The Short One Gets the Shot


Today was Dutch’s 9 month well-baby visit at our local pediatric group. Earlier this week I decided to piggyback a visit for Cado so I would not toss and turn at night wondering if the last 193 “my tummy hurts” attempts to leave the dinner table were not manipulations but, possibly, legitimate complaints.

(Truth check: I don’t actually toss and turn at night. If I am not up begging Dutch to please just fart and be done with it, I am totally and completely sound asleep.)

Back to the original programming. The last time we visited our local kid doctors, both kids got their flu shots. If you were wondering why the noon whistle blew at 10:20 a.m. on a Wednesday in October, it’s because it was actually the sound of Cado screaming bloody murder before the needle was even out of the plastic.

(One more truth check: We were, in fact, at the pediatrician last week when Dutch had RINGWORM on his forehead. Expalin that one to the nursery staff.)

Sorry for the interruption. I’m nothing if not forthcoming.

Let me put today’s visit into focus. It was Dutch’s well baby visit, during which he would receive his flu booster. Cado had a visit to talk about her tummy aches (phantom?), and one month ago she had the shot heard round the world. Good times in store. Over the course of the past four days Cado has checked, re-checked, and then checked again to make absolutely sure I know which one of my kids is the 9-month-old butterball of a boy due for a flu booster. Would I know her on a train? Would I know her in the rain?

She has also made sure the bank teller, the grocery store cashier, the Fed Ex man, the neighbors, the gas station customers and her imaginary big brother Jason all know it is not her. And going in to today’s visit, she was not leaving anything to chance. Just in case her pediatrician was having an off day and might need some back-up, Cado made sure to alert the receptionists, the billing cerks, the triage nurse, everyone in the waiting room, the 6 other pediatricians and every official person walking by that, again, she is not the one here for the shot.

Lucky for her those folks are on the ball. By the time Dutch had been measured, weighed, poked, prodded and, I’m afraid to say, partially violated, Cado was singularly concerned about when she was going to get her Smarties. In the end, the only shot Cado got from Dr. J today was a quick jolt of sugar. It just might be enough to get her back there for her 4-year check in about 6 months, when, I’m afraid, ear plugs and orderlies may be in order.

P.S. What about Dutch? Well, he is now 25 pounds 9 ounces and 28 1/2 inches long. That’s the 96 percentile in weight and 56 percentile in height. Please don’t tell my husband. He may not speak to anyone in my short family again.


The Total Package

When men and women come together they do so much more than provide the Mr. to the Mrs. and vice versa. We balance each other in ways we never foresee when making wild promises to always greet each other with a hug and kiss.


  • Without women to provide the sides, men would just eat various forms of grilled meat, preceded by a meat appetizer and followed by a meat dessert. 
  • They would do things like buy houses sight unseen because they looked over the fence and liked the size of the backyard (true story).
  • They would continue to wear what they last felt the most cool in, even if that was the 8th grade and they are now in their 40s.
  • Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. (Think The King and I)

My rambling leads to this: Today the Geek Squad is here rearranging the audio visual make up of our home. This TV goes there and the new one here, mount this one, set that one, hook this box up, take that box out, center this thing here, angle that one over there, this one needs this kind of cables and that one those others … It’s endless.

But this is another reason God saw it good and perfect to bring man and woman together. When men look at televisions they ooohhhhh and aaawwww over the picture quality, the clean lines, the size. And listen up: when it comes to sound, the speakers on the actual television are never enough. Oh, no. We must have an additional sound system complete with hoofers and woofers (or whatever) and speakers that must mount at strategic locations throughout the ceiling (Invisibly, of course, because we are to think the sound is everywhere without thinking it actually comes from anywhere). After spending thousands on said television, stereos, surround sound systems, satellite and cable services, they will then see fit to set it all on an upside down cardboard box and a television tray.

Enter woman.

Is your husband like mine? My awesome guy will spend the aforementioned thousands on the equipment and then recoil in confused disdain–bordering on disgust–when the proper piece of furniture to set, store and present the equipment cost more than $100 and actually looks like a piece of grown-up furniture. But when we are allowed, however reluctantly, to put our pashion to accessorize with the proper furnishings to the completion of the audio visual package, the men will sit back with an appreciative sigh, scratch their belly, burp and say, “It is good.”

See, women! Just because they don’t run to us on a regular basis (okay, ever) to see what we think of their hopes and dreams does not mean they don’t need us! They do need us, they really do! (Think Sally Feild.)

And, truth be told, we need them, too. After all, Project Runway is wwwaaayyyy better in HD.

Just kidding, Honey.



Get thee behind me, Satan!

Teetering on the Totter

I started this infinitesimal venture several months ago with high hopes. Hopes to use it as a much-needed outlet to ramble aimlessly without watching my husband’s eyes dart over my head to the television screen in an off-handed attempt to both appear interested and track the progress of the game of the moment.

But then something happened and I veered recklessly off course. Okay. Somethings happened. Computer crashes. Kids. Building a house in another state. Family weddings. Three of them. A volunteer project at church. A baby who just will NOT sleep through the night. Laundry. Errands. Dinner. Date night.


Just kidding about that last one. I’m just making sure you’re still with me.


Since I was last here (which was seriously so long ago I could not remember my password) I have kept a list of “blog topics” in anticipation of the day when everyone and everything would miraculously fall in step with the rythem of my life and I could daily schedule time to blog from about, say, 1:47.10 to 2:14.49 p.m. Give or take.


But–and here’s the kicker–I don’t think it is going to happen that way. Did you already know this or am I breaking some really discouraging news to you? Either way, this is something I want to do and I was inspired at church this morning by good ole Pastor C to get my teeter-totter moving in the direction of my dreams. You might need to hear the sermon yourself to get the playground equipment analogy, but it worked for the inner recess girl in me.


So here is a peek at some of the topics waiting in the wings to be explored:


Throne Room Conversations

Life in Moments

Rivaling Sibling Adoration

Jenny from the Block

He’s on the Move!

Grab a Pen

Run, Forrest, Run!


I’ve thought of this white space so often in the last months. So often that I give situations and circumstances blog titles while they are happening. I’ve blogged more in my own head than I’ll ever be ablt to blog in this space. But at least tonight the tide is turning.


Before I close out for the evening, you might want to see a few new pics. Or maybe not. But I dare you to try to turn away.



This is usually the look Dutch has when Cado “loves” him.
This one has been digitally enhanced so you would be able to tell which one is the pumpkin.
This butterfly definitely has wings!
That’s it for now. But stay tuned! Or I’ll sick this guy on you: