Storytime bliss

I've been taking two of my grandchildren to Storytime at the Lehi Library since their mother had a new baby.
They love it and I am impressed by the storytellers. They put on a good show.
They dance. They sing. And they don't whack anyone which is a good feat given that they're surrounded by a mass of toddlers who tumble, bigger kids who grab and middle-size kids who alternately cry or scream.
One day I really thought the storyteller's ostrich puppet was in danger of being beheaded, bebeaked or belegged.
Another time, it seemed the sea of youngsters would swallow the storylady up in their rush to get a little world-on-a-stick thing from the laundry tub.

It's interesting to watch this exercise as the moms and babies come in, take a seat and wait to be entertained for free.
There are always the good kids who'll take a seat on the floor and wait patiently for a turn.
There are the tiny ones who get scared for one reason or another and run off wailing.
Then there are the troublemakers who either don't think there's enough action or just didn't wake up on the right side of the bed.
They create a little havoc and their moms chip in.
I sat by a lady yesterday whose kids weren't all that bad.
They just both wanted to sit on mom's lap.
"No!" she said as they clamored for a space. "You go sit on the floor like the other kids!"
When they resisted, she started gathering her things.
"OK, then, we're done!" she declared. "We'll just go home!"
Neither child gave in as she started heading out.
"We're so done!" she said with a mad face. "Come on, let's go!"
It was fairly distressing to the rest of us as we watched her children hang onto her pant legs, unable to find a way to save face and save the day. We couldn't hear and we couldn't watch.
Fortunately, the angry mom looked around and probably saw all of our faces as she sputtered.
"OK, one more chance," she said. "Go sit down!"
They did and the story progressed but I couldn't help but think, "Why did this lady have children? And why did they so want to sit by her and on her?"
It's a puzzle.

Playing dodgeball at 60

One of the things that I like about my husband is his boundless enthusiasm — for life, kids, me, food, movies...the list is a long one.
He's always the first to line up for a game of driveway basketball or to jump into the pool headfirst or to try out a mean roller coaster.
So it didn't surprise me when he came home from work last week all scraped up from playing a hard game of dodgeball on the company's cement court.
Seems he leapt for the ball and got it but landed knee first on the ground, turning his foot, bloodying his knee and bruising a rib.
He came home limping but proud that he kept up with the other, younger guys. I'm sure they were impressed.
I was a little concerned because Marc has little or no feeling in his neuropathic feet so he can't really tell if he's hurt himself.
I questioned him about his injury and recommended he see a doctor to be sure he hadn't hurt it more than it appeared.
He assured me he was fine. "It doesn't hurt," he said. So how bad could it be?
Well, three days later, he took off his sock because his foot seemed a little swollen in his shoe.

It looked awful.
The toes were black. The foot was puffy and funny looking and his little toe seemed oddly configured.
I told him again I thought he ought to see a doctor.
"But it doesn't hurt," he said, trying to put on a brave face despite the ugly situation.
The next morning it looked bad enough that he finally called the doctor and went in, telling the guy he felt silly for being in his office because after all, it didn't hurt so it couldn't be broken, right?
The doctor put it well as he came in with the X-ray.
"So, do you want to see where it isn't broken?" he asked.
Turns out it is and now he's wearing a big, black boot until he can see the orthopedic surgeon.
He's surprised and a little frustrated because while the boot is a pain, "It still doesn't hurt."
I am trying not to say "I told you so" and holding back on the cute comments but I just want it noted here that I was right, huh?
Two things to remember for the future: Dodgeball when you're 60 is not a good idea and my medical degree (earned with six kids and 60 years of personal experience) should be better respected.

Concertinas

Marc and I were invited to attend a premiere concert the other night.
We had to buy tickets and come in through the proper door and take our seats promptly, no fooling around or delaying.
The 5-year-old concert artists were serious about their offering.
They'd been practicing for minutes and we were the first to see them on stage: Emma and Adell.
See, Emma has a baby violin and she's been practicing every day while she's been staying with us.
Adell is very impressed and told her she should be in a band.
"You play an instrument," Adell told Emma."I wish I played an instrument. I don't play anything."
I reassured Adell that she too had talent. She can sing and she can play the piano a little and the toy flutes we have.
She wasn't totally convinced until she picked up Emma's violin and made similar sounds with the bow and violin.
That led to the planning of the concert.
They decided they would each perform a couple of numbers and a duet.
Adell sang an original song while Emma played her scales.
They both improvised and created music of a sort that only grandparents and proud parents could really appreciate.
It reminded us of a Wynton Marsalis concert we attended a while back with Marc's brother.
Just when you thought it was done and you started to clap, it began again.
Here's part of the performance!

The social director

Adell and Emma

For the past two-and-a-half months I've taken on a new career.
I've been working kind of as a volunteer social director, planning activities and fun for a senior citizen and four underage children.
It's been a challenge and I'm happy to say my stint appears to be over — at least for now.
My dad, who required a lunch option and/or a Scrabble game and maybe a drive up the canyon, has moved in and moved on with his wife in the Legacy Retirement Center. His needs were simple albeit time-consuming.
The children — two of my son's and two of my daughter's — required a little more in the way of entertainment and maintenance.

Hannah

My son and his wife went to Washington D.C. via Orlando, Florida (can't get that close to Harry Potter World and not visit!) for five days. They had asked me to watch Emma, their 5-year-old and Erica, their  18-month-old and, in a moment of weakness, I said OK.
My youngest daughter had a baby so I threw in her two so she could recover. Adell is also 5 and Hannah is 2.
It made for a merry mob as we trucked around finding fun.
We hit Kangaroo Zoo which worked great because no one could easily escape and everything there is pretty soft when it comes to hard landings.
We fed "Chocolate" the horse who lives across the street. He quickly learned to recognize that little girls on his fence meant apples and carrots were being offered.
We visited Aunt Kristy who has a playroom stocked with all the toys her four kids have amassed over the last decade.

Erica

We went to Storytime at the library and I only lost one child for a little while.
We  crossed busy roads without incident and we had picnics without injury.
We dug for buried treasure in the sandbox and shopped at Wal-Mart for diapers and Party Animals.
We watched a few cartoons and the endless "Thumbelina" DVD endlessly.
Most of the time it was just me and them. Marc was at work and happy to be there.
We built forts and did puzzles and colored and read stories and put on a concert. We did it all.
It's been wild and wonderful and exhausting.
I'm so glad their mothers have them most of the time.

Meet Mia

Here are the photos of baby Mia Lynn Gardiner...born June 3 at around 5 a.m. after a long night for mom and dad.
She's 7 lbs. 5 oz. and 20 inches long, a big baby for a tiny mom!

Here she is with her proud big sisters.
More to come later. We're all kinda busy right now!

Getting past the guards

I offered to review a new movie the other day.
I saw the available assignment and before I realized it was a Monday night screening, I offered to attend, thinking Marc and I could get out on a Saturday night for a relatively painless event.
Then I looked closer to find it was not only on a night Marc couldn't go but it was in the Gateway center in Salt Lake.
No big deal.
I simply coerced my long-suffering daughter to go with me, offering her a night away from the kids and a free chick flick.
We did just fine until we hit the theater.
We had no problem with freeway traffic. We got safely parked. We found the theater.
We also found a milling crowd and signs that said "Something Borrowed" is sold out!
I wasn't worried because I had replied to the computer message from Emily Something-or-other that I was indeed coming and after all, I was representing the Deseret News, right?
I told this to the guy at the front of the ticket line.
He looked puzzled. "I'll go get Fred," he said, or something like that.
Fred came over and chirped, "Oh, yes, I'm supposed to let reviewers in but I left my list at home. I'm just filling in for Emily. Wait here."
We waited and we waited which is difficult for Kari since she's nine months pregnant.
We looked at all the people in line behind us and hoped Fred was making pertinent phone calls.
Pretty soon, things started to move. Some people went through the rope and around the ticket stand and started muttering.
The lobby manager came over to ask what we were waiting for.
I told him.
He said, "Oh, if you're a reviewer, you should be all right. Wait here."
We waited some more.
Now it was getting late and I was starting to get mad. My daughter hates it when I cause a scene so I tried to behave but honestly, this was frustrating and still no sign of Fred.
Finally, a guy came brushing past us and waved to the ticket taker.
"I'm press," he said as he moved down the hall.
"Wait!" I said. "I'm press!"
The ticket taker looked at me. "You are? Well, then go on ahead," she said, adding, "You didn't need to have waited."
Inside we found Fred. He said "Hi," and asked me to be sure and give him a statement after the show.
No apology. No explanation as to why he never returned to fetch us.
Hrummph.
I wonder if his lack of professionalism and attention to detail affected my review of the show in any way?
Something Borrowed review

Happy Birthday to me

I know I wax on too much about my aged father but you know, a blog is cheaper than paying for therapy.
My father is officially a resident now of the Legacy Retirement Center — which is where he wanted to be — and I think I may have my life back.
At least temporarily.
It's never certain when you're dealing with the geriatric generation. He could return tomorrow, cane in hand, frowny face part of the deal.
But for now, he's with his wife (my step-mom) and in Salt Lake and I have the run of the estate.
I can clean the carpets, put the furniture back where it belongs and hose down the bathrooms. (You don't want to know.)
It's been a grueling few months as Dad moved out of the rehab center and waited to get better enough to check into independent living.
No one here could take him full-time so my brother and I split the time between my home and the Value Place motel which he affectionately calls his jail cell.
I tried to keep him here as much as possible and sent therapists and nurses to the motel where they worked to get him more mobile and passed judgment on our plan.
I've led a multi-task life as I tried to do my writing, participate in my grandkid's lives, feed and love my husband and still get dad's rent paid, his banking done, keep his refrigerator stocked and his clothes clean.
It seemed every time I thought we had everything all worked out, Dad's needs would come along and blow my plans apart.
Everything geriatric takes longer...walking, talking, eating, answering the phone, picking up a tissue.
And everything is somehow my fault..."you made my bed and now I can't sleep," "your banana bread fell out of the plastic when I tried to take it from the fridge and fell on the floor," "my tummy stings from the insulin shot I took with the syringe you gave me (It was new, never opened.)."
Today is my birthday and my Independance Day.
Subconsciously I know I'm not done here. Dad's health will only get worse and the day will come again when we'll have to make a new decision for him and because of him but for now, for today, I'm free.
I think I'll go have a good cry.