Thought of You

As some of you may remember, I like to dance with my wife in the kitchen.

This video caused me to pause and recall some of the most emotional dances we've shared in the past few years. From comforting each other through heartbreaks, to finding joy in our children, to working clumsily through our individual trials, to celebrating simple newfound joys, to simply expressing our love for each other, I find comfort in her arms and knowing she loves me.

I love you dear. I'm grateful for the promises we've made to keep dancing with one another throughout the eternities.

Thought of You from Ryan J Woodward on Vimeo.

Did you know?

Our household has increased by an additional pair of Hannah Montana footwear. For middle daughter.

Our family recently celebrated our 12th Birthday!

Sam's Club has moved Underwear to the front entrance, so it is extra traumatizing when we go there now.

Younger sister and her family are home from their summer in Virginia. And we are thrilled. We are lining up for haircuts!

Oldest daughter is LOVING her new class and teacher.

Middle daughter thinks she is curriculum director for her new preschool.

Little son now requires 3 songs before he will fall asleep at night.

The husband is the most awesomest PR guy around! I am so proud of that man.

My parents celebrated 41 years of marriage this past weekend.

I have 3 loads of laundry waiting to be folded. Good thing laundry is pretty patient.

Oldest sister is days away from baby #5!

The canine is thriving.

Only 99 shopping days till Christmas.

Oldest daughter gets to sell Girl Scout Cookies this year! She can't wait.

Middle daughter built the ultimate fort for the canine. What a giver.

Little son is a milk drinker. In a big way.

The husband is brilliant. Just brilliant.

The gospel of Jesus Christ brings me joy.

I don't think she got the memo...

I admit to having a blanket fetish. Heaven help me. My kids always want to use my blanket- not theirs. They have a trazillion- or is it brazilian? tee hee . I have ONE blanket- only one. Can't an old lady enjoy her blankie without it being ripped away and used by a little tiny thing? I am beginning to think no.

This is my original personal blanket. It lasted only a few days before my kids discovered it and commandeered it.

No matter, thought I, I will just purchase a new personal blanket. Thus was born the green fuzzy fleece (from Kirkland's):

The green fuzzy Kirkland's special was soon discovered by one offspring and then another. It has been passed throughout the family and I was only able to enjoy its comfort and warmth a few short moments before I resigned myself to the fact that I should accept defeat and seek new pastures. Enter brown fuzzy fleece, also of Kirkland's:

Brown fuzzy was nice for a bit. But, alas, it was swept up by the undying love of a 2 1/2 year old. What to do? What to do? Right. Go shopping.

Accordingly, I was shopping at JoAnn yesterday. (If you don't mind, let me digress for a moment as I ask you: Why JoAnn and not JoAnn's? I hate saying the name of that store, because it kills me not to add the obligatory "apostrophe-s-" at the end of the name. Pretty much all stores called by a proper name add that apostrophe-s-. Like McDonald's, Mervyn's, Kohl's, Albertson's, Mimi's, um- Kirkland's, even Michael's, etc, etc. So, when I am talking about JoAnn, I sometimes go ahead and add the apostrophe-s- because I think most people expect that, yet when I do add it, I am left wondering if that person is thinking I don't know the correct name of the store. Yet, when I say the name in the proper way, I am left wondering if the person thinks I am not using the store name correctly. Did no one tell JoAnn this would be awkward? Quite the conundrum! ) Now we return to regular programming: I was checking out the clearance fabrics and came across this deliciously soft and fuzzy, although a bit juvenile and not too feminine, fleece. I mean, this is the soft, sink your body into, kind of fleece.

Ahhhhhhh, love it! ON CLEARANCE, might I remind you. I quickly purchased two wonderful yards! Bonus! Length is always important- this is something I was not getting out of my previous blankies. I came straight home and sewed up those edges and voila! instant heaven.

Never mind about the wizards and dragons. I have a long, soft blanket that I will be able to enjoy for the next two hours until it is whisked away by a little person and I am off to JoAnn to see what other treasures await. Meanwhile, you can go to sleep with a smile on your face, satisfied that I have had a little enjoyment out of this magic blanket. And, try not to laugh at this 30 something who has the wizard/dragon combo.

I know you want it.




NEWSFLASH...NEWSFLASH...NEWSFLASH...NEWSFLASH...NEWSFLASH.....

Oh, one more thing. Guess what happened last night? I won the silver medal for three person amateur normal clothes wearing street volleyball in the Olympics! Yes I did. It was amazing. Even more amazing because I was playing with two people I didn't know and we didn't even know we won the silver medal until it was the medal ceremony and they announced it. Boy were we surprised! But I was a little puzzled as to why our medals were on a normal necklace chain and not the beautiful red ribbons that everyone else was presented with. Then, our bouquet was a pot of planted chrysanthemums (I know how to spell that word because I learned it from Anne of Green Gables) with a shrink-wrapped cellophane pot. It was lovely. And the announcer really played up the fact that I love the Olympics so much and so she was thrilled that I was able to take home the silver. Oh, I can't wait to see what I accomplish tonight...(all curled up in the magic blanket)

addendum: shortly after posting this- within minutes even- the husband called to inform me that I had forgotten one blanket- in fact, the one that started it all even before the striped one- a maroon beauty with black blanket stitching around the edges. Oh, yes, the memories. What would I do without the husband?

P.S. The husband originally laughed at the magic blanket. Then later yesterday evening, when the children were in bed, he wanted to snuggle up in it with me while we were watching a movie. Are you kidding me? No one makes fun of my magic blanket and then tries to use it later. I think I'll repent and let him snuggle in it with me tonight.

Batter Up!

So, as a mother you gotta stick up for your kiddos, right?

We are now in the 4th week of school and today was oldest daughter's first day in a new classroom. Let me fill you in:

The Thursday before school began was meet the teacher night. The husband and I attended with oldest daughter and with middle daughter and little son in tow. We were informed that the teacher she had been assigned (and the one that we had requested because of her awesome reputation as a teacher) was now the official 1st grade ELD teacher- for all the Spanish-speaking students- so oldest daughter was re-assigned to a different teacher.

OK, so we went into this new teacher's class room. It was bare- NOTHING on the walls. Oh, except for an alphabet strip above the dry-erase board. That is all- an alphabet strip. In my head I was like, "Huh?" But outwardly I was presenting an open-minded front. As we met the teacher we learned that she recently graduated from college, somewhere in the mid west. She just arrived in our state 2 weeks prior to the start of school, the ink still wet on her diploma.

Leaving her classroom I was hoping that there would be more to her than what was presented. I was a little let-down and skeptical of what she could pull together in just the few short days before the actual start of school.

First day of school dawns. We take the required photos of oldest daughter with brand new school uniform, back pack and Hannah Montana shoes, load all the children in the car and set off for a top notch first grade education.

As we entered oldest classroom, I saw what new teacher had pulled together for the actual start of school. Um, nothing. Same ol' alphabet strip and that's pretty much it. I was hoping for more, I'm not gonna lie. The husband and I exchanged nervous glances, took a photo of oldest daughter with new teacher, kissed and hugged her (oldest daughter, not new teacher) and left our offspring in the hands of a green teacher with a naked classroom.

Fast forward 3 weeks: oldest daughter comes home each day (the ones where I remember to pick her up) very down on school. She "hates school." This is something new to our home. She loved school last year! She had an awesome teacher that we all love. Last year the only time she would voice any opposition to school attendance was when I first woke her up in the morning. (she didn't know what she was saying, she was still practically asleep) But this year, it is constant. First thing she says when she wakes up. Second and third thing she says when she wakes up, etc., and last thing she says as she gets out of the car when I drop her off. Then, all is repeated at 3:00 when i pick her up.

Last Tuesday was my first day helping in the classroom. I like to go once a week for a couple hours to help out. I sure was not prepared for this class. I can't even tell you everything I witnessed, you would not believe me. Believe me. So, I will highlight the standout issues. Upon entering the classroom, this is what I witness:

• children roaming around the class while the majority is sitting at the back carpet for spelling review
• teacher teaching to 3-4 students while others are under tables and tuned out
• class returns to desk for math lesson
• one little girl painting nails
• one little boy cutting paper
• one little boy lying on floor
• one little girl squirting lying boy in the face with her water bottle
• one little girl eating chips
• 4-5 little girls and boys trying to get chip girl's attention so they can share the bounty
• one little girl falling asleep on desk
• the majority of the little boys and girls disrupted by all that is happening
• one little boy playing with cars on his desk
• one little boy facing completely the opposite direction of the lesson
• chit chat all around the room
• little girls and boys getting up and leaving the classroom to go potty
• no attempt to bring the class to order during math lesson
• no worksheet given to apply concepts taught

The class then adjourned to the carpet at the back of the room for story time. They were to read a short book and answer questions. The book began, the children were rowdy, the children were under tables, the children were talking and bothering their neighbors, etc, etc, etc.

A half hour after the story time began I left to go home. The book was still unfinished. It was a picture book. Should have taken maybe 10 minutes to read. (I was in the class for 2 hours and these three things are all that were accomplished in that time.)

When I picked up oldest daughter from school I asked her how the book ended. She didn't know. They never finished it. I understood her lack of enthusiasm for school.

The next morning I put in a call for the principal. Her voice mail said she would get back to me within 24 hours. 72 hours and 3 calls later, still no word from the principal. Finally I walked into the school requesting to see the principal. After meeting with her and demanding (sounds all "in your face", but not so much) that oldest daughter be given a new teacher, I went home again. I was feeling bad for this new teacher. She needs help, direction, supplies. And I know this teacher will improve as she gets the teacher skills she needs. But I cannot afford to let my daughter be in a situation that is constantly bringing her down while we are waiting for this teacher to come around.

Yesterday I met with the principal to sign papers for a transfer to a new class, met the newly assigned teacher, and explained my reasons for pulling oldest daughter to the little green teacher.

I feel for her. I have arranged with her to go in and help for a 1/2 hour each week.

When the husband and I told oldest daughter that she would be changing classes, she smiled. She is excited. She will thrive in this new teacher's class. I am excited. I am hopeful. I am drained.

It is scary to face people. I don't like confrontation. I want everyone to be happy. I am proud of myself for going to bat for my sweet oldest daughter. I would do it again.

P.S. Sorry this one is so long. Thanks for reading.

You are Under-Dressed

I am sitting here in the dark, laptop on my lap in little son's bedroom (per his request as he falls asleep) on the most comfortable chair in the house. The husband has been away on business for the better part of the week and I am missing him fiercely. This is what I will tell him when we talk next.

You will be glad to know that the children, the plants, the canine and I are still all alive.

Middle daughter and I had a beautiful afternoon crafting jewelry- one ring for each finger. She was delighted.

I visited with oldest daughter's principal this afternoon and hope to resolve the conflict by Monday. I will tell you more of this when we are together.

The canine's bowels are functioning wonderfully. And even better- all the functions have been outside!

We had a lovely visit this evening with older sister and her family. We feasted on crusty bread sandwiches, strawberries, and best of all- brownies and ice cream. Oldest daughter was playing with the plastic handcuffs and asked me to hold out my wrists because, "you are under-dressed", she said. We must teach her what the proper phrase is.

I think it is time for two things 1) teaching middle daughter a little tact and decorum and 2) locking the bathroom door. Middle daughter walked in our bathroom just as I was stepping into the shower. She stopped dead in her tracks, stared at me and said, "Mom I just want to tell you something. You are beautiful, but you are not beautiful when you be naked." I know you would hotly contest her on this one. Thank you for being my champion!

The haystacks at the dairy are on fire and filling the air with a foul aroma.

I missed my scripture reading today and hope you are not too far ahead of me. I will do my best to catch up.

I finally removed the squash plant from the flower planter. It is not producing squashes and is overtaking my lavender. I feel much better now.

Little son insisted on me laying down with him for his afternoon nap. I was glad for the invitation as I was feeling a little weary and in need of a recharge. I said to him, "Goodnight little son." To which he promptly responded, "I'm not little son, I'm Worm Boy." It seems he refuses to be called by his given name anymore. So, I teased a little and said, "Good night buddy boy." Again he responded with, "I'm not buddy boy, I'm Worm Boy. " I couldn't resist. I taunted for a few minutes and then we both drifted off into dreamland.

Enjoy your hot air ballooning and white water rafting. And be prepared to share your adventures with the children.

Come home soon. Sons and daughters need their dads and wives need their husbands.

Questions

Hey all of you out there.

Do you know what today is? That's right it is Wednesday.

And do you know what happens on Wednesdays? Very good, it is early release- 1:00 EVERY Wednesday.

And do you know where I was at 12:50 today? Yes, you are right again. I was waiting in the school parking lot for oldest daughter.

You know why I was there on time (even early) (although, every time I have NOT forgotten to pick her up I have been there early)? BECAUSE I HAVE HEARD THIS ALL WEEK: "Don't forget me on Wednesday like you did last time!" or "remember when you forgot to pick me up last time?" and "that's the tree I waited under when you didn't come get me" oh, and this "that's the lady that called you when you didn't come get me."

So, we are now home from school. It's Wednesday, and I didn't forget. Go me.

I have a suspicion that oldest daughter will never let me live this one down. And then, I think that when middle daughter starts school next year, oldest daughter may say to her, "Sister, I hope Mom doesn't forget to pick you up."

And to tell you the truth, it is possible that it could happen again.

Lady of Mystery- Revealed

So, the lady in the office yesterday? Only the new Assistant Principal. Found this out when I picked up oldest daughter (on time) today.

Nice to meet you, Ms. Macdonald.

First impressions. Always nice.

Mom Card in Serious Jeopardy

I am operating under a suspended mom card. Please don’t judge me. Let he (or she- we are equal opportunity here) who is without forgetfulness cast the first frying pan.

You know how yesterday was Wednesday? Wednesday. Yeah, Wednesday. The day oldest daughter gets out of school early. 1:00- EVERY Wednesday. And that’s what day it was yesterday.

1:15 the phone rings. Oldest daughter’s school was on the line: “Hey, did you remember that it was early release today, because it is Wednesday? We have oldest daughter here waiting to be picked up.”

Hello?! How could I have forgotten?

I wake up little son from his nap (the one where I had just put him in bed 10 minutes earlier), tear middle daughter away from planting weeds in a flower pot outside, and strap them in the car.

Rushing into the office, some lady (a teacher, I guess?) says, “You know, we have early release EVERY Wednesday at 1:00.”

Thanks, I know that.

The last thing I said to oldest daughter when I dropped her off at school Wednesday morning? “It’s early release today, I’ll be here at 1:00.”

I'll Send the Therapist's Bill to Sam

All I wanted was to go to Sam's Club and get my bulk pack of 720 diaper wipes, garbage bags, gogurt and some treats for our Olympics Opening Ceremony party. Instead I ended up treating middle daughter to the most traumatic moment in her young, 4 year old life. Way to go, Mom!

It was meant to be a quick in and out stop. Go ahead and laugh. Because I know you know as well as I know that there is no such thing as a quick in and out stop at Sam's Club.

We were headed to the back of the store for those trash bags when we happened upon the Halloween display. (I know! It's only August. But I guess if we can already be in school, they can have the ghouls and goblins out.) So, we pass by the automated life-sized zombie guy.

I have little son and middle daughter in the cart seat (I just want to mention how much I LOVE the carts at Sam's due to the double accommodation of the seat. It is genius!) and oldest daughter walking alongside. Oldest daughter sees the monster and stops to take it all in as I continue making my way to the trash bags.

As soon as she has seen enough of the zombie, she hustles and catches up- giving the full report, "Brother, sister- you have to see that thing. It shakes and changes faces and everything!"

Immediately middle daughter declares that she must witness this spectacle. I assure her we will go back by on our way to the gogurt. Her pleadings become more intense as I am distracted with the task of deciding which bags to select: force flex with ties or the generic with 10 times more bags in the box. Once the decision is made and the bags are placed in the cart we proceed to the "gotta see" scary man.

As we near the ghoul, the automated shaking begins and ghostly sounds ring out. We are still behind it- not even head on- and middle daughter lets out a terrified, blood curdling 10 second (at least) scream of intense fear that stops all the shoppers in our immediate area. Almost as soon as the scream begins, she starts crying inconsolably. I have never witnessed (nor do I hope to ever witness again) my daughter in such a state of fear. Her little body literally shaking.

I quickly push the cart away from the display and position it to the side of the aisle so that I can make an attempt at reassuring her that all is well. My heart was aching for her as I could see that she was scared beyond description.

I have to admit, my first thoughts were, "Bring on bedtime. We are having nightmares at our house tonight."

Finally we were able to comfort her enough to get that gogurt, check out and get home. The rest of the afternoon she was in constant fear that we were going to go back to Sam's and she would have to see that scary guy. Obviously, this experience damaged her little secure self.

As soon as the husband got home from work she related the entire story. Now, I know I have a wonderful husband and this is why: as he was talking it through with her, they decided to give that scary monster a name. Frank was suggested, but middle daughter asked, "Can we just call him Underwear?" It was brilliant! Out of this scary situation, she was able to place a funny name on the experience and laugh about it. Thank you, husband! The gold medal goes to you. (What is your national anthem?)

The scene was recalled a few times during the Opening Ceremonies, but there were no nightmares.

Yesterday as were getting ready to go to Target, middle daughter pipes up with, "I don't want to go if Underwear is at Target."

We went. He wasn't there.

H-Mon in Da Howse

Can I get my mom card back? I took oldest daughter and got those Hannah Montana shoes. (hence my totally white mom, feigning teen-coolness title.)

Before we went, we were discussing the shoes and she actually asked, “Which ones do you want me to get, Mom?” It kind of pricked me a bit. I realized that she really wants to please me.

To be sure we could find the appropriate size and style we went to a different store on the evening of my last post, and funny thing, little son found the exact same four-sizes-too-big shoes that he did at the other store and wore them around till a decision was reached on oldest daughter’s shoes. Which, really, took no time at all, since she went for the same shoes she had her eye on and we found a pair in the right size. She was beaming. All smiles. I was biting my tongue and smiling and reassuring her on her BRILLIANT choice of shoes.

I should be spanked, though. I saw a pair of Tinker Bell shoes with a VERY INCONSPICUOUS little Tink on them. That is the answer! A character shoe with barely any mention of the character. I slyly pointed them out to oldest daughter. She scarcely gave them a glance and continued with the tying of her first love- Hannah.

It was a good thing that the husband went with us, he acted as my moral support and reminded me of the importance of letting her make her own decision. (I think there may have been something in “the Plan” about freedom of choosing for one’s self?)

It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized just how excited she was about her purchase. She got up first thing and put on those shoes- with her pajamas- and wore them all day. And then, of course, yesterday was the first day of school and she proudly donned her shoes, talking about how much her friends are going to love them. Oh, my sweet little oldest daughter.

So, we have Hannah Montana shoes at our house and I have found that I am not suffering because of it. Life can still be wonderful, even when your child wears those ghastly character shoes, and my pride is still intact.

Middle daughter starts preschool the beginning of September. A promise of school shopping has been made. This includes a trip to the shoe store. Heaven help me…

Play-dough, Pony Tails and Pride

Ya wanna know something I don’t really like? That’s gotta be those character shoes that are so marketed out there these days. You’ve seen ’em. The ones with Strawberry Shortcake, Barbie, Transformers, or Elmo on them. I don’t like those shoes. Are you with me on this? Really, I shouldn’t care, but I do. I do! I have made it through six years without having to get those things for my kids. Don’t know why I don’t like ‘em, just don’t.

So yesterday I took oldest daughter to get school shoes, since school starts on Monday. I know! We are still at the VERY BEGINNING of August. Um, one question: who starts school during the MIDDLE of summer break? We do, that’s who. It stinks.

Back to the shopping trip. We enter the store and right there, displayed proudly on the window, is Hannah Montana. They have Hannah Montana shoes. Oh, ARE YOU SERIOUS? I can’t turn around, oldest daughter has seen Hannah and can’t wait to get in there to see what kind of Hannah Montana shoes are inside. The sales lady measures oldest daughter’s foot and the whole time I am stressing about how to get out of buying “character shoes”. (I think I already mentioned I don’t like those kind of shoes. But do you get it? I just don't like those shoes.)

Sure enough, the first pair of shoes oldest daughter sees are white plastic looking tennis shoes with a guitar going down one side and a very poor likeness of Hanna Montana on the other- gold shoe laces and all. I am horrified! She hurriedly grabs those shoes and shoves her very narrow feet right on in. A pretty decent fit. She is excited. I am nervously pointing at other pairs of shoes, trying to turn her attention away from the shoes at hand. My strategy backfires, as right next to the shoes I am trying to sell her on is another style of Hannah Montana. In all, we tried on 6 different Hannah styles. And I was getting more and more bummed with each pair.

Just then, a stroke of genius luck. Oldest daughter begins to pout because the store doesn’t have her fave version of the shoe in her size. This is my chance! I proclaim I will not tolerate pouting and we are leaving THIS INSTANT without shoes! I admit, pretty lame of mom. Oldest daughter is more than sad, she is experiencing the deepest depths of despair. We pack up our gear, strip the four-sizes-too-big shoes off little son’s feet that he has been clomping around in since we entered, and walk out into the 2,000 degree summer sun. Because, that is a better alternative to being in a shoe store with a pouting daughter who insists upon Hannah Montana shoes.

Reflecting upon this experience over the last 24 hours has led me to this conclusion: WHO CARES? Shoes are shoes, right? Of course, the ultimate thing I want is oldest daughter’s happiness. And why does it matter what or who is on the shoes, as long as it is not inappropriate? This shoe-tastrophe was all about me. Me! ME! ME!!!! Darn that pride! Why do parent’s ideals sometimes get in the way of their children’s welfare?

I am reminded again of a huge role model in my life, Marjorie Hinckley, who stated in an awesome book that it was her belief that we should say “YES!” to our children as often as we can, when it does not interfere with what is truly best for them. When I originally read this from her, I felt it. Right through my whole being. I agreed. I put it into motion and began to say yes to the things that had inconvenienced me before. Yes, you can play with play-dough, yes you can paint with watercolors, yes you can blow bubbles, yes you can brush my hair and put it in 14,000 little pony tails. These are things that make my kids happy. It applies to shoes, too. I remember being young- a long time ago- and wanting something so badly, yet feeling like I needed to please my mom and get the shoes, shirt or pants she picked out. I don't think she was aware of the need I felt to please her by choosing what she suggested. And I know it was not intentional on her part, but I don't want my kids to feel that. It took me a long time to realize that my mom's feelings would not be hurt if I didn't choose what she picked out. I want my kids to select what they like- I want them to create their own identity and be strong and confident in who they are.

Yes, oldest daughter, you can get those shoes. We are going to the shoe store tomorrow- first thing.

Golden Thinking Time

Third grade teachers should know how to correctly pronounce words, right? While I was showering today I was remembering my third grade teacher and how she always pronounced “orange” incorrectly. She called it “oinj”. I think that is how you would spell it. Maybe not. I do my best thinking in the shower- the best 7 minutes of my day.

Let me take you through my shower today:
Before even going upstairs, I lay down the ground rules for the kids:
No going outside while I am in the shower.
No answering the phone or door.
No TV.
No markers.

All set and ready for my 12:37 shower. (Yippee! Not quite one o’clock yet, I am already doing better than yesterday!) I turned on the water and it was too hot, so as I adjusted the temperature I realized that all I needed was to turn on the cold- it came out warm anyway. It was so refreshing. That is what is great about living in Arizona- no need to even turn on the water heater in the summer.

As I began shampooing my hair I glanced at the bottle and did a little inner laugh because the husband always makes jokes out of that bottle of Pantene and the foreign language description of “Hidritacion Diaria”. How does one coax their husband’s head out of the gutter? But then I remember an episode of The Muppet Show where a salesman asks if a customer is interested in his shampoo, and the customer responds that he doesn’t want SHAMpoo, he wants REALpoo. So, I resign myself to the fact that even when the husband is not in the shower with me, he is in the shower with me.

Coming out of the Pantene reverie, middle daughter enters the bathroom and this is the conversation that ensues:
Middle Daughter: Mom, my sister just found a bug and it is hungry.
Me: k, it will have to make its own lunch. Put it outside.
Middle Daughter: It’s ok, Mom, she put it in the plant so it could eat.
Me: Oh, good.

While rinsing out the conditioner, which also had a version of the shampoo description printed upon it, I begin to make decisions what I will wear upon completion of this lovely, lukewarm shower. I settle on yoga pants because a) I need to do laundry and b) doesn’t that sound comfortable? But then I wonder, does one have to do yoga to be in the yoga pants club? I tivo’d a few yoga episodes that were on PBS, but never did them. Does that count- it's on the tivo if I ever need to do it. And then, I realized that if I were to do those yoga sessions, I would look much better in those pants.

About this time, my little son enters and says something about helping him with something. Parting the shower curtain, I see a balled up fist encapsulated in an inside-out black glove, no fingers poking through. “Can you help me, Mom?” I send him out to ask his sister, telling him I am not quite done and my hands are wet. Turning off the water a minute later, he toddles back in and smiles, “You all done!” As he holds his gloved hand up to my face to help him fix it.

Shower time= golden thinking time.