Things you never saw being a part of your life

Sometimes life takes us in directions we didn't expect to go. Definitely the most profound and life-changing of those for me was getting married at 20 and having my first child at 21. I wasn't planning on kids. Certainly not at 21. And definitely not many!

And no way was I going to be a stay-at-home mom.

Well, things changed. Four kids. HOMESCHOOLING stay-at-home- mom. And the only changes I would make if I could go back, would be to enjoy it more and not to have been so worried about doing something more. (You know, to really "contribute" to the family. To "use my brains." Et cetera. Ad nauseum.)

So that was good. But that's not what this post is about.

There are some things that you REALLY don't expect to be part of your life. Things you wouldn't choose, but don't have much control over. Sometimes your husband has a heart attack, and survives, but seems to have lost his mind a little bit.

THIS WAS NOT PART OF THE PLAN.

I love these ladies. But the vest? Not so much.

I haven't been on it yet, but that is apparently part of the deal. But so much not part of the plan.

Taking control

The realization came to me slowly over the last couple of months; I've been just letting life happen. I had totally lost control of everything: my house, the way that I was eating, my activity level, but especially the way that I was spending my time.

I was a wreck. Physically mentally and emotionally. I was spending hours each night binge-watching crap TV shows on Netflix, instead of just the occasional cooking show while I worked in the kitchen. As a result I was reading and writing less. I was eating too much of the wrong stuff. Drinking too much wine. Looking around at the chaos in my house and hating it, but not doing anything about it, because I was so busy.

Yeah, I have been busy. Kind of. But not really. I'm tired at night after busy days, but vegging with bad TV isn't the answer. Vegging with bad TV won't bring my husband home from Illinois, my friends back from the ends of the earth, my Wicked back from the grave, or my children back to the nest.

What finally woke me up was the return of an inflammatory eye condition that has damaged the vision in my left eye. I had been feeling my high inflammation level for over a month, and just wasn't taking action. I was in constant pain, so I was inactive, which definitely isn't the answer. I have lived with a certain level of pain for 20 years, but this was at another level. The treatment for this condition is a course of Prednisone. I have been dreading the treatment almost as much as the return of the problem, because the drug really makes me miserable.

I decided that it was time to get back in control. I have gone back to eating well-balanced, veggie-filled meals. I am taking the vitamins and supplements that have helped me so much in the past. I am getting on top of my house, a little at a time, killing two birds with one stone by doing constant physical work during the six-eight hours a day that the medication side effects are the worst. I am listening to my pastors' sermons or to music while I clean instead of so many political podcasts. (Not totally giving them up, but not dwelling on it so much.)

I am reading more. I am writing again. I am doing my genealogy research. I am walking. I feel awake for the first time in a while.

Over the next couple of weeks I am going to be moving all of my blogs and consolidating them on a WordPress site. I am back to work on the book that several of you have been after me to write, and that I've had bits of written for years. I have plans for my house.

And I'm staying away from the crap TV.

The measure of a life

Teaching me to tie a tie. 1983

So. I lost my step-dad last Friday.

People who don't know me or our family well assume that means that my mom's husband, who was not my father, died and that while I'm sad, it's not--as someone said to me--my father that died.

No. It's not. It's far, far worse.

I know this, because 11 years ago my father, the man who was biologically responsible for my life, and with whom we lived for the first 16 years of that life, did die. And it was hard. It was hard for me to have to give up months of my life caring for someone who had hurt me--and my precious mother-- badly, repeatedly. It was hard for me to care about his eternal well-being, and the fact that that was was hard hurt me, too. But, I wasn't sad that he was gone. I was, to tell the truth, relieved. He could do nothing else to hurt me. He couldn't hurt my children, my brother, my nieces, or my cousins.

But this. This is a searing pain.

John Ronald Harris came into our lives sometime around my 18th birthday, give or take a few months. He was good to my mother and made her happy. He was nice to me and to my friends. As the months, and then years went by he became part of the fabric of our lives. He gave advice, whether I wanted it or not. He teased, but without the cruelty that I was used to.

There was no struggle for me to accept him in our lives. He had that relatively easy, because we all were love-starved. It took me longer to really trust him, but that did come after a few years. As I struggled through my early college years, he was there, supportive for my mother and I both, and treating me as though I was his child, even--when I was having problems--upset about someone messing with "one of his kids."

So when he and mom got married, just less than a year after Colin and I did, I was delighted. I was happy for my mom. I was happy for us. (At that point I didn't know his kids well, but they seemed nice enough.)

That was over 28 years ago. In those 28 years, he paid for the college education that my father was supposed to have helped with. He watched my three year old daughter when she had the chicken pox, so that I wouldn't miss class. He put up with having the kids and me in his house for weeks at a time during various moves. He gave advice, whether I wanted it or not.

And we all grew to love him. Tremendously.

He was generous. One of the most generous people I have ever known. We enjoyed wonderful vacations with my step-siblings that we could never have afforded if he hadn't helped to offset everyone's costs. He gave low interest loans for home down-payments. He was always helping someone out. Many years ago, he and my mom requested that in lieu of Christmas gifts for them we make charitable donations. That is how he was.

And with him we got a, big wonderful family. I got to know his mother well enough that I mourned her passing. I got older brothers and two sisters, and over the years they have brought a richness of in-laws and nephews. We got Godsons and all kinds of other interesting family connections. Most of all, we got a whole bunch of people to love. Brad, Susan, Curt and Brenda shared their father with us unstintingly, and for that I am forever grateful.

Most of the family at Patrick & Emma's wedding, May 30, 2015.

To my children, he was "Grandpa Ron" when they were little, changing to "Grandfather Dear" as they got older. It was an incredibly special relationship, and he always treated my children and my brother's girls exactly the same as he did his grandchildren-by-blood. One of the wonderful gifts God has given us in these last months was to have Wicked (explanation here) present at two of my sons' weddings in May.

Over the last several years he showed us all a wonderful example of courage and faith. As his body got weaker, he kept fighting, and kept living. Instead of getting crabby and bitter, as people so often do when they are wracked with pain and know that death is nearing, he got sweeter and more concerned about all of us. He was sure in his faith, and knew his eternal destination, as did all of us.

I will miss his presence. His bad jokes. The hard time he gave me when I would call on the phone. His many, many emails. And all of the advice, whether I wanted it or not.

I am thankful for the memories. I am thankful for all that he did for my mom, my brother, and for me. I am thankful that my kids had such an awesome grandpa, and that my husband had a father-in-law he could love and respect. I am thankful that he leaves our whole big, wonderful family with so many memories to cherish, that will bring much laughter--and some tears--in the years to come.


The measure of a life is a measure of love and respect,
So hard to earn so easily burned
In the fullness of time,
A garden to nurture and protect
(It's a measure of a life)

The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect,
The way you live, the gifts that you give
In the fullness of time,
It's the only return that you expect
The future disappears into memory
With only a moment between.
Forever dwells in that moment,
Hope is what remains to be seen.
The Garden-RUSH

Caught by surprise

So, last month this happened.

And this happened.

Those are my first and second sons, with their brides.

In the space of less than a month we went from a household of five on the weekends and four during the week (with a friend of the family often upping that to five) to a household of three on the weekends and two during the week.

Just four years ago we were a full-time family of six.

I am discovering some unexpected consequences.

Saturday I cooked one pound of spaghetti and one pound of ground chuck with sauce. We had leftovers. (Two pounds of pasta was long the standard around here.)

Even after I cut up five or six of the rattiest towels, all of my bath towels do not fit on their shelf in the linen closet. Fewer people equals fewer showers equals fewer towels hanging or in the laundry at any given time.

We don't have room for all of the glasses in the cupboard when they're all clean. See towels, above.

I was a mother of four-at-home--and my husband was mostly around--for over 15 years. I have lived with my three teen and young adult sons during the weeks, adding my husband on the weekends, for the last four years. I don't know how to cook for two or three people. I don't know how to manage a small household. The last time we were a household of three was almost 25 years ago.

This is going to take some getting used to.

Family and thankfulness

 I have a pretty big, pretty crazy family.

For the first 22 years of my life, I only had one brother.

Little brother Todd, with mom.

Then my mother remarried and I suddenly gained two step-sisters and two step-brothers. And with them over the years have come their spouses, children, childrens' spouses, spouses' children, grandchildren, spouses' grandchildren. . . .  It has made the very small family that I grew up in into a big, happy, rather chaotic and noisy thing.

Of course, really the family I grew up in wasn't that small. I had grandparents, lots of aunts and uncles, and cousins that increased in number as I got older. And, happily for me, although we have sustained some losses, most of the family remains.

At my cousin Liz's wedding

Then there is the family that I married into. They have been my family, too, for almost 30 years.

Part of the Casey family

And what I am finding it that as our family grows, my definition of family expands, too. Technically, I suppose Bethany's sister-in-law and niece aren't my family, but it sure feels like they are. And although in our culture the parents of the women that my sons are preparing to marry would not be considered family, I think we'll claim them.

And then there are the wonderful friends, who feel like family.

So today, the day after the appointed day of thanksgiving, I am extremely thankful, as I try to always be, for God's good gift of family.

Krissy, Lori, Jacqui, & Beth

Big happenings

I haven't posted for a while, but not because nothing has been happening. Quite the contrary, the last five months have been quite eventful.

My middle son became engaged to a fine young woman, whose family we have known for over ten years. And there was much rejoicing.

I had a long visit from the daughter and grandkids, and then spent over a week with them in Tucson.

The baby son started college.

And on that very same day, my husband had a heart attack. It could have been really, really bad, but thanks to fast action by him and by the doctors who cared for him, he is doing very well.

Most recently, my oldest son became engaged to a fine young woman, whose family we have known for over ten years. (She is, literally, the girl next door.) There was, again, much rejoicing.

I spent my summer having fun. I enjoyed my family, my friends, and my pool. We had almost constant house guests.  But in the back of my mind the whole time was the nagging thought, "Fall is coming. What are you going to be doing?" No more kids to homeschool or drive from one place to another. So I decided that it was time to move forward with a business that I had been researching and thinking about for six or seven years.

I started taking some steps. I researched the availability of my chosen business name, reserved it with the Secretary of State, and purchased a couple of domain names. I started talking about a website and making lots of lists. I was planning to launch my business in early October, but I decided while I was in Tucson to put it off by about a month so that I could try to get my house and life under control after our busy summer.

Then the heart attack.

I didn't realize until last week how badly that messed with my head. It really sent me into a tailspin. I decided that there was just NO WAY that I could start a business. Messy house. Medical bills. Too much to do. I spent most of two months cleaning, cooking, and doing laundry. I have never in my life spent so much time in my house or in my kitchen. And at the end of two months, I'm not much beyond where I started. It's still in worse shape than it's ever been. I've been trying to convince myself that by staying home I can keep a nicer house and economize in lots of little ways.

Except for one problem: That's not me.

I have always thrived when I am busy. Really busy. With lots of places to go and people to talk to. My house stays cleaner when I have two hours a week to clean it than when I have twenty. (Plus, if I make enough money, I can pay someone else to do it and then two of us will be happy!)

And yes, there are medical bills. And tuition. And rent and a mortgage and car repairs. And, oh, by the way, two weddings next summer. So, maybe I should think about making some money.

All of the sudden last week, I came out of the fog that I had been walking around in. I knew that it was time to get busy and move forward with my business. We need the money. I need the outlet. Our current financial situation is making the start-up very much of a shoe-string endeavor. I am spending money on nothing that isn't absolutely vital to starting and running the business.

My biggest still-extant issues are getting a website up and running and securing insurance.Both have to happen before I can start earning, so they are a priority.

But you all wanted to know what I am going to be doing, right? I am starting a personal and business concierge service, Boulevard Concierge Services, LLC. I will be providing services like errand running, personal shopping, relocation/moving assistance, and event planning, just to name a few. I plan to focus marketing at first to real estate agents, families of senior citizens, and busy professionals. I will do anything that someone wants to pay me to do that is not illegal, unethical, or immoral.

And I am really excited about it. I have SO MANY ideas about services that I could provide. And concierge is not just a service for the wealthy. In fact, I think that my main customer base will be middle to upper middle class women with families, for whom an hour of extra time is a very valuable thing. You hate shopping? I love it and am good at it, and I'll do it for you. You can't leave work to wait for Dish Network for four hours? I'll wait. And while I'm there I'll make homemade mac and cheese and address your Christmas cards. Need a Christmas present for Grandma who doesn't need another scarf or any more chocolates? How about a couple of hours of errand running or of organizing all that stuff that needs to go to Goodwill?

Basically, I am going to get paid for helping people, which, when it comes right down to it, is one of my favorite things to do.

I think that I am going to enjoy the networking and marketing almost as much as the work. And I know it will be a lot of work. And that it won't all be fun. And I know that the money crunch won't ease immediately. But I believe it will ease, because I know that I am going to be successful with this business. I am going to make my customers wonder how they ever lived without me.

New day

This morning has a strangely first-day-of-school, New-Year's-Day feel for me.

All of my kids have graduated from high school. Yes, this is normal and expected, but when you've homeschooled for 18 years, it's a big mental adjustment. I've just lost a big chunk of my identity. Of course, I've known this was coming and have been mentally preparing for a long time. And although the boys still live here, they need very little from me.

I've thought about taking on a second job. I considered just finding a full-time job, but I think that  leaving my job at church would probably be the change that would tip me over the edge. And in the end, no job that I would find would allow me the flexibility to run off and be grandma whenever I want.

So I've made a few decisions.

I'm going to spend some time during the rest of this year catching up with friends and family that I just haven't had much chance to connect with over the last several very busy years.

I'm going to get back to consistently walking, taking my vitamins, and eating better; all things that have gone by the wayside as I've dealt with my eye issue, the back pain from the accident last fall, and the stress that has been almost eating me up.

I am reviving my business, which has been languishing for about ten years. It's been sitting there waiting for me to be ready again.. More about that later.

I'm going to spend some time enjoying my sons while they are still here.

And I am going to soak up every bit of sun, pool time, fresh produce, etc., that summer has to give.

Still adjusting

I love to entertain. I love to have a couple of friends over for a glass of wine, several couples for a nice dinner, whole families for a weekend, or big shindigs for whatever occasion I can drum up.

I'm not Martha Stewart. All those cool party ideas on Pinterest are merely aspirational for me. When we invite friends over to hang out at the pool or the fire pit we throw together a plate of cheese and crackers or bowls of chips and salsa and a roll out a cooler full of beer. Even my big parties aren't much on decor or presentation.

But I enjoy them. Colin enjoys them. Our friends must enjoy them, unless they just feel compelled to show up out of politeness. We always have tasty food and plenty of it. And although it's work, it's also--in a weird way--kind of effortless.

Except for this time.

We have a graduation party this weekend. This is our fourth and final graduation party. Our oldest son has graduated from college. Our youngest son has finished his homeschool studies. And their cousin has also graduated from high school. It's outside-party season, which is my favorite.

This should be a breeze.

But it just isn't clicking. I've flip-flopped on my menu 87,000 times. I can't seem to get my mind wrapped around what needs to be accomplished. And then, suddenly, this weekend, I figured out what my problem is.

I don't have my Beppy.

This is the first major party that I've thrown without the help and input of my daughter. I try to bounce menu ideas off of my sons, and they stare blankly. I think about favorites that I would like to make, but realize that I can't do that much last minute prep alone. I dread Saturday morning with a crew of three--very helpful--males for last-minute party prep, and not another female in sight. (Because, you know, there are some things that we just KNOW need to be done.) She has been my right hand in  party-throwing since the first birthday party that we had for one of her brothers, probably around 1995.

 I may never manage to serve olive cheese balls again. It's another in a long string of adjustments to  my oldest child/only daughter/cooking-shopping-scrapping buddy abandoning me growing up and having a life of her own.

Oh, I'll survive. The party is slowly coming together, but things won't be quite as good as they would have been. No one else may even notice. (Please God!) But I'll know.

Times to remember

So, for the last 11 days I've been in Tucson. This is a new adventure for me.

I'm in Tucson because my beautiful daughter lives here now--thank goodness not permanently--and she is having a bit of a busy time, having given birth to our first grandson, John Ronald, a couple of days after I arrived.

My main occupation, joyfully so, has been chasing after, feeding, playing with, bathing, etc., my 20 month old granddaughter Helen. Between this activity and spending lots of time with my daughter, this has been the best two weeks I have had in a very long time. Sure, I miss home. But I have spent most of the last two and a half years missing my daughter, and, after this visit, I am sure I will be missing my granddaughter nearly as much!

Today we were out running a few errands and had one of those moments that make you think, "This. I want to remember this feeling." We were driving north toward the Catalina foothills on a slightly windy, pretty road. We had the windows down, enjoying the breeze of the sunny, mid-70s afternoon. We had our Starbucks drinks and Helen was enjoying a bit of a cheese danish and the feel of the wind. And we were all rocking to "Sweet Child o' Mine," with Bethany and I both singing out loud.

Yep. Happy.

It reminded me that even if we're apart most of the time, we're still us. When we're together, we still laugh, sometimes until we cry. We have all of the memories from the 25 years that we lived under the same roof. And now we have Helen to share them with.

Happy things #28

I love scrapbooking. These are two of my favorite pages that I did this weekend. The first one is an absolutely simple, unadorned page of fantastic photos of some of my favorite people. The second is the opening page of my Patrick book, and I think it's perfect.

I got 40 pages scrapped this weekend. That makes me happy.

Happy things #23

A couple of pictures of Bethany and Evan in their kitchen when I visited in August:

Three years ago today Evan and Bethany went on their first date.

While they were off enjoying the first evening of their changed relationship, I sat in my car waiting for Jonathan to finish at the Civic Theatre and made a guest list for the wedding. That's how sure I was that this was a perfect match.

I was right.

For a mother, seeing your child happily married to a compatible spouse who shares her faith has to be one of the happiest things there is. And it's a special bonus when the rest of the family really, really likes him, too.

Happy things #17

Video chats. 'Nuff said.

Happy thing #14

Meet Angelique.

My Grandma Beery got my cousin Ann and I matching paper dolls to keep at her house when I was seven years old. Most of my paper dolls--which I loved unreasonably--were lost to paper moths when I was in high school. (I will admit that I cried some bitter tears.) But Angelique was safe in Grandma's attic. (I don't think that any kind of bug would have dared breach Grandma's walls.)

Now Angelique lives on the window sill in my office/scrapbooking room. I change her clothes frequently. She makes me smile every time I look at her, remembering my Grandma, how much I looked up to my cousin--who was 10 1/2 months older than me and thus my ruler--and the hours of fun that I had with paper dolls when I was a kid.

Side note: My dad's younger sisters had an incredible paper doll collection that was at my Grandma Caston's when I was a kid. I always felt so privileged that those sophisticated college students would let me play with their paper dolls.

Happy, happy memories.

Happy things #13

Tonight I need to post a multi-part happy thing. I had a lovely afternoon hanging out with my husband. After some work at church and some storing up of food, we ran a few errands. We stopped by JCP to see Patrick and arranged for him to meet us at J.K. O'Donnell's when he got off work. We did a little shopping and I compared grips on a few possible replacements for my Ruger.

Then we went to JK's.

This is one of my favorite relaxing places to go.  They have a great beer selection and good pub food. I like to sit by the window and watch people downtown.

Happy thing #1, my husband of over 27 years, who I do not get to see nearly enough of.

Happy thing #2: Dragon's Milk. This is one of my favorite beers, but because it is expensive it is a very occasional treat. Tonight's date was one of those occasions.

Happy thing #3: Patchy. Who also does not see enough of his father. I really enjoy watching these two together. (By the way, this wasn't posed. I love it.)

Happy thing #4: My dinner. A Lamb Pasty. I get cravings for this thing.

So lots of happy things all in one happy evening.

Happy thing #6

You knew this was coming.

You had to.

How could you not.

 

Helen Irene

 

Happy things #4

For my fourth post on the things that make me happy, I vacillated.

There are two things that I really wanted to post today. But I ultimately decided to go with this one, because of the timing.

Seven years ago Tuesday, my Grandpa Beery died. He was 93 and had had a good life. He was happily married to my grandma for 70 years. He was loved and admired by his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He was always one of my favorite people. He is now enjoying Heaven with my sweet grandma, waiting for the rest of us to join them.

This box is something that he made when he was young. I am not sure how old he was when he made it. My mom might know. It sits on my enclosed front porch in its well-made, but rustic, glory and holds our boots and serves as a seat, if need be.



By the way, this post isn't about them, but my paisley rain boots make me happy, too.

Happy thing #2

This picture almost feels like cheating, because it has so many good things in it.

This is a picture of my sons, walking together to church for dinner on Christmas afternoon. For the purpose of this blog post, it is my church. At the end of my street. I can see it from the sidewalk in front of my house. I can walk there in minutes. I can hear the bells in my room.

I don't leave my house or come home without the reminder that God loves me and has given me a wonderful church home and church family.

Happy thing, indeed!

Being happy

The last few weeks have been challenging.

I woke up one morning a little over three weeks ago with some fogginess in my vision. I went to a local ophthalmologist and got a diagnosis and an appointment to return in five weeks. As the next several day passed, it continued to get worse, so, with some help from my mother, I found a specialist in Indianapolis who is in my insurance plan's network. They got me in the next day.

We discovered that the original diagnosis, while not incorrect, was incomplete, and that the problem is both potentially more serious, but also more treatable. The first line of treatment is a huge Prednisone blast, stepped down over six weeks.

My body didn't like that. I was jittery and agitated. Shaky. Couldn't sleep. Was having night sweats, achy muscles, limb numbness, and horrible mood swings. So we stepped down the amounts over the course of 10 days and now I am on half the original dose. We will continue the planned step down from here. I'm still having some side effects, but not so severe, and I can handle them if it saves the sight in my left eye.

In the midst of feeling like a total wreck, I was in a total wreck. Literally.

A driving lesson gone bad.

 

The Volvo did what it was supposed to do. The frame buckled and we both walked away. My husband went and looked at the site of the wreck and said that he can't believe we made it mostly between the tree and the light pole, hitting one with a glancing blow and bouncing off of the other.

So my car is totaled. My body is shaken and sore. I will miss my stupid car.

But we are not seriously hurt. The insurance company is giving us a fair price for the car. Life will go on.

And my eye seems to have improved a little.

Over the past couple of weeks, the prayers of my friends and family have surrounded me as an almost palpable thing. I have returned over and over again to some Psalms and hymns that are particularly powerful on themes of trust and contentment and the pure unwavering message that I belong to Christ and nothing changes that.

I am basically a happy person. I am blessed not to be prone to depression. I bounce back quickly. It is one positive personality trait that offsets many that I don't like so well. But right now I feel a little bit of a need to focus, specifically, on all of the large and small things in my life that add to my happiness. So, each day for at least a month, I am going to post a picture and blog about one of these things. Some will be totally frivolous and some will be big and obvious. I'm doing this for me, but I hope that you will enjoy it too.

Why should cross and trial grieve me?
Christ is near
With His cheer;
Never will He leave me.
Who can rob me of the heaven
That God's Son
For me won
When His life was given?


 When life's troubles rise to meet me,
Though their weight
May be great,
They will not defeat me.
God, my loving Savior, sends them;
He who knows
All my woes
Knows how best to end them.


God gives me my days of gladness,
And I will
Trust Him still
When He send me sadness.
God is good;
His love attends me
Day by day,
Come what may,
Guides me and defends me.

Why Should Cross and Trial Grieve Me, vv. 1-3
Paul Gerhardt

Missing pieces

I've been gathering items for a garage sale. Well, technically, I guess it would be a yard sale since our garage is way back behind our house. I had decided that this Friday would be the perfect day. The weather should be beautiful, there is nothing else that I have to do, and I am SO ready to have this stuff out of here.

Then, out of the blue yesterday, I realized that I can't have it this Friday, or any other Friday in the foreseeable future because I would have to do it completely alone. No brief breaks to run in for a drink, the restroom, or lunch. No helpers available to fetch things or answer people. No company.

I keep forgetting that my kids aren't here anymore. I keep forgetting that although the guys--no longer boys--still live here, they are busy people. Patrick and Jonathan are gone all day every day during the week and Patrick is also gone most of the weekend. And Andrew, my nearly constant companion of the past 18 years, is now working about 40 hours a week between two jobs.

The change has happened gradually, and will continue. Two years ago Bethany got married and moved away. In the spring, Patrick will graduate and move out. In the fall Andrew will add college to his schedule and become even more of a phantom. I know that the changes are good and salutary, but that doesn't make them easy.

And, it doesn't make it any less difficult for me to figure out how I'm going to have a garage sale.

Patchyisms

You probably have met Patrick, or at least know of him.

Patrick, trying to bring back dressing well, at a TinCaps game.

If you know me well, you've heard stories of Patrick's exploits in his younger years. But what you may not have heard about was what an adorably funny little kid he was.

My mother-in-law would sometimes write down things he said, because he cracked her up. Tonight, she emailed them to me. What a treasure! So for your enjoyment, I give you Patchyisms.

(This is copied exactly as I received it. For reference, Patrick was born late in the summer of 1990.)

Preschool: Patrick told the teacher, “Leave me alone. I’m doing my business.”

Age 3: None of that mushy stuff.”

December, 1994:

Carrying a pair of knitting needles, Patrick said, “Grandma, these are very dangerous chopsticks.”

Mar. 1995: Patrick told Ruth Ann, “Your daughter is a very bad mother. She told me I have to clean my room before I do anything else.”

Patrick was discussing his Dad’s golf game:  I said that his dad probably couldn’t beat Scott [the golf pro] but that his dad could do lots of things that Scott couldn’t do. Patrick thought a minute and said, “Yes, he’s a very good mower.”

Riding with us to Lafayette: “I have the hiccups. Grandpa’s driving too fast.”

To Pete [his grandma's dog who wouldn't do what he wanted]: Patchy’s counting to 3—1 ,2,3

November, ’93: Shannan [Patrick's aunt] told Patrick that he could stay with her when he was bigger, so the rest of the day, he kept asking Jane if he looked bigger.

“Bethany [his sister] is a bad boy.”