From the Mouths of Babes

The other day I was reaching over the head of a first-grader as she sat at the computer and she exclaimed, "Oh, you've got bubblegum breath!" I smiled and told her, "Thanks, usually I have plain old coffee breath."

I love the alliteration of it - bubblegum breath. But most of all I love that it was my own breath - free of any flavorings or preservatives. It doesn't always work out that way, but when it does it makes me happy.

Shoelaces, the Back Door and a Face Plant

Be warned - never be in such a hurry to get out the door that you don't bother to tie your shoelaces. Especially if they're long shoelaces. Especially if you're also carrying a hot cup of coffee. And especially if you're used to slamming the door shut (hard) behind you.

Because if you do, you might just get both shoelaces caught in the door and pitch forward as you try to walk - resulting in a loud scream, an unexpected tossing of the coffee cup, and a hard landing on the concrete steps.

But if you're lucky your face might land exactly where the next step goes down so it doesn't hit the concrete, the coffee cup might hit the patio block and shatter, but not enough to cut you, and you might be able to twist around enough to pull at least one shoelace out the door and hoist yourself up.

And then you might complain of a sore wrist, two sore palms, a sore chest, and one swollen knee. But at least the coffee wasn't all that hot and your face didn't get scratched up.

But be warned...be warned.

Let's start again

I know it’s been a very long time since I last blogged – and so much has happened in that time. But to be honest, I just couldn’t do it anymore. More and more in the last few months that I did blog I felt like a big fake. You know the person, the perfectly coiffed woman whose children always have matching clothes and socks and never, ever have a (GASP!) bouger (sp?) hanging from their cute little noses.

Well I’ve never claimed to be perfectly groomed. In fact last September I saw an old college roommate at a funeral. I haven’t seen her in a few years and she commented on how I haven’t changed a bit – still unafraid to go out in public straight out of the shower – wet head and all.

I’ve also never claimed to have perfect children. I’m sure any walker or runner who frequents Belmont Road can attest to the fact that I have, at times, yelled at my children or the dog. Yelling at my husband – not so much.

So why did I feel like a fake? Probably because it felt like I was only providing a glowing picture of family life to the world – I never blogged about those times I lost it and yelled at the kids, or the times I let them stay in their pajamas and watch TV all day long so I could finish reading a book in the living room.

Rarely did I write about the talks with teachers, sisters, sisters-in-law, friends or Mom and Dad – doubting our ability to keep raising these kids the best way we think possible.

So I felt like a fake – our world is not perfect – far from it – and I stopped writing. But, as long as we all understand that aspect of the blog I think I’m ready to begin again. The blog is meant to capture moments that are precious at the time, but sometimes fade in our memory, to post pictures so relatives near and far can see the kids growing, and to (once in a while) vent about life’s frustrations. But please remember, behind the pictures and the stories we are real people living real lives.

So here goes…

The Last Nine Months Recap (more, possibly, to come later…)

• The Johnsons made it through the Fargo/Moorhead flood. We missed them when they were gone but they were happy (oh-so-happy) to be back together as a family again.
• I took a job as a librarian at a local Catholic school. It’s part-time and I love it.
• I’m back in school again – to get my librarian’s credential. Picture my side of conversation with Dave, “I guess my Ph.D. isn’t really my terminal degree… Yes I really do need a librarian’s credential to teach…Yes I’m learning a tremendous amount…. Did you send in the tuition check? Oh, what about paying for those textbooks? … Thanks honey!”
• Lucy and John attend the same school where I teach. It’s wonderful to see them each day. And the best news is I think I’ve only embarrassed John once. (That was their big concern when we discussed them switching schools.)
• Sophie has welcomed middle school with open arms and is having a wonderful year at Schroeder.
• Dave is still next door – plugging away at insurance business. But the big news is he is actually reading more fiction books – yeah!
• Dave’s oldest sister, Roberta, found out she has leukemia and has spent many months in the hospital since September. Please, please, please keep her in your prayers.
• I’ve finished two quilts since September – one for Roberta and one, with the help of all the other teachers from St. Mike’s, that was then raffled off as a fundraiser for our school secretary.

There was so much more – but I’ll have to try to remember it as we go along.

Flooding, Family and Faith

The title words pretty much sum up the past few weeks around here. I worried and cried about a repeat flood of 1997, family and friends told me to have faith in our dikes, the families of our four siblings in the Fargo/Moorhead area sandbagged and sandbagged and came through this first crest pretty much intact, Dave's sister Roberta and three of her kids stayed with us for a week while her husband and two oldest sandbagged even more, and eight of us piled into the suburban and supported Lucy as she met with the priest and completed the sacrament of first reconciliation.

There were a few other happenings too - the girls performed some dances at Artwise, we caved in and bought a Wii, John got pnemonia, Sophie joined me and Nancy Devine on a trip to Washington D.C. to lobby for the National Writing Project, I laughed so hard I peed my pants at Nancy's escapades with a D.C. Newfoundland , John's godfather, Jeff, cooked some terrific steaks for us and took us to Mt. Vernon, Sophie read two books in one day while we traveled home, Roberta helped Lucy organize her bedroom and closet (Yeah!), John got better and better with the latest round of antibiotics even as Dave got sick, we got to see Carmyn's newly remodeled and redecorated apartment and I learned how to make crosses out of palms.

Everyone is in bed - Dave still with a fever - I've finished a blog entry for the first time in a while and now I'm going to finish reading my latest book, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Good night everyone!

The New and Improved Dungeon

It's clean, it's painted, it's organized... it's the dungeon! Over the past week I have smiled every single time I walk by it - and I keep smiling when I actually spend time on the treadmill or use the newly purchased exercise ball.

Toothless Wonder

Since losing his first tooth a few weeks ago John has lost three more. He hung onto two of them for the duration of our trip to Arizona but decided to pull them both out the night before last. Here he is - without his four front teeth.

They're growing up

Seven-year-old John recently lost his first tooth. Overall it was a pretty non-traumatic event as he figured out he had a loose tooth one Saturday morning, he spent all day wiggling it, and by bedtime, it was out and the tooth fairy was on her way.

It went by so fast – I didn’t have time to prepare for it. With Lucy a tooth can be loose for months before she’ll get up the courage to pull it out – and even then it’s with lots of drama and by the time it’s out she’s lost a tooth and I’ve lost my patience. Sophie is pretty nonchalant now but when she was younger we had to coach her through it. With her first one she let Dave take the pliers to it but after that she wanted to do it all on her own.

Over the last twelve years there have been lots of firsts, seconds and thirds. And usually I’m fine with it all – I was excited for Sophie’s first steps, Lucy’s first words, and John’s first bed. I was happy to send Sophie off for her first day of Kindergarten, then Lucy and then John – there weren’t any tears shed by me for any of the kids. But this first tooth thing took me by surprise – after the tooth fairy had put the $1 bill under the glass that held the tooth, I shed a little tear.

Maybe it’s because Dave was out of town, maybe it’s because I was starting to get sick, or maybe it was because the kids had all been sick and I was tired – but actually I don’t think it was for any of those reasons. I think it had everything to do with the fact our kids are getting older and there won’t be any more losing of the first tooth at our house. We’re done – we’ve passed that milestone and we won’t see it again – until grandchildren start losing teeth.

The thing is, I wonder why this hit me so hard when other major events haven’t. Is it that our life has finally slowed down enough that there are times during the day when I actually have time to drink my coffee and just think? I have to admit that having three kids and one miscarriage in four years meant there was a whole lot of blurring of our days and nights but I must have still had some time to think and process, right?!!?

I don’t know the answer but I do know it hit me hard that all our kids are growing up – by July Sophie will be able to babysit, Lucy will hit double-digits on her next birthday, and John will be in second grade. The grade I used to teach and when I was teaching I certainly never thought of those second-graders as little ones.

My plan on coping with all this: sit back, grab a cup of coffee and give a kid a hug every chance I get. Oh, and I guess there might be a tear or two shed along the way.

Checking on Dakota

I've been thinking about Dakota...and missing her. So this morning I called the kennel to see how she was doing. I didn't get the owners but I got another person who knows Dakota and she reassured me Dakota was doing fine and that she was sure she missed us.

With the phone disconnected but still in my hand I looked over to Dave and said, "I don't know what I really expected - I mean it's not like they'd let me talk to her or anything."

The strange thing is this - a year ago I never would have dreamed I'd call from vacation to check up on our dog. I don't think I ever did that with Dasher, (our "before kids" dog who we treated like a baby and slept with us every night) but then again Dasher usually stayed with family while we went on vacations. I think she only stayed in a kennel once in twelve years.

This dog has touched me in a way I didn't think I'd feel about an animal again. I love her smell, her soft paws, the way she licks my toes, and how she sleeps diagonally on her back with her legs all sprawled out. I miss her.

We'll all be happy to see her Sunday morning - and I think she'll be happy to see us too.

Heights

I'm a bit afraid of heights. Perhaps it's because I grew up in North Dakota where the spring ritual for our track team was to run two miles just to find a small incline on which to run "hills." And then, even that hill was not much more than a dip in the gravel road. Or maybe it's because I have some distant childhood memory of traveling in a Winnebago and making our way around windy mountain roads. I'm not sure why I'm afraid of heights but I'm reminded of it every time we're in Arizona.

This year I told myself I wasn't going to climb right outside Mom and Dad's backyard (the red rock in the above picture). Last spring I climbed higher than I ever had before and well, I guess I thought that was high enough. This year the kids and Dave knocked off that same climb before lunch the other day - they came back happy and exhilerated and I was just as happy that I'd stayed on the ground. On another day I talked them into going for a hike, not a climb. There was lots of complaining going on during that four mile walk (too much walking, not enough climbing) but I was loving every minute of it.

Then came our last day in Sedona. John wanted to make to climb again - not hike - and I couldn't talk anybody into going for a hike around Bell Rock - or even a small jaunt to Cathedral Rock. So while Sophie and Lucy stayed back and made cookies with Mom, I went for a climb with Dad, Dave and John - with every intent of coming back on my own once I felt that familiar stomach tightening.

It started out wonderfully - I was amazed at John's climbing and his enthusiasm for leading us up the wash. He reminded me of Dad with the way he just scrabbled up the rocks. Here's a pic I took right after one of our water breaks.

We kept going and I was feeling great - beauty surrounded us everywhere I looked and the rocks in the wash were solid and strong. We kept climbing and climbing and I started kicking myself for not doing this the previous days.

Then came some loose rock that involved some hunching over and maneuvering sideways on all fours. Dave stuck with John but I could see the look of concern on his face - he knows me well enough to know that I had just reached my limit. But unfortunately, there was no going back down the way we had just come. So I sat, took a drink, and talked to myself. I looked over at Dave, with his smile and his shorts and hiking boots full of red dust and took this picture of the view. I told myself I've come this far and I'm fine - and I can keep going. So I did - slowly and carefully trying to breathe and willing my legs to keep moving.

By the time we all stopped for another water break Dad knew I wasn't doing so well. He came over to me and talked me through a narrow pass full of loose rock, "Hug the rock Marc, hug the rock. Get down on all fours, face it. If you fall you're not going anywhere. Hug the rock, hug the rock. Great job Marci Miller!"

I was less than reassured. By then I knew I had to make it to the top - we could try to find a different way back down but they knew, from past experience, that there was an easier way down on the other side of the rock. So, up we climbed.

John was starting to get a bit nervous - I'm sure I wasn't helping him feel any more comfortable on the rock even though the only thing I said was "Dave, stay with him. I can't watch him climb." Meaning - it was all I could do to worry about myself and worrying about him was making me even more stressed overall...

During this last stretch, Dad was climbing around like a mountain goat above us - back and forth, back and forth, trying to find the best way to get to the top. He called out, "Oh I don't know, we may need to go back down." My heart skipped a beat. Dave whispered, "What do you think?" and I replied, "There's no way I can go back down there." So we kept climbing to where Dad's voice was. John was chattering saying he wanted to go back down when suddenly he came to a complete standstill and exclaimed, "Holy Moly!" I looked up from my position on all fours and reiterated John's words, with a bit more emphasis.

Dad was sitting on the other side of a twenty foot drop - as calm as could be. But it was clear to us we'd have to walk across a ledge less than a foot wide and about eight feet long to reach him.

John was all for it. If he would have had a harness and a rope and been at the climbing wall in Grand Forks, I would have been fine. And although he didn't have those things, he had Dave and Dad and no fear. And he made it look so darn easy - he grabbed the rock, shuffled his feet and made it across without any problem. Then it was my turn. I certainly didn't make it look easy to anybody who might have been watching. The first shuffle step or two were all right but when I felt I couldn't get a good handhold I started to sweat. I willed my right leg to move but it didn't. I felt like my 94-year-old Grandma who has Parkinsons and tells her legs to move but they just won't listen. Dave reached over to it and said, "Move it on 3... 1,2,3." It moved on four... or maybe five.

I made it across and tried not to watch as Dave made his way. From there it was a relatively easy climb the next twenty feet or so to the top. Once we got there and I saw long distances of flat land I sank to the ground and gave a silent prayer. And thought, I don't care if I ever do this again - for the rest of my life.


We rested up a bit and then had a leisurely walk down the back side and around the hill...and I've made up my mind. I'll stick to regular old hiking from here on out.

PG 13 for a Reason

Last night Mom and I went to the video store because I had it in my head that we (as in me, Dave, Sophie, Lucy John, and Mom and Dad) should all watch Ghost Town. In February I watched it all by myself when Dave was away on a trip and loved it. So much so I actually recommended it to quite a few people - including our wonderfully wholesome dentist.

Mom and I found the DVD at the store but I was surprised to see it was rated PG13. I racked my brains trying to figure out why - I didn't recall any nudity or violence. There was that one scene in the beginning of the story where a man is talking to his wife on the phone and we slowly figure out he's a jerk and is having an affair with a young woman named Amber. I took a minute and thought about what the kids would think and decided that the movie, as a whole, was worth it. I couldn't think of any other scenes I might object to so we got it and put it in.

Well, once the movie was playing it didn't take more than three minutes for me to see why it was rated PG13 - there was a major cuss word right in the beginning of it. I jumped when I heard it and looked at Mom who raised her eyebrows at me. We kept watching - my first mistake.

Then there was the part where there's talk of a mummy's private parts. We kept watching - my second mistake. (Oh wait - can it be a second mistake if I'd already made it once?!!)

There were various references to women, body parts, and lots of muttered expletives. Each time I jumped or coughed or made some other noise to try to drown out the movie. My final cough sequence, the one that came immediately before I told the kids they couldn't watch anymore, was so loud and lasted so long that Lucy asked me to be quiet so she could hear the movie.

They put up a fuss about having to leave. I tucked them in and as they lay on their air mattresses at Grama and Papa's I explained that I'd made a bad choice in ignoring the PG13 rating. And that even though I truly felt the overall message of the movie is an important one to learn, the movie itself was certainly not appropriate for them to watch. I summed up the movie for them - trying my very best at storytelling while all the while knowing I couldn't compete with the Hollywood version.

And then I hugged them and kissed them and said good night - all the while kicking myself for not heeding the PG13 warning.

So I've apoligised to our children - now what do I say to our dentist?!

Valentine Celebration Catch Up

The 2nd Annual Chocolate Fondue Party

Dakota in her Valentine Gear (poor puppy!)

He's heading to Lovejoy Drive

So last night I'm in an overheated room curled in a ball on the couch covered in two blankets and wishing my throat would stop throbbing. Dave is sitting in the Big Chair getting ready for his trip to Indiana - every few seconds I hear him state a destination into his new TomTom (a portable GPS device). The first few times he says something I grunt "What?" This goes on until I realize he's not actually talking to me. So I start to zone out again and in my cough-medicine induced haze I hear the following: County Road 39....Lincolnway....Jefferson Road...Lovejoy Drive...

I perk my ears, sit up and give him a look as in "Where exactly do you think you are going?"

He smirks and we both crack up. Can you imagine being the CFO of the company that is actually housed on Lovejoy Drive? I'm sure they've heard it all. But last night, in the middle of feeling sorry for ourselves and our sick kids, it gave Dave and me a much needed laugh.

Sick Germs

We fly to Arizona on Friday and I'm already a bit nervous. My nervousness has nothing to do with flying and everything to do with all the germs we're more than likely going to pass on to all the other passengers and crew members. Sophie has been coughing like crazy for over two weeks and now John has started. Lucy just finished up antibiotics yesterday but now both Dave and I are feeling pretty awful with sore throats, headaches and general aches.

So I called the doctor today and tried to get three of us in. Unfortunately there was only one slot left in the entire clinic - with any doctor or any nurse practitioner. I nabbed the single appointment for Sophie and made a seperate appointment for me for tomorrow. My plan is that if our doctor doesn't think antibiotics will help Sophie, then they probably won't help John either. I've already increased his advair to twice a day and we'll take the nebulizer to AZ with us, just in case. We'll keep pumping Sophie full of expectorant for her cough.

As far as Dave and I - we'll go with the same plan except for totally different symptons. It's one of those things - I don't really think we need antibiotics but I sure would feel bad if it turns out we should have had them and we needlessly exposed all the other passengers and grandparents to our germs.

So wish us well at the appointments - and steer away from our part of the country if you can.

Saga of the Crowns

I am not one for dentist visits. Even a little 30 minute visit makes me nervous - the xrays, the foreign objects in my mouth, the dentist asking questions when all you can do is nod your head or move your eyebrows up and down. But the worst is when I know I will have to have my mouth open for an extended period of time. Our dentist is wonderful - he plays classical music for me or lets me watch movies while he works on my teeth but I still leave feeling stiff and sore. No matter what he does or how I try to relax, I just can't.

I suppose it has something to do with me always wanting to be in control. And seriously, as an adult, there aren't many places I allow myself to go when I don't feel like I'm in control. But, at times, the dentist office simply cannot be avoided.

I knew a visit was on the horizon a few weeks ago when I bit down on a leftover Christmas candycane and suddenly felt a large jagged edge on my back molar. I gave a silent prayer that it was just a piece of candy cane that was stuck to my tooth - but to no avail. It was a broken tooth. And based on the size of the jaggedness, I knew it meant yet another crown for me.

The saga of the crowns all started when I was pregnant with Lucy and had a craving for Milk Duds - every single day. Until part of a tooth broke off right in a milk dud. Our dentist was able to patch it up with a temporary until after she was born and then he did the real work - but that crown turned into an emergency root canal as well as a crown. As did the next one. By the time I needed a third crown two years ago I suggested we just book an appointment with the endodontist right away. We didn't but I did need a root canal. Finally, on the last crown I made it through without a root canal. My mouth, and our pocketbook, were both pretty happy about that.

And here I am - day five post dental work for my fifth crown and all is well. Here's hoping it stays that way until the permanent crown is in place. If you have any connections with the tooth fairy, please put in a good word for me.

Tastebuds or Funny Little Bump Things

Over lunch Dave and I were discussing the bumps you get on your tongue every once in awhile. You know what I mean - the little red bumps that are sort of like a cankersore but on your tongue. I said I thought it was a new tastebud growing in and he called it "a funny little bump thing." So who was right?

Apparently neither one of us, or both of us - depending upon how you look at it.

They are actually inflamed papillae - where the taste buds are. According to this site, the bumps are an injury caused by hot food or drink or a self-inflicted bite. Which totally makes sense for me as I had a two-hour dentist appointment followed by a few more hours of a numb cheek and tongue last Thursday.

So, Dave was right in that they are indeed funny little bump things and I was somewhat correct in that they had to do with the tastebuds. And there you have it - new, useless information for you to share with others as you see fit.

Happy Valentine's Day

Ode to Dakota (from John)

Dear Dakota,
I love you so much. When I am at school I can't wait to see you.
From John.

Dakota

Dakota is one of four featured dogs on the webpage of Wag-N-Train - check it out here. If you live near us and your dog is in need of training or boarding, we think you should give them a try. It's been wonderful to work with Carlene and Jo - we'll miss them when we're done with our five-week training package but Dakota will still get to see them on occassion.

Why I Stay Home

There’s a new commercial on television – I think it’s either TLC or HGTV – featuring a woman entering her office and going straight to her computer. We can see the pictures of her kids on her desk but her eyes are on the 300 messages in her inbox while her ears are focused on listening to her voicemail messages. We see her go throughout her day – being frustrated with the copy machine, walking the halls with blueprints, and thanking her assistants as they drop off more blueprints and files at her desk. Finally, in the last few seconds we see her home all lit up in the evening hours and she walks through the door and is encompassed by her children who eagerly hug her and show off their homework. For the first time all day she looks relaxed and happy. The message – come home to your comfort.

I’m all about home and comfort but when I watched the commercial I felt sad. It reminded too much of when I was teaching at UND and was constantly questioning myself. “Am I doing right by our kids?” “Am I doing right by my students?” I was like the woman in the commercial in many ways – I had pictures of the kids on my desk, their artwork was posted on my office door, under my desk was a Rubbermaid container full of toys and books for when they visited, and when they were babies there was even a pack-n-play in my office right next to all the books about literacy. But when I was at work, I was at work.

And I liked to think that when I was at home, I was at home. I dropped the kids off and picked them up from school each day. We had a wonderful young woman, Dana, who came to our house each day for a few years so we didn’t have to take them out to daycare. One day a week, usually when I taught my night class or met with grad students, she came after lunch and stayed late. That meant the kids and I got to hang out for the entire morning. And I tried not to think about cleaning the bathrooms or doing laundry during that time.

But when I decided to “retire” from teaching at age 38 I was, frankly, relieved. It meant I no longer had to put the kids in bed and then stay up until 2 am grading papers. Or else get up at the ungodly hour of 3 am to grade those papers. It meant I no longer had to choose between raising our children and trying to be a teacher, mentor, and parent to twenty year old college students who often needed the same kind of parenting as our young children.

I was, and am lucky, that Dave was supportive of my decision. Even though it meant we weren’t stacking away money into my retirement account and even though it means we pay for health insurance out of our own pockets.

And it meant I could take over the household – something I hadn’t done much since we’d had kids. As I write this I realize I’m not sure the last time Dave cleaned a bathroom, vacuumed or did a load of laundry. That doesn’t mean things are perfect – after all when he left for his last business trip he didn’t have any clean white shirts because I’d done all the laundry, except for that particular load. Oops. Dave certainly still does his share of the cooking and some of the grocery shopping – but I blame that on him being so darn picky – not that I can’t cook.

And my professional ego is OK with all this – perhaps in part because, as my Theresa is quick to point out, I still have my foot in the professional world. With my work with the Red River Valley Writing Project I get a salary, am able to work with teachers and students, and get to do most of this from home.

All these points were brought home to me yesterday when Mike, a friend and incredible handyman, was irritated with me that I didn’t take him to Lowe’s to get insulation for 817’s attic. In his snit he even went so far as to say all I did was hang out all day long. Let’s just say I was a little peeved at that comment.

Yesterday, for instance, was Day 5 of Dave being gone for 7 days. Our bed had been a revolving door the night before with Sophie in with me at 3 because of a nightmare and John with me at 4:30 because his tummy hurt. When he threw up an hour later I knew he’d be staying home with me. And that was just fine – because I didn’t have to resent the fact that Dave was at a business meeting and I was the one who would have to miss work. So yes, John and I sat on the couch and snuggled and watched movies all day long. I drank a lot of coffee, made a lot of soup, and got the gazillion pictures on the computer organized – something I’d been meaning to do for over a year. But no, I didn’t get to take Mike to Lowe’s to get insulation. But that’s because my kids come first.

It isn’t that I wouldn’t like the thrill of teaching again. It isn’t that I don’t long for stimulating conversation during the day. But I am home because emotionally it was too hard for me to do it all – and do it all well. As you can probably tell from many of my blog entries I’m somewhat of a perfectionist. So when I didn’t feel I was doing a good job at any of my jobs – wife, mother, professor – it was time to stop. And most days, I don’t regret it. But yesterday I found myself going over Mike’s comment again and again and rationalizing what I do.

And what I cam up with was pretty darn important – I stay home with my kids. Going back to the TV commercial – how much do you want to bet that woman has someone right there at home with her kids, taking care of them and helping her be who she is. And aren’t those kids what is so very important in our lives?

So what exactly is a dungeon?

For those of you who haven't been to our house, there have been some questions about our dungeon - so let me explain. We don't actually keep prisoners down there - just a chest freezer from my grandparents, random tools, old paint cans, and oh yes, exercise equipment in the form of a treadmill and recumbent bike. Our house was built in 1911 but the dungeon and the family room above it were added on to the house in 1979.

According to Sophie, it is old and a storage place for odd things. (I agree with her, but the thing is, keep in mind it is actually the newest part of the house.) We started calling it the dungeon because it's a place we just don't love to go. And it's the place where, when objects do go, they are often not seen again for a very long time. If ever.

Take John's little hockey figurines and net. They got broken - they were placed in the dungeon to be fixed - and we haven't seen them in two years. What about Sophie's Christmas ornament? Same story.

Lucy recently had something that was broken and she wanted Dave to fix. I, of course, suggested the dungeon, but she got an alarmed look on her face. "No, Mom, no! If we put there I'll never see it again." I laughed, only because I knew she was right.

But I am a bit nervous about losing the latest occupant of the dungeon - it's a pretty special plate John drew and painted a few years ago during one of our Arizona visits. His sisters accidentally broke it and for weeks I kept the pieces on the kitchen counter - not wanting to put it in the dungeon for the very reason Lucy voiced.

So it sat on the counter and Dave did work on it. Every few days he'd take out the gorilla glue and piece one more ceramic shard onto the plate. The problem is, there were many pieces... and it wasn't long before he left for his infamous trip to Acapulco.

So, while he was gone, I carefully placed the broken plate on his worktable in the dungeon. I put the gorilla glue beside it and found Sophie's Christmas ornament and put it near the pile. And now we'll wait and see... and hope they don't get swallowed up in the dungeon.