Beads

My Grandma liked to do all sorts of crafts. She made sweatshirts with sequins, sweatshirts with quilted cut-out, she painted the porch, the furniture, hung wallpaper, painted windows to look like stained glass. Her last project was beads. She made angels, pumpkins, baskets, witches, lighthouses, and many other projects. I have now sort of inherited all her leftover bead projects. It's been almost four years since Grandma passed away. I am trying to be crafty (more to keep my sanity and make a few extra bucks than anything else) and somehow ended up with two totes and a box full of supplies. I felt almost like I was stealing, but Grandpa insisted I just take it all. He even helped me carry the totes to my truck. I have followed directions to make 2 projects, and have made several things by "winging it."
     Let me tell you this: bead work is not easy. I am learning all sorts of new terms. Rondell, faceted, star, tri-bead, seed beads......aaaahhhhhh. The beads fall, only half are marked for size, the bags keep falling open and the beads go everywhere, and I lose count a lot. I just wanted a couple quick projects. My original plan was to just make a bunch of things and try to sell them at a local craft show and be done with it. But, I feel a little more connected with Grandma while I work, so we will see how long I continue this adventure. I am bleeding tonight after poking myself with a wire. Is that an omen?

Mommy's home?

When I was a working mom, I used to love the ride home on the nights my husband had already picked up the kids. I had 15 minutes to decompress, and I was ready to give my kids all my attention when I got home. Every night I would envision the kids running, smiling, with their arms wide open yelling "Mommy's home!" That's what they do when Daddy comes home. But, instead I was always attacked at the door, not with hugs, but inquiries about my day like, "what's for dinner?" "can you get me a drink?"  "do you know where my ball is?" The only one here that seems as happy as I want them to be is the dog. Shelby. Her snout is gray, and she has some trouble with stairs, but each time I come home, it's as if she had resigned herself to the fact that I was never coming home, and then, miraculously, I return and she is so overcome with joy she brings me a stick from the yard that nails me in the shin. But, she is happy I'm home.

the bee story

My son is allergic to bees. We say "bee" as a general term, because we are not exactly sure what stung him. It was a beautiful fall day last September. My husband was working on our front porch and the younger kids were outside with him. Suddenly I heard Kyle crying and complaining that he had a bugbite. Well, we do try to teach our son that he needs to be tough. We did acknowledge that it probably did hurt, but he just needed to shake it off. Down to the swingset the three of them went. Daddy, Kyle, and Megan. They were gone about ten minutes and came back for a drink. I looked at Kyle and exclaimed "what happened to his face?" When my husband said nothing, he was just swinging, I knew right away we had a problem. I stripped him naked in the kitchen and saw he was covered in hives. I knew he needed Benadryl. I knew I had Benadryl. I just was trying to remember where it was. Then, as the answer to the whereabouts of almost anything is in the summer, the answer came to me. "It's in the camper," I say as I sprint out the door, grabbing the phone as I go. I called my normal medical emergency people, and they did not answer. So, I called our family doctor and explained the situation. By now, poor Kyle is writhing in pain and really turning into one giant hive. The nurse calmly says "if you're not comfortable monitoring his breathing at home...." excuse me? I have spent the last 8 years monitoring my children's breathing. Each night, and especially when they are sick, this is just what a mother does because we are moms. But, when someone instructs me to do it, it makes me a little nervous. So off to the Emergency Room we go. I make a few phone calls to connections I have at the hospital, and they prepared for the worst case scenario. Half way to town, his screaming quieted, and naturally my heart rate leaps, but then he blurts out "Mommy, bears eat fish!" Yes, buddy, they do.
       We survived that ordeal, but now we carry an Epipen Jr. We are insistent that he does not need to be afraid of bees, but he does need to tell an adult right away if he gets stung. I carry an Epipen with me, and there is one at his school nurse's office. I was apprehensive with him going to school anyway this year, then we get notice that the kindergarten class is going on a field trip to a farm. So, I call the school and talk to the secretary, the teacher, and the nurse. I'm told the nurse will always accompany any child with an immediate medical need, and if that isn't possible, then the parents will be notified in advance so that one of us may go with him, and bring the Epipen. Last night I was up half the night worrying because he brought a note home saying his class was going on a leaf walk throughout our small town. Should I call the school and make sure his Epipen is going? Should I just show up and follow his class around town (with my 2-year-old and the Epipen in hand)? Should I slip a single-dose of Benedryl in his pocket? Sometime in the night, it occured to me that my husband works 5 minutes from the school, and Kyle's teacher knows his allergy, so if anything happened, Daddy would swoop in for the rescue.
       All of this worry over a tiny little bug..........it seems so unnatural. I very often feel as if I am being way overprotective. Most allergies are more of a nuisance than a fear, but we deal with what God gives us.

This new house

We did not become a family in the house that we live in. The home we brought each of our babies to was a single wide mobile home. It was nice, only a few years old and the biggest that you can get. We spent a lot of time re-arranging after every birthday or Christmas when the kids got new clothes or more toys. Our third baby had to share our bedroom until she was done breastfeeding, then she shared a room with her big sister. A room in a trailer with a twin size bed and a crib in it. We literally had to take the door off the closet because there was not enough room to open it. You could hear what was going on in the kitchen from the master bathroom and they were at different ends of the house. Yet, somehow, it was the best home we have shared as a family. The house we live in now is three times the size as that trailer. The kids each have their own bedrooms, which are the size of the living room in our old house. My kids often remember times in our "old house." It sometimes seems that we were happier when we were crammed into a small space together. Maybe it was just easier then. The kids were younger and that was the only life they had known. Sometimes when I think about going home I think of the old house. We have only lived in the "new house" for two years. I guess it just takes longer than that to fill it up with happiness and good times. Maybe it's like a balloon and I need to push a lot of laughter and smiles through at the beginning, and before we know it, our happiness will be expanding without much effort.

Why fivesocks?

So, I have wanted to start a blog for a while. I have lots of opinions, and my three young children are not a very captive audience, so here I am. I chose fivesocks as my blog title because at the end of folding laundry, we always have socks that have no mates. And, since we are a family of five, we have 5 socks without mates. Socks are a big issue in my life. My two older kids are playing soccer this year. I was desperate to give my 5 year old son the "team" atmosphere. He can be a difficult child, and the best little boy ever just 3 minutes later. Anyway, we were talking about socks. I have four diffirent brands of socks in his drawer because he is "one of those kids." He has a fit when he gets his socks on. They have bumps according to him, or they just aren't right. With the warm summer months a thing of the past (taking with them sandle and Croc wearing weather), we are again struggling with socks. We were doing well-even with the shin guards-until the soccer socks. Now, not being an official soccer mom (I refuse to own a minivan), I never even knew these things existed. Now I know they exist just to torture the mothers of kids with clothing issues. My son had a full-blown fit over these socks. I'm talking screaming and kicking his grandfather, throwing his body onto the ground, flinging his shoes in the air. So, hooray for me-I carried him onto the soccer field and stood there until he joined his team. (mom 1, socks 0) Sometime later that week, I did what any mother would do. I took a $7 pair of brand-new Adidas Soccer socks and cut the feet off of them . Problem solved. At least for soccer.