Live Long and Prosper- Ollie and Enrico

“Today we bid a fond farewell to Ollie and Enrico,” Ian announces.

I look up from my Sci-Fi book and consider a mad leap into another interesting dimension—a conversation with my son. While sitting in the doctor’s office the past few weeks, we’ve enjoyed a little one-on-one. Through these choice moments, I think I’ve discovered that my son’s primary love language is quality time (quality talk time).

I shut my book and look inquiringly at the kid, who is scanning the anatomical flip charts on the wall, (no doubt memorizing all the potential bones of the hand that he has yet to break.)

“Enrico and Ollie?” I ask bemusedly, knowing the names have meaning, but wondering if I have time to hear the whole explanation in the two hours we have left waiting for the doctor.

It seems he has named the two pins that have begun to protrude from the healing joint in his pinkie.

“Yup,” he responds. Ian has had a proclivity for naming inanimate objects since he was a toddler, when Rope and Rock were his best friends. "Oliver Cromwell and Enrico Fermi."

“Right! ...huh?” I give my typical response that means, “Gee, I can’t wait to further clarify my ignorance of history, current affairs and future scientific theory.”

He waits and shuffles to the next flip chart--the one about feet. (He has honed the science of the pregnant pause.)

I finally break, “Tell.”

“Well, Ollie of course for Oliver Cromwell.”

“Ha! The warmonger.” I knew this! Last night was the cram for the 20^th Century history exam and I wandered by the computer room at a crucial moment to sneak a peek over his shoulder and I spied that name! HA! I could have figured that one out—given enough months.

“And Enrico,” he speaks as if uninterrupted. “for Enrico Fermi, the Italian Nobel prize-winning nuclear physicist.

Whew. It’s as innocuous as that. This time I can totally follow his reasoning.

He’s been laid up with this incapacitating injury, (forcing him to turn the pages on his books with his right hand) with nothing more to do than further his fixation with history, wars, and battle accoutrements. He will ace the 20^th Century final because it aligns nicely with his life-long pursuit of the trivial.

My smugness is interrupted by his next words, “Fermi of course is for ferrum, Latin for iron, whose chemical element is FE, and Cromwell…” I begin to sense the familiar crack appearing in that whole other dimension.

“… is Chromium, which is CE,” and there it is, the creation of a black hole and I’m sinking.

“Combine CE with FE and add ME.” Here he breaks into his standard grin that forewarns that he is about to go witty, “I, of course, am carbon” he smirks.

“… and that makes up the chemical compound of the two pin’s composite makeup,” he ends in triumph.

“Huh? ” again me, with my brow furrowed and my mouth ajar.

“Stainless steel,” and with that pronouncement, he goes back to the chart and continues his insouciance.

“Duh!” This wasn’t actually verbalized, but it’s the same.

“That’s nice, honey.” I murmur. I give the standard parental response that's been used since the dawn of time for teens to disguise a parent's pure panic or confusion.

Often I revert back to the sage advice, “Never let them think they’ve thrown you. Just cling to the edge frantically and eventually they will toss you a line. Or if you are lucky, they will just leave you there to dangle in peace.

And he does.

I cower on the bench, fumble with my book and wonder where in the Universe will this darling ever find his place to Live Long and Prosper.

Coffee and Cake

Headed next door for coffee and cake... well, rather cocoa and GF muffins. We're substituting it for walking today. Butts bigger instead of cardio? General consensus is that it's worth it.

No photo--butt too big to fit.

Update

Have I not surfaced since the 11th? Where have I been and what have I been doing? YIKES!Kids, outdoors and primitive dying methods. Smash the leaf and make colors.
CaDee and her purses, anything with a handle, buckets, etc.
Is this leaf big enough for you Grandma?
We love Silver Dollar City. Driving through Arkansas made everyone wish to barf, and the bouncing frogs finished the job.
CaDee, my soul niece loves my green smoothie!

Here are the sister picts. from her visit. Would that I had family here every day, and since there are enough of them to accomplish that, where are you when I need you????

Makin' Bacon

If you love bacon, you will love this. Hee, hee.

thanks to Melisa,

http://www.flickr.com/photos/fncll/2129889439/sizes/o/

Cut Off II

Cut Off II

(no picture available-obvious reasons... but I'll try to sneak up on him...)

Tonight I trimmed the husband’s hair. He’s presenting a project tomorrow, to the bigwigs at the business meeting and he wants to look tiptop, hair to heel.

I shave his neck after he grooms his own cut, usually a ¾ inch over the whole head using a razor fitted with a handy-dandy little gadget that measures the length of the hair from tip to the scalp. It’s quick and easy and maintains his hair in contemporary business style. (Compare this to the time and expense of hair cuts required of his female counterparts, but that is another tirade entirely.)

Anyway, he hands me the razor and I step toward him. I spy a little wayward swath running up the rear that has escaped his diligent cropping and I reach forward and run the razor up the back just as he dodges forward and yelps!

Oops.

A bare spot, about an inch square appears right in the center of the back of his head and I realize the handy-dandy little measuring gadget is missing off the end. Shock sets in, but not before my mind races with total realization. I see all, a total and complete view of the ramifications. I’m picturing his PowerPoint presentation, made with his body flat against the opposite wall, him making no natural head movement. I envision his desk at work turned around facing the door, him sidling along the wall to reach the boys room, and then, that’s it. Shock and total shutdown.

It thrusts me into a state of paroxysm, which then advances to a total state of hysteria. At one point I am laughing so hard, the knees are knocking, the bladder is bellowing, and I can no longer stand, I’m sitting on the floor convulsing.

When this happens, it can easily be misinterpreted as a serious lack of compassion and disregard for one’s actions. I’m going to be weeks making up for this one--probably about as long as it takes for the hair to grow back in.

Meanwhile, how am I going to explain the snicker that escapes, whenever I walk behind him? Whee, T

Excerpt from Book One: A Bite of Reality

...the cut-off

from book two: Arms and Legs In and Have a Nice Ride

To: astutiecutie@win.out

The latest psycho-survey says that adults laugh as a response to fear… fear that a situation may happen to them. This book should be hilarious! And so it begins, T.

As a child, I remember Mom’s warnings. “It’s half-past,” she trilled as she flew past me like a busy quail, on her morning quest to roust the brood. I could tell from her tone that this fact was critical, but it never really dawned on me how any hour could be half-past, so I dallied on and wondered what was so frantic.

But, now I know! If I have my math right, this is the year when the half life begins on my own personal toxic waist! I’ve peaked; I’m over the hill, and sliding down the slag pile. Suddenly, Mom’s vision of urgency is starkly clear! It’s half-passed!

To: thatsritch@take.out

So, does this new haircut make my rear look big? I could attach my photo and email it to you, my best friends who would tell me honestly, but the whole photo thing takes too much time and it probably wouldn’t work anyway. Just take my word for it, my bottom is bigger in the hour since I got this new flippy haircut and it’s out of control!

Gotta go, Me, T.

It was to be expected—this ever-looming crisis. (That’s why women never tell their age, for fear their bodies will overhear.) The first indication was when I started walking two miles a day and gained five pounds. How does that happen? Muscle may weigh more than fat, but the bottom line is dresses don't lie and the bottom doesn't fit in the dress.

To: thatsritch@take.out

I'm off sugar, watching the fat, avoiding pop and increasing my fiber by eating more popcorn. I'm awake at five-thirty with every muscle and joint aching, but this time I can blame it on exercise— stretching and dashing around the block in a frantic attempt to stave off the inevitable decline of everything. It's getting harder and harder to feel good about myself, and this dang haircut didn't help. Again soon, T.

Until now, birthdays that end in nine have never been a problem for me, in part because I skip them entirely and move on to the next decade. No one ever really believes you’re twenty-nine, thirty-nine or forty-nine anyway, so my age is the next round number for the next two years and it has worked out well.

To: thatsritch@take.out

It has to be the hair. More on the ‘do,’ it's a short cut that all the actresses named Jennifer have, you know, flippy at the bottom. The rest of the real world has it too. I know ‘cause I just drove home with thirty other Jennifers.

On me it’s more a 1950's apron, circle-skirt, high-heeled father–knows-best look! I’m waiting for someone to tell me I look like June Cleaver. Back then, women looked like they had such tiny waists because of their big hair! Whew, T.

But I’ve never been this old before! It’s more than just the body, or the hair. I’m more than halfway through and I’m not halfway through—finished I mean! The mid-life trauma of being little behind is much more than no longer having a little behind—it’s much bigger!

The life list is long and I must get started. I’m finding myself adding line items to the list just so that I can mark them off, to appear to me that I have completed something in my back-forty!

What am I thinking? I need to get a firmer grasp on what is really important. I don’t have time for this now! It’s early; I still have half my life. I’ll deal with this next decade.

Reality Bite: So, then…it's not my butt! It is the hair. Or it could be the distortion of my reflection on the foil liner of the popcorn bag.

Surgery Success

Surgically, Ian went under beautifully--well manfully at least. He was a lovely patient and entertaining when he came out of recovery. He talked and talked, but the nurse said she was disappointed that he didn't sing. Many of her patients sing.

The bone is pinned in two places and he's recast for a month--then maybe rehab. Yes, it is his left and he is left handed... but I'm sure he will write as well with his right as he can with his left.

Hand, Hand, Finger Thumb...

It's the other hand this time, and the bullet we dodged last year with the hand break (yes, it has been a whole year... you are a whole year older... this too shocked me!!)

Anyway,

This time the blast was dead on. It's not only broken in three places, but each break extends shardlike into the joint. Right now, the pinkie is back in the straight position, but it is stuck in the straight position and except for the rare British tea party he may attend, this might prove awkward for a man.

And while we do appreciate the dodgeball coach who took it upon himself to jerk the digit lengthwise to repair what he mistook as a jam... next time... next time, maybe just send the boy to the school nurse. She spotted the break immediately, clued in by the swelling, the fact that the finger yawned off to the left crookedly, and the dead giveaway, the nail of the pinkie was on the side of the digit, rather than at it's customary position on the top.

Anyway, surgery tomorrow morning and we'll see from there.

The surgical nurse advised, maybe a job to cover for gas, insurance and injuries?

Religious Freedom Is Being Threatened

This morning I woke to the alarm clock going off - NPR. The discussion was the New Atheist movement. It is no longer enough to not believe in God, it is now imperative to attack it. On Sept. 30, Blasphemy Day was celebrated, everything sacred was debased and followers made statements like this: Religion is dangerous and should be treated with contempt.

My response here:

Then hit the snooze button.

Sluuurrrppp!

I've been blogging a lot on my food blog about my newest fix, green smoothies, and expounding the benefits to my neighbors on our daily jaunt - (sort of a walk, mostly a talk.) and in my scripture wanderings of the morning (I'm limiting my on-screen time and prescribing scripture time before I blog)...

Here are my findings:

And it makes me want to run to the fridge again, fling open the door, embrace my healthfulness and take another slurp of my green smoothie!

YUM!

Today for NieNie

I first stalked NieNie on her blog a couple years ago, when I was referred by a friend who loved reading her peaceful, calm, reassuring essays about motherhood. When she got in the airplane accident, I then stalked her to make sure that she would be okay. But what I really was doing wasn't checking to see if she would be okay, but how I would be in her circumstance.

I can only hope that I would be as okay as she is. Some people are so inspiring. Sorry I missed her on Oprah yesterday, but truthfully, I'm frantic at 4 with the aftermath of children and school and snoring asleep when the piece reran at 11.

Aidan goes for Red Belt

On Saturday Aidan tested for his red belt in Tae Kwon Do. Good job Aidan!

Plumbed

When your counter guy says he will install the sink, he doesn't mean the faucets, but you can do that and connect the disposal, and the hot water heater and the drains. And it will be done well with help from the ten year old.

Except for one big snag. Removing the part from it's package. Not with a tool, not with a wrench, not even in a vice, no way.

Poisoned Potatoes Ruin my Day, One More Way

Poison in my potatoes? There I was, fist deep in my bag of Lays, in mid chomp and suddenly, shockingly, a rumor surfed by my internet stream.

Acrylamide, a cancer causing agent is 500 times stronger in potato chips and french fries? The United Nations FAO and WHO (World Health Org.) have issued warnings since 2002 about acrylamide in foods that are cooked at extreme heats, especially potatoes, and finally the FDA are issuing their report in October.

The studies from America will then be official and if my favorite chips and fries so show 500 times more acrylamide (the cancer chemical) you can bet that I'll have to add it to my big long list of NO's for me and my kids.

Picture me gobbling fries and chips 24/7 this month, just in case.

...and I was hoping that LA's attorney general's suit was just California freaking out again.

Sounds like we should all be a little freaked.

http://www.acrylamide.org

Rootbeer float

Happy Birthday me.

SNOORRRReeeeee

I'm writing an interactive discussion about homework for the fifth graders today and for it I just researched sleep.

Did you know giraffe's sleep the least of all mammals? 10 minutes to 2 hours in every 24 hour period.

Did you know children 9-12 need 10-11 hours of sleep. That means Aidan needs to go to sleep by 8 p.m. at night. Does he ever get that much? No! Did you know sleep depriv. causes ADHD, insomnia, risk for greater injury from small accidents, night terrors, binge eating.

SHOCK!!! I KNOW! Great studies online...

Did you know teens need 9.5 hours. Do you know 85% of teens are operating each day under the terms pathological exhaustion which means their sleep patterns (REM vs NREM) mimic that of narcaleptics?

So in honor of this study, I'm napping.

Anonymity is Underrated

I missed a call in Walmart today... didn't know who it was, unknown number, unknown area code. I hit redial. The anonymous person answered and said, "Just wanted to let you know the official birthtime was 8:08, and he has beautiful red hair. Everybody is doing great." I still didn't know who it was. There was a long pause, then he went on... "his name is Nathan David"... another long pause.

Then I opened my mouth and removed all doubt that I am an idiot.

What can I say? Dave talked to his brother last night and got the date for the scheduled c-section! I didn't know it was today!!!

Oh well, nice... It's a boy. 8-2 and 21 inches and I'm sure he's beautiful.

And I'm not at all confused

Grinch Grimace

United Way... the once a year opportunity to get Dave to shave off all facial hair. This year he's the Grinch and here is his best grimace.

Still adorable... couldn't be too threatening.

It's been great to have Dia home visiting and aiding in the debachery.

The Kamas Family Transport

Here is what passes for the favorite mode of transporation in my little home town. I love it!

To Err or Not to Err -- That is the question.

Ask an ex-smoker which is easier, smoking or not smoking?

Ask an ex-gambler which is easier, gambling or not gambling?

Ask an ex-meth addict, well, you know.

CS Lewis said it best:

"No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down.

A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness . They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in. We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight it;

and Christ, because He was the only man who never yielded to temptation, is also the only man who knows to the full what temptation means--the only man who knows to the full what temptation means--the only complete realist." Mere Christianity, p. 142

Treehouse!

Dia's insight on treehouses:

"I asked Dad how he could strengthen the treehouse's railings, because Uncle Nathan was up there pushing on them (and they were swaying baaaack and fooorrrrth and baaaack...). He said they'll be fine, the kids just can't touch them. I said, "Sometimes the semblance of good is worse than abject evil." I thought for a minute at my profoundity and then I said, "Ooooo... that sounded goood!" And Dad said, "Huh?" What I meant (I think) is that if there were NO railing, the kids would be too scared to get close to the edges. A weak railing just makes the kids (falsely) think that the edges are safe to be near and (knowing OUR family) to be rappelled from. This is true even though the distance from the treehouse to the ground has not decreased by one inch.

Sometimes I put up "railings" at the edges of my own standards. These false barriers that supposedly protect me from danger really tempt me to move closer and closer to the edges of my beliefs. If they are weak and moveable, I am in more danger than I would be without any railings at all. R rated movies, for example, are "not OK." A clearly defined, protective barrier, right? However, this barrier implies that everything up to the edge is safe--that ANYTHING within PG-13 rated films is just fine--which is simply NOT true

(Transformers II was SO BAD. We should've walked out. It was so crude and simply FILLED with cursing. Ugh, disgusting.) Seriously.
Oh, at the risk of analogy overload, I thought of another one while I was trying to keep images/lines from that cursed movie out of my head today. Bad images/words/etc are like files in a computer. You know when you try to delete one, and you get the message, "deleting this program's shortcut will not remove it from your computer" ? Even when you do uninstall it, it seems like all the files, cookies, images and connections it made on your computer linger for months afterward. The only solution to the problem is to never put the file on your hard drive in the first place.

While a bad file contaminates, we can also run the risk of a too large file slowing compution speed, impeding progress and even spreading and contaminating other programs and files, just like a bad or misplaced priority can slow our spiritual dexterity, impede eternal progression and contaminate other parts of life).

Back to the treehouse:

I cannot forget the danger of the edge in my creation of protective boundaries. I must remember the difference between the spirit AND the letter of the law in recognizing the distance between me and the edge, and between the edge and the ground.

For clarification: I am NOT saying we shouldn't have clearly defined boundaries--but we cannot let ourselves forget the dangers beyond the boundaries we have told ourselves we will not pass.

The road to hell is smooth and paved, not bumpy and twisting. If Satan can keep us oblivious, or better yet, content in our sins, it's a quick drop to him.

d
It's me again, Terina... being taught by the children.

I’m feeling the need to reread, “The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.” It’s a fun and interesting collection of case studies of a brain doctor. One story in the book speaks of a blind and disabled woman, who from birth couldn’t use her arms. There was no medical reason for it so the doctor set about changing her behavior, by challenging her. The only device he could use was her food. People serving her would deliver her food and then be called away and in her frustration to eat, she finally reached out and fed herself.

I am wondering why today I have been gifted with the memory of this story in this book--why today in the travails of my own life, has it come to my mind? I’m sure this doctor did not write this book to be a philosophical study of self-help and life change. So, why does my guide in today’s journey want me to sit with this question? (While I frantically cook, plan, pack, prepare and put away).

Am I this woman? What in my life has become too easy? Have I cultured habits that make me complacent and prevent me from reaching out to life? Do I need the “food challenge” to awake in me some great potential?

Am I this girl's early caregiver who must have succorred, cared and shielded her to her utter detriment. Am I preventing others from reaching out?

Or perhaps conversely, I am the doctor? What? There are several scenarios happening in different areas of my life that I can hold up and analyze and compare to this story.

The real end of the story is that the woman went on in her life to find joy in creating intricate and beautiful sculptures of life.

Hmmm, maybe that is what my creator wants me to think about today.

Before and After -- The Deck

Honey, this is for you. (The husband who doesn't get to keep in touch with us unless it shows up on his blackberry between meetings.)

Here is the before and here is the after. It's looking great! Lots and lots of work, so lets not scrape the ice off next year... it'll probably melt in late June by the time we get here.

Insidious Tats?

Okay, the inner debate of the day is the dangers of encouraging rub-on tattoos. Will this sque the thoughts of my small innocent child? And in the same vein, will covering my child with henna dragons turn him into a Muslim?

This is my decision: These dabblings are no more deleterius than fruit scented markers. Huff, Huff.

The family reunion was a hit and I haven't even begun to discover the myriad of ways children's minds were messed with. Things went on in the deepest darkest reaches of the Pit and a great time was had by all!

Sympathetic Feline

When the new kitten turned up with an absurdly large swollen cheek (we did the booties ourselves; she ran through the toxic deck paint project and insisted upon licking), we decided that she could only be exhibiting sympathy symptoms for the lost wisdom teeth of Dia and Ian.

That, or she tried to eat a wasp...?

Either way, her face is back to normal now. We didn't even have to give her any Loratab.

Venue Change

Remember my mantra? "Vacations are only a change of venue." I was asked by the bro-in-law why I work so hard. "If I was on vacation, I would be watching movies, eating out and enjoying myself." he says.

Me too. When I go on vacation, that's what I'm going to do--someday, but I don't know anybody but Paris, who can afford a two month vacation, so I work.

And to stay upbeat amid the flooded basement, perpetual water hammer, splitting wood, mowing lawn, sanding paint, cleaning, moving furniture, baking, washing, I remind myself, this is not a vacation, this is merely a breath of fresh air in the form of a delightful change of venue.

Which is why I'm painting again today.

Day Three is Better

DEAD SOLDIERS

In the last three days, there are only two things that wake the toothless. Drugs--I've dutifully supplied the dosages in the correct increments and on a strict schedule, but when I took an hour break to volunteer at the town library, they ditched me!!!

It seems the only other thing that can drag them from their sick bed is cousins swarming in to capture them for Harry Potter.

I hear it's a three hour movie. Oh well. See if watching Dumbledoor die unmedicated is as miserable as I imagine!

They come home more jazzed than on any strong narcotic and unable to stop talking. They rehearse the movie verbatim and crash only after debating each and every scene ad infinitum.

Really, they are doing so well. The sister's advice worked, 1000 Vit. C for a week, no hot, no cold, no dairy to eat for 24 hours and lots and lots of icepacks. Second day, soft solids only. It's the third morning after and they are fine but for swelling.

Ian is saying Pizza tonight.

We'll see.

It's a Toothfairy Frolic

BEFORE:

The toothfairy is going to be dancing on the rooftops tonight as she drops by the Darcey house for a septeplethora (seven). It's not likely to break the fairy bank as she doesn't have to leave much because in our house, we deduct the cost of extraction (or filling) from the initial outlay. In fact, the two teens might end up owning her.

Ow, Ow, Owie, It looks to get much worse before it gets any better.

Dia got to watch her own extractions because she went second... She was much intrigued by the chopping, drilling and prying. Overall, she was impressed by the process and felt cheated by only having three teeth to pull. However, the Momma who made it through childbirth unmedicated--is scarred for life.

Ian's disappointed because we didn't think of the mirror until he was all finished but he made it through by clutching the set of nunchucha he was wearing and fingering a pocket full of throwing knives. The dentist may wish to post a sign about the illegality of weapons on or about the premises for the future.

We'll post again soon on the ongoing misery. Hope everyone's having a great summer.

After surgery, before the local anesthetic wore off:

Right now, she just looks a little puffy. But before long, she was spitting blood all over the grocery store parking lot....
White was probably not the best choice of attire for the day.

Darcey Family

See our summer at

http://www.atkinsonfamily.blogspot.com

Hope yours is going well.

Hugs Me

Blueberry Blessings

DIA'S EDIT. IT'S A LOT BETTER :) I THINK SO, ANYWAY.

I love blueberries.  Not frozen, mass-processed, or store-bought berries (somehow paying the exorbitant prices required to bring blueberries to the masses takes all the flavor out of them for me).  

I love field blueberries that I have personally plucked, squatting in the early morning chill, relieving slumberous branches of their heavy purple clusters.  My mind wanders as my hands work, and there's a moment of quiet peace.  

This year we make a second trek out. We leave the children home to sleep, so interruptions promise to be few--but the weather threatens. We begin dropping berries into pails and the rain begins to drip.

As the wind picks up and thunder rumbles threateningly, I whisper a prayer.   My mind flickers to memories of twice past when I have requested divine intervention for peaceful weather and my pleas have been granted. I must be a weather whisperer. 

I begin to pluck faster as the rain picks up and I wonder what is it that allows such prayers to be answered. Is it priority? Does some other need take precedence?  Is that the case this morning? As the winds buffet and the chill creeps further into my bones, I wonder if this is one of those training trials--something the Lord gives me to teach me the merits of preparation? And as the weather worsens I begin to wonder; could it be punishment for pertinence?  

The husband's quick thinking and preparation come through; I don the trash bag he finds in the back of the truck with a new humility and enlightenment.

What I'm given is a gift—-not a superhero-like gift of wielding the weather, but the gift of understanding.  It IS audacious--even blasphemous-- to think that I can somehow command nature to suit my slightest whim, even ignoring instead of accepting and working with the blessing of rain.  

I do have power, but I am no more gifted than anyone else. It is a power granted through recognizing who does command nature and acknowledging that this happens only through the gift of my Savior's atonement.  

As the rain stops, I kneel and pluck glistening blueberries and admire the strength of God's munificent hand today in my petty little problem.

New Favorite Quote

I love Dia's quote for the day:

When we try to be perfect, every day somebody is disappointed.  

I think that's what she said.  I don't know exactly, I'm not striving for perfect.  You can tell when you see the disasterous cakes I baked for a party.  I should get extra points from cakewreck.blogspot.com site.  

http://gluten-free-reality.blogspot.com/2009/06/yin-yang-cakes.html

Math Puzzle

Okay Dave and Ian raced and Ian solved last Wednesday's puzzle in two minutes.  

How does he do that?

Infused

The stomach virus floating about did us in, the entire family--bar Dave who sequestered himself in the west wing.  We're finally back, but not without casualties.  Ian had to be infused (he lost ten pounds he couldn't afford to lose)  and Aidan had blood work the same day... so they are the walking wounded.  (Ian actually looked even worse before the 1000 cc's.)

We're healthy and happy now!  

How about a math problem?
Engineers take 3 minutes to resolve this, architects 3 hours and doctors 6 hours.

What is the next number 1, 2, 6, 42, 1806, _____?

Hum, I wonder... 1 plus next numeral... no, "Finish your breakfast and get the dishwasher emptied!"

One times... no. two divided by... no. Doctors take longer... so it's not appendages or blood types, engineers... bike spokes, gears, tools, pi, friction, physics, psycho! "Hey, keep practicing... I'm not hearing anything... Sorry, Piano isn't something you can mime!"

1806, some famous date? No, history majors weren't even mentioned... Hum, forty two, age, over the hill, wrinkle cream... gotta remember to order that... and more sorghum, can't believe I'm out of flour again. "Are you wasting time? Hey, pull yourself together it's eight o'clock."

Six... six... six. Um, signs of Satan, this puzzle? Hm, backwards, 608123621, telephone number? Oh, gotta remember to call and cancel that dr. appointment, and class tomorrow, wonder what kind of theme I should do for cards? Maybe Got your number? Call me sometime? Keep in touch. "Lunch, fix it and get yourself out the door!"

"Socks and shoes, teeth and hair! No, I didn't even for a minute mean use toothpaste as hair gel! Hurry Up!" So help me if you miss your bus and I have to miss my walk to take you to school..."

Gotta run. I give up. I'm gonna take my failure as confirmation that I must be a writing Mom.

Bumbles

Even more watchbands just for Val.    

I purchased my watches from ewatchwholesale.com  Medium size.  

These two are the real McCoy purchased on Bumblesdesign.com
I love my new watches from http://www.bumblesdesign.com/ so much that I thought I would make some to switch out on my own. As usual, I was the last to think of it! Utah has all the good crafts first!!!

Thanks for the help and the design Kali.

Use stretchy thread, lay out your beads in a pattern and your spacers where you want them. I was told to start threading at the opposite side that you want to tie off, preferrably to the right of where the watch connects to the clasp.

Thread each side to the middle of the thread, then crisscross the threads through the spacers in each middle.

I'm sure the more brilliant (most of you) will understand better than I how to do this.

Best wishes!