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Every year Abby’s middle school hosts a Christmas party where the boys must wear ties and the girls must wear pretty dresses. I have learned it is not easy to find appropriate dresses for girls ages 11-13. They outgrow the little girls dresses and the junior dress assortment is either too casual or decidedly lacking in material.

Last year we searched and searched in vain until I drove to Richmond and went to Dilliards. Dilliards is a department store based in Texas. Therefore, they have plenty of teenage girl shoppers who need party dresses for quinceanera and debutante events. They have the most lovely little girl dress department.

Even though Abby can still fit in some of the dresses in the girls department, she refused to buy one. “Look how cute this is,” I would say. She would say nothing and just give me the teenage girl flat eyed glare. She may have done a bit of over exaggerated sighing as well.

Prior to driving to Richmond, Abby had printed out pictures of dress possibilities from their online store. Her father did not care for these possibilities for they were all lacking in material. So, we had discussions regarding appropriate dress length and shoulder coverage. Almost all junior dresses have skimpy straps or no straps at all which forces you to buy a sweater.

Abby loves to shop. My mom loves to shop. I do not love to shop. I suppose this is why on the way to Richmond Abby told me  “You make it no fun.” My most enjoyable shopping experience is when I can give Abby and my mom the money and wait for them to return and tell me about the great deal they found. However, my mom is too occupied for shopping right now, so Abby is stuck with me.

For Abby there are a few absolute No’s with clothing: No elastic, No scratchy netting, and absolutely No puffed sleeves. Even though the sweater was really cute and the puff on the sleeve was really small or the netting was a tiny amount on the bottom of the inside skirt…No! No! No!

Abby tried on dress after dress. Too short…Too skimpy…Too old…Wrong color… Finally a peacock blue dress with a skirt that fell below the knees. The shoulders were bare, so we started in on the sweaters. Too short…Too skimpy… Too old…Wrong color.

Sweaters were abandoned for capes. We disregarded Edna Mode’s advice of “No Capes!” and found a black cape to wear with the dress. Victory! We went to the register to pay and the girl rung up Abby’s dress. Without my being aware of it, Abby had chosen a dress that was 50% off. She did her grandma proud.

Dale loves to run. I do not love to run.

Zeke once listed our family by order of speed. “Josiah is fastest. Daddy is second. Zeke is third. Abby is fourth. Gabe is fifth. Mommy is last, ” he informed us all. When his two older siblings objected to being slower than him, he reluctantly rearranged the order. “Josiah is fastest. Daddy is second. Abby is third. Gabe is fourth. Zeke is fifth. Mommy is still last,” he said.

Admittedly, my last place position is warranted. Josiah has taken after his father and loves to run. Abby and Gabe have taken after me and run when they must. Zeke has been a bit of a tossup since he loves to run, but also loves to stop.

After watching Josiah run throughout the Cross Country season, Zeke declared he wanted to enter a race. So, Dale entered himself  and Josiah into the 5k Turkey Trot and Zeke into the 1 mile kid’s Turkey Trot in Fredericksburg on Thanksgiving morning.

Zeke lined up for the race with boys and girls 6 and under alongside his two handlers Dale and Josiah. The pistol fired and he took off at a sprint. It took Dale and Josiah two blocks to catch up with him. I saw Zeke pass the 1 mile mark with a look of pain and agony on his face, he was running hard.

Zeke Running with Josiah

He finished with a time of 10:45, 61 out of 145. All runners who finished received a medal. He was proud of himself.

Zeke's Finishing Sprint

Then “the losing someone in a crowd drama” occurred when Dale, Josiah, and Zeke  walked one way and I walked another. I lost them in the crowd of 2415 5k runners and their families. I was wearing a bright red jacket and hoped that if I stood in the middle of the road intersection ahead of the start, they would see me. They were on the top of the steps of the library in the hopes that I would see them.

I had both my and Dale’s cell phones and with the 5k race fast approaching, I prayed quite a few frantic prayers and asked various people I knew if they had seen them. Losing someone in a crowd is quite unsettling. Thankfully, they saw me and Zeke did not have to run the 5k.

The first runners to finish were two Kenyan runners from Chapel Hill, NC. They finished together at 14:35. It was amazing to watch the sprint to the finish. I saw Josiah just after 20 minutes. The guy next to him said, “Come on little man,” and started to sprint. I think he was a bit surprised when Josiah out sprinted him as well as the guy in front of him to finish at 20:11 (99 out of 2415).

Dale’s training this autumn had been a bit lackluster compared to Josiah’s. He finished at 24:17 (387 out of 2415 runners). This time I stayed where I was and let Dale find me. They all ate their bagels and cookies, drank their water and gatorade and got their turkey t-shirts.

The Happy Finishers

When we got home, Zeke was complaining to Gabe that he hadn’t gotten to do anything fun yet. Gabe replied, “What? You just got to run a race. That’s fun!” Zeke answered, “Running a race isn’t fun.”

So, the child remains an even division between Dale and I. He wants to run the race like Dale, but he sure doesn’t consider it fun. A bit of his mother in him there.

My and Josiah’s transportation adventure to Atlanta provided us with much suspense. On Friday, the day we flew there were thunderstorms, tornado watches and equipment malfunctions in Atlanta. We checked in quite early for our flight and I noticed that all the flights ahead of us were delayed 2 hours. I asked the representative why our flight was not delayed and she replied, “Oh, they must have caught up.” “Sure they did”, I thought. “More likely it just hasn’t been posted yet”. As suspected, by the time we sat down at the gate, the flight was delayed. An hour after the flight’s scheduled departure, they started to load the plane. Josiah and I had seats toward the front, so we were waiting for our turn. With the plane 3/4 full, they stopped loading because Atlanta had completely shut down for a hail storm. 30 minutes later, we loaded the plane full of pessimistic travelers who were convinced we were not leaving Virginia that night. Once everyone was loaded, we waited another 30 minutes for permission from Atlanta to leave Virginia. The flight had a bit of turbulence, so the cabin crew decided not to offer the meager service that was due: a bag of peanuts, cookies, or crackers and a drink. At some point they must have felt a bit of remorse and walked through the plane handing out bags of peanuts and a cup of water. I thought fondly of flight service in Australia which is so far above any flight service in America. When we landed, Atlanta airport was a madhouse, full of travelers who had missed connections because of the delays and cancellations. Josiah and I made our way over to the MARTA (Atlanta train system). On the way, I bought 2 individual pizzas for dinner thinking we would eat on the train. Well, you are not allowed to eat on the train. The airport is in south Atlanta and our hotel was all the way north. The train ride took 40 minutes. My favorite comment from the train driver was when he said, “We are axing you to be careful when you exit the train because the platforms are slippery.” I know if people are axing me something, I am in the south. After we got off the train, we had to get a cab to the hotel. I do know that English is not the primary language of cab drivers. However, for some strange reason, I expect them to speak at least a little English and to know where they are going. We got into the cab and I told the driver the name and suburb of the hotel. I asked him if he knew where that was. He mumbled something that sounded in the affirmative. He called back to his dispatcher and only Spanish could be heard in the cab. After he had driven around for awhile he asked me if he should turn right or left. Having no idea where I was or where I was going, I was at a loss. I remembered that I had the hotel information with driving directions and pulled it out and tried to hand it to him. The directions were written in English, of course, and he couldn’t read them. I started reading off road numbers and names in the hopes of arriving at a common location. When I said, “La Vista Road,” He got all excited. “La Vista Road! La Vista Road!”, he repeated. Then he asked me, “Right or Left?” At one point in this mini recreation of planes, trains, and automobiles, Josiah looked at me and said, “All this for a spelling bee?” “Yes, son, all this for a spelling Bee.” We finally got to the hotel at 10 pm, ate our cold pizza and went to bed. The next day after the bee, we wanted to take the train into downtown Atlanta. So, this involved another cab driver. The hotel called the cab and the driver spoke English fairly well although his native tongue was from Africa. We did manage to find a train station although it wasn’t the one I had asked to go to. I helped him out by pointing out places to drop us off while he was making u turns apparently at a loss as to which way to go. On the train ride home, Josiah and I tried to guess what language our cab driver would speak this time. Josiah went for French and I guessed he would be from India. We entered the cab to Spanish singing island music. He didn’t speak English either, but he did know where he was going. Friends who also attended the bee spared us from another cab ride by giving us a ride to the airport. Thus ended my pursuit of an English speaking cab driver who knew where he was going. If ever I find one, I’ll ax him if he’s the only one.

Last Saturday, I got the best haircut I have had in years. I went to Pop’s and Omar’s at around 1030 in the morning. There were 3 barbers working and about 6 guys in line in front of me. I ended up waiting for almost an hour before my turn came. The barber really took his time with the clippers and scissors. I didn’t think I had enough hair to keep him busy for very long, but I guess I was wrong. After he was done cutting my hair, he used the straight razor to clean up around the ears and on the neck. That was really nice. After that, he then trimmed my eyebrows. I know that my bushy brows can scare children, so everyone in the office appreciated that touch. Finally, he picked up what appeared to be a surgical clamp with some gauze on the end. After lighting the gauze, he burned the fuzz off my ears! I was in shock.

I have had many encounters with fire. I remember one time when Jeff and Rayford (our cousin) burned down the barn while I was in it. Also, the highlight of every family Christmas celebration for my mother’s side of the family included a fun little game called fireball. Joey and I almost burned down someone’s dock setting off fireworks one time. I could go on and on, but you will notice that none of these encounters included a barber.

I guess about the only thing left is for the barber to start plucking my nose hairs.

(This post was not pre-approved by the Editor prior to posting!)

We attended the neighborhood Easter Egg hunt today. Spring is taking off with the forsythia, quince, pear trees, and magnolias in bloom. It felt like Easter should be arriving soon. In Australia, I had to constantly tell myself that the holidays were still in the same month. Because the seasons are opposite, the holidays never felt like they were at the correct time. When you live 39 years in the Northern hemisphere having Easter in Autumn, the 4th of July in winter, and Christmas in summer is difficult to get used to. Easter Egg hunts were a major part of Dale’s childhood memories. His Mama was a children’s pastor for years and they would hard boil and dye countless eggs for the church’s Easter Egg hunt. Dale will have to comment with the number of eggs they dyed each year. He told me the number once, but all I can remember thinking is…”how can you possibly boil that many eggs?” I love hard boiled eggs, but am hopeless at cooking them. I know it is supposed to be a simple cooking task, but for some reason I only occasionally do it correctly. The Manrys would have a massive egg hunt at the church and eat hard boiled eggs for a week. I, however, grew up with the tradition of hunting for my Easter Basket. My Mom would hide our baskets throughout the house and we would wake up Easter morning and search for them. We would attend sunrise service and then the church would host a pancake breakfast that the men would cook. When we returned home, we would continue searching for our baskets. One year, my Mom hid mine in an old cigar box that was piled up with a bunch of junk stacked next to the steps. That one took a long time to find. I know I am getting old because instead of always wanting to celebrate holidays differently, I am now quite nostalgic for traditions of my past. I want to wave palm branches on Palm Sunday, I want to attend Good Friday Service and contemplate Christ’s death on the cross, I want to wake up for Easter Sunrise Service and stand outside singing the praises of the resurrection. I want to hear the same passages read on those days year after year because they are the most significant reminders of why we follow Christ. I admit that Easter Egg and basket hunts are not as important as the other celebrations of Easter, but I find them fun none the less. In a combination of traditions, our kids usually attend both an Egg hunt and an Easter morning basket hunt. The egg hunt for years was provided courtesy of Army mandatory fun. Some units still hold Egg hunts and Christmas parties. In Australia, we attended the egg hunt on the grounds of the American Embassy. The challenge during that hunt was avoiding the magpies that would swoop down, crack the plastic egg, steal the lolly and fly away. Being Australian magpies, they thought of it as a lolly not a candy. Todays Easter Egg Hunt had separate areas for different age children, a large decorated white chair with an Easter Bunny sitting in it for pictures, and a table of cupcakes that someone cleverly made look like baskets using a piece of red licorice. I considered it fairly self explanatory, but it did not stop a kindly woman from attempting to inform the crowd about what to do. She of course could not be heard over the wind and the children, but she was not deterred. Zeke ran about jumping over various eggs and picking up others at random. Josiah was trying to determine why Zeke was jumping over the eggs. I told him that it was impossible to figure out the thought process of a 3 year old in the midst of an egg hunt.