Thursday, December 20, 2007
When I entered the fourth grade at my new school, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my new teacher was a sweet woman that radiated love for every child in her class. In her eyes, we were all equal and she wanted nothing more than to show each of us love and teach us to love to learn. Within a couple of weeks, I loved school again. I loved being in her class.
Mrs. Mozingo loved to read. Every day after lunch, she would read aloud to the class from a "chapter book" and at the end of each chapter, we were left begging for more. It wasn't just because the book was so fantastic, it was often because of the way she read it. She loved reading to us and we all knew it. We would get so involved in the stories that we would literally lose ourselves in them. At the age of nine, that can be unusual. I remember sobbing in class when the hounds died in "Where The Red Fern Grows". I was so wrapped up in the story that I didn't care if anyone saw me, I was sad. Suddenly, I was a voracious reader. I couldn't get enough. I fell in love with every author, book and character Mrs. Mozingo introduced me to. When she read from Shel Silverstein, I knew I'd love him forever. At every opportunity, I'd check his books out at the library and memorize every poem I could get my hands on.
Looking back now, I realize that a lot of who I am as an adult, started in the fourth grade. So many of the things I am so passionate about came from that year I spent learning from her. She was a wonderful teacher and her passion spilled over into her students.
However, it wasn't her passion for reading and writing that I believe changed me the most. It was her love. The day before I walked into her class, I had no hope. I'd had a bad year the year before. My home life was shaky. I was in a brand new school. I could have been a lost cause. I could have remained hopeless. But, I walked into her class and she loved me. She treated me like a daughter. She didn't care if my parents didn't have a lot of money, she cared about me. I can't stress enough how much that affected me.
Mrs. Mozingo still lives near my parents. A few years back, I ran into her at a local restaurant when I was home for a visit. Over fifteen years had passed and when she saw me, she smiled. She remembered me. I was taken back to the fourth grade with her smile. I instantly felt like she still cared about me. We chatted briefly and once we got into the car, I cried. I cried because I hadn't told her how much she meant to me so many years ago or how I felt that she is the reason that I love to read and learn. She's the reason that I have now passed that same passion to my own children. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her and long to thank her. I've thanked God for Mrs. Mozingo so many times and I'm willing to bet that I'm not the only child that passed through her class that has done so. I will tell her. She's an amazing woman and she deserves to know what a difference she made.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
I'm so thankful for the teachers that both of my kids have this year. Their preschool is fantastic and they both have teachers who sincerely love children and love teaching them. It has made the biggest difference in both of my little people this year. They love school and speak so sweetly of their teachers.
Preschool teachers deserve recognition in Heaven. They love on kids all day. They brush away tears, wipe noses and bottoms, read stories and encourage all day long...to people who don't always appreciate it. Or smell nice, for that matter. And, they didn't even give birth to them so the things they do really are out of kindness.
I have a post coming up on a teacher that changed my life. I can't wait to share her with you.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Things here are moving relatively smoothly. Since it is December, I can officially say that Big Daddy is coming home next month! It's not soon enough for me but I'll take it! I've finished most of my Christmas shopping, with only a couple of small things left to buy. With traffic and the crowds of mean and scrooge-like people, I may just do that from the comfort of my chair. With some hot chocolate by my side, pretending that it's winter.
On another note, I have been racking my brain to figure out stuff to put in the box to send to Big Daddy for Christmas. I don't want to send much because he will have to turn around and ship it right back home since he won't have space to bring it back NEXT MONTH (sorry, had to throw that in there!) when he returns. But, I want to send something! I have ideas: hot chocolate with some yummy things to add in, homemade peppermint bark/almond toffee, listerine strips (he's a little addicted to them) and some pictures and art work from the kids. Any other ideas? Also, to totally swipe an idea from Michelle at Big Blueberry Eyes, if any of you want to send him a Christmas card to brighten his day, I'd be glad to share his address. Not to worry, it's just a box somewhere in TX and the military takes it from there so I'm not giving away any top secret information. I think getting a bunch of Christmas cards from you nice people just might make him smile!
Now, I think I will go get the kids up from their naps and let them play outside and enjoy this weather!
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
When we came home, he immediately put the boots on and has had them on ever since. He allows me to take them off of him to dress him and bathe him. That's it. What's that? What about sleeping? Oh, he wears them. Don't tell me you don't sleep with your cowboy boots on.
Because they are so
Last night, I wanted to take a picture of him with the boots on so I told him to stand still and smile because I wanted a picture of a real cowboy.
"I AM NOT A COWBOY!"
"But Brother, you have real cowboy boots so you look like a real cowboy!"
"No Mom, I look like PaPa." (My dad would be thrilled to know that Brother wants to look like him!)
At any rate, I now have to look for pajamas for the little guy that will match the boots. Because he's not taking them off any time soon.
Monday, December 3, 2007
I was recently contacted and asked to review a children's book,
I Love You More by Laura Duksta. I read the book to my kids the day it arrived and they loved it! This book is one of the sweetest books I've read. It's a flip book so on one side, you read from a mother's perspective to her child and then flip it over to read the child's perspective to his mother.
I love you longer than the longest lollipop ever lasted.
I love you louder than the loudest rocket ship ever blasted.
I love you taller than the tallest giraffe ever grown.
I love you more, so much more than you’ve ever known.
We have read it many, many times since it came in the mail and each time, I love it more. Pun totally intended! The book has sparked a new game in our house, the "I love you more!" game where when someone says "I love you" you must respond with "I love you more!" and then come up with your own little phrase to follow.
Not only is the book sweet, the story of the author really touched me. You can read more about her here.
The only complaint about this book came from Sister who was appalled that the child in the book was a boy, not a girl. Seriously, this is her complaint about everything lately from the person who checks us out at the grocery store to the local weather reporter. So, don't hold that against the book, ok?
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Of course, she can't hear me. So, that makes it ok, right? Right?
It would except I have four small ears in the back seat.
Brother says, "Mom. You weren't very nice. You should say, 'Can you please move out of my way?' and that would be nice."
It took me a second for what he, in his almost three year old wisdom, had just said. When it caught on, my face flushed.
"You are right, Brother. I shouldn't have been mean. I'll be nicer next time, ok?"
So. He has been paying attention to my endless ramblings about manners recently! I'm not sure if that makes me feel better since he hasn't exactly been practicing it. But, he caught me and I had to own up to it. Just another step closer to my kids being smarter than me.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Me: (looking for something shiny to distract her with) No way!
Sister: Good. What about a head?
Me: (still looking for that shiny object) No, honey. It won't have a head.
Sister: Well, what happened to it? Where does it go before we eat it?
Me: (Cursing the lack of shiny objects in our car) Well, the farmers that take care of the turkeys take it off after they um. Um. Hey, look! A bulldozer!!
Sister: Mommy, how do they kill the turkeys and take off their heads and eyes?
Me: (Thinking that we will forever after be vegetarians and crying a little on the inside because I used to really like turkey) Well, honey. I, um. I'm not really sure. But, are you excited about going school today? Do you think you'll be the line leader?
Seriously? I'm a little nervous about Thanksgiving now. I'm also a little grossed out.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Bless her heart, she was so eager in the beginning. We started with the toy bins that housed Little People (not the ones I gave birth to) and other toys she has long outgrown. She did awesome. We packed them away at lightening speed.
Then came the hard part. Sister is so attached to stuffed animals. Always has been. She loves every single one with all of her heart....and that's a lot of animals and a lot of heart. She tried to get rid of some but she couldn't. Until. She spied a stack in the corner that she's been longing to get rid of since the day they entered our house. She gladly grabbed them and tossed them into the basket to give away. My heart sank. I asked if she was sure and she gleefully said she was.
Actually, her words were, "Yes, I don't like them. I think they look really weird."
My heart sank a little more. Not the beloved Cabbage Patch Kids.
When the CPK made their comeback a couple of years back, I was thrilled. I was in love with the ones I had growing up and I couldn't wait to introduce Sister to her little Miranda Jean Jennifer Sue. Last year, I picked one that I thought looked the most like Sister and waited in excitement until she opened it. The excitement was all mine. She gave it a look and tossed it aside. Every time we have had a room clean up since, she has volunteered that doll (and the three others that well meaning friends from my generation gave to her) to head to Goodwill. I have talked her out of it every time.
I knew it would come today before we even started our cleaning up. I knew she'd try to toss those babies to the curb. I told myself that it is her room, her toys and she could make the choice. She made the choice and I let her do it. I'm sorry Miranda Jean Jennifer Sue. I'm sorry Xavier Roberts. I tried to carry on the legacy but you just look too weird.
**As I was looking up the link for Xavier Roberts on Wikipedia, I read that he actually called the CPK dolls, "Little People" when he first created them. Coincidence? I think not. So, I changed the title to reflect that Sister is in fact following in my footsteps in some ways.
Friday, November 9, 2007
I am fine most days but I haven't had one of those days this week. Every single day has been hard at some point and I have ended the only two conversations I've had with him in tears. I am kicking myself for that because it's already hard enough for him without me sobbing like a child every short phone call we get. I want to throw a tantrum. I really do. It won't do me any good but it just might make me feel better. It may get out all of the tears and sadness so I can go on with this holiday season and this blog that is usually a fun outlet but suddenly has turned all sappy. For now, I'll settle for a little time to cry while the kids nap. Please don't misunderstand me. I don't want pity. I know I can do this and I will. But I need to just say it sometimes to someone who won't get in trouble for repeating it: This sucks.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Alright, gracious readers, I need you. My kids have become obsessed with drawing/writing lately. Sister can go through a stack of papers in no time and each one will have beautiful drawings that are so special to her little four year old self. Each one of them means so much to her that if I suggest after the 768th one that maybe we give some to friends or throw them away after several days, she is distraught. Add this to the million art projects they bring home from preschool and church and we have ourselves a regular art studio.
My question for you is: What do you do with these masterpieces? I mean, really, they are all so cute and I'm not ungrateful that they love to draw but I'm afraid we will lose Brother under a mound of paper soon. How do you decide what to keep and what to toss? How do you store those you decide to keep? Do you display any in your home and how? My refrigerator has no more space to display any. I promise to name my next kid after you beautiful people who help me. Ok, probably not that but I'll be thankful! How's that?
(Also, if anyone can tell me what to do with Brother and his current lack of sleeping, I'd sing you a song. He's staying up until 11, talking to himself and then up by 6:30 and trying to skip nap. He's two. He's grouchy without sleep. I'm tired.)
Be sure to visit Shannon for more tips!
Saturday, November 3, 2007
I had a plan this year. We live on base now and usually, base housing gets inundated with fun little people in search of treats. But, I'm smart and realized that we live on the end of the last street on base before you get to office buildings so I didn't over do it. I bought two big bags of candy and tried to get ones that weren't full of stuff I loved. We sat out with our neighbors and I think when kids came by, they only took from either my bowl or theirs, but not both. We had a lot of candy left over. A LOT. Again, add this to what my kids brought home and we are left with way more candy than we started with. Not only that but now I suddenly like Butterfinger bars and have a deeper love for Kit Kats than I do for our pet fish. People. This is not good for my behind. I need to get rid of this candy. I can't very well throw it out. My conscious will get the best of me and all the thoughts of starving kids in Timbuktu will keep me up at night. I love nothing more than sleep (except maybe dark chocolate Twix...clearly, I need help) so I need another option. What in the world am I to do? I'll tell you this. Next year, I'm not buying candy to hand out. I'm taking my kids out in the very beginning of the night and then we're coming home and handing out what they've been given. Win, win.
My favorite part of the whole Halloween experience? At the first house we went to, we encountered some older kids and one of them had a scary costume on. My little Mickey Mouse (aka Brother) said, "Mama, he's not for real, right? He's just pretending?" I assured him that it was a kid dressed up like someone scary, not an actual monster with blood running down his face (as an aside: What gives? Why do 8 year olds need to look like they have been chopped to bits? Don't kids that age still like Power Rangers?) As they passed us again, Brother ran ahead a bit to catch up with them screaming, "Hey! Hey, kid! You don't scare me! You're just pretending!"
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
We're gearing up for the big day tomorrow. Sister gets to wear her costume to school for a little party and Brother gets to wear pajamas. Pajamas to school? His teacher must love me! Getting him dressed lately has been fun since he thinks it's hilarious to roll around in circles giggling while I try to wrangle his shirt over his head. And, tomorrow? I don't even have to bother. I love Halloween.
On another note, Brother learned a new trick that is catching me all sorts of funny looks from my friends and neighbors. When we are departing from someone's company, he will walk over to them, stick out his hand and say, "Hey buddy, slap me a hot one!" No one gets it. He wants you to give him five and do it hard so he can pull his hand back and blow on it and go, "Ow! Ow! That's hot!" Thanks Uncle Tommy. We owe you one. Anything else you'd like to teach my two year old?
Sunday, October 21, 2007
We were getting out of the car at home the other day and Sister was trying to get her seatbelt unbuckled. She was struggling so I opened her door to see if I could help. Exasperated, she looked up at me and said, "This thing is picking me off!"
For the record, we say "ticking" me off so I'm sure that was a derivitive. Kind of like when she's saying something silly and then says with a big grin, "I'm just cheesing!" (teasing!)
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
On another note, we are a month down in this deployment! You know what? It really stinks and I hate it. But you know what else? Time is flying by. We've been so busy and surrounded with so much love from friends, it went right by us.
Well, I need to go put on my jacket and gloves and get the kids to school. I don't care if the weather guy just said it was going to be close to 90 and humid here today. I want Fall and I'm going to get it. Either that or a heat stroke. I'll let you know which.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
I could tell you about the fact that in the last week the following things have happened in the Little People house:
*I got a new windshield in the car....a rock broke the other one
*Sister went on her very first ever field trip (and after dropping her off, I cried like a baby...crazy!)
*While Sister was at said field trip, I had a blast hanging out with some of the other Moms from her class and left feeling less sad and more refreshed.
*Brother ate a leaf off of a tree in the front yard and spent the next 24 hours throwing up and being a real trooper through the whole thing.
*Sister was sick sick sick with allergies and it took me promising to name the next Little Person after the secretary at the clinic to get her an appt. (Thanks Tricare!)
*My Mom and Sister came for a quick visit.
*I got a new blog design! Please leave a comment and tell me how you like it! Also, if you saw the others that were up for a little bit each and then changed out, tell me what you thought of those.
So, all that gets stuck in my head and I can't think of how to make it funny. The thing is, most of the time when all of the crazy stuff happens, I find myself laughing it off and realizing that this is really a time of growth for Big Daddy and I. We are both growing in amazing ways and if that is the purpose of all of this, then I can't wait to see how I come out on the other side!
I'll be back to posting normally, I promise!
Monday, September 24, 2007
We took dinner to some friends tonight who just had their second baby, a beautiful baby girl. Sister loves babies. She has been asking for the longest time if she can have a baby sister and that desire seems to get stronger every time another friend has a baby.
As we were leaving their house after dropping of dinner, Sister sighed in the back seat.
"Mooooom, why can't you just have a baby?"
"Well, it takes a little while and we need to wait for Daddy to get back before we talk about that."
Starting to sweat, "Uh. Um. Uh. Because Daddy would be sad if he missed out on us getting a new baby." (Hey, she's only four and this is not the day to discuss this.)
After thinking for a moment, she got a genius idea.
"I think we should just surprise him! He likes surprises! He'd be so happy!"
No, sweetie. That's not the kind of surprise Daddies who have been away for a long time want to come home to. :)
**Let me just say, I have the best readers/friends in the whole world. You are all just the kind of friends I prayed that God would give me for these long months ahead. Thank you so much for your loving words. I'm encouraged and uplifted more than I can tell you!**
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Then, it was all over and the house was clean and quiet. Then, I had a rock hit the windshield of the car while I was driving with the kids and in addition to scaring us all to death, cracked the windshield in a mighty way. That was all yesterday. Once the kids went down for nap, I pretty much hit rock bottom. I was praying with all my might, telling God that I just don't think I can do this without Big Daddy. I miss him so much that my insides ache when I think of him. We haven't been able to talk as much as I thought we would and email "conversations" can be tricky with the time difference. I know, it could be worse. His deployment could be longer. He could be in a much more dangerous place. None of that makes me feel better in the moments that I just want to hold him.
I did get to talk to him yesterday afternoon and today is a new day. (A new day in which I cut the grass ALL.BY.MYSELF!!) So, to make a long story even longer, I'm Ok. I think, maybe, we'll get to the point where I don't cry when the kids are asleep and the house gets quiet...maybe. Truth be told, I've only had a couple of really hard days and yesterday was one of them. Thank you for asking, Kat....I hope I didn't make you wish you hadn't. :) I promise to all of my readers that I won't be whiny through this whole deployment. This is it. If everyone is right, two weeks have passed and I should be home free. Smooth sailing and happy posts from here on out. Ok, I can't promise that but I can promise not to whine all the time!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Anyway, Brother's first day was fabulous and he loved every second of it! When I picked him up, his teachers were giggling and telling me that they loved watching Brother dance. One said that she turned on the music and turned around to tell the kids that it was time to dance when she noticed Brother shaking his booty to the music with his eyes closed and hands in the air. I have no idea where he learned that move. Ahem.
The second day, when I came to pick him up, he was in the front of the line of kids, at the door ready to walk down the hall. I looked down at him and smiled and he met my smile with his "mean face". I asked why he was upset and he just hugged my leg and continued the grumpy look. His teacher speculated that it was probably because he was chosen to be line leader right before I came and now I was taking him away from his moment in the spotlight. I felt a little guilty but we had someplace to be so I just scooted out the door, holding brother in my arms. His little face was buried in my shoulder and I was trying to pry the details of his fun day out of him. He wasn't hearing it.
"I NEVER want to go to this school again!!"
"Brother, you love your school. Why don't you want to come back?"
"Because I don't like to line up. Lining up is not fun." All said with lips out like a duck and a very furrowed brow.
Apparently, he's over that because since Saturday, he's been asking if it was Wednesday yet so he can go back to school.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Brother's first day was today. I'll have to report on that tomorrow. After my tears have dried.
I will tell you though that Sister is very concerned. Here's a conversation that happened between us a few days ago.
Sister: Mom, I am really worried and nervous.
Me: About what, sweetie?
Sister: About you.
Me: (Swinging head around from front seat) What? Why?
Sister: It's just that when Brother and Me are in school on Wednesdays and Fridays, you will be all alone and I'm afraid you won't have anything to do. What will you do, Mama? You'll be
all alone without us there. Will you be sad? (She's all about compassion.)
Me: I'm sure I'll be fine. Don't you worry about me. *Smiling at my big girl*
Monday, September 10, 2007
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Thursday, September 6, 2007
I love you bigger than the world, Big Daddy. Come back home safe and soon. I can't wait to kiss you again.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
The only problem with being worked in is that it takes quite a bit longer because you are essentially sharing a time slot with someone else and while your color sits, they get attention and vice versa. No problem. I brought my book and I was set.
I'm ok with this, I like Seth Green. That is until Seth, who will from this point forward be known as Gorilla Hands, started ripping the foil out of my hair. I was gripping the side of the chair trying not to look like a wuss. After all, surely he's done this before, right? Finally, I start exaggerating (but only slightly) my head motions with each pull so it looks like he's yanking my head from my neck in a game of tug-o-war. He still doesn't catch on but he's finally got them all out and it's time for the shampoo. Whew. No harm can be done in a simple shampoo. Except. It can when Gorilla Hands is on the job. At one point, I had to look back to make sure he hadn't attached a weed whacker to my head because the boy was killing me. Not only that, he kept splashing water in my face. After a few more exaggerated moves to wipe down my soaked face, I started peeking around for the hidden camera. After all, Seth Green is a notorious prankster and is always ambushing people for a laugh. I'm certain this is really him and I'm now on TV and for sure that must mean that my services here today will be free.
To ease the pain coming from my scalp and the fear of drowning that's setting in as more water is on my face than in the sink, I am thinking of all the fabulous places this little prank can take me. I could be on Oprah. This could be my big break. She'll have me on and tell me what a good sport I was about the whole ordeal and give me a vacation and a makeover complete with a reunion with my favorite teacher from fourth grade, Mrs. Mozingo.
Wake up, Heather, your scalp is on fire and no one has a camera. Gorilla Hands has slapped on some gloss and forgotten me. As the pain starts seeping down into my lower extremities from the chemical concoction, I hear him ask my stylist how long he should let "that stuff" sit on my hair.
OH.MY.LAW. Two minutes was up twenty two minutes ago. He races over to me and starts rinsing with a fury that makes our previous encounter seem like a lovely fondling to my poor scalp. After this, he moves over to rinse someone next to me and as he's rinsing her, HE SPLASHES WATER ON MY FACE. From the next bowl. Are you kidding me, Seth? Where's the camera? Where's Oprah?
When my stylist came over to complete my 'do, I thanked her for returning. When she started my scalp massage and conditioning rinse, I begged her never to take her angelic gentle hands away from me. When she checked me out, I looked at the calendar and booked an appointment four weeks in advance. I've learned my lesson about getting worked in.
Monday, August 27, 2007
At this point, Big Daddy hears my groans over the sound of his tooth brushing and comes in to see what the problem is. I tell him my issue and he can't figure it out either. We decide to turn off the TV and sleep and just take our chances on the weather.
This morning, Big Daddy goes downstairs to let the dog out and it takes him a longer than usual time to come back.
Me: "What took so long?"
Him: "I had to let the dog out and yell at him."
Me: "WHAT? Why would you do that?"
Him: "Because he's the reason you couldn't watch the news last night. He chewed through the cable line that connects to our room. Don't worry, he only got through half of it so you'll still be able to watch all channels above 25 but no local stations."
Dang dog. That's ok. I did watch the weather tonight. For Alaska. Tomorrow I'm planning to wear a turtleneck and boots. I'll just have to improvise with my weather planning.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
I asked the teacher at our end of year conference if it was something we should work on this summer so that she wasn't behind next year (that would be now) when school started. She assured me that there was no need to stress out and that most of the kids couldn't write their name yet in her class. I was a little reassured by that and thought little of it all summer. Sure, we've sat down with Sister a couple of times and let her try to copy my writing of her name on paper. She is a perfectionist and if it doesn't start out just right for her, she just throws in the towel and moves on to something else. I have no idea where she got that from. But, other than that, we've done no "work" over the summer. We've had play dates, we've gone to museums and the beach, we've done countless other fun activities but no practicing on the school work. I was hanging on to the reassurance I got from her teacher. Until last week.
We received a thank you note from a friend of Sister's for a birthday gift. Inside, she had not only signed her own name, she had written Sister's name across the top. She's the same age as Sister and I've always thought of her Mom as a fellow Slacker. I'm not sure why I let this bother me but I did. I thought about it and tried to rationalize that maybe I've been a little too slack in the academic skills department with my kids. After all, these are the kids they will be competing with in a few (ok, many) years for college scholarships. I'm not saying that my friend has been doing academic drills with her daughter. Quite the opposite, I think it's just something that her daughter has shown interest in and loves to do. Whereas, Sister would rather play games like "See how far your Brother can slide across the hardwood floor when you 'accidentally' put some water in his path" rather than learning to write her name and the names of her friends.
That whole thought process lasted for about thirty seconds and I realized that in the end it all evens out. By the time Sister is competing for college scholarships, writing her name will be an issue of the past. She's bright, funny, witty and smart. Why did I let those thoughts of doubt creep in and make me doubt what I've known all along is best for my kids? Because of all the hype, that's why. Well, no longer. I'm a Slacker Mom and I'm sticking to it. I'm making a shirt to wear as I take the kids to their first days of school. I'm going to set up a table at the PTA and recruit new members. I'm bringing back the notion of kids should just be kids. On the back of my shirt it will say "It All Evens Out in the End". I'm sure people will mistake that saying on the back of a Slacker Mom t-shirt to have something to do with the size of my rear, but I'll take one for the team and wear it anyway.
Monday, August 20, 2007
The author also suggests that the whole age of having your kid compete to go to the best preschool that will prepare them for Ivy League before they are out of the womb is nothing short of ridiculous. And, that kids need to learn that there are natural consequences in life to our decisions. She's not suggesting that we not protect our kids from real danger but that they should learn at some point that there are consequences to stealing your Brother's favorite Lightening McQueen. In our house, that consequence is getting clobbered to the floor by Brother and having him refuse to let you up until you repent. I don't even need to intervene. Lesson learned on both parts.
The only thing I didn't like about the book (and it's a minor thing) is that the author repeatedly says that she wants her kids to be proud of the fact that she works outside of the home and she hopes that will empower her daughter to be a stronger woman. She also comments repeatedly that her nephew is very proud of his mother, who is an attorney, for what she does and she hopes that will effect the way he sees women. That's all fine and good but what about the other side of the coin? I stay home with my kids and I think that they will be equally as proud of their mom and the areas in which I excel. They will never doubt that I am a strong woman. As a matter of fact, with Big Daddy's job and the natural single parenting that gets passed along to me because of it, I believe that they will never be able to deny my strength or be proud of how hard I work to raise them. I think that the author didn't do enough to encourage the Mothers that don't "work" outside of the home. It just peeved me a little to read a book that I really liked but felt like in the end, it wasn't really giving me the props I deserve.
I think that the whole working moms/stay at home moms debate is ludicrous. I think we are all moms who desperately love our kids and would do anything for them. We want what is best for them and do our best to make sure that happens. Period. Why can't we all just agree that being a Mom in any form is hard but also the most rewarding thing we could possibly experience this side of Heaven.
At any rate, this is a good book and I recommend it but don't say you haven't been warned if you don't work outside of the home. By the way, I never did get to the whole point of the post so that will have to wait until tomorrow's post. I've rambled on too long now and if I keep going on and on, my Slacker Mom card will be revoked.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
13: Number of hours in the car that those children were awake and
7,496: Number of times over the past several days I pleaded with my son to PLEASE walk faster than a snail's pace.
7,477: Times he couldn't hear me pleading because he was so far immersed into his own world of looking at leaves, rocks, dirt to bother with me.
5: Number of hours we spent walking around the zoo at a snail's pace, still not seeing all of the animals.
100: Degrees. At the zoo. For five hours. Enough said.
7: Trips to Starbucks.
4: Fantastic days spent with incredible friends, laughing until my face hurt.
1: Happy Mommy to be home, about to sleep in her own bed.
24: Hours until Big Daddy gets home to sleep in that bed next to me.
I'm tempted to sleep until he gets here to make the time pass quicker. Wait a second. Back to reality. I'll be up with the sun because the kids will be so! happy! to be home with all of their toys and their dog again.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
We'll be back home in a couple of days and I'm sure I'll have stories to tell!
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
With Big Daddy leaving soon for parts unknown, I had heard that sleeping in the same room could possibly help them cope with missing him. Then, there was an article in Parents magazine that made sharing a room sound like a wonderful bonding experience for siblings. I fell for it and presented the case to Big Daddy for the little people. He's pretty much up for anything so we gave it a try. Perfect timing too, since we picked up Brother's new mattress and bed this week. Could it be a sign that everything is fitting into place and they will co-habitate happily this time?
Not a chance. Bonding is one thing. Keeping each other up until way past Mommy's bed time by singing, dancing and laughing is another. Every single time I go in there to warn them of their impending separation, everything from Brother's bed is on the floor and he's dancing a jig in the middle of the bed. Sister, of course, is laying on her bed acting like she has no idea what is going on and she just woke up when I busted up in their crib. She's a good actress, that one. After three days of numerous warnings, second chances and every time ending with Brother back in his own room in the crib, I'm at the end of my rope. I'm not sure if this whole sharing a room thing is going to work for us and it makes me a little sad because I want them to bond. Not that they aren't bonding with all the hoopla going on until near midnight every night. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure sibling bonding gets any deeper than what I heard coming over the monitor tonight. Sister started a song and Brother joined in loudly. Their song of choice for this warm summer night? "Don't You Wish Your Boyfriend Was Short Like Me?" Bonding at it's finest.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Monday, August 6, 2007
And, you don't even have to bring me a gift. As a matter of fact, I'm giving you a gift. Leave a comment here between now and tomorrow morning (8/7/07) at 9:00 eastern time and I'll do a random drawing. Winner gets a $20 gift card to my favorite place to treat myself: STARBUCKS! Just make sure if you leave a comment that I have a way to get in touch with you. I'll announce a winner tomorrow! Go, tell your friends and if you want cake, could you bring me a big slice also?
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Every day, once the kids are down for their nap, I'm left with the huge decision: to nap or not to nap. On the one hand, I could get a lot done around the house while they sleep. On the other hand, a nap. In my bed. With my jammies on. Doesn't take a genius to figure out which hand wins on a fairly regular basis.
I have several friends who claim they just can't nap. Something about sleeping in the middle of the day doesn't appeal to them. I'm afraid I just don't get that. I love sleep like I love chocolate and most of you have been around long enough to know how deep that affection runs. I'm a person that can't survive without much sleep. I get irritable, cranky, ugly and I'm pretty sure I develop nervous ticks and a limp. Give me a good night's sleep and all is well in the morning. If there's a huge stress issue for me, I know that if I go to bed, it will seem less stressful when I wake up. Sleep cures all things for this girl. There's nothing in this world like getting to that drool on your pillow stage of euphoria where you are about to slip into dreamland. Seriously, if I realize that I have already started the drooling, I'm ecstatic because it means I'm so close to sleep that it's sure to happen. Don't even try to wake me up unless it is really important. I'll spare you the details of what happens when my drool stage is disturbed. Oh stop it, don't act like you don't drool. You know you do. Maybe not as much as me but surely everyone does it, right?
So, are you a napper? Or have you been reading this thinking I've lost my mind and may want to check in with a doctor to be treated for narcolepsy?
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
I've always said that I hate surprises. Always. Throughout childhood, my parents thought it was hilarious to take advantage of that and throw surprise parties for me just to watch me get angry and throw a temper tantrum. Big Daddy has never successfully surprised me because he's not a planner and I'm all into every detail imaginable so it's tough to get one over on me. But he did it. I've been whining for weeks that we weren't doing anything fun for my upcoming birthday and wah, wah, wah, he didn't seem to be planning anything. The day after his promotion (Saturday) he wanted to head over to the community center on base to play pool and ping pong with all of the guys since our good friends and family were here for the promotion. The plan was, boys would do that, girls would go shopping. Things were moving slower than usual in the house that morning so the kids and I weren't ready when he was but no big deal, the boys would head on out, girls would drop off Brother later when we were on our way to the mall.
As we were nearing time to leave, all of my girls here (read: Mom, BFF, Sisters) were dragging around. I hate to be late. Really. Sister #1 had to potty 12 times. BFF was text messaging her husband while laying on my bed lamenting about how tired she was (all while in conversation with me). Finally, I told her how rude it was that she was trying to text message her husband while carrying on a conversation with me. She blamed him. We finally get out the door (after every.single.one. of them had to go potty one more time).
Head over to the community center and all the guys were in playing pool. I dropped Brother's stuff, went to kiss Big Daddy goodbye and he said, "They have a great ballroom here! I was thinking that we could use it sometime for something fun." Great, great, great. There's shopping to be done, now bye and have fun.
"Can you come and look at it real quick?"
Rolling my eyes, I followed him. Open the door and there's stuff on the tables inside. I'm nothing if not bright so I observed, "There's something going on in here, we shouldn't go in." Not until I hear laughter do I realize that all of my friends and family were inside. It was a surprise birthday party for me. Early. I knew nothing of it. I still have no idea how he did it but it was the most fun I've had in a while and I didn't even mind that I didn't know about it in advance. He even made a video to be shown with pictures of me and other fun stuff. He even included the Job Description I posted here a long time ago. That man thought of everything. And, he's been planning it for months. And, some of you knew about it and didn't breathe a word. Turns out I was being stalled back at the house until everything was all set up. Turns out Big Daddy thinks this is the hardest thing he's ever done and he almost caved and told me more than once. Turns out I'm so blessed to have great friends and family and they all make turning 30 next week seem like one big party.
The bigger surprise came later that day when Big Daddy told me that he'd arranged for my Mom to stay a few extra days so that we could head down to the Outer Banks, just the two of us. We've had so much fun I'm still reeling from all of it! Mom just left today and I'm not ready to stop this party. I'm looking forward to my birthday!
Thursday, July 26, 2007
I've thought a lot about what to say and what to give to you for your promotion. Nothing seems enough. In a few weeks, you will leave us to serve your country elsewhere. This promotion seems fitting enough right now as you prepare to leave. But I don't know how to say thank you. How do you tell the person most important to you that you are so very proud of what they do and how they never seem deterred from their positive outlook on everything? I want to hold on to you like Brother does when he's begging you not to leave for work and beg you not to go. I want to pitch a big fit and yell at your superiors and tell them that it's just not fair to make you leave me. But, as I'm about to sink to that level, I look at your eyes and realize that you need to do this. It's who you are. You love your job and you love to make a difference in people's lives. I love that about you.
Stand up there tomorrow and with your big grin, accept your new rank and allow all of us to show how proud we are of you. We're proud of your job, we're proud to call you Daddy, we're proud to call you Husband, Lover and Friend. My very best friend. Your kids adore you. I adore you. You make me a better person. Your attitude makes even the gloomiest of people brighten up and have hope. Congratulations, baby. You deserve this, because you're the Big Daddy.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Toward the end of the appointment, the Doc tells me that Sister needs shots. I won't tell you how many or my reaction to him because I fear that I'd look like a bad parent and not so much a true polite southern lady. Wait, I said that while rolling my eyes, does that make me a genius?
We got over to get the shots and poor Sister was a champ through it and got the well deserved lollipop and glow in the dark band aids. Brother, upon seeing Sister receive her lollipop, decided the it'd be worth the pain.
"I want a shot."
She pulled his file and realized that he was due for one so he got one and the earned lollipop.
Later, I had an appointment of my own to attend. The Doc decided I needed to have some blood drawn down at the lab. I am nothing if not difficult so I kept my little problem to myself. The little problem that made the Red Cross write to me and ask that I stop donating blood. When I have blood drawn, I pass out. Cold. On the floor. Has been happening to me for almost 15 years now and no one can tell me why. I'm not afraid of needles or blood. I can't stop it from happening. It just does. So, after the tech blew out a vein and then fumbled for another, I debated telling her of my little issue. (I don't always tell them in advance because then they tend to think that I must be doing it on purpose by psyching myself up. Yes, please, I can't wait to pass out because it's not the utterly most humiliating experience ever. I love to do it so much, I frequently psyche myself up for it.) Not only that, when this happens, I feel like an idiot. People treat you like you must be the daintiest little whiny baby who can't handle the sight of needles. I'm not, I pinky swear.
Anyway, it happened. And, there was a whole to do about it. They paged someone and got a wheelchair and took me to a bed and wouldn't let me leave until my blood pressure went back up. Which it didn't. When I left, it was 90/50. The Doc actually suggested that I not take care of the kids on my own for the rest of the day. Pssshhht. As if.
So, we are a pretty bunch. Counting the band aids that Sister has for her scraped knee and bug bites and shots, she has 5. Brother has three. I took mine off so I just look like a heroin addict. Earlier, Sister wanted me to carry her down the stairs because her legs are too sore. I picked her up only to realize that my arms are extremely sore. Awesome.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Fast forward, kids are in bed. Big Daddy is downstairs taking out trash and such while I check on Brother (first night in the crib with no rail...prayers appreciated!) I heard a huge crash downstairs and was positive the we'd been invaded by thugs. Since no gun fire followed, I finished up some things upstairs and forgot all about it.
I came down to load the laundry and Big Daddy was standing in the kitchen. He didn't look happy.
"Don't eat the apple cake."
Let's just end this without more detail that may incriminate the guilty. Apparently Sawyer and Big Daddy aren't on speaking terms for a while. Let's also say that Sawyer is on a bit of a sugar high. Let's also say that if we don't want the good dog to get things that he shouldn't have, we should put them higher than the stove top. Like on top of the refrigerator. Or the roof.
I'm not sure what to make of the fact that my dog is even in on the conspiracy to keep me dieting. Anyone want a puppy?
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
He can climb out of his crib. Remember how I told you I was lazy on the potty training? I'm also a slacker on the moving out of the crib game. I have no desire to have Brother in a big bed. None. Everyone keeps saying that it's no big deal until he can crawl out of his crib...an act he's shown no interest in before. Until now. We were at my mother in law's house this weekend and his pack & play was parked beside of an arm chair. He learned to crawl over the side and into the chair. I was a little nervous but since there's no arm chair near his crib, I didn't lose any sleep.
But, his talent is endless. He can climb in and out at his own leisure without the arm chair. And, I'm not even allowed to help him with this new endeavor without screams of, "I DO IT MYSELF!"
What's a mom to do when in the span of three days her baby boy decides that he wants to use the potty, sleep in a big boy bed and get a tattoo? I'll tell you what. I'm refusing this whole growing up thing. It's not allowed in my house. I'm willing to make deals. If I let him get the tattoo, I wonder if he'll stay in diapers and in his crib and be my baby forever? What? The tattoo would say "Mom".
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Brother has been a potty-o-phobe. I haven't even bothered trying with him, even though he's two and a half. Sister, on the other hand, has other ideas for him. She has been chasing him around for months telling him he needs to use the big potty. His response is to put his little hands over his face and run away screaming adamantly, "NO!!!!"
Imagine my surprise today when he tells Big Daddy that he needs to use the potty. He goes in and uses the potty. Of course, he had an audience. And, who do you think was front and center? Sister! His own personal potty cheerleader. He was so excited and when he was done, he got a treat. And, so did Sister.
Later tonight, he came back to the potty and wanted to try again. I let him and he couldn't go. I don't blame him. It's tough to concentrate on your potty duty when you have a good game of electronic Yahtzee going. He finished up and washed his hands and I took him in for a treat. I scoured the cabinet and could only come up with a package of Sixlets candy that have been in there forever. I opened and gave him two. He ate them and started crying and demanding more. I told him that he can get two more when he uses the potty again. You see where this is going. He went right back to the bathroom and perched back up on the throne. And, in just a minute, he was going!! He got two more Sixlets!
Sister came around and saw what was going on and went to the potty without a word. She came out with her hand out for Sixlets. I think I've figured out why she's so anxious for him to potty train. And, I think I've almost reached the point where my kids are smarter than me.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
1. I have large feet for a woman. I'm a size 10 now, used to be a 9-9.5 before having kids. Wanna explain that whole feet getting larger with childbirth thing? I sometimes tell people I'm a 9.5 because 10 sounds way more ginormous.
2. Secretly, I have always wanted to have a large family. With Big Daddy's job moving us every 2-3 years, not likely to happen though we do want more.
3. I know I've mentioned this before but it is really my meme and I can double up if I want. And, it's really a huge part of me. I love to cook. Especially baking. Also, I'm quite adept at taking whatever ingredients I have on hand and making a fabulous dish up from scratch.
4. I can't roll my tongue. And, I'm quite jealous of those who can. Only because everyone but me can do it. My dad-check. My brother-check. Sister-check. Big Daddy-check. They love to rub it in and laugh at my pitiful attempts.
5. I'm a coffee girl. LOVE the stuff. But, I'm also a little picky. If it's regular brewed coffee, I don't love most types made in restaurants or even other people's houses. If it's espresso based, I'm not as picky.
6. I'm still deciding if I like Sawyer, the new dog. There are times I like him, like when he's playing nicely with the kids or having fun with Big Daddy running around the house like a crazed mutt. Then, there are other times. Like when he's barking his face off at 7 am. Or following me around licking me constantly even when I yell for him to stop. Seriously dude, what is that?
7. I can't eat enough white grapes. I love them and eat more than a person should be allowed. At the grocery, I find the biggest bag possible and still need more the next week. Brother inherited this from me and will always pick grapes over anything else offered. Except chocolate. I have no idea where he gets that from. (Also, a little confused as to why we don't refer to them as green grapes.)
8. This is it. I'm a dumb movie addict. By dumb movies, I mean movies that are dumb. My all time favorite? Tommy Boy, hands down. RIP Chris Farley, you fat guy in a little coat.
Ok, enough about me. Let's talk about you. What do you think about me?
I kid, I kid. Seriously, I tag Sheri and Tina. Play along!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
I went to the bottom of the stairs and called for him to meet me in the middle and tell me what's wrong. He approaches the top of the stairs with tears running down his cheeks. "Sister won't let me squeeze it." Huh?
It was then that I noticed that his hair was dripping wet and sticking up like Bart Simpson on a bad day.
"SISTER!! GET DOWN HERE!! What won't you let Brother squeeze?"
Sister approaches the top of the stairs and background music begins to play in my head. "Ooooh, oohh, we're halfway there, Oooh, Ooooh, we're living on a prayer...." Girl looked like she stepped right out of a Bon Jovi video circa 1987. We're talking big rockin' hair.
"It's your hairspray, Mom. I fixed our hair."
Yes you did, girl, yes you did. And High School Me would have been so proud. All I could do was stand there and giggle. And, of course, grab my camera to document. Today's flashback to the '80's brought to you by the Little People.
By the way, Tina, I totally thought of you while all of this was going on.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Before I had kids, I was so smart. I knew exactly how to raise them according to every text book out there. As a matter of fact, I not only majored in education, I took enough psychology courses that I could tell you how detrimental your poor parenting skills were to your kids future. I made up all of these spectacular rules that I was sure to follow as soon as I reproduced. If I saw parents in restaurants or stores or even friends with kids, I'd mock their lack of parenting skills and assure anyone who'd listen that my rules would be followed to the letter the moment I became "Mom". THEN. Then, I had kids. Here's my list of rules and the realities that would bring tears to the eyes of 20 year old me.
Rule: No child of mine will ever have a pacifier. Parents who shove that thing in their kid's mouth are just being lazy and not paying enough attention to what their kid really needs.
Reality: After each kid used me for a pacifier, I was begging and promising ponies if they'd just take the dang binky. Even for a second.
Rule: No TV. Again, be a parent and use every single second of your day entertaining and feeding the young mind that you chose to bring into existence.
Reality: D-D-D-Dora, Dora the Explorer allows me to get a shower more often than days that start with T. Bring it on chica, and thanks for teaching my kids to say, "Ayudame!!" when they need me to do things for them. Or just to watch me giggle.
Rule: Um, like, my kids will never taste sugar. No cookies, candy, cake and other junk food will ever pass their little lips because it's just not good for them and will only rot their teeth and make them hyper.
Reality: Anyone want to come to my house for juice boxes and fruit snacks? And look! I have cookies!! What kind shall I get for you? Sister likes Oreos, Brother prefers chocolate chip. BUT WAIT! That's not all! Step into my pantry of despair and pick any sugar laden item of your choice (many in your choice of annoying character!)
Rule: My kid will never ever throw a tantrum in public. He or she will be well versed in how to behave themselves and not annoy people who are just trying to enjoy a good restaurant/bookstore/shopping mall.
Reality: "Hey Sister, while you're rolling around on the floor like your clothes are on fire because I said you can't have another stuffed animal to add to the already existing zoo in your room, I'm just gonna head on over to Gap, join me when you're done, k?"
Rule: Eating food off the floor? Gross. Not my sweeties. That ten second rule thing is ridiculous and makes me want to gag.
Reality: Brother dropped his hot dog on the floor at our local favorite restaurant and without hesitation, I picked it up, wiped it off with a napkin and handed it back to him. Looking up, I caught the horrified glance of a woman whose designer duds with no visible dirty handprints were a sure sign that she doesn't yet have kids. You just wait honey, you'll get it one day.
Oh yes, oh yes. The things I have learned. Or forgotten. Which is it? I think I'll be adding to this list as time goes on because almost every day I think of something that I now allow my kids to do that I once swore would never happen. This parenting thing, it ain't for textbooks.
Feel free to add your own in the comments section!
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Today was a day to beat all. Up til lunchtime, it was grand. The kids and I snuggled in bed late and then played a few games after breakfast. For the life of me, I can't figure out how it all went downhill so quickly after that. Big Daddy was home for lunch and Sister asked if she could have dessert yet. We told her to finish the last bites of her food and her reply left us puzzled. She said, "Thank you sweet parents for guiding me in the right direction and caring so much for my dietary needs." Riiight. That was what I was hoping for. What I got was a daughter who rolled her eyes at me and then gave me the death glare. Ya'll keep in mind, she's four, not sixteen. When I told her that was inappropriate, she said, "I'm so sorry my sweet mommy, who gave suffered through hours of birth to bring me into this world. I'll forever grant you with only sweet glances of adoration from this day forward." Uh huh, I'm lying again. She hit the floor, screaming. WHAT.THE.HECK. There was no build up. Just all out screaming. We tried to send her to her room and the screaming got worse. I'm pretty sure our neighbors called Child Protective Services. Not really, but I almost did.
After a very long drawn out battle with her, I come out of her room to find that Sawyer (the dog) had gotten frightened by her shrill screams. Wanna know what Sawyer does when he's afraid? He pees. That dog has urine that smells like a dang skunk. He peed on every.single.stair. all the way down. That's 16 steps from top to bottom and every one had a puddle on it. I'm so lucky and attentive that the only way I found out was because my sock landed in the middle of a puddle and soaked it up to the ankle. Love that dog. So glad we saved his little life from the horror of the SPCA.
My day got better and better from there. So, when Big Daddy got home, I handed the kids over to him and told him I was going out. I was already scheduled to have coffee with some girlfriends but I left two hours early for that to have some quiet time. On my way to coffee, I picked up cupcakes for the girls. I just figured if I'd had a Cupcake Kind of Day that they may have also. I was so right and they were ever so glad to have cupcakes. I'm so lucky to have girlfriends who get it when I just need cupcakes to make the day end on a better note. They made me laugh and by the time I left them, I felt like I'd had a pretty great day all along. Isn't that what girlfriends are for?
I have a few left over and ya'll come on over and share some with me. I'm guessing you may have had a Cupcake Kind of Day, too. Just don't tell my Weight Watchers leader or I'll deny I ever knew you.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Now, I get to pass it on to five rockin' girls that I totally love. Ya'll go read them and tell them how much they rock! I'm passing it on to: Mommy Macchiato, Mom to the Screaming Masses, Enjoy the Journey, What Makes a Housewife Desperate (she just got back from a break!). I realize that is only four but as I was looking through my list of loved blogs, I see that most of them have a Rockin' Girl Tag already! Thanks again Sheri from My Minivan is Faster Than Yours.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
It was very sad for me to say goodbye to Uncle Ronald. He was a quirky guy who never married, never had any children of his own. When I was growing up, I remember that he would come over to my Grandparents house at least three times a week at 5:00, the time my Grandmother always had dinner on the table. (He was my Grandfather's brother.) He'd pull into the driveway and she'd say something to the effect of, "There's Ronald! Always showing up right at dinner time!" He'd come in and act genuinely surprised that he'd shown up just in time for dinner and then take his place at the table. After we were done with the meal, he'd fall asleep on the couch for a few minutes and then head out to another family member's house just in time to catch dinner with them.
Many in our family spoke of his quirky behavior as an annoyance but I thought he hung the moon. Once, he came over and picked me up from my grandparent's house and took me to dinner and the circus. He acted as if it meant nothing to him but that he merely did it out of some obligation to be nice to me. I knew better. Under that tough exterior was a man who made sure I had every single Shirt Tales stuffed animal from Hardee's kid's meals once he saw how happy the one I got the night of the circus made me. He'd show up with one hiding behind his back that he knew I didn't have and when he'd pull it out and be met with my squeals and hugs, he'd shrug me off and like I was making a big deal out of nothing. But then I'd catch his grin and know in my heart that I'd made his day by being so grateful.
As I got older, he was known to be old and grouchy to the kids in our extended family. I loved him even so. In high school, he needed a place to stay and my parents took him in. I can't remember the circumstances but I swear to this day I think he was just lonely and the chaos of a house full of people was a comfort to him. He lived with my parents off and on throughout the years and even when not living there, he was a constant at the dinner table. He'd amuse all of us with stories about his life and the many, many dirty jokes he told.
He taught me all kinds of things. Some, I'm inclined not to share because it would make me blush. A sampling of things that I think I can share? He used to tell me to say, "One smart fella, he felt smart. Two smart fellas, they both felt smart. Three smart fellas, they all felt smart." Every.single.time. I'd mess it up. Still do. You have no idea how hard it was to type that without messing it up. Let me know how you do.
The big one that remained a joke between us until the day he died was a song he taught me. He would sing it with me and I loved it. The chorus went like this,
"If You See Kay, tell her I love her."
I would belt that out and no one ever said a word. Until. I was in high school and at a youth meeting. I started singing that song to myself and my pastor's wife was appalled. I still didn't get it. She explained and I called him the second I got home. You don't get it either? Just keep singing it until you do.
This whole thing has brought about so much emotion for me. My husband's grandfather is in poor health right now. He's in his late 80's and one of the most loving yet strong people I've ever known. My own Grandmother had open heart surgery last week and is already home and defying all odds given by the doctors. We lost my husband's father this past year in a horrible accident. I feel that a generation I love so dearly is dying.
I was the only child in our family for so long that I was a mini-adult and would rather have spent my time with grown-ups than kids. To this day, I'd rather sit in a room chatting with people born generations ahead of me than to sit with my own peers. I'm sad that I'm losing them. When they are all gone, who will be the hard workers, the ones who know what it's like to work so hard and with such loyalty for your entire lives and not care that you'll never be wealthy because of it? When they are all gone, who will wear suits and ties to church? Who will be willing to pass down the legacy of what a real family is to my kids? Who will tell stories, with tears in their eyes, of what it's like to fall in love and marry so young yet stay with the one person you have adored for so long until the day God parts you? Who? Is my generation ready to step up? I hope so because I want my kids to experience the relationships that I've cherished so much from the generation that seems to be leaving me behind. I want them to know the stories about where our family came from and how they struggled to get to where we are now. I need them to know.
Goodbye Uncle Ronald, and if you see Kay, tell her I love her.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Head over the Shannon's place for more ideas that will work for you!
Monday, June 18, 2007
WANTED! Person must be willing to:
wipe little noses and butts,
kiss countless boo-boos,
act as referee for WWE wrestling (except the wrestlers are smaller with less muscles....and meaner),
watch countless hours of Handy Manny and other various Spanish speaking cartoon characters,
yell at the dog,
tame the people jumping from furniture,
play ball (sometimes with no warning until the aforementioned ball hits you in the head), drink lots of coffee,
endure LOTS AND LOTS of laundry,
read 7, 685 books,
coax little people into eating said meals,
clean up after people after they don't eat said meals,
yell at the dog,
wipe more noses and butts,
check on neighbor who just gave birth to beautiful baby girl,
DON'T eat chocolate,
DON'T yell (it scares the little people),
replace batteries in 456 noisy toys that all decided to stop working on the same day
Salary: More kisses and hugs than you can imagine from two of the cutest little people you've ever laid eyes on, snuggles and smiles from those same LP, Kisses from the most Handsome Big Daddy on the planet, sloppy licks from a cute puppy, occasionally a nap when the LP decide they're tired.
Sound like a job you're interested in? Well, too bad! It's taken. This is my job and I'm rather fond of it. Also, this is a list of things I need to do today so I'd best be off! Anything you want to add that's included in your job description?