Category Archives: Fritz

02.27.11
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Haircuts

Bill had been needing a haircut for some days.  Two boys had been needing haircuts for some weeks.  One boy had been needing a haircut since his last haircut.  I had hoped haircuts could be accomplished in a joint session, one that did not involve me, at Bill’s favorite local barber.  Instead, I found myself driving my shaggy husband to the airport for a trip with my shaggy boys riding along behind.

The dog decided to come along too.

And I happened to realize on the way that I had left my cell phone behind.

After dropping my husband off amidst so many tears you might have thought he was heading off to war, I returned to our little town and went to the barber shop.  Mary and Peter had fallen asleep, so I left Katie and Jenny in the car, parked right out front, to monitor them.  I got the boys in line.  Jenny kept going from the car to the shop and in no time at all, Peter was awake and playing in the corner with the toys.  A few minutes later, Katie comes in with Mary on her hip.

Fortunately, it’s a pretty big shop.

After Katie deposits Mary on my lap, she says she’s going back to the car for the keys.  It was a warm day, and I had left the car running with the air on.  A second later, she returns to tearfully tell me she had hit the automatic lock on the way out.  So, the keys are in the car, which is running and keeping the dog cool.

And my cell phone is at home.

I have several friends who would happily respond to my need for help, but I don’t know their phone numbers.  That’s what the cell phone is for, right?

Right.

The barber shop had a phone book, but a quick flip through it did not reveal the names I sought.  That’s the problem with having transient military friends.

While Fritz had his head shaved and Billy had his hair trimmed, I sat and thought.  I estimated I was 3 miles from home, and the road, which I have biked and run, is not a good one to walk with children.  I have AAA, but that would have taken up to another hour of my day which was rapidly approaching dinnertime.  Fortunately, I do live in a small town, and my dentist is also my neighbor’s dentist and was located about 200 yards down the street.  After Fritz was done, I sent him to the dentist’s office to ask them to call our friend who was able to get spare keys from our house and drive them over with very little waiting on our part. 

I really hope my husband can take the boys to get their haircuts from now on. 

*******

Meanwhile, my husband, visiting Texas, has some free time.  He finds a barber shop which bills itself as a man’s barber shop.  When he tells me this, I immediately think of pinups on the wall, but he describes the pool table in the corner and the strong smell of aftershave.  As he takes a seat, someone asks him if he’d like a beer while he waited.  And not just any beer, no, a bottled local brew.

“And it was free!” he tells me.

“How much was the haircut?” I ask.

“Twenty-six dollars,” he responds somewhat sheepishly.  That’s about double our local barber.

“Then it wasn’t free,” I tell him.

Fortunately, we’re not moving there any time soon, so it won’t be a habit.

*******

Back to Fritz: when he got his ** “high and tight, skin on the sides” ** the barber finished him up with a good dousing of aftershave.  He smelled so good and reminded me of his dad every time he passed near me that afternoon and evening. 

Of course, he hated it, and happily took a shower at his first opportunity just to rid himself of the stench.

** For those of you unfamiliar with the terminology of a military haircut, a high and tight is when the sides and back are very short and most of the hair is on top.  Skin on the sides means that you shave it all the way down.  Fritz got this cut nearly a week ago, so you can see it’s growing back already.

01.08.11
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Random Procrastination from my Chores

Given the long list of things I have to do to prepare for an impending vacation (laundry, putting away Christmas decorations, calling the kennel), it was with amusement that I discovered myself vacuuming the garage.  I’m sure there are many who will think that vacuuming the garage ever is sheer lunacy, but for every one of you, there is someone else nodding her head in agreement.

And for every one of those, there is someone else saying, “What’s the big deal?  I vacuum the garage weekly.”

*******

Another really important task that absolutely had to get done before vacation was dropping off the various bags of items I’ve been assembling to give to Goodwill.  As I furtively loaded the car, I impulsively grabbed the exersaucer and loaded it up too.  I’m not sure if this means I’m (a) admitting I am done having children, (b) thumbing my nose at Murphy and his laws, or (c) sick and tired of the bulky thing taking up space in my garage.  I’m leaning toward the last one.

*******

When I stopped at the recycling center, I learned that they no longer took glass.  I rarely have aluminum cans, but always have some glass to recycle.  When I bemoaned this fact to a long-time resident, her response was, “What recycling center?”  I will never again feel guilty about tossing a cereal box in the trash bin.

*******

I don’t get 9 year old girls.  They are foreign creatures, and I deny ever being one.  Case in point:

“Katie, would you please play Play-Doh with Mary instead of doing your school work?”

Moan, whine and wail: “But then I have to clean it up!  Why do I always have to clean it up?  I don’t want to play Play-Doh with Mary!”

“OK, then.  Fritz, would you please play Play-Doh with Mary instead of doing your school work?”

“Oh, sure!”  For a 12 year old boy, the choice between Play-Doh and schoolwork is obvious.
 
Moan, whine and wail: “But I want to play Play-Doh with Mary!  How come I never get to play Play-Doh with Mary?!”
 
Sorry…I thought “I don’t want to” meant “I don’t want to.” 
 
My husband has explained to me that this behavior is typical of all females of every age.  When you see him, ask him if he gets a good night’s rest on the couch.
 
*******
 
The 3 year old girl is doing her best to exhaust me.  Frequently she interrupts my day to announce, “I have to go potty.”
 
“Then, GO,” I will say.
 
She will start to leave, but then will tum back and say, “You’re not coming, Mommy!”  And she’ll wait for me to get up and come.  If I’m not fast enough, she’ll do a little dance to show how urgently I need to move.
 
When there, I’ll try to help her pull down her pants.  “I DO IT!”  Fine.  I’ll try to help her up on the pot.  “I DO IT!”  Fine.  I’ll try to help her wipe.  “I DO IT!”  Fine.  Pulling up her pants, washing and drying her hands: “I DO IT!”  Fine.
 
But that’s only half the time.  The other times, she needs me to do everything for her, and there’s no telling which mood she’s in.  If I leave her independent self alone in the bathroom, she’ll call me back in.  I’m beginning to think she just wants the company.  Katie and Jenny tend to go to the bathroom together, another behavior I just don’t get.  I generally manage to hit the restrooms without a partner.  Maybe I can get Mary to ask her sisters to tag along instead of me. 
 
But then I’ll probably hear moaning, whining and wailing.  “I don’t want to!”
 
*******
 
It’s been a long time since I had a little 5 year old boy to school.  Peter, who has always charmed me with his brilliance, is nevertheless still just a little boy.  He’s not too happy with school, because I actually want him to sit down and do it.  I watch him squirm and fidget and move up and down and all around, and it drives me nuts.  For the first few months of the school year, I seriously thought there was something wrong with him.  Jenny wasn’t like this; Katie wasn’t like this.  But then I stopped to think.  Jenny isn’t a boy; Katie isn’t a boy.  Billy?  Fritz?  Oh, yeah, wiggles and wriggles big time.
 
I pity kindergarten teachers.
 
*******
 
Fritz had to write a ~700 word essay.  He chose to write about the Greek gods. 
 
Editing that paper was…painful.
 
I pity middle school teachers almost as much as I pity kindergarten teachers.
 
*******
 
And since I feel bad if I mention only 4 children in a random post, I have to add a few things about my other 2. 
 
We did a morning chore swap, and now Katie and Jenny are emptying the dishwasher instead of Fritz and Peter.  While I no longer have to help Peter differentiate between the big and small forks (which have different receptacles), I now have to guess in which drawer Jenny decides various utensils belong.
 
A friend loaned me the complete Harry Potter series, and I’ve worked my way up to the 4th year (I had read books1-3 previously, but I re-read them so I could remember what happened).  Billy discovered the stash and dove right in.  He now disappears for hours on end, and is up to the 3rd book (I need to get moving!).  Unfortunately, I have to hide the book in order to get him to do chores, schoolwork, eat, go to the bathroom, play outside in the sunny, mild weather, etc.  It’s a good thing breathing is an automatic thing.
 
*******
 
And now, back to work.

01.05.11
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A Feast to Remember

“Go home to your family and announce to them all that the Lord in his pity has done for you.” Mark 5:19

Today is the feast of St. John Neumann.  I would be negligent if I did not remember with a grateful heart his intercession.  Below is a reprint from his feast day in 2008:

The orthodontist called at 8:15 in the morning. “Your son has a cyst in his jaw, and he needs to see an oral surgeon right away,” she said. My eight-year old son, Fritz, had only gone to her for a consultation the afternoon before. She had taken pictures and then shooed us out of the office promising to call in a day or two. “I didn’t want to alarm you, especially not in front of all your children,” she explained on the phone. He would need a biopsy to determine the nature of the cyst.

My husband, Bill, is in the military. Fritz was referred to the Dental Clinic at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C.. It would be two weeks before they could see him.

At this initial consultation, a doctor pointed out that Fritz’s jaw was bulging. His chin, on his right side, was more pronounced than on his left. You could clearly see it. But we hadn’t noticed it. Later, I looked at a photo of him from a year earlier, and I could see it there too. We never noticed it.

It was hard not to feel guilty. I hadn’t taken him to the dentist since he was four. We had insurance, I just didn’t feel it was truly necessary. I had made excuses for not going: it is hard to take a whole crew of kids, especially toddlers. But obviously this thing had been growing for quite some time. If I had been taking him regularly, surely they would have seen this sooner.

The doctor told my husband that in a best case scenario my son would be lucky if he only lost a few adult teeth.

The day after this appointment, I wrote:

“I will flog myself for the rest of my life over this. Even if he’s fine. Even if it all works out in the end. But, in all things, I see the hand of God. My wonderful husband…helped me to see it last night. I was in so much need of comfort that he just could not provide. But God, through him, gave it to me. ’We should have been in Fort Leavenworth right now. But we’re not. We’re here, with some of the best doctors in the country.’ I needed to hear that. I needed to know that God is right here actively taking care of us…both the orthodontist and the oral surgeon have asked ‘How long will you be in the area?’ That’s just not good. But it’s OK. My guilt is not assuaged, but my soul is comforted. It will be a rough road. But we’re not alone.”

The biopsy was scheduled for eleven days later. There was plenty of time to worry, to ponder the possibilities, to scour the internet for information. The doctors mentioned a cyst called an OKC which is difficult to eradicate. They didn’t want to talk about what else it might be. I didn’t want to think about it. My heart was heavy, and I knew that I could suffocate in fear if I let myself.

Eleven days were enough time to do a novena. I chose St. John Newmann through whose intercession a boy afflicted with cancer was healed. We also petitioned St. Apollonia, patron of teeth and tooth problems. We begged everyone we knew to pray for our son. And finally, we sought the sacrament of Anointing of the Sick for my child who only earlier that year had made his First Penance and First Holy Communion.

Both Bill and I took Fritz to the early morning surgery. The initial prognosis was good: it seemed to be “just” a cyst and nothing worse. The doctors installed a stent in his jaw through which we needed to irrigate the cyst to help it shrink. They also forbade sports of any kind. His jawbone was extremely thin, and the risk of fracture was great. I thought about my son’s usual free time activities and knew this would be difficult, but I was thankful he had managed to avoid injury so far.

I took Fritz back to Walter Reed a week later for a check-up and for the results of the biopsy. As they suspected, it was definitely just a cyst, and in fact was not the dreaded OKC, but was simply a dentigerous cyst, which is easier to treat and is not likely to return. The staff was happy and surprised that their best case scenario was in fact much worse than the actual results. I consider it to be a miracle.

God gave us a gift of healing. It wasn’t an instantaneous cure, and life was difficult for quite some time. For two months I took Fritz on the hour-long drive to Walter Reed once a week for a check up. Bill’s job required long hours and many days away from home, so the burden of taking my son to these appointments, often with all the children in tow, fell on me. In addition, Fritz still had to avoid activities that risked fracturing his jaw, and we had to remember to irrigate his cyst daily. But he did not have to fight for his life.

Two and a half months later, at his usual appointment, the chief surgeon looked at Fritz’s latest x-rays and exclaimed, “It’s gone!” He had told us it would take six to nine months for the cyst to shrink. He turned to the new resident with him and explained Fritz’s diagnosis and treatment. I was elated to hear him say, “It turned out to be a dentigerous cyst, thank God.” Yes, I silently agreed, thank God.

11.22.10
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Delegating Dinner – The Humiliating Conclusion (and a recipe)

Friday night, I had a plan for dinner, but instead of cooking, I had been cleaning.  At 630 pm, I needed to pick the girls up from ballet.  Bill, slightly feverish and achy, was coming with me so he could pick up his car at the shop.  I stood in the kitchen with two full trash bags in hand to take to the big trash bucket outside and considered my options for dinner.

I decided to go with my original plan, Shrimp Destin, which is very very easy and gets 6 thumbs up around here (6 out of 8 is an extremely high rating).  I looked over at my 12 year old, watching The Dick Van Dyke Show on the laptop.  The shrimp recipe is so easy that, had I been a better mother, this untapped labor source could have been making dinner the whole time I was cleaning.  Alas, too late, I realized my neglect.  I did not have confidence that this boy could follow the directions on the recipe, and I resolved to walk him through it the next time I cycled through this meal. 

To soothe these guilty feelings, I opted to delegate a portion of the cooking to him.  It wouldn’t put dinner on the table any faster, but would make me feel that dinner was a team effort and not my sole responsibility.

“Fritz, honey, can you make the rice for dinner while I go get the girls?”  He looked at me with a willing, but blank, stare.  He’d never made minute rice before.

“Just put three cups of water on to high heat.  When it boils, add three cups of rice.  And then take it off the heat.”

He nodded understanding, and when I got home, the task was successfully accomplished.  I made the shrimp and steamed broccoli (love those frozen steam-in-the-bag conveniences) and everybody but my sick husband sat down to eat.

Peter, not a shrimp lover, had rice and broccoli on his plate.  After his first bite, Fritz asked him, “How was the rice?”  Peter gave him a quizzical look.  Really, what should one answer to that question?  It tastes like…minute rice.  Fritz turned to Katie who had only shrimp and broccoli on her plate.

“Why aren’t you having rice?” he demanded to know.  She knitted her brow.  What was the big deal about rice? she seemed to be wondering.

“I made the rice!” he declared proudly.

“You made the rice?” asked Billy.  He eagerly started shoveling forkfuls into his mouth.  “Mmmmm…great rice, Fritz!” he enthused.  And then, right in front of me, he leaned across the table and gave Fritz a high five.

Peter, now understanding the fuss about rice, was quick to include his praise of his older brother’s wonderful accomplishment.

Everybody returned their attention to their own plates and eating resumed.

“How’s the shrimp?” I asked Billy. 

“It’s good, Mom,” he answered with that polite tone one might expect if one had asked how the minute rice tasted.

I did not get any high-fives.

I should have.  This recipe is quite yummy.

Shrimp Destin

1.5 to 2 lb peeled and deveined shrimp

1/4 cup chopped green onions
2 tsp minced garlic
1 cup butter, melted
1 Tbl white wine
1 tsp lemon juice
1/8 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper
1 tsp dry dillweed
1 tsp chopped fresh parsley

Saute green onions and garlic in butter until onions are tender.  Add shrimp, wine, lemon juice, salt and pepper.  Cook over medium heat until shrimp is cooked through.  Add dillweed and parsley.  Serve over toasted French rolls or rice.

11.21.10
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Good times

Oh my.  What a day.

Confessions are at 11 am at the Cathedral on Saturdays, so we hauled our sooty little souls down there this morning.  I noticed the line was moving quickly, which meant our usual favorite priest wasn’t there.  The kids went first, then me.  Bill was hanging in the back with the little ones and went after the three people behind me.

A sign inside explained the short confession time:  Deaf Priest.  Do not whisper.

This would have been a good day to have mortal sins.

So, no lengthy explanations, no probing questions, no nothing.  State your sins, say you’re sorry, get forgiveness, get out.

After confession, I like to compare penances.  I got one Our Father.  Billy said he got three Hail Marys.  Goodness!  Fritz admitted he couldn’t understand what the elderly Irish priest had said, so he did the Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be, Angel of God and St.Michael prayers.  Covered his bases.  Katie said she, too, had not understood so she did three Hail Marys.  Then Billy admitted he didn’t understand the priest either.  (Was that a lie he told right after confession?)

I asked the kids if they saw the sign that said the priest was deaf. 

No.

They asked about the man being Irish.  Jenny, being somewhat out of the loop since she hadn’t gone to confession, asked, “Are all Irish people deaf?”

“No,” I answered, “He happens to be Irish and he happens to be deaf.  Not all Irish people are deaf.”

“Oh,” she said, “He’s deaf and he’s Irish.  All Irish people are deaf.”

“No!” my husband said.  “You’re part Irish.  Are you deaf?”

Cheekily, my 7 year old asked, “What did you say?”

*******

Then we went to the store to buy some pants, socks, and shoes because my children keep growing despite my expressly stated order that they should mature, but not grow.  Growing can be done when they have jobs to pay for clothes.

By this time, they were starving, and we decided to feed them even though, for sure, my son would grow a half inch during the meal.  While we waited for our food, I suggested we play a game to keep everybody’s mind off the fact that we were waiting for food.  I suggested that everybody pick a new name and we would all call each other by these different names for the rest of the weekend.

“My name is Empress Maria Theresa.  You may call me Empress or Your Highness and you certainly may curtsy or bow when speaking to me.  Please speak in German or Czech.”

Bill selected Hector.  Fritz wanted to be called Bob.  Billy, Hades.  Katie, Nancy Drew.  Jenny picked some fairy name, then said she didn’t want to play.  Fine.  Foo on you.  Peter first picked Carson Palmer.  Mary is Mary.

At one point, Peter was acting like a 5 year old and Bill suggested that he act like Carson Palmer, meaning, like an adult.  Images flashed in my mind of the notorious behavior of professional athletes, so I began to protest, “Well, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…”  Then I pointed to Billy, “He’s HADES.”

“Good point,” said Bill.

Peter changed his name to Joe Hardy.

*******

It was a steak place, this restaurant, but the children’s menu did not have steak on it.  The adult menu had 12 oz steaks or larger (or a 6 oz filet mignon for more than the 12 oz sirloin).  There was no steak salad or steak burger or anything small and less expensive, so I told Billy he could not have steak.  Feeling bad for our carnivorous young son, my husband ordered a steak and gave him some to supplement his chicken finger lunch.

Billy, I mean Hades, when given his portion, responded, “Thank you for your offering.”

If you don’t quite get that, you obviously haven’t read the Percy Jackson books.

*******

More errands.  Mary falls asleep.  The kids are given an option to stay in the car instead of going into Home Depot for air filters and light bulbs.  Katie and Jenny want to come, but the rest will stay.

“Fritz, sit up front and look 12,” I say.  He’s been affecting a “mature” look since he was 11 1/2 so I could run quick errands while leaving a sleeping tot in the car.

“I am twelve!”

“Oh.  Yeah.  Good.  Sit up front.” 

*******

At Bass Pro shops, nobody wanted to stay in the car.  That’s OK.  I came prepared with a book.  I happily stayed with Mary.

Bill wants to take me out to shoot shotguns.  I know, I know.  What a lucky lucky gal I am to have a husband with such romantic ideas for dates. 

He said he needed ear protection.  He said he knows I’m sensitive to things touching me, and thought perhaps the stick-in-your-ear ear plugs might annoy me.  “It’s OK.  I’ll just go deaf,” I said.

After the errand, he showed me the stick-in-your-ear $0.99 ear plugs he bought – for him.  And he showed me the full-cover-over-your-ears, much-more-than-$0.99 ear protection he bought – for me.

This is love.

*******

On the way home, I read him a few snippets from Rachel Balducci’s book.  The theme of these excerpts was Chuck Norris.  Chuck Norris is not well known in my home…yet.  I noticed how eerily quiet the car became when I was reading.  My cell phone rang, and I spoke for a minute to a girlfriend.  The din from the back of the van was the usual volume – loud.  But when I hung up and went back to the book: silence.

*******

We went home and somebody said something else very funny.  I can’t remember it.  But I do know that Fritz said, “Mom, you have to put this on your blog!”  It doesn’t matter what it was, really.  His comment wasn’t at all narcissistic, self centered – somebody else was the clever one.  And he has very little clue that complete strangers read this blog.  He knows my blog is our family history.

We ran errands and took care of business.  We ate lunch and spent the day together.  We had fun.

It was just an ordinary mundane Saturday, but we want to remember it.

07.22.10
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Ambitions

Coincidentally, I’m reading Haystack Full of Needles. I say “coincidentally” because this book was not on my summer reading list, but it just came my way. I also say “coincidentally” because Fritz happens to be reading Henry V for his upcoming school year which I happen to be planning right now. And Alice Gunther just happens to have a whole chapter on doing Shakespearean plays with other homeschoolers. And I just happened to have read that this morning.

And a big part of me is saying, “Oh, I could do that. I could produce Henry V with our home school group.”

And a big part of me is saying, “No, you do not have time or energy for that.”

And the first part says, “Theater is fun! have fun with your school year!”

And the second part retorts, “Fritz does not like getting up in front of people and performing. This would not be fun.”

And the crazy side of me says, “He’ll be fine. He needs to explore new growth opportunities.”

And the debate rages on. I think it’s time to return the book.
07.20.10
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Yesterday, in photos

Fritz said, “Mom, look! My hair is half brown and half blond!” I told him people actually pay good money for highlights like his. No chemicals here: that’s sun bleaching. I wonder what it will look like when he gets it cut.

This is a jig-saw puzzle that Fritz completed with a little help from his sisters and me. He took the picture. Notice the conquering hero’s planted foot…on the kitchen table.

Peter said he was too tired to clean up his toys. And then he proved his point by passing out on the kitchen floor.
Jenny got an early Christmas present: her two front teeth.

07.14.10
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Dutiful Sons

Fritz and Billy are away at camp through tomorrow. I had asked them to please send me a letter and provided stamped and addressed envelopes. I even showed them where the outgoing mail was collected and told them to get it there by Tuesday or I wouldn’t receive it before their return. Sure enough, I got two letters in the mail today.

The letters are typical of their personalities. Billy’s has zero details, but is very neat and everything is spelled correctly. Fritz’s letter is messy, and perhaps half the words are correctly spelled. Punctuation seems to be optional. But, I learned they went to mini-golf, batting cages, a “dolfin cruse,” and the beach, that the food is OK, and that they would be going to a local fort that day (he named the wrong one, but I know what he meant).

I am thrilled that they did as I requested!

06.16.10
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No photo, because it’s just too gross

The boy made it 12 years and 29 days without a broken bone and without requiring stitches, staples or glue to hold parts of his body together.

Today, 12 years and 30 days into his life, his face looks very boyish: meaning bruised, swollen and plain ugly.

The friend said, “I’m going to throw this stick at you,” in what was meant to be some sort of friendly gesture, I suppose. His mom asked him, “What were you thinking?” which is, of course, ridiculous, because there was no thinking involved. Ask any man. I’ll bet he’ll have some story to tell about a time when he was 10 or 12 or 14…probably not too many after that. After that, vehicles get involved and those stories are “barely survived” stories, and they’re not as funny.

The incident occurred at approximately 4:10 pm. It was nearly 10:30 pm when Bill got home from the hospital with him. It’s nice that he works close by and could meet me there. I left after triage, thank goodness.

Let’s see: hole through his lip requiring 2 stitches, mainly because the hole is on both his lip and his face and he would have a crooked smile if they didn’t stitch it. He had a CT scan to make sure that no wood fragments were left behind. Then they had to call 2 people from the dental clinic to come in and take a look at his teeth. One guy had just sat down to dinner. X-rays showed that the broken tooth was a baby tooth, so they yanked it out. And I have to call our dentist and have them check on another (adult) tooth that’s a little wiggly and discolored.

Nice.

I did remind Fritz about the time he swung his brother into the bed and split his head open. And Bill talked about the time he got hit in the head with a baseball bat by his best friend. And my dad told me about the time he threw a broken bottle intending it to go over another kid’s head. And the friend’s grandfather told about the time his son used a length of rope as a whip…

Everybody has a story. I’m sure this one will be really funny in a few years.