What I Learn When..

What I learned from People Magazine when I got my hair cut: Sandra Bullock adopted a black baby boy. Go Sandra.

What I learned from National Public Radio: Sumo wrestlers are having a PR Nightmare. Apparently, they have been betting on baseball with the Japanese mafia. And drinking. And womanizing. The end of the interview went like this:

Announcer: "Now, to give you one perspective, many Americans see Sumo wrestlers as very large men wearing....ah... diapers."

Man from "All Things Sumo:" This is the Japanese pastime. They take their wrestlers very seriously.

This little interview just totally made my day. I had given no thought to sumo wrestlers for quite some time. Actually, the last time I thought of them was on Halloween when a boy dressed as a sumo got stuck in the door to Kwik Trip. And now, on a peaceful drive home from Target, I got to be a part of a Sumo Scandal. My world was broadened. And I did think that it's probably easier to raise 7 children than it is to be a sumo.

An Honest Friend

Sometimes people will say to us, "You're such good people. You must have a really special family." Invariably, these comments make me think of the most recent time I lost my temper, found moldy food in the refrigerator or served my children hotdogs and jello.

Sometimes, when I share news that I find hard (my daughter has parasites) people will say: "Oh, it's no big deal." "You can handle it." "I'm sure you'll get it all taken care of soon." And immediately I think, "Oh, it IS a big deal. I don't want to handle it. In order to even know if I have it taken care of I have to take 3 more stool samples. And just ask the crabby lab lady at the doctor...I do not have what it takes to execute that successfully."

But yesterday, I left a message with a friend. She's adopted two children from Ethiopia as well. It was a two word message: giardea and whip worm.

She called back 10 seconds later. Her response: "What the hell is whip worm?"

Somehow, this made me feel better. It was the acknowledgment that this isn't a Gap commercial. This isn't Fresh Flowers and Meadows. This is Orphans. And orphans are... messy. They are also good for the soul, good for the family and great for keeping pride in check.

Small Talk

I find it easy, for the most part, to make small talk, especially if I am in a situation where it is important for me to appear polite.

I have found 3 situations in which it is hard for me to make small talk: annual exams at the doctor; check ups at the dentist, and today, a new place: the pharmacist. Specifically, the pharmacist to pick up Albenza, "an anthelmintic used to treat infections caused by tapeworms."

Usually Sue, the checker-outer at the pharmacy, is the only person I see. Today, there was a "gathering" at the pharmacy counter: two pharmacists and Sue. All curious eyes seemed to want to ask the same question: are you Lizzie and are you contagious? They made a point of telling me, not the side effects but the fact that "we didn't have this medicine in stock." Suddenly, I didn't feel the need to be polite so much as the need to appear... clean. competent. not Lizzie. But instead of small talk, out came what is commonly known as Too Much Information. "We've had her home for three months, but the first stool samples leaked." "Oh, she's probably had these parasites all her life but she's just used to them."

The good news is the prescription was only $8.53. In an effort to make everyone feel more comfortable about this very personal transaction, I said, "Wow. I thought it would be closer to a million dollars. Maybe they feel sorry for people who need parasite medication."

A weak "heh-heh" was all that I got from the curious audience which now included at least 2 other customers who were probably picking up medication for tennis elbow and golf knee.

The other good news: I got a $10 giftcard with my new prescription. So actually I got paid to have parasites.

Snacks of the Tired

I dragged us to the library. Again. This time, the only thing threatening to accost me was the No Handicapped Door Button Press Thing. I had Sadie, who weighs 16 pounds in my arms and 45 pounds in her car seat, dangling from my left forearm. I had 17 books in a Huggies diaper box that I was carrying in both hands. I got the door open, wedged myself and the car seat in it and made the mistake of saying, "Lizzie? Honey, can you hold the door open?"

"Door?"

"Yes, can you hold it open?"

"Open?"

And with this final moment of complete incomprehension, she tried to duck under the suspended car seat and between my leg and the door. It was one of those moments that creates an out of body experience where one says, "And now I wonder what I will look like when I lose my mind."

We made it in and made it out and made it home and made it into bed. I sat at my table. I drank a Peach Citrus Fresca. I ate half of a glazed donut. I made and drank a caramel latte. It was the weirdest snack ever and it was perfect.

Now, I am looking forward to having wine and cheese with my husband. As I reflect on this day, I am grateful for the friend who sent me this verse:

"Your promises have been thoroughly tested, and your servant loves them." -Psalm 119:140

Lizzie's Help

Levi and I were cleaning out the hamster cage. The hamsters were happily rolling around in dirty plastic hamster balls. Lizzie noticed.

"Here, Levi," she said. We turned around. She was holding both hamster/hamster balls, one in each hand.

"Oh, Lizzie. We don't need them yet," I say in my Sweet Teaching Toddler Voice. "You can go put them back in the hallway."

3 seconds later: THUNK!!! THUNK!!!!

Me, in my I'm Now Tired Of Toddlers Voice: "Levi, go see if the hamsters are dead."

Sadie's Brothers Love Her

Tonight Eli was holding Sadie. His first remark was "Ewwwww. She has sweaty armpits." (Sadie is all of 8 months old) After that observation, he and Levi's next logical step was to talk about her ability to fight off attackers.

"She could spin around!"
"And spray everyone!"
"With spray from her armpits!"

She loved the attention. And I think she's still too young to know about self esteem.

"Banned"

I had a husband-sponsored night out. He stayed home with the toddlers and baby; I took the older kids to a movie. While they were there, I went to my favorite library. I returned the books that make me not want to read to my children anymore: Sleepy, Sleepy Bed and Anna Shares, just to name a few. And, by the way, Anna does not share. Her friend has to go home because she won't share 2 cookies, then she "shares" with her teddy bear and some other thing that doesn't eat. I need to write children's books. But that's another blog.

I got 24 items at the library. It was like a new wardrobe. I took them to the self check out scanner at which point I was informed (after a bonking noise, not the welcoming beep) that I was "banned from checking out items." The good news is, I knew why. I had returned a DVD case without the DVD in it. The case was returned at least 2 weeks ago; the DVD was returned today.

"You have to go find the supervisor," the circulation desk person informed me.

I found Diane. She pulled up my records and frowned. "You have an $8 fine."

"I know. But I returned it today."

"Yes, but it took a long time. And you've done this before."

"I know. But I have 7 kids. 2 are from Ethiopia..." I trailed off. Diane had less than no interest in my story. Her focus was entirely on the fact that "Very Hungry Caterpillar" disc and case had been separated for much longer than the allotted time and that furthermore, I was a repeat offender.

She took off the fine eventually with this warning: "I'm making a note that I told you I would only do this once."

So now I live with The Bad Library Credit Rating for...ever. It will probably have its own sound when I scan my card.

But I have my 24 new items. And for that, I am thankful.