The Muppets

We recently returned from a trip where we celebrated the memory of my uncle who recently passed away.  It is a crazy family situation, and somewhat tragic.  I'll just leave it at that.  Anyhow, in a desire to lighten the mood here at our house I found this today, and it brought a smile to my face.  I hope it does the same for you.

It made my day...

This week we were on an "I'm-going-to-go-crazy-if-I-don't-get-out-of-here-quick" walk, when we happened to walk by the local fire station with all it's apparatus out in full glory in the driveway.  I say "full glory" because if you are a six-year-old, a four-year-old, or a 17-month-old, the angels  begin singing when you spot this sort of sight on a run-of-the-mill walk.  The engine had it's cab up in the air and they were testing the lights and sirens; similarly the ambulance was out of the bay and getting inspected.  My kids were in awe.  We were really content just to watch them go through their paces, and were about to walk on when one of the firefighters came over and said these blessed words: "Do you want to look inside the fire engine?"

My kids were in awe.  This guy was awesome.  He got down on the kids' level and explained stuff.  He let them hold a nozzle for the hose.  He lifted them into the cab of the engine.  He was patient, and kind, and I almost wanted to kiss him for how he was treating my kids like adults, but sharing with them in a way they would understand.  To clarify: I almost wanted to kiss him but I'm married so I don't do that sort of thing, and he kept calling me m'am.  Never kiss a man who calls you m'am.  And, as my husband repeatedly points out: No PDAs (public displays of affection) in uniform.

So instead, this young firefighter (who really prefers the paramedic part of his job, FYI) has earned my undying respect and my wishful thinking that I could bake a batch of cookies for him and his station-mates, and have them actually eat them and not throw them away for fear of food poisoning.

Remember how I said he was patient and kind?  It really showed when my son commented "I've been inside of a paramedic before!" and the helpful medic, well.... he was a little speechless.  It was cute.  And what a great opportunity to discuss the difference between a paramedic and an ambulance!  :)

Thank you, Mr. Firefighter Medic.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Updated Pancakes

I think I told you that back in August I shared about my favorite Oatmeal Pancakes on The Storylady Blog.  Well, given that it's fall and everyone ELSE is doing it, I thought I'd tell you that I updated these pancakes for fall and now they are PUMPKIN OATMEAL PANCAKES!

I added about half a can of pureed pumpkin to the milk/oat mixture, and a nicely generous portion of ground cinnamon to the dry ingredients... Voila!!

My son says these are the best pancakes he has ever had in his whole life.  I'm smitten with that boy.

Cliff Talk

Today Motorcop posted about two motors officers out in his neck of the woods who were in two different crashes; one in Concord and one in Fremont.  If you are the praying kind, please say some prayers for each of them and their families.

As I read about Officer Brower in Fremont, I was angry.  What idiot decides to run down a cop who isn't even.... well, don't get me started.  That's just rhetorical.  We all know what kind of idiot does that.  So, as usual, I started projecting.

I started thinking about this man and his family.  His wife.  His three sons.  What it would be like to come back from an injury like that.  I'm not just talking about the physical recovery.  I'm also wondering what kind of emotional recovery goes along with it. 

My husband has always been a 'tough guy.'  Not a 'tough guy' in a pig-headed way, but a 'tough guy' in the very best sense of the word.  The kind of guy who would follow you home to make sure you got in safely, just because it is the right thing to do.  He's a little quick to judge other guys who are -- let's say it -- pansies.  The ones who leave the women and children to burn and race off to save themselves.  (That is definitely pansy.)  Anyway, I worry about my man.  All of our officers.  They are trained to be tough, and hard, and invincible.  They aren't (as we all know) but if they think they are ~ that's half the battle to winning with a sketchy suspect. 

So what happens when that invincibility is put to the test, and our officer comes out on the bottom?  Would my husband return to his previously invincible-feeling self?  Or would he not be quite as invincible feeling?  Would he question his ability to do his job?  And would he hate himself for it?

Then I realized, I am just borrowing trouble.  I had to talk myself 'back from the cliff' as I like to say.  I have to put away all the crazy talk and get outside of myself to speak rationally to myself.  This time, I came at it from the slant of worrying.  How many hundreds of sayings are there about worrying?  All of them saying something to the effect that we should not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.   Each day has enough trouble for itself.  When (I'd sure prefer to say IF!) my husband experiences some difficulty in his job which changes his outlook or injures him, that will be a different bridge to cross.  And we'll be able to cross it without much worry, for it will be a day of it's own, with it's own worry.

What's your favorite "don't borrow trouble" saying?

oh!

Is anyone else freaked out that it's October now?!?!

so sick of swings

I was just congratulating myself about how "we've" been on swing shift for about a year now, and I've got the hang of it.  We have a rhythm going and it's.... working?  Well, we are limping along.

Today, I changed my mind.  I'm sick of swings.

I was up early today.  We were out the door early (me and three kids) where I took the kids to the doctor and, surprise!, all three got poked and prodded. Yes, we're an immunizing family.  Then off to classes.  Then home.  Nap.  Dinner.  Teeth brushing.  (This is my least favorite time of the day -- which happens at least twice every day.)  PJs.  Bed. Today, dinner was easy.  I had a sweet friend spring for fancy-schmancy pizza.  Right around bedtime, the Husband called and it was the first time I talked to him all day.

I'm going to take a minute out of my story here to mention that my husband has the superb knack of ONLY ever calling me from work when I'm supremely busy and going out of my mind trying to do something -- like cook dinner or get all the kids in bed.  And I feel compelled to chat with him for a few minutes since I usually have no idea when I'll get to talk to him again on shift.  I hate that!  Why does he have that sixth sense that complicates my life!

But back to the story.

So, husband's on the phone, and he wants to know about the visit to the pediatrician.  My six-year-old proudly got on the phone to report there was no crying for him.  My daughter got on the phone to tell her dad she cried from the time we got out of the car until we got back in it 90 minutes later.  I got on the phone to hear how angry he was that our kids got poked with needles.  Are you freaking kidding me?  Don't kill the messenger, or don't allow your kids to be vaccinated.  For a tough guy, he sure has a tender heart when it comes to our kids.  And DON'T call me at bedtime.  oh.... my life.