love and marriage

My husband is a stinker and I am a conundrum. I think there's a better word out there to describe me but I can't figure out what it is. I even tried googling it. What do you call someone who is not schizophrenic, but close?

I don't think there are two people running around inside this body, but there is certainly more than one.

I am shy and outgoing, quiet and loud. I can be very insecure and confident, compassionate and unfeeling, and I can be blunt and...I was going to say subtle, but I'm sure my husband would say I'm never indirect. Anyway, what do you call someone like that?

So Monday evening I started thinking about Valentine's Day. I thought about all the hype and the crazy amounts of money people spend just to say I love you. Then I thought about love. Do all those Hallmark cards, flowers, chocolates, and stuffed animals say to a woman, "I love you"? Not this woman.

Just as we were falling asleep Monday night I bluntly blurted out, "Lovey, let's just skip Valentine's Day. I don't want flowers or a card. I don't want chocolates and I certainly don't want a stuffed animal. I don't want anything if all it is is you driving home from work and thinking, Whoa! It's Valentine's Day. I better stop at Walmart and grab a card for my wife. That is not romantic to me. I want something that's thought out and shows you really truly love me. I don't want something that's done just because it's "that" day and everyone else is doing it. To me, one of the most romantic things you've ever said was the other night when I was crying. Remember? The boys bolted from the room because they couldn't handle it. I didn't want to chase you off so I stuffed everything down inside. Remember? And then a few minutes later you came in, sat down, looked at me and said, "I'm not afraid of you. It's OK to cry...." That is romantic to me. That said I love you more than any card ever could...I don't need anything else. OK?"

My husband said, "OK" and that was the end of that-until this morning. This morning I was stumbling around, trying to pump some coffee into my sleepy head and wake up. Mike had already showered, shaved, had some coffee and was about to walk out the door. Suddenly he stopped, looked at me and said, "Well, now I can get a card and some chocolates for you!"

"No, you can't. I don't want all that. Remember?"

"Yeah, but today it'll all be on sale!" he grinned. He bolted before I could throw something at him.

pick a part

Something's been gnawing at me for the last several months. It never used to bother me and I never really even noticed it before, but lately? Lately it has become bothersome and even a bit embarrassing.

I don't understand my brain.

Until this weekend I was beginning to think there were parts missing but now I'm noticing my son's brain working in exactly the same way mine does so how can that be? Unless...unless...could missing brain parts be a genetic thing that's handed down from generation to generation? (If so, I'm sorry Alec....)

Let me give you a few examples and you can judge for yourself.

If you took grammar and punctuation in junior high school and didn't get it, well, no biggie. High school will take care of that, right? Wrong. And if you took grammar and punctuation in high school and didn't get it? Hmmm....Then you go to college and you take grammar and punctuation and you still don't get it so they hand you over to a tutor and you still. don't. get. it.

What would that tell you about your brain? Yes! See, you agree with me. Parts missing.

Or, take this example. You go to a movie and absolutely love it. It stirs your soul and touches your heart deeply-you even cry during the climatic finale. Later, you come home and try to tell your family about the movie. They ask, "Who was in it?"

"Well...I don't know..."

"Where did the movie take place?"

"Hm? What? Some city, you know...it had tall buildings and lots of stop lights and..."

"What was the plot?"

"Ohhh...I can't remember, but it was soooo good! I just loved it. It was the best movie I've seen in years and I'll never forget it! "

The same kind of thing happened yesterday at church. The sermon was perfect and exactly what I needed to hear. It was challenging and very encouraging. It went to a deep place in my heart and hugged me. Later, after church, we went out to lunch with our son and daughter-in-law. They'd been working in the nursery at church and had missed the teaching time.

So, as we're sitting there chatting I started thinking about the things I'd heard and blurted out, "Wow. You guys should've heard the sermon this morning. It was so good! It was just what I needed to hear!"

Naturally my son wanted to know what it was about. I suddenly felt like a deer caught in the headlights. I couldn't remember.

"Well, it was...it was perfect! He talked about...it was somewhere in the book of Mark and it was sooo good." I looked lamely at my husband for help and thankfully, he came through. He was able to tell my son what the whole message had been about without missing a beat.

There are certain theological concepts I can't wrap my head around either. I talk about them, I study them, I google them, and they won't. soak. in. I'll start to get it but then suddenly, poof. It's completely gone. I will admit here and now, this one isn't funny. This example brings me to tears of frustration sometimes...

OK-moving right along. Like I said before, I thought I was alone...a random, big picture person

lost in a sea of people who aren't missing brain parts and who, I've noticed, snicker and shake their heads at me when they think I'm not looking.

Then, this weekend, I found a comrade. Someone who understands me and thinks exactly like I do. My third son. What a relief.

A few weeks ago he told me a story about something he'd heard at work. It was hilarious and we laughed so hard we both had tears in our eyes. Then, Saturday evening we wanted to spread the joy so we started telling his big brother the story. The only problem is, neither one of us could remember the details. We sat in the livingroom laughing and spluttering over something we couldn't even remember, but boy was it funny! It was something we will never forget.

You should've seen the look on his big brother's face. That was even more amusing than the story we weren't telling.

Did you know there's a place here in Indiana called Pick A Part? It's a car junk yard. If you happen to be working on your car and find you need a doo-hicky that's too expensive at Auto Zone, you can hop over to Pick A Part and wander through their wasteland of broken and abandoned vehicles until you find one that's similar to yours. You then buy the doo hicky off that car, put it into your car and you're good to go.

That's what Alec and I need! We need to find a place called Brains. Pick A Part. We could hop over there, wander through the wasteland of broken and abandoned.....well, you get the picture...

Battle of the Sexes

I've been thinking about men this week. I have, over the years, lived with a lot of masculinity. I know I've told you this before, but I'll say it again. I have (or had) 3 brothers, 3 "half-brothers", a step-brother, 6 nephews, a dad, a husband and 4 sons. (Is it any wonder I am the way I am??)

On the surface, I'd say men are easy to understand. You feed them, give them lots of time and space to be squirrelly, let them think they're calling the shots and they're happy. End of story.

But, in reality, I don't get them at all. You'd think I would after living with so many of them all these years, wouldn't you? But, I still don't understand what makes them tick. They seem selfish and self-sacrificing, laid back and driven, and they won't tell you anything but boy do they love to talk. They say they're truly listening while their eyes wander to the TV or the fridge or the window. Right.

We've had a lot of discussion about the differences between men and women over the years; there has been a lot of bantering, and a lot of debate and I've heard a lot of snickering and snorting each time I've said men are the confusing ones. One afternoon my 19 year old son actually spent 50 minutes talking to me about the differences between the sexes-he spent most of that time expounding on the simplicity of men. He almost had me convinced; almost. But, when all was said and done, I had to ask myself, if men are that simple, why did it take nearly an hour to explain why?

Needless to say, when you are the lone female in the herd, and you receive that kind of treatment, you do start to wonder. Doubt creeps in and you ask yourself, am I the confusing one? Maybe they're right. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe women are more complex....

Well, this morning my doubts were put to rest. I was right all along. I googled men and women and the Internet put my doubts to rest. (And we all know cyberspace is never wrong, right?)

According to wikiHow, there are 14 steps to understanding men. Count them. FOURTEEN.

Want to know how many there are for understanding a woman? 4. Yep. I said four.

I am not crazy. I am not complex. I was not wrong. I was lost and alone in a sea of men that's all. However, I am not alone anymore. I have 2 daughters-in-law now, and I'm beginning to see I'm normal and there's a simple 4 step plan for understanding me. What a relief.

playing with words

I'm not sure what my sons remember about their school days; I don't know if they remember the failed science experiments, the messy, painty, gluey projects that took more time to clean up than they did to create, or the field trips that took us all over the state. Oh wait. We've talked about those. The only field trips they seem to remember are the ones that involved food-especially if free samples were involved. They do remember those.

Our third son has always loved words. He wrote his first novel when he was 6. Actually, he dictated it to me and I wrote it, but the story is all his. He remembers that school year-at least the book-writing part. Every morning I would get his big brothers started on their school work while Alec stood around waiting, thoughtful, impatient to begin playing with words. We'd grab a pencil and his notebook, cuddle up together on the couch and he'd take off like a rocket. I couldn't write fast enough to keep up with his imagination. I think I looked forward to those moments together as much as he did. I loved watching him think and talk, pause, grin to himself....I'd sit there wondering what on earth he was going to come up with next.

Sometimes he'd get a word wrong. He loved learning new words and experimenting with them; he enjoyed the challenge of using "new words" in a sentence.

The other day I ran across a book I started writing when our sons were young. It's a book full of stories about them-things they did and said that I never want to forget. I was skimming through it and came across 2 Alec bloopers I thought you might enjoy.

One night when he was about 11, I went into his room to kiss him goodnight and we started talking about his day. It was a Sunday, so I asked him about his Sunday school lesson.

"What was your lesson about today?"

"Oh, we talked about the bible and if it's true or not. Our teacher told us there are several ways to determine if the bible is true."

"Really? Can you tell me one of the ways? What did your teacher say?"

"Prostitutes Mom. We can prove scripture is valid by looking at the prostitutes."

"Lovey, do you mean prophecies?"

"Ohhhh yeah...that's the word the teacher used!"

About a month later we asked Alec to pray at dinner time:

"Lord Jesus, thank you for this food and thank you for keeping us safe. Please bless Benjamin (that's his big brother who was 17 at the time) as he gets ready to go to Summit. And please help him as he thinks about college, driving, getting a job, and all that stuff that has to do with

adultryhood. Amen."

Alec still writes and is working on his second novel. However, it's probably needless to say, but he is now the proud owner of a dictionary.

a walk to remember

Exactly 20 years ago today I was pregnant with our 3rd baby. That pregnancy had started out like most do: morning sickness. It also included noon sickness and night sickness. For months I couldn't move without being sick.

Finally, on Thanksgiving day, I was able to raise my head off the couch, stand up, and actually begin to function. It felt so good to be alive again.

At the time, we were living about a block away from a cemetery. It was beautiful that day so after we'd eaten we decided to take our 2 little boys for a walk through the cemetery. (Don't ask me why....)

My husband took our oldest son's hand and the two of them meandered through the tombstones. I could hear my son's little voice reading all the names and dates and asking questions about each person he came across.

In the meantime, I walked around with our 3 year old, James. He chattered too, but couldn't read yet, so his questions centered more on the birds, the grass, and the little flags he saw on some of the graves.

I started daydreaming about the baby I was carrying and wondering whether it was another boy or would we have a girl this time?

Suddenly James stopped walking and he stopped talking. He stood, frozen to the ground, staring at a 12" cross standing guard over one of the graves. He had a puzzled look on his face, then:

"Look. Look at dat cross Momma. Jesus wasn't vewy big, was He?"

Chip

He was one of the kids in that youth group I wrote about last week and I had a crush on him. (Please note, I said "crush". It wasn't love, just a school girl crush.)
Chip was tall and blond and full of energy. He was sweet and kind, gentle and thoughtful. (or so it seemed until...) A good listener. He was also crazy and you never knew what he was going to do or say next. I think that's what attracted me to him. That and his wonderful sense of humor. When we were together, we were laughing.
There was only one thing that stood between me and Chip. Tina. She was his girl friend. They had an up and down kind of relationship and when they were up, I was down; when they were down, I was hopeful. I secretly watched them from afar, waiting, hoping for that one final fight that would free him forever and he could be mine!

Finally, late in the fall they broke up. Oh my heart went pitter patter! Maybe... just maybe?

I waited patiently, giving his broken heart time to mend. We were able to spend more time together now and I could tell Chip was attracted to me. Oh the joy! The hope! When he towered over me and laughed at some mundane thing I'd said my heart rate went into overdrive.

Then one night it happened. Chip asked me to be his girl. It was the middle of January and our youth group had gone ice skating. The ice was perfect, the air crisp and clear; stars twinkled over our heads and mountains surrounded the lake. All these things blended together to make a perfect, romantic setting. I could tell Chip wanted to talk to me. He kept trying to maneuver me away from the other kids to a secluded spot on the ice. I wanted to postpone the moment, to soak up the fact that Chip was finally seeing the light. We were meant to be together! So, I kept skating back toward our friends, teasing him, laughing.

After a time I at last relented. We did indeed skate off to a dark, cozy corner of the lake. Chip looked down at me and wow. The look he gave me. He was nervous...hopeful...Then he popped the question:

"Judy, I have something to ask you."

"What is it?" I asked innocently.

" I'm going to ask Tina if she'll get back together with me. If she says no, will you go with me?"

He never knew what hit him.

Plan B

So, I hate to be morbid and all, but I have been thinking about death a lot lately for some reason. My own a bit, but mostly my husband's. Please don't take me wrong-it's not that I'm counting the days until I'm free of him; it's because we have 101 years of living between the two of us. According to a BBC News article, the chances of a boy living to 100 are 18.1%. On the other hand, the article goes on to say that by the time you get to 90 you've gone past a lot of the things that usually kill you. You know, things like wives....
But, just in case I do happen to outlive him, I've decided to come up with a Plan B for the end of my days. I'll just have to trust I have the wisdom to pick the best one when the time comes.

1. I can move in with one of my sons and practice the fine art of minding my own business

2. I could buy a small, happy, shiny red tug boat and live on Lake Michigan. (Don't want the ocean. I can hardly navigate my way through a round-about, let alone the Pacific)

3. I just may move to a small town in Wyoming and become a waitress in a truck stop

4. I'll buy a small condo on the coast of Maine, find a cozy little bookstore that needs me, and wallow in ocean breezes and romance novels

5. Or, I could move to Key West. I'll let my hair grow and get dread locks, listen to reggae continually, wear funky dresses and birkenstocks and enjoy the company of my son and his family when they pop down there every other year.

6. I may go to Alaska. I used to dream of homesteading there...wonder if that's still legal?

7. Another thought would be to buy a little motorcycle and go putz my life away in Europe. I could find a tiny apartment above a coffee shop and make all kinds of caffeinated friends to keep me company

The question is, how to pick just one? Which one fits me the best? I suppose I could do what we did when I was in labor with our first baby. We couldn't decide on a name so here's what we did: we each picked 3 names and wrote them down on pieces of paper. We put those papers in a bowl and then we each drew one paper out. We stuck them together and voila! Yep, I think that's what I'll do......

36 Dollars

We spent 36$ in order to take our youngest son to the zoo the other day. 36$ for THREE of us.
He enjoyed the seals and the sea lions, but after that he only had eyes for the birds. We practically had to drag him away from the pink flamingos and their best friends, the ducks.
We looked at giraffes. Well, my husband and I did. When we looked down to talk to our son about their long necks and what they were eating, he was gone. He was across the way, looking at an ugly old vulture.
While my husband and I stood and laughed at a teenage baboon digging a hole in the ground with his back legs up over his head, our 7 year old ornithologist was watching the sparrows dart in and out, over and around the baboon.
We took him to see the kimono dragons. SOME of us admired their muscular legs and long claws. We were fascinated by the fact that those dragons can smell their dinner up to 2 miles away. (Sort of like me with chocolate, but that's beside the point.) While we were studying the dragon, my little boy was once again studying the sparrows fluttering around the dragon's lair.
He shuffled his feet and lethargically looked at the elephants, the zebras, and the red pandas. Forget those boring animals. Where are the robins and sparrows?
Finally we took him in to see the desert creatures and meerkats.
"Look Barrett! Look at the size of that tortoise!"
"Yeah, but mom, look at that zebra finch! He has a nest up there in the rocks!"
We tried to interest him in the bearded dragons, the iguana and some of the other lizards whose names I don't recall.

"Look at that quail! Can I have a quail for a pet? OH! That's the kind of finch I saw at the pet store! He's from Australia and costs 100$. Can I get that kind of finch for a pet?"

The meerkats only received a polite nod from his little head. Then he was looking up, looking for the tiny birds that fluttered over our heads.

Finally we decided to sit outside in the shade and cool off. That's when that little guy really came to life. The sparrows! Oh the sparrows! He darted around watching them, following them, laughing at them, and tossing bits of his Cliff Bar out to them. He laughed at a robin hopping along the ground, and chased off a black bird. (He was stealing food from the sparrows.)
There were sparrows everywhere; some of them nearly brushed our shoulders when they came in for a landing. Our son didn't know where to look so he looked everywhere at once. His head bobbed left, then right, then up, then he'd twirl around, trying to watch each and every bird all at the same time.
My favorite part of the day was watching him. However, next time I want to do that, I'm going to spend 36$ on birdseed and throw it and my son out into the back yard.

It Just Ain't Fair

If nail polish determined femininity, I'd be a man.

Last week I sat here and contemplated my toes.

I've often thought my toes were Fred Flinstone toes. Wide, fat, and ugly.

I sat here and looked at those Flinstone toes and thought, well, maybe a little nail polish will help them look more feminine. Maybe it would help me feel more feminine. So I went to the store and bought some pink nail polish.

I am not a pink person. I didn't realize it until after I'd polished my toes, but I know it now. I removed the pink nail polish and the next day back to the store I went. This time I thought I'd try a deep burgundy. Maybe that's my color.
Now, the label on the nail polish said "Chocolate Truffle", but it looked like deep burgundy, so I bought it. Guess who was right?
That stuff looked like dark Dove chocolate had melted onto my toe nails. I may love to eat dark Dove chocolate, but to wear it on my toes? I don't think so.

I quickly grabbed the nail polish remover and got rid of the "chocolate look". Then I sat here and contemplated my nail polish and my toes once more. How much more money do I want to waste on this project? I looked at the pink. Nope. The Chocolate Truffle. No way. But then I had a brain storm! Pink and dark chocolate together just may make a deep burgundy!

I got out a paper plate, some Q-tips and both bottles of nail polish. I poured out a little pink liquid onto the plate, then a little pile of chocolate and, like Van Gough, I carefully mixed them together. It worked! I had thee perfect color! So, I painstakingly began to polish my toes. This is when my real problems began.

I am 2 years away from being half a century old and I wear bi-focals. Well, even with my glasses on my toes were so far away I could hardly see where my toe nails ended and my toes began. I slopped that burgundy concoction all over my foot. And, by the time I had 3 toes done I'd run out of thee perfect color and had to mix some more.

So, I poured out a little of each color, blended them together and finished foot #1. Then I noticed two things. the first thing I saw was that 3 toes had one lovely shade of burgundy, the other 2 had a completely different shade. The other thing I noticed was that my toe nails had grown wider and longer. Oh wait. That's just polish. I grabbed the nail polish remover, (luckily I'd thought of buying some when I purchased the nail polish) and a Q-tip and tried to remove the nail polish from the last two toes and the skin around toes #1, 2, and 3.

I bet you can guess what happened and you're right. Even with my bi-focals on I couldn't see very well so I accidentally removed half the polish from toe #2. I now had 2 1/2 toes polished. Back to the drawing board.

I removed all the polish from each toe, and mixed another batch of polish together. This time I made sure to make enough for all ten toes. Then I began the process of trying to polish only the nails on each foot. However, it took so long, because I couldn't see the nails very well, that by the time I was done with 7 digits my little pile of paint had dried up.

So, then. Back to mixing. Then polishing. Then realizing the new color didn't match the other 7 toes. Then removing all of it. Then trying again. Then getting them all done only to remove half the polish off each toe as I tidied up the area around the polished nails. So I had to remove it all and start over again.

This whole adventure took about 90 minutes. When I looked at the clock and realized how much time I'd spent on Femininity I was shocked. I also realized that men have it easy. They have to work hard at not looking masculine.

I have waved the white flag on my battle with nail polish. It's over. I'm now wasting time Googling "Craft Projects Using Nail Polish."

It just ain't fair...

We Should've Known Right Then and There

One afternoon, when my firstborn son was four, he climbed up onto my lap for some cuddle time. He was silent for a long time and I wondered what little thoughts were floating around in his head.

Is he thinking about the dinosaur book we'd just read? Maybe he's wondering what kind of snack he'd like? I bet he's wondering where his favorite plastic pony is....

Suddenly he took a deep breath and looked at me,
"Mommy, if I would've been born god, would you have named me Benjamin David God?"

Two Bits

A quick glance at my profile will tell you that I have 4 sons. When they were little we did what most parents do and potty-trained them. To the best of my knowledge, they are still potty-trained.

So as not to embarrass any of them, the protagonist in this story shall remain anonymous. (See Alex, I know one or two 4 syllable words!) (More than likely I'm using "protagonist" incorrectly, but it's the thought that counts, right?)

Anyway-when we were in the trenches of potty-training one of them, we tried a number of tricks to get "him" to "perform". We tried leaving some good books in the bathroom. Not tempting enough. We tried peanuts as a bribe. He laughed. Raisins got a snort. Finally, in desperation I caved and bought some M & M's. Wow! What a difference! That kid had to go every few minutes! He loved those M & M's.

After he had mastered #1, we moved on to #2. #2 warranted two M & M's every time he went. I've never seen anyone able to go on demand before, but this kid was able to figure it out just so he could increase his sugar intake.

One afternoon I was busy doing whatever it is a mom does, when my little guy came running. He was thrilled about something.

"Mommy! I pooped two bits! A big bit and a little bit!"

Turning Over A New Oreo

OK-
I know when I'm beat, and I'm beat. When did I write that post about Green Drinks?
A week ago?
Well, I'm going to wave the white flag. I'm going back to scones. I'm going back to Starbucks. Hello meat, cheese, frozen pizza and Oreos! I am giving up The Color Green.

I woke up last Monday morning with a cold, two weeks AFTER I started drinking the green drinks. I literally cannot remember the last time I had a cold. We've had gross, icky flu bugs hurling their way through this house and I didn't get sick, and that was when all our kids still lived here!

Not only did I catch a cold, but it's taking its nasty little time leaving too. Our two younger sons caught it and sweetly passed it on to me, then they proceeded to get well. I'm not. I'm still stuffy, dizzy, and obviously whiny.

As if that weren't enough, I've now developed a strange rash under my chin. Little red, swollen dots all over that itch like the dickens and keep spreading.

Then, this afternoon, I made my Green Goo as usual. As soon as I finished it my throat started feeling all raw and scratchy. No, I don't think that's cold related. I've already passed past that part of the cold.

Now for the icing on the cake. Or should I say the Puff on the cream? When I woke up this morning I noticed my left eye was slightly swollen. As the day has progressed it's become fatter and fatter. The sun is getting ready to set and I can hardly hold my eye open!

So, now I'm a scratchy-throated, itchy-necked, stuffed-up-nose Eyegor.

I really don't think I'll give them up. After I drank my Green Goo I perked up-I had the energy to sit here and complain.


(In all seriousness, I think I must be allergic to one of the greens. I am going to quit for a few days, hide in my little house, let my throat, eye, and neck re-group and then slowly introduce one green at a time back into my diet. Hopefully I'll be able to pinpoint the culprit.)

How Do You Find A Wife?

Last week our 6 year old son made a pot holder for one of his big brothers. When he finished making the pot holder he handed it to me and asked me if I thought Benjamin (his big brother) would like it. The following conversation took place, and yes, everything our little guy said was said in all seriousness:

"Mommy, does Benjamin have a wife yet?"

"No, he lives in a house with a friend of his. I'm sure they'll both love the pot holder and will use it though."

"Well, should I make a pot holder for James?" (That's another big brother)

"Sure. James lives with another family now, but maybe they'll use it or let James use it in their kitchen."

"O.K. Um, Mommy? does James have a wife?"

"No...but he's looking for one."

"Well, how do you find a wife?! Is he walking down the street yelling for one?"

"No....not exactly..."

"Oh! Is he looking in the phone book and calling all the numbers in there?"

"No...."

"Well, how do you find a wife? Is he going door to door knocking on all of them asking for a wife?!"

"No, I don't think so..."

"Well then, how do you find one?"

He finally paused long enough in his questions for me to answer him. I told him first of all you should pray for the right wife. Then you just live you life. You go where you go and do what you do and then usually there will be a girl who comes along who likes to go to the same places you do or likes to do the same things you do. You become friends and then maybe later she'll become your wife.
He looked at me doubtfully and just wandered away. Maybe he thought one of his ideas would get faster results.

Of Mice and Men

Last night, as our 6 year old son was snuggling and getting sleepy, he asked his final question of the day:
"What color are fishes' veins?"

That question made me think. Do you know what color fishes' veins are?
This morning, before I'd even finished my second cup of coffee, these were the questions that same little person asked: (Please read this post all the way through to the end. You won't be sorry!)
Anyway-back to Barrett's first 15 minutes of the day:
-Why did Benjamin go back to bed?
-Where are my binoculars?
-Why do you always put them on the bookshelf by the back door?
-Wouldn't it be cool if flashlight light was really silver instead of yellow?
-Wouldn't it be neat if there really were light sabers?!
-Do computers sleep?
-Do TVs sleep?
-Did you see a Nuthatch last night?
-Did you see a raccoon last night?
-Do fish sleep?
-Do they yawn?
-Are Tufted Tit Mouses your favorite kind of bird or are Brown Thrashers?
-Did you just hear my foot snap?
-Aren't you going to sit with me and watch the birds?
-I wonder if the seeds in our garden are growing?
-Are there roots from the seeds we planted in the ground?

At this point I was ready to duct tape his lips together, so I ran to the bathroom instead. The minute my face reappeared, the questions began again:

-Why do the birds flip seeds onto the ground when they eat?
-Does it feel nice when you can hold a bird in your hands?
-Why do robins always try and find worms to eat?
-Where's my bird notebook?
-Don't you wish you could film dreams?
-What color are Cardinals' feet?

Shower! I can get a break if I take a shower! So I did. A nice long one. Then we ate and did some chores. I'm sorry, but I neglected to write down the questions asked during this part of my day.
Later we took Barrett's big brother out to see some friends. Left alone with my little guy, I resumed writing his questions. Please keep in mind, these are by no means all of them. They are in fact just a fraction of the things going through his mind. I can't write fast enough to keep up with him. I have NO idea how I'm going to keep up with him as his teacher. Anyway:

-Can babies eat olives?
-Can they eat fruit?
-Vegetables?
-Do cars breath?
-Wouldn't it be weird if fingers couldn't bend and were just stiff?
-Wouldn't it be weird if everything couldn't make noise except people?
-What color are Armadillos?
-I wonder if Alec is having fun bowling?
-I wonder if he lost?
-How come I never get invited places?
-What color are roadrunners?
-What's Grandma's favorite color?
-Have you got defeated by the card you were trying to make?
-Is there a color in the world I haven't seen before?
-Wouldn't it be weird if peoples' hands were colored all different colors in pretty patterns and each person in the whole wide world had a different pattern?
-Why does daddy always bring home the newspaper?
-What is a purple panteater?
-How come sugar tastes better than other stuff?
-Do you ever not like chocolate?
-How come ducks always look like their smiling?
-Doesn't ice-cream sound good?
-Are you sad Momma?
-Why?
-Did Benjamin and James already move out?
-How come the feta cheese is in a square instead of little lumps?
-Are these seeds good for you?
-Is eggplant good for you?
-Are these breadcrumbs?
-Are there foxes where Grandma lives?
-If there weren't any seeds or insects wouldn't birds be dead?
-Wouldn't it be weird if seeds fell from the sky instead of rain?
-Wouldn't it be funny to watch the birds look up and catch the seeds in their beaks, swallow, and do it again? (This said while pretending he was a bird eating just that way.)
-How many times have we heard those fireworks today?
-Why do the dogs always bark?
-Why are the birds singing like that?

OK-here comes the grand finale.
This evening, our oldest son came home from work and started packing. He's going to be moving out very soon. When I saw my firstborn son sorting, purging, and packing, I couldn't help it. I had a meltdown. I blubbered all over my husband. I blubbered alone. I blubbered in our 16 year old's arms. I blubbered in our second son's arms when he walked in the door from work.(He brought on a fresh wave of tears because he is moving out in the next few weeks too.) As I was blubbering, Daddy was getting Barrett ready for bed. Story. Teeth brushed. Jammies on. Climb into bed. Prayers said.
I went in to kiss him goodnight, all teary, my red, shiny nose leading the way. Barrett took one look at me and said compassionately,
"Oh Mommy!"
I leaned over, put my arms around him and he tenderly kissed me and gave me a long, sweet hug. I had another meltdown, remembering certain other little arms around my neck, loving me. As I stood there soaking up his concern, I hear:
"Mommy, do baby mice ever get sick?"

A Mother's Day Card....or not.

I've spent a lot of time over the past few days trying to make a Mother's Day card for my mother-in-law. I've "googled" and goggled until my brain cells were boggled.
I thought I'd finally found the perfect card for the woman who gave me her one and only son. It's beautiful. The card I was going to use as a template is actually a birthday card and it has the dictionary definition of "birthday" or some such across the front of it. No problem, thought I. I'll just change the word and put the definition of "mother" across the front instead. Well, when I picked up our Websters's 1828 dictionary and looked for "mother" this is what I found:

mother and mud
the womb
hysterics
stark naked
the thick slimy concretion in vinegar
a hysteric fit
a ewe or female sheep
a mole
the female of the horse kind
mud, mold
a mother, and matter, pus
matrix
matter, stuff, materials of which any thing is made
the bed of a river, a sink or sewer
the channel of a river

Further down the page there are several more definitions:
1. A female parent
2. That which has produced anything (Believe me, there are times when I've wondered what on earth I have produced)
3. That which has preceded in time; the oldest or chief of anything (Yes, I feel like this at times-the oldest of anything and everything...)
4. Hysterical passion
5. A familiar term of address of an old woman or matron
6. An appellation given to a woman who exercises care and tenderness towards another, or gives parental advice (nag, nag, nag...)
7. A thick slimy substance concreted in liquors, particularly in vinegar, very different from scum. (Oh! What a relief that is.)

Moving on from there I picked up Webster's Elementary Dictionary-A Dictionary for Boys and Girls:
mother-A slimy substance that forms on fermenting alchoholic liquors (Hmph.)

I then thought, just for the fun of it, I'd look and see what good old Noah had to say about Fathers. From the 1828 dictionary:
to beget, to feed
1. He who begets a child
2. The first ancestor
3. The appellation of an old man, and a term of respect
Elderly men are called fathers; men venerable for age, learning and piety are called fathers.
4. The grandfather
5. One who feeds and supports, or exercises paternal care over another. God is called the father of the fatherless.
6.He who creates, invents, makes or composes any thing; the author, a founder, director or instructor.

Maybe I'll send her a Father's Day card instead...

Pride Goes Before A Toe

Way back in the dark ages of my mothering, there came a day when I had to take my second son to the doctor; not for illness-just a "well baby" check and vaccine update. He was two years old.
I was feeling rather nervous about the doctor's appointment. I knew from experience that well-baby checks are thorough. So, that morning I made sure everything about our little guy was perfect. I gave him a bath. I combed every hair on his sweet little head and put him in an adorable outfit. I even clipped his fingernails and made sure his teeth were brushed. Finally I put sandals on his chubby, pink little feet and we were off.
After we'd been in the examining room for a time I started to relax. Everything looked good. Our little son was sturdy and happy and healthy. The nurse gave him the needed shots and as I held him and wiped away his tears I noticed she was watching, a look of tenderness on her face.
Finally it was time to go. I picked up my purse and reached out to grab my son's hand. As I did so the nurse said with a big smile, "Well, Judy, you're doing a great job. Keep up the good work!"
My heart, (and my head) swelled with pride. I marched over to the door, my little son in front of me. As I yanked open the door to leave, James suddenly started screaming. I looked down to see that pride had blinded me. I'd used the examining room door to rip his toenail off.

Ha Ha. Veerrrry Funny

The other day, after I'd visited Big Doofus's blog, (his post from March 27th where he talks about Todd Wilson and Familyman Ministries), I thought it might be an encouragement to my husband if I put his name on the Familyman Ministries mailing list. After all, we have been doing this home schooling thing for a lot of years and I thought maybe Mike could use a "shot in the arm" now and then.
So, last night after Mike came home from work, I told him about Familyman Ministries and that I'd put his name on their mailing list.
From somewhere in the house our oldest son, (who is a business major) pipes up: "I love it!"
I turned my head to see him grinning at me.
"She's outsourced her nagging now!"

Barrett Again & Again

I'm here alone this morning with our 6yr. old little guy. I'm frantically trying to finish a baby gift for my niece-She just had her first baby 2 days ago and I need to get the gift in the mail! In my desperation to be "left alone" so I can sew, I decided to use The Plug In Drug. Barrett is watching an "educational video" about sea otters. The narrator just explained that sometimes the sea otters come to shore to rest and soak up some sun while nearby there are 10 story ice cliffs. I'm only half-way paying attention to Barrett and the TV when suddenly something Barrett says catches my attention.
"10 story ice cliffs. That's only 10 little books. That's not very big at all!"



Then there was last weekend. We were out running some errands when we drove past a car wash. Mike and I were talking about who-knows-what when we hear a little voice from the back seat:
"24 hour car wash?! I would never take my car there to get it cleaned! It would take tooooo long. You'd be there at night too when it was dark out! I'd just drive my car through really fast and then drive away with it all wet!!"

More on S.A.D.

The other day my nephew and I spent a few minutes emailing back and forth. We were talking about the gray Midwest winters and how they affect our emotions. My nephew told me that people of Mediterranean decent often can't make the vitamin D that is made by your skin with sunshine and since I'm half Italian that just may pose a problem for me. He also said that a lack of vitamin D has been linked to the flu.
He did say however that we are Italians. We (as Italians) have wine, leather, and sex appeal-who needs vitamins?
My reply:
"I don't like wine. I can't afford leather. I've never had sex appeal and I don't see it starting now at 3 years before 50. Now you tell me my body can't make vitamin D? I am in S.A.D. shape!"


(In all seriousness, I've had 2 people this week tell me they go to a tanning place during the winter because of S.A.D. and it really helps their outlook on life.)

A Fieldtrip to the Symphony

Over the course of 17 plus years of homeschooling, I had to establish some rules regarding field trips. There were the usual rules like, "Use your manners."
"Don't fight with your brothers."
"Don't run out into traffic."
"Don't pick your nose in public."
"Wear clean clothes." etc. etc.

We did have 1 rule that not too many other families had however. If the boys wanted the field trip to count for school in any way, shape or form, they had to tell me 3 things they had learned while on the field trip. (I'm not at all sure they retained what they "learned", but the rule at least helped them pay attention to the tour guide or the lecture or...... while we were there.)
In keeping with that tradition, I thought I'd tell you the things I learned during my recent field trip to the Symphony.

1. Pantyhose could be used as a substitute for torture-by-rack.

2. High heeled shoes could be used as a substitute for water torture.

3. I now know what a French Horn looks like.

4. I do not like modern classical music. (Thankfully they only played one piece of modern music.)

5. Pantyhose could be used as a substitute for being dunked in boiling oil.

6. Every person on earth should have the privilege of seeing/hearing Bolero by Ravel performed live. To me that was the highlight of the evening!

7. I'd rather be hung upside-down by my ankles in a dungeon than to have to ever, ever, wear pantyhose again.

8. In order to get a POW to talk, all they'd have to do is force him into a pair of pantyhose and high heels and not let him sit down. His tongue would start wagging in 34 seconds flat.


By the way, it seems that I was worried about the wrong end of things. While I was fretting over my ability to walk in high heels I completely forgot about my head. I had a Bad Hair Day on Saturday and was able to walk quite well in those heels. By the end of the evening I had even mastered stairs.

Seriously, we did have a wonderful evening and thoroughly enjoyed the music. I can see now why season tickets to the symphony were recommended as a way of "rekindling romance" in one marriage book I read.

One other by-the-way, I'm in the market for a pair of sequined Mukluks for our next date. Just name the price and I'll pay it.