We should learn when to shut up

Downloading pix from today...should be done by the time I finish writing.

Mary Claire had fun at the dance. She was quite the princess. I think it's great if the first dance you go to is with your dad. Then you have great memories of your first dance, and of your dad! It's also nice if the first time you really dress up (outside of Easter) is not for a boyfriend. Today was a small rite of passage-pantyhose and all. It was the first time we got her hair to curl on a curling iron (with some Vavoom! and hair spray), first for pantyhose (she just thought the very word was hilarious), and of course, the dance. She got to wear her new little sweater, pearls, carry her white purse, and a new bow. Just pure fun. I put some lip gloss on her as they were leaving, she blew me kisses, and was just a picture of pure happiness. If all our first memories could be that grand! : )

Then Ethan woke up, sick. Hot, irritable, coughing. He continued to cough, felt hot, and wouldn't chew any medicine. I tried to put him in the bath to cool/calm him down, but he wanted none of it. Big shock. He wanted his shirt back on. We went into the kitchen and I figured out he was having an asthma attack. He only does it when he's sick, but I could hear him wheezing on the exhale. I gave him a breathing treatment, and he totally quit coughing. He sat with me for about an hour an a half.

The tree men showed up, and we watched them for a while. They were scary. One climbed about 50 feet up, and went out on a limb to trim the hanging branches. So very scary, I had to quit watching. And every time a big limb fell, it would kind of shake the ground. Some would fall like daggers, and stab the ground-and stay standing up straight. The other two guys would come and pull them out of the ground, and load them on their trailer. Scary business. Now I know why they charge $100 an hour.

Anyway, we decided to order pizza and have mom and dad go by and get it on the way over. About that time is when Ethan started throwing up. All over my new Valentine's clothes. Ick. and it was red V8 Splash Juice. Did I say red? And he began the crying that didn't stop. I ran a bath-still no luck. I just washed him off with a washcloth while he was shaking, and put some jammies on him. I cleaned off, and he just wanted me to hold him. Ches got home soon after, and we waited on Mom and Dad to come. I gave him an Acephen (sounds like ass-and it goes there too). I also gave him ibuprofen in some root beer, which he eventually drank. I really just needed the fever to come down. He was so inconsolable. He finally perked up when the pizza came, and he actually ate-amazing. I was so worried he'd throw it back up, but he didn't. I'm not sure if it was the coughing gagging him, or the throw up girl from the ENT office on Thursday (spreading her germs!), or maybe the albuterol jacking him up too much. Who knows, just wash it all away, Kill The Germs!

Later, we had some fun with the kids, and read with them. Oh, and Mom decided to tell a secret. To Ches. Yeah, guess what that one was (Uh-huh, the blinky light car). She just thought she was so funny. He didn't think so. He's requested not to know some things. For a reason. Just like if a movie looks gross and scary, I send him alone, and ask him NOT to talk about it. Same thing. He doesn't want to know about Expensive Things Which Don't Concern Him. (Like having a dog spayed which doesn't belong to us. Tomorrow. Oh, but that's another story.) Anyway, she thinks it's so very funny to tell him this. He really has no other reaction, but, "Really? Again?" My sweetie. So she's disappointed. And then owes me Big Time. So she tries to be funny again, and gets a Forgiveness Flower (cute glittery art project from VBS last summer) from the kitchen and gives it to me. Ha. Ha.

Ok, so the story has gone cold, but needs to be told. Lexi stayed with mom while we were in Houston. She was precious and cute, but had trouble minding her poop and pee. She made on the bed, loveseat, floor, and occasionally the papers or pads. Mom was just sure she could potty train her. She thought I just didn't try hard enough. Well, she did her best, and to no avail. When we got back, we discussed where Lexi would stay, as we'd had the problem a couple weeks before when I was worried about how she was being treated here. So, we decided mom would keep her at her house, and I'd pay to have her spayed, and for her food/needs. Especially since Mom wasn't planning on having another dog. Well, it got harder. And the messes continued.

So story continues...There was a sweet couple that said they'd take Lexi, if we wanted them to have her. The husband is home all day, mostly in a wheelchair (Lexi just wants to sit and be held), and it sounded perfect for her. Mom took her over there, and the woman's name was the same as mom's, and it just seemed perfect, a Godsend. Mom took over all the stuff I'd given her for Lexi, and left her. When she called me, we both lost it (me crying in WM), but it seemed like the best thing for Lexi, which is what counted. Well, since I told Mom I'd have her spayed, it got around to the lady, and she asked for me to pay for it. Let's see. $650 for the dog, $177 for supplies, $94 for vet and rabies shot. Sure, let me shell out some more. This is the back story on why Ches does NOT want to know about expensive things that he doesn't need to know about that cause him unnecessary grief. Every time he thinks about it, he gets madder. So tomorrow is the day she loses her womanhood. So the piper shall be paid. I guess it's our last gift to her (the only way I can think about it). Maybe not having a baby in that tiny 2.5 pound frame will save her life. Anyway, we've mourned the loss of Lexi (and Clay has cried himself to sleep over her), but we still think she's better off with a family that can sit with her all day and is patient and can work with her constantly to potty train. We just worked as hard as we could, and couldn't do it. Sometimes love is just not enough (as Dr. Dobson tells us).

So, seriously when Ches says he doesn't want to know stuff (like I request Not to know what was on the 10pm news), he means it. He really doesn't get mad often. Like maybe two or three times a year. But they are ugly, and don't add to his life span. So, why inflict stress? By the way, don't tell me ugly things that I don't need to know. Don't gossip to me. Don't tell me yucky things that people do to each other, or other people. I can't handle it. I like to cure the world, and I can't fix those ugly things. So they just cause me to lose sleep and wish I didn't know. I have enough to handle that I wish I didn't know about. Prayer comes hard and fast around here. Try to find an hour in the day that I'm not conversing with God (well, sometimes he just wants me to shut up and do some listening).

So, everyday we learn little lessons. When to talk, when to shut up. When to feed red juice to the baby, when not to. When to introduce pantyhose. When to call in a specialist to climb your (they-don't-look-that-high) trees. When to call it quits. And now is a good time to shut up.