laundry pieces, meal pieces, soul pieces. My family gets a piece too. A red-headed toddler comes to us early on Monday mornings while his daddy works and his mama mends. We get to keep him until dinner time and we savor the moments. His father hands him to me when I am in my pajamas and some days I hand him back still in my pajamas and I remember, This is how it is with little ones. The Doll Baby comes, takes charge, teaches my children lessons they've forgotten. Twelve years we had babies in the house and they who just were babies, who have spent a lifetime surrounded by ba...

It's been halfway to forever since I've clicked open this space. A move and a school year and a cobwebby middle-age brain to contend with. The little things race by without my seeing or recording and I don't know how to start here again. Words are work and need mind space to percolate. I'm already long on work and short on space. Where to start? A picture is worth a thousand words, they say. A new birthday lens and a few memories of the Fourth. I grabbed the camera to savor the things that made me smile. A yellow bird in the yellow sunlight in a cheerful yellow house. Buttercup, she's called. Girls in straw hats in a thorny tangle of blackberries. Fresh blackberry cobbler for breakfast. Daisies on the hills and insects fluttering up with each step in the grass. Fresh blueberries and cream cheese frosting on sugar cookies. Assembled by at least a dozen hands. Devoured by more than a dozen mouths. We laugh because a few years ago we carried these boys in backpacks and...

Charlie snuck out to the forbidden boxes in the garage, the ones holding the off-season clothes, the shoes, and his favorite, the boot box. "Charlie, put those back! You don't need them!" He lifted his serious chocolate eyes to my stern face, "But I do need them, Mom." And I gave in until he peeled them off his feet and slam dunked them down in the back hall. Then I pounced and returned them righteously to their allotted storage box. We played this sneaking/pouncing game for weeks. Charlie won. The garage is a long way from the shoe shelf in the back hall. Plus, Charlie was right; he did need those boots. Turns out they are an integral part of his vivid imagination. Charlie as Boromir . Charlie as Paddington Bear. Charlie as The Knight Whose Boots Always Squeak Yellow boots are for bunnies too. This is Charlie's newest stuffed animal, Peter. No, not Peter Rabbit. Peter Jackson . So how 'bout you? Do you have a kid with a vivid imagination and a great pr...

Part One: Calico Boy At the last minute, I thought to dash back into the house to grab a pillow and blanket and this turned out to be providential. Charlie rode to the pediatricians propped on John's shoulder, blanket in his lap. In the waiting room, he lay over two chairs, pillow under head, warm and cozy. The blanket covered all of him on the examining table except for one arm. This he had to expose to the vampires. "Don't hurt me. Don't pinch me! Don't!" Two pinches later, they had a small teaspoon of my son. He rested, head on pillow, and looked over my shoulder at the pages of Frog and Toad while we waited for the results. White count quite elevated. Strep...negative. Mono...negative. Leukemia...possible but unlikely. He needs anibiotics via i.v. Take these admission papers; the hospital is waiting for him. Blanket protected Charlie from drenching sky as I carried him to the car. One of the girls carried his pillow. Quick phone call to Stuart. "Meet ...

The gorgeous weather draws us out of our cave. We wile away the hours in our backyard... ...sunning... (Allegra stretches out in front of Faith's birthday present.) ... playing... (This photo shows only a fraction of the graffiti explosion on our back patio.) ...working... (Lauren and John dump six hundred pounds of salt into the pool.) ...working and playing?! (Kaya is all the rage with the younger set.)

We drive home; groceries spill out of bags; wipers slap raindrops and Kirk Douglas is on stage remembering his father in Before I Forget . He talks slowly, fighting stroke-impaired muscles to transfer thought to voice. (Here I paraphrase.) "My father wasn't around much when I was a boy," he says. "When we moved, he chose not to come along. But once, when I was five, I was in a play and my dad came to see me. He didn't say anything about my performance but after the show was over, he bought me an ice cream cone and that, that was my Oscar." The wipers slap, a spearmint plant slides off the front seat and I calculate the years. Ninety-two minus five. Eighty-seven years. Eighty-seven years later Kirk Douglas remembers the one time he knew he mattered to his dad. I drive by the Gas and Go where the men loiter with bottles wrapped in paper bags. I drive through the section of town where men sit on porches. All day they sit, play cards. I drive past the school wh...

We sit side by side at the table, uncommon fare on our plates, hotdogs and Sun Chips. Stuart's chips are gone. No problem, mine are close at hand. His hand reaches over and he snitches! He snitches just one but just one is not enough so, by and by his hand is back again. And again! I say nothing the first time or the second. What are two chips between husband and wife? But as he reaches for the third chip, I lean my body over to shield my plate. I laugh and he laughs and then he makes off with that third chip. "Get your own!" I gripe and he does, but honestly...How hard would it have been to share? Today I do math with little girls. Division with fraction remainders. "How many times does three go into twenty. Use your rods. How many ten rods do you need?" "Two." "How many three rods line up under the ten rods." ""Six." "So does three go into twenty evenly?" "No, there is a little space left." "What rod ...

I am never finished. I never arrive or achieve or accomplish. As fast as I begin to get the hang of a thing, another is set out before me to work through. I do not mind this for I love growing beyond myself. The task at hand? Do unto others... A thousand commercials tell me that I am the center of the universe. Billboards, magazines, and my own selfish nature spur me on to grab what I can, spend as much time as I can on serving myself. The end result of self-centeredness is loneliness and dissatisfaction in everything. Join in. This been the relentless message of the past few months. Fortunately the response of friends and neighbors to Charlie's struggle has given me a better direction. We've not lived here long and I often worry. Who can we turn to if we need help? A needless thought. Neighbors rallied and picked up and dropped off childen. People dropped by the hospital. Pastor, neighbors, and our favorite visitor...a young father who just started working for Stuart a few m...

Day Six: Regrouping Five bags in the trunk. 5 medical supplies in a Wal-Mart cart. 5 kids in the car. 5 repetitions of "Are we almost there yet?" High five! Charlie is home! If you are praying: Last night the pediatric ward filled up with children suffering from a nasty stomach virus. Hopefully we did not cart those germs home with us! John has come down with a cold so we are keeping him under quarantine. Charlie's immune system has got to be pretty compromised after seven days on three types of antibiotics. We also have another week of bandage changing ahead of us. The drain has been completely removed but Charlie still has a small open hole in his neck.

Day Five: Speaker Phone Prayers "Mmm. You look nice," Stuart said into my neck this evening. " A little sleep, some makeup, and a change of clothes will do that for a girl." Stuart stayed at the hospital with Charlie last night and I came home to get some rest and spend some time with the other kids today. I should have gone right to bed but instead, I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning updating the blog. Then I climbed in my big comfy bed with my big comfy comforter (ahhh!) and watched the end of Return to Me . Woke up at quarter of eleven, visited with our next-door neighbor , made lemon-raspberry muffins, did a little laundry, trimmed my hair and gave my son, Absalom , a full fledged haircut. Comforted Claire. This separation has been the hardest on her. The kids snacked this morning and we finally sat down to eat breakfast at three this afternoon! This confused the kids. They didn't know whether to do their after-breakfast chores or after-lunch chor...

Day Four: Psalm 91 The big guys have been holding down the fort off and on this week. Neighbors pop in to check on them during the mornings and in the midafternoon they ride with Stuart to the hospital. They've been impressive. I got home last night after being gone for five days to a CLEAN house. Laundry washed, folded and put away; dishes done; rugs vacuumed; beds made... They've helped each other with their school work and have put in about three full days this week on their own. The chore chart and family schedule have helped to give their days structure. The thing that has impressed me most is that they have come together for Bible study all on their own each day. We're beginning to see fruit. Hallelujah! Every morning around 9:30 or so, I called to help them get organized and to supervise as best I could via speaker phone. "John, no media this morning. Faith, use a small bowl for your cereal, that way you'll waste less. Claire? Is your bed princess worthy? Go...

Day Three "You have to print a retraction and take that Calico post off your blog, Mom." "No, John. It stays." "Why? It just shows how wrong you were." "Yes, sweetie, it does but to delete that post would rob God of the credit that is due to him." Charlie stood just a step away from Heaven's gates while we called him the Calico Boy. For weeks, the abcess grew, deep withing the recesses of Charlie's neck tissue; swelling invisible to human sight or probing fingers. Not once a fever, no sign of illness revealed until he began to sleep for long hours only two days before we brought him to the doctors. "The abcess was huge . It extended from just under his ear, down to his voice box and went behind his esophogus." The surgeon measured of span of one and three and four inches with his forefinger and thumb as he described the area to me. "He's lucky still to be here." The surgeon left the room Wednesday night and I sobb...

Day Two: Waiting Stuart, Charlie and Underbear Orange Popsicle#27 Charlie and the Magnadoodle. He drew a birthday cake and told his nurse, "Go get all the other nurses so they can see my picture." A minute later our tiny room was filled with six oohing and aahing nurses. The hospital staff has gone above and beyond for us. Last night, Charlie's nurse brought in a flashlight and helped him make his glow-in-the-dark underwear glow. Happy Birthday. Charlie's favorite stuffed animal. Here Charlie is coloring but mostly he told Lauren what colors to use where. His right hand is a little tied up. He was very disappointed when he discovered this made it impossible for him to play with his Gameboy. Waiting. A long afternoon at the hospital. Goodnight, Charlie. Day Four: Psalm 91

Day One: Charlie's Comfort It rained today, great heaping buckets of the stuff cover roadways and lawns. Lakes and river and little ponds stretch their borders and gobble up ground to store the abundant cache of rainwater. I saw this when I drove home today from the hospital to relocate the kids but mostly I saw grey skies dripping on a flat, black roof a few stories below Charlie's hospital window. It was a waiting day, and a pinching day. The vampires came to visit at six this morning and the phone rang at seven and these things brought the short night to a close. Stuart panicked at being away and came early. We waited for the doctor, waited for a diagnosis, for action, for anything. Our pastor came instead and he prayed and the phone rang during our visit. "Mom, we just finished Bible and we prayed for Charlie." I repeated his words out loud. "Pastor Rob is here, buddy, and you are making us look good." That got a chuckle. More waiting. Charlie sucked on ...

Come on. You are invited to the fancy dinner. Place: The Living Room Time: After the children are fed Dress: Thrift store fare. Formal (women and girls) Flannel (men and boys) It's become tradition, this fancy dinner. Tonight is the third edition. Women put dinner in the oven, feed the children, exchange jeans for gowns. Doors are shut all over the house as everyone dresses. Little girl eyes sparkle delight. Lithe bodies swish, swirl. "Look, Papa, Grandpa!" "Oooh! You're gorgeous ! So pretty!" Mamas appear from behind the closed doors. Mother bodies swish, swirl. Am I still? eyes ask. Am I still your beautiful girl? Yes. Oh, yes echoes round the room. And the men, the men that we love, lumberjack men in soft flannel, bubble over with good humor and cheer. We sit around the table. Velvet. Flannel. Sequins. Flannel. Taffetta. Flannel. And the children serve. "Would anyone like a glass of wine." Six adults coach five young ones through the art of pre...