Images from Last Night

Caleb won first place in the Medicine and Health category of his school's science fair.  His project was entitled, "Hand Sanitizers: Helpful, Harmful, or Hooey?".  He could have won first prize for alliteration too.  And as a bonus, not one of us got E. Coli poisoning.  Which is great.  On so many levels.

There is always more than one place to be on nights like this.  Savannah performed a gymnastics routine (complete with choreography) with a couple of her friends at her school's talent show.  David and I split up to support our darlings.  Luckily, everyone made it in time to see Caleb do the double fist-pump when his name was called.

And Ethan ran into a friend from school at the science fair.  She wanted to show him her ankle bracelet.  He did his best to look interested.  She also introduced him to her dad.  At this, Ethan shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor and then up at me for help.  Sorry love, I cannot help you.  Girls are complicated things. 

Ginger, Cardamom, and a Miracle

My house smelled like graduate school last night.

Ginger and cumin.  Cardamom and garlic and coriander.  They used to seep through the walls of married student housing.  We were the only white couple in the building sitting down to spaghetti or stroganoff or chicken noodle soup.

When I was pregnant with Caleb, I couldn't keep anything down.  I worked next to a grad student from China who brought me ginger to calm my stomach.  When she handed it to me, I took one smell and promptly vomited.  She patted my back and shook her head.  She didn't have any other suggestions.  It was the year of the ox after all, and my "morning sickness" was strong, steady and stubborn. 

We gave up on cream of wheat and plain rice and toast without butter, and ate with our fingers last night.  Dipping our naan into the chicken tikka masala and licking our fingers when it was gone.  (If I had known my former neighbors were eating this good, I would have found more excuses to visit around dinner time.)

Between the licking and the smacking, the conversation went like this:

David always starts.  (I'm too busy getting my blood sugar up to a reasonable level. I'm quite near desperate by the time we pray.)

"So how was everyone's day?"

Mouths full, everyone grunts.

Then Ethan pipes up, "Mom almost burned down the house."

David looks at me.  I look at my plate and work purposefully on my blood sugar.

And Olivia adds, "Yeah, but Heavenly Father saved us."

David looks questioningly at all of us and swallows his food. Just as he is about to ask for the whole story, Savannah gives it in a nutshell.

"We had to take dinner to the missionaries, but first mom had to take me to Kenzi's house and so we were in a big hurry because the missionaries have to eat at five o'clock and that's it, so Mom forgot to turn off the oven,"

Caleb interrupts, "Stove."

Savannah shoots him a look.

"Stove."

"What?"

"It was the stove.  Not the oven."

Olivia finally prompts, "Anyway..."

"Okay, mom forgot to turn off the stove (another meaningful look at Caleb) and there was a hotpad on it and when we came home a while later..."

Olivia interrupts, "It was like an hour."

Caleb corrects, "It was longer than that."  He is dismayed at my carelessness.

"Anyway, when we got home the hotpad was all black and burned but the house was not!"

And then Ethan says solemnly, "And so we said a prayer."

David is all amazement by now and his hands have stopped moving to his mouth.

Olivia adds sagely, "We all knelt down and said a prayer.  Right then.  It's important to say thank you when Heavenly Father saves your house."

By this time my eyes are welling over and I'm still staring at my plate.  Eventually I look up at David and say equally apologetically and wonderingly,

"At the very least the house should have been full of smoke." 

But it wasn't.  It was full of ginger and cinnamon and cardamom, and the most fragrant basmati rice you've ever smelled.  I can spot a miracle a mile away.  (I was trained in my youth.)

The only other time I almost burned something down was during graduate school, when I came really close to burning down our church building.  I was making dinner for a crowd and got distracted socializing.  (Who, me?)  The missionaries showed up just in time for dinner and just in time to tell me the kitchen was full of smoke.

I have been saved twice now, by feeding the missionaries.  I am inclined to think that's more than luck.

Shedding Our Parkas and Our Spices

Yesterday I ran the air conditioner earnestly for the first time this year.  I was vacuuming and my thermostat said 83*.  Which is just too hot to really enjoy your vacuuming.

This morning Savannah called from her room, "Mom, can we cut off my jeans tonight?  I don't have any shorts."  And then wondered aloud if we were at the end of winter or already in spring.

I told her to wear a skirt.  I'm not quite ready to sacrifice her jeans.  I bought them for our Christmas trip to Michigan.  Two months ago.

Yesterday afternoon Ethan and I were outside enjoying the sunshine.  I sat in the shade because I thought it was "hot."  He declared the weather to be "only warm" and "just perfect" and planted himself purposefully in the sun.  After a few minutes he said,

"Wow.  You were right.  It is hot."  And scooted over to me in the shade. 

We stared up into the leaves of the orange tree.

A minute or so later he asked, "Mom, are you right about everything?"

I said, "Your dad thinks so."

(Sometimes I think, "Am I really writing about this?"  Take this last week, for instance.  I've given up writing about my husband's colon in favor of talking about the weather.  All of it Pulitzer material for sure.)

David is back at work.  And no worse for wear.  My work is suffering however, as I no longer know what to cook.  The doctor said to take it easy for a while.  Not too spicy.  Nothing with fat.  That leaves me with....rice.  I'm supposed to feed the sister missionaries tonight.  They like curry, which is probably considered "spicy."  I had plans to make the Chicken Tikka Masala.  Luckily for David, I am serving it with rice.  Honestly, I have my doubts that rice will be enough to tempt him home.  Perhaps I should whip up a nice salad with no dressing as extra incentive.  It is quite a shock to discover that everything you cook has either spice or fat, and usually both.  (This used to be one of the "pluses" for marrying me.  That list is getting alarmingly small.) 

The Scientific Method

By Saturday, David's diet was reduced to bananas, rice, apples, and toast.  Without butter.  (He'd want me to point that out.)  By Sunday, even this seemed gluttonous, as he was limited to this:

in preparation for a couple of scopes his doctor is doing this morning.  We are looking (literally) everywhere for answers, and this is part of the process of eliminating one "cause" at a time.  I have my own hypothesis about his gallbladder, but we'll see.       

Caleb spent his weekend finishing his science fair project.  I spent mine playing assistant and editor.

He would like you to know that your hand sanitizer is completely ineffective.  I told him I'd tell you.  He thinks more people read this blog than actually do, and he would like to warn the world "before something bad happens."  Knowledge can be a burden.

Solving Your Depression with Gum Disease

David is on his way to see the GI doctor.  He had another painful attack last night after dinner and then I spent an hour or so asking him symptom questions from WebMd.  I'd say things like:

"Is it stabbing or throbbing?"

"Is it severe or moderate?"

And he'd say things like, "I don't know.  It just hurts, okay?" all the while sweating profusely.

"On a scale from one to ten, what is your pain level?"

He was pacing the house by now and yelled from the living room, "I don't know."

WebMd didn't know what it was, and only recommended we head to the hospital immediately.  (Thanks a lot.)

David said, "We already did that."

And just as I was about to pack him into the car regardless, it stopped.

And then David asked me about a hundred times, "What do you think it is?"  And I reminded him that while I am usually always right, I am not a doctor.  (Of course in the back of my mind, I was just the teensiest bit worried about that E. Coli colony Caleb and I have been growing.  I decided not to mention it.)  

While I was on WebMd, I saw an article about "little things that make a big difference."  And they said that brushing your teeth with your non-dominant hand can help with depression, and can actually alter your brain chemistry.  What in the world?  (About that time I started questioning whether or not we should really be getting our medical advice from the internet.)  But this morning I tried it, because while I'm not depressed, who doesn't want to be happier?  Even just a little.  The downside is that I do not think I got my teeth quite as clean.  And so while I'm happier, I may have just increased my chances of gingivitis and tooth decay.  Which is ironic, since now I'm doing so much more smiling.

  

Likening

We were reading Isaiah's poetry this morning at scripture study.  And this line stuck out at me:

"And I did it because I knew that thou art obstinate, (who, me?)

and thy neck is an iron sinew,

and thy brow brass;"

Let's be honest.  Isaiah is just plain brilliant.

And just as I was repenting of my brass brow and stiff neck, I got a call from David telling me he had just admitted himself to the emergency room.

I arrived to find him hooked up to the EKG machine. 

Which would soften anyone's iron sinew.

They did some blood work, and an ultrasound, and took his blood pressure.  They could find nothing wrong, which was horribly embarrassing to him and a glorious relief to me.  He kissed me hard and went to his next meeting.

I told him I loved him.  And vowed inside to soften my neck and my heart, for real this time. 

It is very tiresome living with regret.

Me as Daredevil

Today I cleaned my tub,

and erased every last bit of evidence of this:

(After David took this picture on Saturday night he dared me to post it on my blog. 

I raised my eyebrows to say "Are you sure you want to make that dare?" 

But he just smiled and said, "I double dare you." 

I reminded him that we go to church with people who read my blog and this particular moment was clearly more hedonist than god-fearing. 

He just shrugged and doubled the dare again. 

I'm not sure what I get for completing the dare, but I'm sure it's going to be good.)

I sent Olivia into my bathroom on Sunday morning for the curling iron, forgetting the aftermath.  She came out with her hands on her hips and asked, dismayed, "What went on in there last night?"

I played dumb. 

She narrowed her eyes accusingly, "I saw Martinelli's and chocolate-covered strawberries." 

"Um...," I said, wondering how much to share.

And then, just before I said too much, she huffed, "I know you ate them without us."

Guilty as charged. 

Pajama Party

The Thunells have come from Santa Barbara for a short visit.

Our girls, and their dolls, are making the most of every minute they're here.  I suspect there will be giggling and whispering into the wee hours.  There's a year's worth of catch-up and elementary-school gossip to talk through.  They're just getting started.

While David and I set up the bedroom for a proper sleepover, the girls took care of the most important thing...dressing the dolls for bed.  They found enough nightgowns and stylish headbands for everyone.

I suspect there may be quite a bit of giggling and whispering going on between these six as well.