Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

Archives for June 2008

Would whoever took June tell me what you did with it? I don’t want it back, I just want to know where it went.

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This was taken several weeks ago.  Don’t you love all the pinks and mauves?  This is why I garden: so that little girls can pick and pick and pick to their hearts content.

Here are the little crazies who did the picking.  Ren is wearing Eden’s bikini.   The bum needed to be rolled up to keep it from falling off hers.

The pool wasn’t open at that point so we turned on the sprinkler.

Wowza!  Look at that mouth.  
Mothering, wifeing, aunting, sistering, gardening, pooling and reading (always!) have trumped blogging for a while.  With the holiday, birthdays and a workshop I’m attending, posting will probably be light for a bit, but I will when I can.  I still owe Canada pictures of the Wizzle stealing popcorn.  I remember.

There are surprises and then there are SURPRISES…

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We have established a new chore system inspired by my good friend, Sherry.  It’s brilliant.  Work is completely voluntary and the payment is in poker chips which can be exchanged for money or screen time.  There is immediate feedback as well as positive peer pressure.  Since it is voluntary there is no coercion and since any computer, video or T.V. viewing depends on it, there is motivation.  One of my favorite aspects is that the kids can earn one chip a day just for keeping their rooms clean.  How brilliant that they are learning that a little work, every single day, pays off royally.  

Christopher is living paycheck to paycheck, but his room is neater than it has been in years with nary a nagging from me nor a bit of help.   Lydia’s room is always clean and now she is reaping the reward for that as well as her innate industry.  Most wonderful of all is that I am getting my house cleaned as my kids are developing a good work ethic.  The big kids have lots of options but it’s been a little harder finding jobs for Eden.  There are a couple that we reserve for her like picking up all of Jack’s toys at night and using the hand vacuum on the floors, but that’s about it.  Because of this, and frankly for my own sake, I’m not holding her to the limitations on screen time.  The other day I was exhausted and allowed her to watch a couple videos.  Again, there’s a payoff: normally the big kids would be fussing about her selections, but this time they were just thrilled that the viewing was free.
Despite her exemption from the general system, Eden is throwing herself right into it.  Last night I noticed her hustling off with the Swiffer but didn’t really think about it.  Later I heard her banging around near her bedroom and ignored that as well.  It was only when I heard a gush of water hitting a floor that I paid attention.  She was in the half bath with the door shut.  I opened it and quickly took in the sight of her shoving the Swiffer around – just the rubber, no pad – the floor swimming in puddles of water, dust and Jack’s fur.  Oh the humanity!
“I’m cleaning the bathroom,” she announced with pride, “to earn a chip!”
“Honey, you need to check with me before you start a job.”
“But I wanted to SURPRISE you!”
I sighed.  What do you say to that?  I grabbed a towel and told her to dry the floor.  As she lay down in a puddle to reach, I shuddered and checked out the rest of her work.  The sink looked very clean and tidy.  Her toothbrush and paste were carefully set on one side and on the other she had neatly arranged a bar of hand soap and some flossers on a floral plate.  Soon the towel and the mopper were sopping.  As I delivered it to the laundry room, Eden stretched out on my bed for a rest and soaked it down to the mattress. 
Not so cheerfully, I shooed her off to get fresh pajamas then fetched fresh sheets and the hair dryer.

6/22

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Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of my father’s death.  I noted it at 6:31 a.m. as I was getting ready for church.  It was soon before or after six in the morning that the phone rang and woke me that Sunday morning, five years ago.  When I heard my sister’s voice I was confused because I thought she was sleeping in the basement but she had awoken early and driven to the hospital to wait with my mom.  They were there when he died.

I had noted the anniversary several months ago when I was scheduled for early morning prayer at church, on the date.  A couple people walk through every room in the church, praying, before the services.  When it is my turn I often sit through at least two and sometimes three of the services and it is usually apparent why I am hearing a particular sermon more than once.  I wondered if yesterday’s services would have any connection with my father’s anniversary, but they didn’t really.  The sermon was quite good, but not related and nothing connected or highlighted the marking of the day.
Torey and I had talked about getting together and having our version of the Don Wolfe Film Festival that my brothers always have out in California on Dad’s birthday in September.  Torey is trying to find a way to honor and remember Dad, especially with her girls.  I don’t feel that compulsion.  Yesterday, after church, I was tired and just wanted to relax.  I called Torey and told her I wasn’t up for the DWFF and she understood.
Some feelings definitely came up last week with the death of Tim Russert and I had a couple dad related cries, but that was it and without that projection I don’t know if I would have cried around this time at all.
One thing, that I have never thought of is that the eve of and day of his death is the Summer Solstice.  Tanner kept vigil the two nights between removing Dad’s life support and the morning of his death.  Up until then I had been obsessed with the thought of Dad dying alone and wept every time I considered it.  But when I told Paul my fears he said, “Babe, he’s not going to be alone, when he dies.  Even if one of us isn’t there, Jesus will be.”  Pretty much anything, any one said to me sounded like a poor platitude, but this gave me pause.  I knew it was true and I felt reprieved from keeping vigil.  Eden was a newborn and I had been balancing her needs with my father’s months and months of dying and the burden was becoming too much to bear.  Friday night and Saturday night I went home to sleep and Sunday morning, June 22, 2003, he was gone.  It was the longest day of the year.
It was the longest day.
I like to know now that my brother’s vigil was the shortest night.
I like to think that the longest day also means the most light.
I am glad to finally see that we removed the life support on a Friday and that he was alive in Christ on Sunday.
I am thankful to know that the mourning is, for the most part, complete.  And yet I know that, in some ways, it will never truly end until I am, in death, fully alive too.

Some of Eden’s pictures on Going to the Sun Road

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In this segment of the journey Sherry drove our car and Paul rode with Andy so that we could both just look at the scenery.  Unfortunately it was so early in the season that most of the road was closed but the little we saw was beautiful.  Eden was happy to take pictures of anything that moved.

I really liked this one.

Christopher was happy to pose Ginger and Beijing.

This is a favorite too.

Stray puppies I have found on my doorstep this week:

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A Pug named Princess who told me her life story while I dug out a new garden bed.  It’s a tear jerker.  Her mother, a Rottweiler, abandoned her and all her siblings (a Golden Retriever, a Black Lab, a Rottweiler like her mom, a Boxer and a Dalmation- some litter!) in a basket to go off and marry a “handsome dog.”  How she and her siblings managed to travel the world in that basket to my door is quite the story and I’m sure she would gladly tell you when you have an hour (or two) to spare.

A Pink Labrador named Pinkie Pie.  She showed up on outside my bedroom door, barking sweetly.  “Pretend you’re going to check the mail,” is a common command.
A Bear Bull named Bear.  “It’s kind of like a Pit Bull, but different.”
A Golden Retriever named Golden.  (Don’t judge.  You try coming up with a new name every day for a couple of years.)
A Blue Labrador whose name escapes me.
A Rottweiler named Roger, “Because they sort of rhyme, but they don’t rhyme,” who took every pillow off my bed and made a kennel under my bedside table.
And this morning, a Black Labrador named Max because, “Some people call their girl dogs Sam or Max and I want to sound like Jack.”  She is one month old and was born on January 10 (Jack’s birthday).  When I told Paul her age and the date of her birth he raised an eyebrow.  Max was busy nuzzling his feet by way of a greeting.  I had found her while he was in the shower.  He had to have her back off as he was only wearing a towel.  Fortunately Max is a confident girl without any of the abandonment issues you might expect from a stray puppy.