But that's okay! Cause I've got stories to tell. Stories that don't really need pictures. Some of them don't, some of them could have used a picture or two.
Let's see how much of them I will remember.
My hubby had some of the girls out with him the other day. He had some Guy Things to do so he left me home sleeping (I had just worked a night shift) with our oldest and youngest and took the four "in-between" girls with him. As they were about to break for lunch, he asked, "You guys want lunch?" Of course, a unanimous, "Yeah!" ripped through the van. Then he asked, "How bout Taco Bell?" Another, "Yeah!" followed by the inevitable, "NOOO! I want Arby's!" Before my hubby could inhale to answer, he heard a quiet but firm, "No! They don't afford Arby's anymore. Not when when they don't have their specials anymore!" 'Nuff said! He just chuckled and headed to Taco Bell.
*And the story behind that one? The weekend before, after church, we decided to swing through drive-thru for lunch since we weren't going straight home. We rarely do Arby's because with a family our size, it quickly adds up... BUT, we DO occcasionally do the "5 for $5.95" deal, times two. HOWEVER, when we drove up to the menu board, I said, "Okay, we'll do the 5 for $5.95.." and was quickly cut off with a, "Oh. We don't have that special anymore." So I just said, "Oh. Okay. Thanks anyway." We told the girls that without coupons, which we left at home, and no 5 for $5.95 special anymore, Arby's is too expensive...and off we drove to Taco Bell.*
Last Saturday: All day long we tried to get the girls to do jobs around the house. All day long we were met with procrastination, evading, arguing, grumbling, etc. Finally, my husband told the girls that since no one did a significant amount of anything, the next day at church the girls weren't allowed to have any friends sit with us nor were they allowed to sit with any of their friends families. They weren't allowed to go to any of their friends houses for the afternoon nor were they allowed to have any friends over. We weren't going to go anywhere nor were we going to have anyone over. We were just going to come home, get the remainder of homework done that wasn't finished like it should have been and pretty much just sit around and be bored. We explained that it was a result of their not listening to us...we reminded them that not listening to one's parents is called "disobedience" and not only does this displease us, it displeases God.
Girl #3 was in the kitchen with me and asked me, "Yeah, that is pretty bad. Do you think God is pretty frustrated right now? If I were God, I think I would be pretty frustrated at me right now. I would probably be pretty annoyed with me, don't you think so, Mom? In fact, I would probably be so annoyed that I would want to give me some punishment, right Mom?" I kinda smiled and said, "Yeah, I guess...maybe..." *Yeah, probably pretty annoyed...along with pretty amused, maybe?* They don't always tell you what kind answers to give these kids in those parenting manuals you get with each one of them as they're born, do they? Can you imagine the first page on some of these kids, if you were given a "How To" manual with each one? I can see it, "Fragile: Handle with care" or "Wild Card: Exercise Extreme Caution" or "Remember, Repetition Is the Key: No, No, NO! or she will not get it!"
Traumatic Tuesday: The kids had just run outside for a bit since bedtime was nearing and they knew that soon they would be herded to bed. After they had been out for a bit, I could hear a hubbub happening and assumed some great squabble was taking place. Soon, Girl #3 came in wailing so hard, even as dramatic as she can be and so very, very loud she can get when she cries this time I was wondering if she broke a limb or something of that nature. As she wailed up the stairs, with the whole entourage following (one big clue that no one had hurt her, they would have stayed outside, quickly scheming up their defense), I noticed she was holding one hand with the other. Since I knew an answer was going to be hard to come by from her, I looked over her head to the crew following her up the stairs and asked, "Okay, what happened to her?" The oldest said with a sigh and just short of rolling her eyes, "I guess, she got stung by a bee, or something!" *sigh again*. (Have I mentioned she has just entered Middle School?)
I looked at her finger at what appeared to be a sliver wedged under a flap of skin. Upon closer inspection, I noticed it was, in fact, a bee stinger with the bee's rear end (that was what had looked like a flap of skin) still attached and periodically wiggling!! I sent her to show her dad while I looked for something to remove the stinger with. I knew that if she noticed it wiggling, she would probably have a full-fledged panic attack (not a real one, as defined by a medical book, but one that would create her own new meaning for the phrase "panic attack"). I therefore told Hubby in Finnish, "Look, it's rear end is still moving." She said, right in my wake, "LOOK! It's still wiggling!!!" and nearly hyperventilated. As I was gently removing the stinger and rear end of the bee, she was near hysterics, "Ooooh, be careful! Could it make it worse...could you squeeze more poison into me like that? Do people die from this? Could I become INJURED from it? Oooh, don't make it hurt when you take it out...oh, it's out?" Then, as it started to swell rather quickly, she was a little panicky, which wasn't helped by her older sister's observations, "Gasp! Oh. my. gosh. It is getting just huge!" I looked at it but wasn't too worried. Her coloring was fine, it was getting big pretty fast but I would expect that in a finger when the finger just doesn't have a lot of room for the venom to spread. Then when Dad, who is allergic to bee stings started to worry too, I looked at it again and said, "Well, I'll just keep an eye on it and bring her in if I have to." To which Injured Daughter latched onto and said, "Yes. Bring me in." I told her that I would first call the clinic and ask them what would merit worry.
I did call the clinic and they echoed my sentiment: the finger does swell faster since it's a smaller area for the venom to spread, ice it, keep it elevated, give ibuprofen and put baking soda paste on it.
Oh, just before I called the clinic? Injured Daughter, upon hearing I was going to call, said, "Tell them it's swollen! It's as big as Dad's finger already" Her dad has big fingers!!! I told my husband this, so when I.D. came out of the bedroom, he told her, "So. I hear that your finger is as big as mine?" She quickly scoped out his fingers and replied, "Your pinky finger!" Smart girl!
Never a dull moment!