Packing

I have been married for four years now, but that certainly isn’t enough time to gaze longingly back at the days when I was single and had one thing on my mind: me. I don’t mean that in any sort of extremely problematic self-centered way. (Even thought I am certainly as self-centered as the next guy.) I just mean life was so much easier when I had only my own clothes to wash, small apartment to clean, meals to cook (or pour if I simply ate cereal three times a day), time to kill and suitcase to pack. The latter has been especially on my mind these past two days.

It used to be if I was going on a trip, I tossed things in a bag, boarded a plane and took off to wherever with as little stress as airports allow. At one point, I had been a list-maker as far as packing went, but I gave that up when traveling to visit friends or family became a norm. I should probably go back to making a list, but the simple fact is the less steps I have to take in the whole packing process (and it is a process!) the better. As I told Ed, “It used to take me fifteen minutes to pack for a trip. Now it takes me fifteen hours.”

Which is almost not an exaggeration. Honestly. I started packing at nine this morning. It is now twelve hours later, I’m still waiting an a load of laundry to dry and I’ll have last minute things to throw in tomorrow morning. But gone are the days of taking clothes from my closet and dresser, throwing them in a bag, zipping it up and walking out the door. Instead…

First thing on the agenda was getting Emry’s “fish bag” from the back of her closet. (This is small suitcase/backpack with Finding Dory that Aunt Katey had sent around Christmas.) She packed the only thing she felt she needed for our nearly three-week stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s: her panda which she refers to as “Emry Panda”. (We also have Mama Panda, Papa Panda and Ethan Panda in case you’re wondering.) That done, she had no further desire to pack and since the rain was holding off, I told her we would walk down to the library to drop off the books we had. Well, the “fish bag” (which has wheels) now became Emry Panda’s stroller and needed to go on our walk to the library with us. By now you can probably see how this whole packing thing was going to go…

In conclusion, I have managed to get the kids belongings packed. Maybe a bit more than needed, but I can never quite tell how many outfits Ethan will go through in a 24-hour period. I think I have everything I need packed as well. To be honest, at this point I’m simply hoping I managed to pack enough items of clothing to see me through variables in weather and activities. At least Grandma’s washer and dryer seem to have an “eternal” cycle (in other words, laundry remains endless at my mom’s even after most of us have left home). I’ve packed car activities, blankets that cannot be lived without, food, drinks, electronics. The one responsibility I have not taken on with marriage: packing Ed’s things. For one, he’s only coming for a couple of days before leaving us there and returning to Pittsburgh to work. Two, he was single for nearly 40 years – he can pack a suitcase.

Big sigh. Truly, some days I really, really, really, really miss being single.

Happy Father’s Day!

Me and my dad learning to throw rocks – 1981.

Ed and Emry learning to throw rocks – 2017.

  

Some things never change…

The Antics of Kids

Sometimes the writing is on the wall. Literally. Don’t ask me for how long. At first I guessed it had been awhile…until we went to clean it. Pencil? Of course not! Ink? Absolutely. Whatever gave Emry the idea, it had been a few days past before it was noticed. Honestly, I do vacuum upstairs every other week. I simply don’t look at the walls very closely in the hall. It’s a small area, I don’t even bother to turn on the light and, most days, I don’t even put my contacts in. So, it was Ed who noticed. I can’t remember why he was running the vacuum upstairs one day while I was at work, but he turned on the light. And saw it. A beautiful portrait of Emry and some very long lines. On the wall. Because all kids have to draw on the wall at least once. Right?

As any parent knows, parenting can be exhausting. Googling how to get ink off a wall…spending a half hour working on it…thinking about when Ethan will do this…wondering why I have two kids!

But I never wonder long.

On Thursday, we were out later than usual somewhere. By the time I got the kids nearly tucked into bed, it was after 8:30. When I went to closed the curtains, I noticed lightning bugs. My children are usually in bed long before the lightning bugs come out, but since they were still up…well, I couldn’t resist. I took them outside.

It was well worth it. They were enamored. Little bugs that light up, flying about to be caught, and observed, and let go to blink off and on again. Ethan ran about the yard, chasing every blink he saw. After I showed her they wouldn’t hurt her, Emry was able to catch three by herself. It was such a delight to watch them, enraptured by God’s tiny creation of a lightning bug.

My Little Perfectionist

I think it’s safe to say most people are a little OCD. In my family, there are a few members who are a little more OCD than some. Sometimes I’m that way. There are things I like just so. I do find putting things in order to be therapeutic and relaxing. But I have a feeling I’m just a tip of an iceberg. My daughter’s tendencies go a little deeper.

Like fastening one’s shoes. She isn’t always particular, but there has been more than once when she won’t budge an inch until her shoe’s Velcro is perfectly aligned. As if getting out the door isn’t time consuming enough with two kids…

Or doing puzzles. If the piece in hand does not go in the first place she tries it, a good response is a growl of frustration as she throws it across the room.

Sometimes I shutter to think of her future. I work for a landscape architecture firm and one of the big perks is an endless supply of huge sheets of paper being tossed out as first drafts. I brought home a playground plan several weeks ago. Last week, I took one of the pages and laid it outside so the kids could finger paint for a while. Later I showed Emry one of schematics of the playground – a colored one with the various shapes marked “swings”, “2-5 play area”, etc. I tried to explain to her it was the design for a playground. I wasn’t sure she understood until a few days later when she was scribbling on a sheet of paper. At first, I thought her oddly colored shape an attempt at a circle. But then she pointed to it and said, “Mama, this is my playground. The swings will go here. The steps and slides here…” Strangely enough, it was almost the exact shape of the area the real playground will be on. And while most kids draw the actual swings or slides, she’s drawing design schematics. Future landscape architect? I shudder to think of how many drafts her designs will go through. For…

Last week we started working on learning to write. We’ve been doing “school” since the fall, but over the last month she’s shown tendencies of wanting to learn to both read and write. While a phonics book is on order, I downloaded some writing practice sheets including one with her name on it. She knows how to spell her name and she is forever writing an “E” (often with extra horizontal lines) on everything. So, I thought she may as well really learn to write it. She was delighted! But when I watched her meticulously trace the letters, my heart skipped a beat.

The next day she attempted to write her name on a page she was coloring. She wrote both the “E” and “M” but when I complimented her, she scowled and responded, “No, Mama, it’s not right!” Granted, her “E” had an extra line and she writes her “M” by writing a small line with the big hump she then divides with another line. But she is only three-years-old, so I wasn’t going to quibble about the finer points and again told her she had done a good job. “No, Mama!” she howled again. “It’s not right!” I wanted to groan.

Then, a few days later as she meticulously traced the letter “O” on a worksheet several times, I felt I could throw in the towel then and there. Is it harder to teach a careless child to read and write or one who has to do everything perfectly? She was so focused, so intent, so careful as she traced. And while they were not nearly perfect, they were brilliant for a three-year-old who has never traced the letter “O” in her entire life. But if she puts this much time, effort and precision into her penmanship now…

I have a feeling twelve years of school is going to be a loooong time!

Four Years

Just this past Sunday, a man at church turned to me and asked, “Melissa, how do you pronounce your last name?”

Since that is not an uncommon question, I almost answered right back in what probably sounds like a very Southern draw in order to capture the one vowel to its fullest, “Sturm.”

But I just stopped myself.

And since that is not an uncommon question, I promptly answered, “Camus. We pronounce it just like it’s spelled.”

Today, Ed and I have been married for four years. Not a huge amount of time, really. But since in the United States, on average a marriage only lasts for seven to eight years, maybe it is a long time. And since I’ve lived in but one house (out of seventeen) for longer than four years…well, it might be all about perspective.

And yet I still catch myself before answering “Sturm” to the question of what is my last name. If I’m scolding myself, I always say, “Melissa Michele Sturm…um, Camus.” I’ve never had a problem signing my new name, but 99% of the time I initial something “MS” and then hastily add the “C”. And I continually look at the bottom of an alphabetical list to find myself. (Because “S” is at the bottom of lists. Looking anywhere near the top at “C” is very foreign.) Guess 34-year habits die slow.

I think every year Ed tells me he is not going to ever be the husband who forgets our anniversary. And he always plans a little something. Since we had just been to D.C., this year that meant we went out to dinner as a family. But he did ask what I wanted for our anniversary and I told him I would really like another chain for the necklace he had bought me when we were courting. I hadn’t worn it for over a year because Ethan goes for anything shiny and had broken the chain early on in his life. Not having a lot of money for things like silver chains, well… But with my working, we have some spare cash and I really missed having it. But once I thought about it again, I downplayed it because do I really want to spend what little spare cash we have on jewelry? No.

And yet…

Last night, Ed said we could at least go and look at chains after we went out to dinner. I agreed it wouldn’t hurt to see how much one would cost. But when he came home from work today, he had a little gift: a silver chain for my necklace. And, knowing me, he hastily promised it had not cost much and the guy at the jewelry store probably thought he was a terrible husband and really cheap. I laughed. The guy at the jewelry store doesn’t know me at all. But my husband does. And that it didn’t cost much made me all the happier. About as happy as wearing it right now does.   

Brothers

In some dictionary somewhere it must define brothers as, “annoying humans; like to tease; find delight in making their sisters squeal; bothersome.” If I didn’t already know that, I am discovering it yet again with Emry.

It started about two weeks ago when, for some reason, they were both in the back of the same shopping cart. Ethan touched Emry. And Emry told him to stop. So, he touched her again. Anyone with a sibling knows where this is going. I have a sneaky suspicion the whole touching thing has been around since Cain and Abel. “Around” is a good choice of words for that’s exactly what it is. Emry squeals. Ethan, twinkle in his eye, touches her again. And Mama gives her first (of likely what will become a million) lecture on asking Ethan nicely to stop and Ethan actually stopping. Was I talking to myself ? Yes. Of course.

Since then I have observed many similar scenarios. Emry playing nicely. Ethan invading her space. It has become a common cry around here:

“Ethan don’t bodder Emry!”

Followed by squeals as Ethan doesn’t listen. As Ethan touches whatever Emry doesn’t want him to touch. As the more she squeals, the more he becomes a “bodder” (bother). And then he starts to laugh. Because to Ethan it’s all a fun game. The innate joy of being a brother.

My cute little “bodder”.

National Doughnut Day

One of my husband’s pet peeves is the spelling of doughnut. He sees the word “donut” and can’t help always making the comment, “It’s not a dooo-nut. It’s a dough-nut.” Thankfully, we don’t live in New England and have a Dunkin’ Donuts every other block so I don’t hear this comment a lot. But last week, I finally responded, “Why is it even called a doughnut? There are no nuts in it.” He didn’t have an answer for that.

Today is National Doughnut Day. (Or Donut Day? Whatever.) So, I thought I’d do a little research:

By definition, a doughnut is a type of fried dough confection or dessert. Which begs the question of why we consume them for breakfast. I guess the phrase “life is short, eat dessert first” explains that. They are either cake-like (my favorite) or yeast-risen. Typically, they are shaped like a ring but filled doughnuts are just as popular. Of course, doughnut holes are an all-time favorite, too. They now come in so many varieties, a lifetime may not be long enough to try them all. My personal favorite remains powdered.

Historically, the modern doughnut seems to have originated in Holland. The earliest American mention of them is Washington Irving in a book about the history of New York, which was settled by the Dutch. They appeared in a cookbook as early as 1803. An American sailor/cook named Hanson Gregory claims to have created the first ring-shaped doughnut, alleviating the problem of the center not cooking all the way through. Apparently, his mother would put hazelnuts or walnuts in the center. Hence, the “nut” part. More likely, the etymology comes from an older definition of the word “nut” which meant “small rounded cake or cookie”. More in the style of what we would now call a doughnut hole.

As far as the spelling goes, “donut” started appearing in various books and articles at the turn of the 20^th century. One historian claims a doughnut-machine company first used it in hopes that foreigners could pronounce “donut” easier than “doughnut”. The wide spread use of the “donut” spelling started in the 1950s with the creation and spread of Dunkin’ Donuts. According to the Oxford Dictionary, “doughnut” is used internationally, but “donut” is strictly American. In which case Dunkin’ Donuts may be more accurate than they know with their catch phrase, “America runs on Dunkin’.”

As far as National Doughnut Day (the first Friday in June each year), this was created by the Salvation Army in 1938 in honor of their members who served doughnuts to soldiers during World War I – an easy baked good to bake on the war-torn battlefields of France. These women became known as “Doughnut Dollies”. Oddly enough, the term “Doughboy” came into popular use during World War I in reference to American soldiers. Although, historically, that term was used as early as the Mexican War in the 1840s. So, it probably has little to do with doughnuts.

And while even Wikipedia is accurate when it says, “Donuts are unhealthy”, is dessert supposed to be healthy? Of course not. It is meant to be enjoyed. And it won’t kill you to have a doughnut (or a bite of your child’s) to celebrate the day. So, enjoy!

Emry and Ethan enjoy their doughnuts – with sprinkles, of course!