Sock Ninjas

I have to share with you a little conversation I had with my son this past Friday morning. It happened as he and I were getting ready to leave for school just before we walked out the door. I was standing at the end of the counter loading the bag I take with me each day when I noticed John-Heath bend down to adjust his (crew) socks, which were then kind of just pushed down and not folded into a neat cuff as they had been when he first dressed.

John-Heath: Now, mom, don’t be mad but Chase likes ‘em.

Me: (thinking this is an odd statement) Likes what? Your socks?

John-Heath: No, my ninjas.

At this point he shows me four tiny toy ninjas he has hidden – two in each sock.

Me: John-Heath, you can’t take those to school. Ms. Timberly will not want you to have those in class.

John-Heath: Oh, I don’t get them out in class. Me and Chase (remember, he’s six so his grammar is still developing) like to play with them outside at recess.

Me: Well, then why are you putting them in your socks?

John-Heath: Because I don’t want my teacher to see them or my art teacher or music teacher or the cafeteria teachers…

Me: Okay, but if Ms. Timberly sees them while you’re outside playing and tells you to put them up you need to mind her. It will make Ms. Timberly very sad if you don’t.

John-Heath: Oh, she won’t. We play behind where the teachers sit and if they come over there I just hide them in my socks again.

Then as I dropped him off at school and gave him a kiss goodbye he reminded…

Now, mom, if you call up here today please don’t tell them about the ninjas in my socks.

A Lesson in Spelling

Obviously, (based on all the errors I find in my writing) I am not perfect when it comes to the task of spelling, but this is one I've known since being, as we Southerners say, knee-high to a grasshopper. Proofreaders and copy editors take heed...

M

I

crooked letter

crooked letter

I

crooked letter

crooked letter

I

humpback

humpback

I

Epson Salt for Facial Twitches and Tics

Hello, friends. Well, I am finally back to work after a nice spring break followed by a not-so-nice stomach bug that knocked both my kids for a little loop. Ren was sick Sunday. To be honest, I thought she was just trying to weasel out of going to church and I made her go anyway but about halfway through the service I realized she probably did feel bad and sent her on home. John-Heath's school was another rather unfortunate victim to our family's uninvited house guest in that he became sick once at school on Monday. Let's just say they had to bring out the ol' Rug Doctor for the office carpets.

Tonight, was bath time in the big tub for John-Heath. He usually showers in the mornings (taking a much longer shower than any other member of the family) and would take a tub bath every night if we'd let him, but I don't know that our town's water reserves could withstand it. Every so often, though, we'll allow him a tub bath just so he'll be able to soak in water loaded with Epson Salt.

A couple years ago while playing around on the bed one Saturday afternoon, he hit the back of his head so hard on the bed's headboard that he suffered what a pediatric neurologist diagnosed as Post Concussion Syndrome. Within hours after striking his head he began having facial twitches, which really looked almost seizurish and grew worse over the next several days and was joined by a loss of hand-eye coordination. Needless to say, we were very frightened and felt quite helpless.

Now, a few of the doctors were never really sure some of his symptoms were due to the hit to the head and thought it was just coincidental the facial twitches showed up at the same time as that of the accident. One said it was even possible he had just developed a tic (which is fairly common in boys that age, as I was told). You can go here and here to read my original posts on the incident.

During the many nights of Googling the topics of head trauma, tics, twitches, etc., I found several message boards with people who mentioned bathing in Epson Salt as a way to minimize facial and/or body twitches. So, we tried it and it did seem to help.

Those first couple weeks we put him in an Epsom bath at least every other day and then we gradually lowered it to once every month or so and then finally just "as needed".

By the end of a couple months John-Heath's severe twitches (in which he would squinch his eyes so tight it would draw up his cheeks and mouth) had been reduced to some heavy, repeated blinking. Occasionally, though, he would have flare-ups and we would bring out the Epson salt and again it would seem to help.

Well, we've noticed over the past couple weeks that some of the heavier blinking has returned so tonight it was time to throw a few scoops into the tub, which was more than okay with my little guy who will play in water any chance he can get.

P.S. Well, John just informed me that it is almost eleven and I am required to be at work in the morning ;) so I guess I need to turn in. Please overlook any typos, etc. This is strictly a type and publish post kind of night. Goodnight, friends.

I'm Still Here

Hello, friends. We are in the middle of spring break here in my little town/county, and this is the first time (I think) that I have even logged on to Blogger since my last post.

My daughted put as her Facebook status a day or two ago that spring break is a tease. I tend to agree. These days off have made me so ready for summer.

Aside from longing for summer to arrive, we have managed to get a few things done. I'll share those with you in a bit, but for now I'm going to turn in for the night and rest up for another busy day around the house. I'll see you in a few...

Carnton Mansion: A Lesson Learned the Hard Way

It should go without saying that light and art do not mix. I know this. If I were to ever take another art test and the question were posed about exposing artwork to natural sunlight I would always mark that it is wrong. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Yet, a little less than five years ago when John and I moved into our home we went right ahead and slapped our favorite print on a wall which receives ooodles of natural light. And somehow, over these last fifty-four months, the consequences of doing such failed to catch my attention - until just the other night.

In 1989, John, my husband the history buff, participated as an extra in the filming of a historical documentary in Franklin, Tennessee. The subject was the Battle of Franklin and his scenes were filmed at the beautiful Carnton Plantation. He played a wounded soldier. Alas, new to the whole acting thing he made the mistake of looking at the camera and his scene found itself on the cutting room floor.

When he returned home, however, he was almost as excited about a limited edition John Black print - Carnton Mansion - he had seen for sale as he was about being in a "movie." But, he said it was way too pricey to even consider purchasing. We were newlyweds. I was in college. He was the only one working (a real job). It cost $100. But I knew I had to get it for him. It would be a Christmas gift.

I had it shipped to my mom's house and later took it to a local frame shop. I picked out the frame and a trio of mats and was told it would cost around 75 bucks. So, I saved the little money I received from a college work-study program and when the time came to pick it up, it took every bit of the seventy-seven dollars I had in my wallet. But I was thrilled. I went directly home, told John to come to the car, and gave it to him on the spot. It was only November but I couldn't wait one minute longer.

Carnton Mansion was the first "grown-up" gift I ever bought my husband and because of that it has always held a dear spot in our hearts and been featured in prominent spots in our homes.

My purchase was also a good investment, as the print is today worth about twelve times what it originally cost. Well, it would be worth that had someone (myself) put a little more thought into its current placement.

Isn't it lovely? This is how Carnton should look.

And this is what we're left with today. Four years of sunlight through the three very large, high windows in our living room has reduced it to this.

Needless to say and too late to matter much I guess, but the print will be coming down within a day or two and placed somewhere else in the house. I know it may sound super trivial but it feels almost as if we've lost a piece of our history and I feel quite sick over it.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Oreo (plus a recipe)

By all accounts (and by "all accounts" I mean Yahoo, which, sadly, is where I get much of my news) today is the 100th birthday of the Oreo cookie. As someone who very much enjoys this little cookie- especially with a cold glass of milk - I thought I would pay homage by sharing with you a recipe.

The following was passed along by a friend who made a batch for me as a Christmas gift a couple years ago. Definitely NOT something you would want to eat everyday but OHHHH so good.

OREO BALLS

1 package Oreo cookies

1 package cream cheese

1 package white almond bark

1 tablespoon Crisco shortening

Crush oreo cookies (you can use a mini chopper)

Blend oreos with softened cream cheese until well mixed

Roll into balls

Place in the refrigerator to cool and set approx. 15-20 minutes

Melt almond bark and shortening

Dip rolled balls into chocolate, place on waxed paper and let set.

So simple and sooooo good.

P.S. Did you vote today? I did - even though it took a little longer due to an address conflict. One little mile cost me my place in line.

Recipe via Jan G.

Image via Google

Six Degrees of Davy Jones

First Whitney Houston, now Davy Jones. I know they weren’t the same age or popular during the same era but I was a fan of both. I especially loved Davy and watching him and the rest of the Monkees in reruns. That’s RERUNS, folks. I’m just shy of being old enough to have been around for the originals. Many Saturday mornings were spent watching them and often the theme song would become stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Hey, hey we’re the Monkees and people think we monkey around…

So in memory of “the cute one”, I thought I would share a connection I have to him. You know what they say about six degrees of separation, right?

In the mid-eighties (1986, I think), my husband John attended a Monkees concert at the Starwood Amphitheater in Nashville. He went with his girlfriend at the time, which was not me. I shan’t reveal her name, which was actually quite an unfortunate one. Anyway, their seats were close to the stage and when they arrived their friends, who were already there, pointed to the stage and said, “Look!”

John looks and sees Mike Nesmith (it was publicized that Nesmith would not be joining his band mates on tour) and says something really hip like, “Cool. He came!” His friend shouts back (apparently John and his girlfriend had arrived late enough that the concert was already in session), “No! Look again.”

And that’s when John notices that it is actually NOT Nesmith on stage, but instead one of his own best friends who would later serve as a groomsman in our wedding. John, again very hippily I’m sure, says, “Oh my gosh! That’s Chris O----!” You see, his friend, Chris O., could have passed for Mike’s twin, so much so that he won some contest that allowed him to take the stage with the band for a while. Which I do think is kind of cool.

And there you have it. I was practically friends with the Monkees.

RIP, Davy.


P.S. Wanna hear something else that ranks in the really cool category...Even though the 1986 tour for the Monkees was a huge financial success for Davy, Peter, and Micky you shouldn't feel sorry for Mike. It seems that Mr. Nesmith had recently inherited about a gazillion dollars from his mother's estate. His mom was a typist. Oh, and she INVENTED LIQUID PAPER!!! IN HER KITCHEN!!! IN HER BLENDER!!! Told you it was cool.