School ended, thank God.  Everyone survived.  Summer is hot, hot, hot.  There will be not trips to the zoo any time soon, membership or no.  The goal is for everyone to survive the summer.

We’ve been keeping busy.  I can’t actually remember what happened right after school got out, but we spent some time at Craig’s parents’ house (mostly in the pool) and then came back to spend a day canoeing with Theresa and her friend Paul, and then a day of rapid laundry and packing, and off to Bunkie.  For nine days.  If you don’t know where Bunkie is, it’s in central Louisiana, near Alexandria.  It does not have its own Wal-Mart.  That tells you how small it is.

So we were on the outskirts of Bunkie, LA, helping to facilitate a leadership retreat for some of the finest Catholic youth of the Baton Rouge and Lafayette Dioceses.  It was really good (I think there are some pictures attached in some way I don’t understand to Craig’s Facebook page…or maybe he can see them but not share them…I don’t know) and we had a lot of fun and great prayer experiences and spent time with wonderful people.  The down side was the ridiculous number of chiggers and mosquitoes (which I am still scratching) and the two poor baby sitters who were left with my attached baby most of the day.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  There’s only one danger with attachment parenting – they might actually become attached.  And Samantha definitely is.  So that was hard on Samantha, me, and the two patient young ladies who volunteered to spend their week watching the facilitators’ kids.

Also, the camp is run by the Department of Education, so we had school lunches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for a week.  On the last night, vegetables were brought out as snacks.  I have never seen teenagers attack bell peppers and carrots, watermelon and cucumbers like that before.  The cookies were abandoned.  The granola bars, abandoned.  The Big Cheez-its were not abandoned, as they apparently complimented the vegetables.  This should tell you something about the nutritional content of school lunches.

[I have been told that the nutrition in school lunches "balances out" over the course of a week - sure, sometimes it's pizza, but sometimes it's meatloaf.  That only worked for our week if all the students were pregnant and needed 80 or so grams of protein a day, but only needed one serving of vegetables per day.  Over the course of the week we had corn twice and carrots (overcooked and drowned in sugar) once, plus the lettuce for hamburgers and tacos, which I don't count.  I do not call eating French fries at least one meal a day balanced.  But I digress.]

So we were happy, after another two days at Craig’s parents’ house (for meetings and a youth group softball game – which we won!), to return to our garden and our kitchen.  We had pizza with chocolate bell peppers, a tomato, and basil and parsley all from the garden for dinner tonight.  We’ve also had two yellow squash now, a couple of other tomatoes (including a beautiful Cherokee), and delicious purple beans which have all been eaten raw.  There weren’t really enough of them to cook, anyway.  I have battled slugs in the squash/melon patch, and finally have plants large enough to survive their onslaught.  There are now beautiful yellow, black, and white caterpillars eating my dill plant, but the thing was taking over the garden, so I’m letting them go to it.  They don’t seem to be bothering anything else, and Stephen Locke says they make pretty butterflies, although he couldn’t remember which kind in particular.

Meanwhile, Lucy has taken to singing made-up songs with repetitive words, which is pretty funny, and she is writing beautiful letter “L”s and upside-down letter “U”s.  Samantha continues to learn new words to say, and to mimic whatever Lucy may be doing.  They both swim fearlessly with floaties now, which is great except we have to make sure Samantha doesn’t get near the pool without them, because she will jump in and expect to float.

In case you were wondering, the pooping on the potty seems to have been a fluke on all accounts.  There have been no repeat attempts.  Two steps forward, one step back.  Or something.

I have tried to update my reading list, but the plug-in is on the fritz, so that will have to wait.  I’m busy with several sewing, framing, and card-making projects, which will hopefully be posted when they are done and/or delivered.  There are pictures, I just have to sit down and put them up.  I should really get Craig to work on that part I guess…

So for the rest of the summer we have a week planned with my mom’s family in Florida, and a week in North Dakota (actually, a weekend in North Dakota and the rest of the week driving there and back), and another weekend in Bunkie for Taylor’s wedding.  After last week’s experiences, I, for one, will be wearing eau de bugspray with my bridesmaid dress.  I’m still scratching.  And then the rat race starts again.  If, of course, you consider it ever to have stopped.

There are instructions on the internet for disassembling your car.  With photos.  So Craig removed the top dashboard piece, the one with the air vents in it.  And the case around the gearshift, and the “not an ashtray”, and the pop-lid storage thingy, and finally, (finally!) the control console.

As we removed the the CD player, we heard the problem.  Rattle.  Rattle.  Jingle.  Hmmm.

Craig was able to get the two nickels out before leaving the car.  But one stubborn quarter wouldn’t fit through the hole it was able to reach.  So the CD player was transfered to the operating room (the kitchen table).

At which place Craig disassembled it further (we had quite a pile of screws by now) and finally got to that pesky quarter.  (Craig objects to the use of the plural subjective pronoun, but I did remove one of the screws, as well as fetch the various screwdrivers.)  After an hour of researching and an hour of tinkering, Craig started putting things back together.  And lo and behold, it worked!  I was very, very excited, which left Craig a little confused.  After all, it is just a CD player, right?

Oh no, it is my sanity.  Restored.

We had a talk with Lucy.  She was saving the thirty-five cents for later.

This is a great story, a beautiful witness, so I thought I’d post if even though Craig sent it to some of you already.

By William Wan
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, July 29, 2009

They’ve been mistaken for Jedi-wannabes headed to a Star Wars convention. They’ve been investigated by police, approached by strangers, gawked at from cars and offered gifts of crumpled dollar bills and Little Debbie snacks.

After trekking along more than 300 miles of dusty Virginia country roads and suburban highways, six Franciscan friars reached Washington on Tuesday, having seen it all during an offbeat modern-day quest for God.

For six weeks, the brothers walked from Roanoke with only their brown robes, sandals and a belief in the kindness of strangers to feed and shelter them.

The sight of six men in flowing habits, trudging single file on the side of the road, prompted many to pull over and talk, even confess. People on their way to work described their loneliness. College students wanted help figuring out what to do with their lives. Children, mistaking them for the Shaolin monks in movies, ran up to ask the friars if they knew how to beat up bullies.

“Dressed like we are in our habits, it’s like a walking sign that says, ‘Tell us your life’s problems,’ ” explained Cliff Hennings, the youngest of the friars at 23.

In every instance, the friars made time for conversation. They shot the breeze with a gang of drunk bikers, dispensed relationship advice to the brokenhearted commuters and bore witness to one and all, yea, even to the Chik-fil-A employee dressed as a cow.

The pilgrimage was the idea of four young friars just finishing their training in Chicago and working toward taking lifelong vows. Seeking to emulate the wanderings of their founder, Saint Francis of Assisi, they wanted to journey together as a fraternity, ministering to one another and to strangers, while depending on God for every meal and place to sleep.

Joined by two older friars supervising their training, they picked as their destination a friary in Washington, D.C., called the Franciscan Monastery of the Holy Land — a symbolic gesture, because the actual Holy Land was too far away.

Then last month they drove from Chicago to Salem, just outside Roanoke, parked their van at a church and set out on foot.

They tried to live by the ascetic rules Jesus laid out for his 12 disciples: “Take nothing for the journey — no staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra tunic.” The less they brought, they reasoned, the more room they could leave for God. The friars did make a few modifications, carrying a toothbrush, a wool blanket, water and a change of underwear (“a summer essential,” one explained), as well as one cellphone in case of emergency.

Some rules, however, had to be made on the fly. They had agreed not to carry any money, but just minutes into their first day, strangers were pressing dollar bills into their hands. So they made a pact to spend what they received each day on food, often high-protein Clif bars, and to give the rest to the needy.

They walked 15 miles their first day and found themselves at dusk in front of a fire station just outside Roanoke. One of the friars, Roger Lopez, a former fireman himself, knocked on the station door and asked whether there was somewhere they could sleep. As they talked, the friars spotted a giant trampoline out back.

“It seemed like such a good idea at the time,” said Lopez, 30.

The six spread out on the trampoline as if they were spokes on a wheel. But soon they realized gravity was against them, pulling everyone toward the center. Some tried to sleep clutching the side railing. When one person rolled over, the rest bobbed uncontrollably like buoys. No one got much sleep, but the firefighters did send them off the next morning with corned beef sandwiches.

Since then, they have slept on picnic tables outside Lynchburg, basement floors in Charlottesville, even on office tables at a food pantry.

One night they were hosted by a man with tattoos on his arms, an unkempt ponytail and all of his front teeth missing. He had pulled up in his beat-up Jeep and offered to let the friars stay with him in an old one-room schoolhouse in Nelson County.

“He looked like he had just gotten out of prison,” said Hennings, but the man turned out to be a Native American healer. The friars stayed up all night talking to him. He told them Native stories and played his double flute. They chanted Latin hymns in return and told him stories from the Gospel.

Such moments of grace became a daily occurrence for the friars. Sure, some passersby gave them the finger. One guy even leaned out the window to add a sprinkling of Nietzsche (“God is dead!”) to his vulgarities. But most encounters were meaningful, even profound.

Just outside Harrisonburg, a woman in her 40s with a young daughter pulled over in her old Dodge sedan to talk to 25-year-old friar Richard Goodin.

She’d recently caught her husband cheating on her. He had kicked her and her daughter out of their house, she told Goodin. Now, like the friars, they were wandering through the wilderness, unsure of their next meal or their next move.

As they talked, the woman’s daughter rummaged through the car and gave the friars a soda. Then she found a chocolate bar and offered that. As the conversation began winding down, the daughter said there was nothing more in the car. The woman reached for her purse and told Goodin, “I want to give you what we have left.”

She pressed $3.52 into his hand, which he accepted reluctantly.

“I realized she wasn’t giving this to us or to me,” Goodin said. “I think she heard us talk about trusting in God and she wanted to try to trust in the same way. She was giving that money to God.”

He and the other friars have thought about the woman a lot. Last week, they thought about her as they walked along Lee Highway in Fairfax, where Mary Williams and her three kids pulled over in their minivan and offered to take the brothers to a Chik-fil-A.

“It was the oddest experience sitting there at Chik-fil-A with everyone staring at us,” said Williams, 45. “The high point was when the guy dressed up like a cow came out and gave us all high fives. He was in costume. They were in robes. A lot of people were wondering what was going on.”

People had much the same reaction Tuesday as the friars crossed the Memorial Bridge and wandered past the Lincoln Memorial. In an instant, tourists went from posing in front of Lincoln’s statue to posing with the Franciscans.

Their plan was to spend one last night wherever God provided and then arrive this morning at the monastery near Catholic University. They hope to spend the day there, telling the story of their journey and the goodness they encountered to anyone who wanted to listen.

Their message will be simple: “Anything can happen when you live in the moment, one step at a time,” said Mark Soehner, 51, one of the mentors to the young friars. “But to find that out, you have to be willing to take that one step.”

[Just after Lucy woken up this morning]

Craig: I’m going to eat you!

Lucy: I don’t want to!  I don’t taste good!

I know I said a couple of quotes, but now I can’t remember the other one (two?) and neither can Craig.  If they come to us, I’ll add them on.  In the meantime, Lisa’s wedding was nice, although we didn’t stay long at the reception because the girls (and I) were tired, and they have done remarkably well in the car thus far.  Visiting with Chris and Kelly is always good, and we’re keeping busy perusing their books and discussing cooking, gardening, kids, world peace, and other important topics.  More to come, when it’s not so late and my brain is a little more functional.

I’m frantically trying to finish two sewing projects, plus the mending of diapers, except that we managed to leave all our cloth diapers, except the ones the girls were wearing when we left, at home.  And this week has taught me, in case I needed reminding, that I hate disposable diapers.  There is a whole post in itself there.  This is why I feel busy, despite spending most of my days at home on the couch.  (Ok, not most, but as much as I can manage.)

We’re visiting my parents this week, and Craig flew out of DFW to a teaching conference in Chicago on Tuesday, so the girls and I have taken over my parents’ house.  This has been a fun week, except that hanging over our heads is the fact that my dad appears to have lymphoma.  They’re getting the final diagnosis and setting up a treatment plan tomorrow, so many, many prayers will be needed in the coming months.  My dad doesn’t like a lot of attention, so the outpouring of good wishes he has gotten just from his friends and family has been a little overwhelming for him, but he’s hanging in there so far.

My mom’s knees, which were replaced one month ago tomorrow, are doing really well, so thank you for all the prayers in that area.  She is walking with a cane out of the house and without a cane at home.   My brother, on the other hand, is going to have surgery to clean up a couple of disks in his spine which are pushing on his nerves and causing pain in his leg.  Then he has to lose a good bit of weight so it doesn’t happen again.  Anybody with tricks to get someone very reluctant to start a serious (manageable) weight loss program, I’d love to hear them.

The girls are being themselves.  Lucy is everywhere at once, and bombarding Grandma and Uncle John with requests to “play play-doh”.  We went to the mall to ride the carousel yesterday, and that was fun.  She still refuses (usually) to use the potty, but she goes of her own accord to the bathroom to poop in her diaper.  I think it’s a step in the right direction.  Samantha’s scoot is getting faster (I tried to post a video, but it was too big and I don’t know how to fix that), so we’re having to watch her more closely than ever.  She scoots on her left shin and right foot, which is funny but very effective for her purposes.  She has had her four top front teeth come in all at once, and the last one is almost through after two weeks or so of suffering.  Her teether of choice is still whatever scrap of paper or book is within reach.

Merton has been left in the back seat of the car this week, and I have yet to go dig him out.  I’m not quite half way through the “Reader”, but I have every intention of finishing it.  I have gotten distracted by A Tale of Two Cities, which I am enjoying much more than I had expected.

What else?  I’m sure I’m forgetting lots of important things…but I guess that’s a good start.  We have a busy rest of the summer (for real) with Craig’s last week of summer camp, a visit from Fr. R.B., a wedding in Georgia, and then a road trip to visit friends.  Then Craig starts school, and I am *officially* a stay-at-home mom and homemaker.  (Not just a teacher on summer vacation.)  At that point I’m hoping to start researching the homeschooling stuff in earnest, so hopefully some of that will spill over onto here.

I leave you with the quote of the week from Lucy:

Lucy: I want [something she shouldn't have - I don't remember what]
Grandpa: I want a new car.
Lucy: [in all earnestness] Well, you can share Grandma’s car.

This approach never works for Craig, either.  But he doesn’t usually get such witty comebacks.  And now that they are both awake and I can only distract one of them with breakfast, adieu.

I am now, after two years, almost used to poop.  I am used to spit-up.  These rarely phase me.  I am not, however, used to chocolate throw-up in a car seat.  

Maybe I should back up.  We spent the Mardi Gras holiday with my parents in Texas, which was wonderful.  Lucy got to go to the park, follow Grandpa around the back yard, impose her games on my very patient younger brother, etc.  And the rest of us enjoyed ourselves as well.  So on Ash Wednesday we piled in the car and headed back to New Orleans because Craig had to be at work on Thursday.  Samantha, we learned this trip, does not “travel well”, so she was crying often.  That we were prepared for.

At the first stop we made, Craig bought Lucy some trail mix.  The good kind with nuts, raisins, and chocolate candy.  All of which Lucy likes to eat.  So we were giving it to her a little at a time, and she kept showing me the empty bowl and saying, “More nuts”.  Since she hadn’t had much breakfast, I was happy to oblige.  After a while, I started to get suspicious about how quickly she was eating, and watched her.  But I could not see her dumping the trail mix anywhere, so she got more.  And more.

When we stopped for lunch, we realized how Lucy had gone through so much trail mix.  She had eaten (almost) all of the chocolate, and dumped the raisins and nuts in her chair.  Needless to say, she didn’t want any lunch.

But Lucy went to sleep shortly after that stop, and we didn’t worry about her, until, while we were singing to try and calm down a still-crying Samantha, I turned back just in time to see Lucy spew.  And it was chocolate.

So we did what any good parents would do in such a situation.  We took the first exit.  Where there was nothing.  Houses, service road, and finally, after several minutes of Lucy screaming, “Daddy, help wipe!” we found the empty parking lot of a restaurant which must have only been open for dinner.

Lucy was removed, her clothing changed, her car seat cleaned as well as can be done with burp rags and wet-wipes (Thank God I had left them in the car!  I will never be caught without them!).  Samantha was given a chance to get out of her car seat and eat.  Diapers changed.  Lucy seemed fine now that she was clean, so we piled back in the car, which set Samantha screaming again, and headed off.

Meanwhile, Craig had called my mom to update her on our excitement, and was calling his mom as we pulled back onto the service road, when Lucy got sick again.  The phone call was quickly interrupted, and we headed back for I-10 in search of a service station.  Lucy did not appreciate being left wet for those five or so minutes it took to get to the next exit.  Repeat the last paragraph, except that now I could go inside and get wet paper towels as well.

We also got Lucy some Sprite to try and settle her stomach.  We innocently put it in her sippy cup.  And then it started spewing!  Almost every bump would shake up the carbonation in the soda, and it would squirt out the mouth piece and scare Lucy.  So we finally had to put the cup in the front so she wouldn’t be scared anymore.

Other than the sippy cup, things seemed to be going better.  We made it through Lafayette and were headed for the “I-49 corridor” to try and miss rush hour in Baton Rouge and New Orleans.  We called back Craig’s mom to tell her not to worry.  And just before our exit, Samantha started screaming again, so we decided to make a stop at Craig’s parent’s house in Baton Rouge, to calm nerves, stomachs, and whatever else need calming at that point.  

Craig has wonderfully generous parents.  We thought Lucy was okay now, and she acted very healthy, until we took her next door.  Mr. Bob, the neighbor, and I agreed that she still didn’t look quite right, just in time for her to throw up again on Nana (Craig’s mom).  Back to the house, clean up including a bath, and Lucy again appears totally normal.  And this is my favorite part.

Not because she threw up again on me, but because as I hastily put her down on the floor, Mikey, the rat terrier, ran by to investigate, and she had one last blast left over for him.  I was feeling very sympathetic until I saw the last bit of chocolate throw up hit Mikey’s back, and then I lost it.  It never occurred to me to cry, I was laughing so hard.  I waited for towels to clean my feet, Craig’s brother took the dog out for a bath, clothes were changed again, the floor mopped and disinfected, and it was finally all over.  With Lucy.

So finishing the drive to N.O. was looking like a bad plan at this point.  The car seats were demolished for cleaning.  (There are many times I thank God I am not a single mother – when Craig was disassembling and hosing down the car seats was one of them!)  So Craig decided to go back to N.O. alone so that his physics class could do their experiment the next day.  He is very dedicated, my husband.  In his absence, I tipped Lucy and myself out of the rocking chair, but have only a small bruise to show for that.

Craig came back Thursday afternoon, ostensibly to bring us girls back home.  Instead, we decided to stay two more nights so we could make Craig’s cousins’ wedding shower.

Except that at three in the morning, Craig got sick.  And shortly after he made the perilous journey from bed to couch this morning, I got sick.  And so we have muddled through the day, with assistance from Craig’s youngest brother and Papa, who works at home.  I’m glad we decided to spend the night, and that Nana was there to help Craig last night.

So we have another thrilling story to tell Lucy’s boyfriends someday, and it is now recorded for posterity.  And thus far, despite the numerous loads of laundry, we have survived it.  And at the moment, free from her car seat, at least Samantha is smiling.