The Littler One's Foot-Freezing Adventure...

The Littler One knows I like to tell stories, so he demanded that I gave me permission to write about his adventure today.

It started with a wart on his foot this summer. We were at the doctor's for his checkup anyway, so we asked her about it. She said we could bring him in to have it frozen off, but we might want to try over-the-counter options first. I had used similar things in the past for a plantar wart, so I thought "Great! Piece of cake!"

It was a little trickier than eating cake. My children are very fortunate to be healthy as horses overall, so they balk at things like going to the doctor or doing any sort of treatment beyond fever medicine.** And the wart medicine stung, so the Littler One was not at all into that which, depending on the day, could be really prohibitive as far as getting the medicine onto his foot-wart. So it was kind of an off-and-on sort of deal, which isn't the best protocol for wart medicine to begin with. And on top of that, the wart grew. So this week we headed back to escalate the concern and have the little bugger frozen off.

I've had moles cut out, but I've never had anything frozen off. This may seem like a disadvantage, but I decided to stay deliberately ignorant, rather than do some research and risk freaking him out ahead of time (completely the right decision).

Well, here's what is involved. Basically they are creating a tiny, local bit of frostbite to kill the wart virus. The technician sprays the wart with liquid nitrogen for a few seconds to freeze it, then waits a minute or so. Then he sprays it again and waits again. Then he sprays it a third time and tells you to come back in 2 weeks for more of the same. He described the sensation as "cold and sharp."

The Littler One was extremely bummed out about the "sharp" portion of the sensation. He did not want to proceed after the first few seconds, but I persuaded him by holding him in a giant, nurturing, and firm bear hug on my lap. The tech and I also pulled out all the distraction and bribery techniques, which were enough to get us all through the rest of the procedure.

The Littler One is my kid with the strongest feelings, so he was acutely aware of how his foot was doing at any moment. It bothered him for a while, but once we got to gymnastics he was able to join his friends with no trouble.

I told him I was proud of him for doing a hard thing, and taking care of himself so the wart would go away and stop aggravating him. I went easy on him when he snuck ice cream from the freezer, and let him play with all 4 colors of the Floam I'd been hiding for occasions like these, and by the end of the evening we were back to driving each other absolutely bonkers... <3





**ASIDE on the medicine: By the way, the kids say medicine tastes really good these days. I don't know what to think about this--back in my day our medicine was sort-of-flavored but still tasted gross. So guess what? We took the gross medicine because we didn't know any differently. Now? They balk at the slightest hints of bitterness. Tiny E doesn't want to take Benadryl because it's GWOSS. I'm all "Sweetie, your face is all swelled up; this will help you get better," and she's all "Nope, GWOSS." I feel like maybe she doesn't understand the function and purpose of medicine. Thanks for nothing, artificial sweeteners! End Rant**

Poppin' Fresh...

So, the Pillsbury pop cans.

I remember growing up, my parents would peel the paper and then whack the can on the counter to make it pop. When I was old enough to open them, I found that the pop startled me a little, so every time I opened them I would get a little freaked out in anticipation. Whack! Pop? Nope. Whack-POP-Aaah! There it is.

Somewhere along the way I started getting the self-popping ones. I don't actually know if they changed the packaging in some way, or if they were always supposed to be self-popping, but either way, my anxiety was relieved ever-so-slightly. I'd still wince a little when peeling back the paper, but it was tempered by knowing that the deed would be done by the time the paper was off.

Except, of course, when the paper was peeled and the can was still shut. UGH. Then, the instructions said, you were supposed to stick a spoon at the seam to make it pop. Like, put your hands on the spoon and put them right in the vicinity of that sneak-popping can and make it sneak-pop. On purpose. Madness!!

It was worth it, though. Worth it for licking the icing off the little lid while you waited for the rolls to bake, and worth it to smell the squishy dough as you rolled it into the little crescent shapes.

Now I'm older. The baton continues to pass among the generations, and my kids are learning about the pop cans. I tell them "My parents made these rolls for me, and now I'm making them for you," and I let them lick the icing container, and even call dibs on the middle cinnamon roll. Sometimes.

And it dawns on me that the rolls don't self-pop anymore. I peel the paper, and there are printed instructions to press a spoon at the seam until the can pops open. Have they always been there?

Regardless, I'm not putting my dainty fingers near that sneak-pop seam, spoon or not. My counter is sturdy and sufficient for making the can pop, so I give it a whack or two.

But I don't wince anymore, and the pop no longer startles me. I don't know what happened; why I am no longer anxious about the sneak-pop. Maybe Pillsbury figured out the psychology to the least-startling method for opening their pop cans. Or maybe some wrinkle in my own journey has smoothed, and my zebra-self now understands that the sneak-pop is not a threat. Who knows.

All I know is that cinnamon rolls and scrambled eggs are a winning breakfast at our house, and that I can eat a pop can cinnamon roll in 2 large bites.

You're welcome...

A Little Extra Autumn Slumber...

I had a moment today, driving to church and noticing the morning. We had rain overnight, and the sun was peeking its way through the clearing clouds, lighting up the leaves (or at least what is left of them).  I was struck by the beauty of it, remembering how green and full the trees and bushes were just several weeks ago, and knowing how stark and bare and brown they soon will be.

I love the seasons for precisely this. These moments where I'm awake and alert to the beauty, and I'm thankful to be amidst it...but having experienced enough seasons to know that every moment won't be that way; that even perhaps very few moments will feel that way. But also knowing that they will be there again, eventually.

Then driving into church (which meets in a school) I saw folks parking the equipment trailer, carrying things inside to set up for the morning, working together. I was struck by the beauty of being part of a group. A year now we've been at this church. We are putting down roots and feeling stronger and stable among them. I couldn't believe my good fortune to be in this place, in this season, and with these friends.

I thought to myself "What on earth has come over me? Are Jesus and I having a moment here?"

I mean, maybe we were having a moment, Jesus and I. I try to notice small gifts like these, to practice gratitude and whatnot. But the thought that crossed my mind shortly thereafter was remembering that this morning was my favorite of the year, and what that meant: it was the morning that Daylight Saving Time goes dormant until the spring and we set the clocks back an hour, recovering the time we lost in the spring. This year I had the incredible fortune of children who slept in and I actually got my extra hour of sleep. A little sleep goes a long way toward a positive mood and outlook.

I feel like I should have some sort of deeper truth behind this, something more profound than "Hey everyone, I got some extra sleep and appreciated the beauty of nature this morning. You should try that sometime." But I decided I don't really care all that much whether it was a Word from the Lord or the extra zzz's; after all, reality was probably some combination of all factors involved. And the truth is, there are gifted people out there who find wonderful and unique ways to express things, but in the end I think we are all humans experiencing what humans have experienced for years now. Not much is new under that beautiful autumn sun.

But really, you should've seen those leaves...