If you see this group, run - do not walk - to your nearest candy bowl.

And be sure to give them some caramels.  (ummmmm)  A lot of caramels.  And tell this bunch to take the caramels home.  Yes.   Insist on it.

(top row) Michelle, Brooke, Rachel

(bottom row) Lois, Julia, Hannah, Sisa

(not pictured) Mrs. Caramel Lover

The first graders here are all studying ancient Egypt.  Boy rulers, jewels, nose hooks, mummies, pyramids, a mysterious alphabet - as Julia said as she showed me her classwork, "Mom, this stuff is cool."

Rachel describes me as a "dumtard" when it comes to crafts.  (sigh)  The truth hurts.  I am.  Fortunately for our family, she's really, really good at anything requiring a hot glue gun, as evidenced by Julia's shoebox sarcoghagus covered in faux jewels and plastic coins and personalized in first grade hieroglyphics.  A magazine paper and gauze mummy slumbered inside.  Rachel is considering hosting a new TV show, "P*mp My Sarcoghagus."

After we parents admired their classwork and crafts (note the head gear, colorful collars  and white pillowcase robes), we enjoyed a stirring rendition of "A Song of Egypt," sung to the tune of Frere Jacques.

One of the other mummies - er - mothers asked as we were leaving, "How come we never did fun stuff in school?"   Whattttt?  She didn't consider duck'n'cover drills festive?   Or playing kickball, softball and dodgeball while wearing a dress - that wasn't a rush for her?

That mom must be in da-Nile.

As a requirement of Rachel's Child Development class, she stuffed a 5 lb. bag of flour inside a baby doll shell to represent her newborn, "Riley."  Riley will be accompanying Mommy everywhere this week - home, church, school, shopping, babysitting, the Smithson Valley game, the dinner table  - yes indeed, everywhere.

Hey, chin up!  It could have been worse.  At least you didn't get assigned twins like some of your classmates!

If Rachel must leave her flour child for any reason, she has to engage a babysitter - like, perhaps, Aunt Hannah, who asked, "So what happens if the babysitter really hurts your baby?"  Mommy answered, "You get points off for that."   Hmmmm...  Perhaps Rachel should consider Aunts Lois or Julia.

Rachel tried handing Riley to me with a quick, "Here, you nurse her."  That made me realize I needed to offer some maternal baby-handling advice/observations.  So here goes:

#5 -  If you are out of disposable diapers, a dish towel and safety pin will do - only not a dish towel someone else is likely to pick up and try to use for its intended purpose.

#4 -  Wash the car seat liner between children.

#3 -  Does it look like your washer is filled with little grapefruit or orange pieces?  That means you have laundered a pull-up.

#2 -  The church nursery workers do not want to hear, "Guess we shouldn't have fed her all those prunes this morning."

And my #1 piece of baby-handling advice:

#1 - Duck when you insert a suppository.  There's a reason they're nicknamed  "bullets of health."

Boo-ti-ful Baby Rachel sez:  "Halloween is next week!"  If you live in San Antonio and have any leftover non-chocolate (non-melty) Halloween candy you would like to donate to children receiving Samaritan's Purse boxes, give it to Keith or me at work, or hand it to one of our kids, or leave it on our porch.  We'll use it!  We're packing the weekend after Halloween.

My favorite purse of all time has given out after five years of faithful service.  The inside pocket tore out two years ago.  The piping has badly frayed.  The strap has been shredding for months.  Finally the fabric forming the closure totally wore away. 

It spent more time on my shoulder than my any one of my kids did.

A woman's purse tells a lot about her.  A man's too, I suppose, but I'm not going there.  Is her widdle purse just precious?  She does not have children who hand her things at school, at church, in the store, etc. to "hold this for me, Mom."  Is her purse a darling, trendy fabric?  It's not had ketchup packets squirted on it at McDonalds, and I'll bet no one has thrown up in it, either.  Is it free of scuffs and tears?  It's not been clipped into umpteen grocery carts, kicked under church pews or dragged on the driveway.  Does it not contain a half-used packet of Kleenex, plus several shredded tissues stuck to half-sticks of gum?  She is wiping no nose other than her own.  Does her purse hold a billfold or cardcase?  She is likely hauling insurance cards, orthodontic reminders, a Blockbuster card, frequent buyer cards, the latest school pictures and - yes! - return address labels.  Does she change purses with every outfit?   She has a life outside of the perpetual school-church-HEB-office-orthodontist-Costco circuit.   Is her purse the size of a Samsonite rolling bag?  Then it belongs to my sister Judy, who totes enough gear for a third world nation at all times.

I paid $20 for my wonderful purse in Laredo in 2002, a real bargain compared to the "best price for you, Miss" $35 asking price.  It's driven roundtrip to Mexico a few times.  It's ridden trains in Russia and Austin.   It's plummeted down Bug's White Water Rapids, and soared up to Indianapolis and Chicago.  Like me - it's been around.  And up.  And sometimes down.

This purse was so darned practical.  I could carry it in my hand, sling it on my shoulder or use it as a backpack.  It was plain.  Solid black wipe-off fabric, no weirdness, nothing fussy to break off or tear away.  It was good-sized - big enough to hold all I needed and more than I wanted.  It had hidden depths.  An inside pocket for keys; bottom zippered cache for those pesky reading glasses; exterior pockets for my every-ready cell phone and always-needed Kleenex. 

Practical.  Plain.  Good-sized.  Hidden depth.  And often worse for wear.

Yep.  You can tell a lot about a woman by the purse she carries. 

Especially this woman.

p.s.  Congratulations to my cousin Terry for winning our October 12 "Name Calling" contest, describing Lois' new do as "2 Cool."  That describes not only Lois' haircut but also her being chosen for region choir this weekend.  Terry:  Watch for your fabulous prize in the mail, girl!

Lois and Hannah are in middle school choir together this year.  I like that.   I chaperoned at their first concert was tonight.  I liked that, too.  I like seeing how all the kids have grown, and visiting with the other parents and sneaking a wave at my girls from across the room as they pretend not to notice me.  I like the school principal opening the program, and all the well-deserved applause for the teachers.  Mostly, I like the music.  I'd paid for entertainment not as good as what I've experienced at Bush Middle School.

 
Music alone shall live....That's Hannah, far right on the top row. 

Musica Dei....that's Lois, second row from the top, fourth from the left.  I adore their spirited director, Ms. Jarvis.

Today has been really stressful.  But I feel better now - after the concert - than I felt when I was rushing out the door at 5:50 because we can't be late Mom we can't be late Mom hurry hurry hurry.

I've always heard that music soothes the savage beast, but I think it also interrupts the stressful schedule.

Thanks, girls.  I needed that.

Keith and Rachel have begun ingesting the 89-page online Texas driver's ed course.

Ssshhhhh...don't rat me out.  I can hear plenty well from up here. I already know what to do a four-way stop, though.

Rachel.  Driving.

I was born into an American Baptist family - reared in the church of Christ - joined the Southern Baptist church in 1987.  But all I can think of now is, "Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us now and at the hour of death.  Amen."

Lois got a haircut today - a dramatic one, about 12" whacked off.  I love it!  I'm trying to select a new nickname for her.  Well, really any nickname other than "Lois Below Us." 

I'm thinking "Sassy," which fits the hair style (and sometimes the mouth.) 

Note the Barbara Bush Middle School choir faux pearls, required wearing today for all members of the 8th grade girls' choir.  The real Barbara Rush would be pleased.

Keith thinks "Dorothy," for Dorothy Hamill.

Ice, ice, baby....

So what nickname with this new flippin' style?  Please suggest one in Comments.  The winner might get a hair-raising prize!  So comment now, and comment often!

Keith is a big e-bay buyer/seller so boxes on our front porch are common.  But a box from Nickelodeon?  And addressed to Lois?   The whole family was standing by for the opening.

Turns out Lois is one of 50 second-place winners in the Nickelodeon Anime contest.  They run two contests - one for live action cartooning, and one for still  anime.  She's one of 50 #2's in the still anime category.  Each contestant submitted drawings and a story as an idea for a new anime cartoon.

Along with a 3-D T-shirt, viewing glasses and notepaper, she got this stuffed art case....

...with a nifty Nicktoons Network Animation Festival wood cut logo on the exterior.

Lois told me about her entry because she needed a catalog mailing envelope and postage.  I'm very interested in her artistic talent because I have absolutely none.  In my 20's, I even read and performed the exercises with "Drawing from the Right Side of the Brain," and all I got in return was charcoal and ink stains on my hands.  I have no artistic talent.  Neither does Keith.  Yet she - effortlessly - cranks out sketches all the time, on everything - church bulletins, notebook paper, grocery lists - you name it, she adorns it.

One wall of her room, filled with her favorite notebook sketches.

So here are drafts of what she submitted.  I was impressed enough at the time to scan them.  I wish I'd scanned the all the final versions, but I'm a bad mother.

Meet Jamie, a teenage girl supposedly born without a left arm (mystery looming).  She's lonely and teased often at school.  Mom is dead; father is not supportive.  (Note:  Their entire lives, my girls have played games revolving around dead mothers.  Like with dolls, "Let's pretend the mother is dead."  I watch my back around here, I tell. you.)  Jamies uses music composition - like her "Cloudy Melody" tune - for emotional release.

Meet Lieirose (lie-rosk), Jamie's guardian angel who looks like a teenager but is thousands of years old.  He often appears in a cloud.  The Council (other guardian angels) is angry with Lieirose for failing to protect Jamie at birth (more mystery) and because he's appeared directly to her (big no-no.)   The Council has branded Lieirose with the "Mark of the Traitors."  They've also covered his mouth and nose to muffle screams during punishment.

Jamie in a final sketch, which I did think to capture - in her handmade prom dress with a corsage from Lieirose, which he offered "from a secret admirer."  She attended the prom dateless but a bit cheered by Leirose's gift.

As Lois told me the story, I was more and more engrossed.  How did Jamie lose her arm (really?)  Is her mother truly dead (sigh?)  From what does she draw the inspiration for her music?  Whom else has Lieirose protected, and what was their fate?  And the father - why is he so disengaged? 

Unless Nickelodeon chooses to develop the story, we may never know. 

Lois needs to win a few cash prize contests so she can buy her mother - her living mother - some really nice gifts, don't you think?

Julia continues to improve and our lives are drifting toward "normal" now.  We're not there yet, and we won't be for awhile.  But "normal" is looming.

I like normal.  I like calendars and lists and plans.  I like clear return address labels at the ready.  The normal - the routine - the expected - it's all good.

Because I'm no longer anchored to a rocking chair comforting a whimpering child, I've had time to do a favor for a friend and write a series of short pseudo-blogs promoting Austin as the site of the February 2008 Telecom Pioneer Assembly.  

I had to poke around online for topics and material.  Google is my friend, returning thousands of hits to Austin-related topics.  This a link, that a link, everywhere a link link....all very normal, routine and expected - until I popped this one: http://www.adapt.org/freeourpeople/aar/nga04/17sat/17report2.htm and read,
"Also moving, was spreading the ashes of two brethren that had passed away."

That sentence took my breath away. Those were my brother's ashes.  Judy and I had given them to the organization in which he was so active (ADAPT) at their request in 2004.  They asked to scatter them at a national ADAPT "action" where disabled people chain themselves to fences, charge police officers with their electric wheelchairs and the like.  As Judy replied to me when I forwarded the request, " I find the whole idea TOTALLY APPALLING AND UTTERLY TASTELESS.  Not to mention --- Well, words truly fail me.  David would love it."  So true, Judy, sooooo true.  And he would have loved the whole "native American tradition....spreading the ash mixed with tobacco" stuff, too.  The more chanting, drama and pagentry, the better.

David and me 30 years ago this month.  Judy must have taken this picture because Mom always cut off our heads.

So in the midst of the normal - the routine - the expected - a very unexpected jolt.   Like a phone call in the middle of the night.  Or spotting a celebrity in Target.

I'd never seen this web page before nor knew any specifics about the event, so naturally I bookmarked it - like I normally do for something to which I plan to return.  Because even with a few bumps and jolts - I do like to - want to - plan to - return to normal.

Many thanks for the pings, cards and calls to Julia.  Her neurologist and opthalmalogist are both "amazed" at her recovery.  After an unexpected three days flat on her back at home required to heal her still-leaking spinal tap puncture, she returned to school.  She's still seeing double, and will be for awhile.   Two Hannahs, two Loises, two Rachels ---- omigosh, frightening!

I used to love to read scary novels.  I had to finish The Shining on my Remco lunch breaks - couldn't read it at night.  Cujo reinforced every feeling I ever had about dogs.  And The Stand - I even devoured the 25% longer uncut version.  Twice.

Never know what you might jump out at you at Costco....

Now the too-friendly stranger in a parking lot frightens me more than a smeared REDRUM.    Rabid clerics chill my blood, not rabid dogs.  And a spectral virus decimating the world holds no importance compared to the one that crawled up my child's spine.

In Stephen King's introduction to Danse Macabre, he said people asked him, "How can you write this stuff?'  And his reply was, "How can you read it?"

I think I would answer, "Because it's not as scary as the world we live in."