Thursday, January 08, 2009
Just a Question
I hit the "reply" button but thought to myself, "I don't have time for this." Cancel - and then off to the next thing on my list. But while the morning continues I realize that did not reply because of a lack of time. No, I did not reply because I honestly did not have an answer.
The question: when do they grow out of this stage?
The discussion is based on my theory that teenage boy brains do not work properly. It is with a friend whose male child has made what seems to be an insane series of choices in the adult mind. But trust me, in his teenage boy brain it all made perfect sense.
The situation was very "no harm, no foul" in the end. But one that leaves parents shaking their heads and thinking to themselves "What was he thinking?"
So back to the question. When do they grow out of this stage?
I wish I could say at 18 or at 20 or at any given age. But reality is that there is no magic number. Each child is born completely unique having their own strenths and weaknesses and their own journey to maturity.
Some days I experience the joy of seeing my boys do things that impress and encourage me about their journey to maturity. And other days my husband and I just look at each other with complete dismay. And, as with most things, we try to find the humor in the situation. . .sometimes that takes some time and some work!
Just choosing to recognize that they truly are fearfully and wonderfully made.
simple faith
I hit the "reply" button but thought to myself, "I don't have time for this." Cancel - and then off to the next thing on my list. But while the morning continues I realize that did not reply because of a lack of time. No, I did not reply because I honestly did not have an answer.
The question: when do they grow out of this stage?
The discussion is based on my theory that teenage boy brains do not work properly. It is with a friend whose male child has made what seems to be an insane series of choices in the adult mind. But trust me, in his teenage boy brain it all made perfect sense.
The situation was very "no harm, no foul" in the end. But one that leaves parents shaking their heads and thinking to themselves "What was he thinking?"
So back to the question. When do they grow out of this stage?
I wish I could say at 18 or at 20 or at any given age. But reality is that there is no magic number. Each child is born completely unique having their own strenths and weaknesses and their own journey to maturity.
Some days I experience the joy of seeing my boys do things that impress and encourage me about their journey to maturity. And other days my husband and I just look at each other with complete dismay. And, as with most things, we try to find the humor in the situation. . .sometimes that takes some time and some work!
Just choosing to recognize that they truly are fearfully and wonderfully made.
simple faith
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Just an Everyday Conversation
Cell Phone Boy and Red arrive at my house after school Monday. Immediately upon entering the house Cell Phone Boy says, "Guess what, Miss Faith?"
"What?"
"I can tie the cherry stem in a knot with my mouth!"
"Wow!" (what else could I possibly say?)
A short while later they are all in the kitchen looking for a snack. I inquire about which class they were in when the fire alarm went off at the high school that day. Actually it went off twice, so they were trying to tell me which class which time when. . .
"Cell Phone Boy's class set it off," declares Red.
"Really?"
It seems that a science experiment in Biology - yes, I said Biology- flamed and immediately following this incident the alarms began going off.
I pursue the conversation: "Who is your teacher?"
The response is my younger son's wrestling coach from last winter. Now I am really laughing.
"What did he do?"
"He was just smiling," responds Cell Phone Boy.
"His 'I am smiling so I don't kill you' smile or his laughing smile - because you know he has two smiles," I ask.
Cell Phone Boy gives me a knowing look and says, "Oh yeah, I know. I think he thought it was funny."
Just choosing to find the humor in every day. . .
simple faith
Cell Phone Boy and Red arrive at my house after school Monday. Immediately upon entering the house Cell Phone Boy says, "Guess what, Miss Faith?"
"What?"
"I can tie the cherry stem in a knot with my mouth!"
"Wow!" (what else could I possibly say?)
A short while later they are all in the kitchen looking for a snack. I inquire about which class they were in when the fire alarm went off at the high school that day. Actually it went off twice, so they were trying to tell me which class which time when. . .
"Cell Phone Boy's class set it off," declares Red.
"Really?"
It seems that a science experiment in Biology - yes, I said Biology- flamed and immediately following this incident the alarms began going off.
I pursue the conversation: "Who is your teacher?"
The response is my younger son's wrestling coach from last winter. Now I am really laughing.
"What did he do?"
"He was just smiling," responds Cell Phone Boy.
"His 'I am smiling so I don't kill you' smile or his laughing smile - because you know he has two smiles," I ask.
Cell Phone Boy gives me a knowing look and says, "Oh yeah, I know. I think he thought it was funny."
Just choosing to find the humor in every day. . .
simple faith
Friday, September 05, 2008
Boys Will Be Boys
"That's the Red Beast," claims my younger son as we pass a friend's house in the 'hood. He is referring to the red SUV the boy drives.
I don't recall responding, but Game Boy who is with us picks up the conversation. They begin discussing how my older son's vehicle is called the Blue Power Ranger. My younger son has to explain to Game Boy that this is because his truck model is actually a Ford Ranger - get it? (I thought they called it the Lone Ranger. Shows what I know. . .)
The conversation continues with them discussing what they would call other vehicles if they or their friends owned them.
If they had a yellow vehicle you could call them "Bumblebee" - I think that is a Transformer.
If my youngest son had a Chrysler 300 he would call it "Sparta" - the movie 300 is one of his favorites. You may want to note that his chances of having one of these vehicles as his first car is slim to none. But he does have good taste!
If Game Boy gets his mom's gold car he will be Gold Dust. But if he gets his dad's white Jaguar - well he will rule the world of cool. They couldn't even come up with something to call that. . .and chances are they won't need to do so.
Eventually they make it back to the Power Ranger thing. The possibility of several colored Rangers is discussed. Game Boy declares the Green Ranger was the coolest. My son scoffs at the idea and declares the White Ranger the ultimate. And, he notes, it was the Green Ranger who turned into the White Ranger - ha!
And I am just driving along pondering how odd this conversation is on sooo many levels.
The next morning on the way to church we pass a white Ford Ranger on a car lot. I point it out to the boys and suddenly yesterday's conversation is again a topic.
My younger son shares Game Boy's view of the Power Rangers. My older son scoffs at the idea and declares that it was the Green Ranger who turned into the White Ranger - ha! And then they actually begin discussing different episodes of Power Rangers.
And I am just riding along pondering how odd this conversation is on sooo many levels.
You know, I still hear males my age asking each other, "Ginger or Mary Ann?" Do you think males my son's ages will one day ask each other, "Yellow Ranger or Pink Ranger?"
It could happen. . .
simple faith
"That's the Red Beast," claims my younger son as we pass a friend's house in the 'hood. He is referring to the red SUV the boy drives.
I don't recall responding, but Game Boy who is with us picks up the conversation. They begin discussing how my older son's vehicle is called the Blue Power Ranger. My younger son has to explain to Game Boy that this is because his truck model is actually a Ford Ranger - get it? (I thought they called it the Lone Ranger. Shows what I know. . .)
The conversation continues with them discussing what they would call other vehicles if they or their friends owned them.
If they had a yellow vehicle you could call them "Bumblebee" - I think that is a Transformer.
If my youngest son had a Chrysler 300 he would call it "Sparta" - the movie 300 is one of his favorites. You may want to note that his chances of having one of these vehicles as his first car is slim to none. But he does have good taste!
If Game Boy gets his mom's gold car he will be Gold Dust. But if he gets his dad's white Jaguar - well he will rule the world of cool. They couldn't even come up with something to call that. . .and chances are they won't need to do so.
Eventually they make it back to the Power Ranger thing. The possibility of several colored Rangers is discussed. Game Boy declares the Green Ranger was the coolest. My son scoffs at the idea and declares the White Ranger the ultimate. And, he notes, it was the Green Ranger who turned into the White Ranger - ha!
And I am just driving along pondering how odd this conversation is on sooo many levels.
The next morning on the way to church we pass a white Ford Ranger on a car lot. I point it out to the boys and suddenly yesterday's conversation is again a topic.
My younger son shares Game Boy's view of the Power Rangers. My older son scoffs at the idea and declares that it was the Green Ranger who turned into the White Ranger - ha! And then they actually begin discussing different episodes of Power Rangers.
And I am just riding along pondering how odd this conversation is on sooo many levels.
You know, I still hear males my age asking each other, "Ginger or Mary Ann?" Do you think males my son's ages will one day ask each other, "Yellow Ranger or Pink Ranger?"
It could happen. . .
simple faith
Labels: Boys
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
I Really Am Trying Hard
I believe that two necessary components to any successful relationship are communication and respect. Being the parent of two teenage boys often forces me to rethink how I live out these principals. Maintaining communication with them is more often than not difficult.
This week my husband and I have discussed on a few occasions amongst ourselves how often what we say, how we say it, and our actions affect the relationships we have. A lot of time we don't even realize this - not being able to see the trees for the forest type thing.
So, having laid that background, let me tell you how communication is going in our house this week. . .
I actually had what I would consider a very good conversation with my younger son one night. Just he and I at the dinner table. Questions were asked and answered candidly. Information from him was volunteered about other subjects. You know - an honest to goodness conversation that ends when everyone involved senses the goodness has come to an appropriate ending.
And then it occured again yesterday afternoon with my older son. He had arrived home from school alone - first time in the nine days of school. He was in his room when I returned from running errands, playing a video game. I entered his room and sensing no hostility I eventually sat in the chair next to him and watched him play. A few questions about the game were answered candidly and eventually more questions about school were answered likewise. He even volunteered information about other subjects. You know - an honest to goodness conversation that ended when everyone involved sensed the goodness had come to an appropriate ending.
I left the room feeling REALLY good about myself and the state of our world in general. Two good conversations in two days - it doesn't always happen that way in this world of parenting teenagers!!
Shortly after this my husband and I travel to PoHigh for our younger son's football scrimmage. Which also was encouraging. A head coach who was engaged in the boys and the action. Assistant coaches who also played their roles well. Boys who performed pretty well for their first outing of the season. Already a change of pace from last season.
Upon returning home I was no where near looking for a meaningful conversation with my boys. I mean, come on, I know when not to push my luck. But at some point in the evening - about the time my oldest was heading to take a shower - something obviously had altered the happy state of my little world. He was surly and exasperated with any spoken word from my mouth. He made his way to the shower letting his opinion be known.
And since I really am trying hard to work our way through this I turn to my husband and ask, "Does my tone of voice say 'kiss my (boohind)', because that is the tone I am getting back?!?!"
It takes him a couple of seconds to recover from laughing, but he assures me that he is not hearing that tone in my voice.
"Great, just checking."
Parenting is not for the faint of heart - or for those without a sense-of-humor!
simple faith
I believe that two necessary components to any successful relationship are communication and respect. Being the parent of two teenage boys often forces me to rethink how I live out these principals. Maintaining communication with them is more often than not difficult.
This week my husband and I have discussed on a few occasions amongst ourselves how often what we say, how we say it, and our actions affect the relationships we have. A lot of time we don't even realize this - not being able to see the trees for the forest type thing.
So, having laid that background, let me tell you how communication is going in our house this week. . .
I actually had what I would consider a very good conversation with my younger son one night. Just he and I at the dinner table. Questions were asked and answered candidly. Information from him was volunteered about other subjects. You know - an honest to goodness conversation that ends when everyone involved senses the goodness has come to an appropriate ending.
And then it occured again yesterday afternoon with my older son. He had arrived home from school alone - first time in the nine days of school. He was in his room when I returned from running errands, playing a video game. I entered his room and sensing no hostility I eventually sat in the chair next to him and watched him play. A few questions about the game were answered candidly and eventually more questions about school were answered likewise. He even volunteered information about other subjects. You know - an honest to goodness conversation that ended when everyone involved sensed the goodness had come to an appropriate ending.
I left the room feeling REALLY good about myself and the state of our world in general. Two good conversations in two days - it doesn't always happen that way in this world of parenting teenagers!!
Shortly after this my husband and I travel to PoHigh for our younger son's football scrimmage. Which also was encouraging. A head coach who was engaged in the boys and the action. Assistant coaches who also played their roles well. Boys who performed pretty well for their first outing of the season. Already a change of pace from last season.
Upon returning home I was no where near looking for a meaningful conversation with my boys. I mean, come on, I know when not to push my luck. But at some point in the evening - about the time my oldest was heading to take a shower - something obviously had altered the happy state of my little world. He was surly and exasperated with any spoken word from my mouth. He made his way to the shower letting his opinion be known.
And since I really am trying hard to work our way through this I turn to my husband and ask, "Does my tone of voice say 'kiss my (boohind)', because that is the tone I am getting back?!?!"
It takes him a couple of seconds to recover from laughing, but he assures me that he is not hearing that tone in my voice.
"Great, just checking."
Parenting is not for the faint of heart - or for those without a sense-of-humor!
simple faith
Monday, August 11, 2008
A Boy and His Truck
It was our oldest son's 16th birthday. He had finally helped narrow down the choices for his first vehicle. My husband, my son, Red, and myself head to the sunflower state to shop for a truck. At our second stop he lays claim to a dark blue 1999 Ford Ranger. He is happy and all is right with the world.
The next week it is time to take his driving test for his license. I make the "prepared mom" phone call to make sure we show up with all the paperwork, etc that is needed these days to take a driving test. After lunch we journey out to the testing facility and take a number. After waiting a short while, it is his turn. Height, weight, picture, fingerprint, signature - let the driving test begin!
A few short moments after the tester leaves to meet him in the parking lot she returns. It seems his brake light over the cab is out. The lone ranger cannot be used to take the test. But, we could bring out another vehicle.
No problem - we can do this. I assume that mindset and we return to the house to pick up my vehicle. We run a check on all the lights, etc before driving back out to the testing facility. Amazingly, my brake light above my rear door is out also!
My son is getting a bit frustrated, but me - no way. I continue my no problem mindset and off we go (screwdriver in hand) to an auto parts shop. . . afterall, changing a lightbulb cannot be that difficult. We get in line and I am still confident that this will go well. This store's commercials promise me a good experience with a knowledgeable and very helpful person.
To make a long story short, that was not my experience. I was also a bit surprised to find out that when you remove the light cover on the brake light that the entire mechanism comes out - wires and all. I know, I asked myself the same thing - why would it be so complicated? You should just be able to pop off the cover and replace a bulb without dealing with all sorts of wires and plastic thingies.
My mindset had deteriorated a bit - focusing more on the false advertising and poor design. But I offered one last hope. We could pick up my husband's truck and still do this testing today. My son declines and I don't blame him. I don't even like to pull the truck in and out of the garage because of its size, much less would I want to try to parallel park the thing for a driving test.
My son is disappointed but not too much. He is off to hang with some of his friends until Dad can get home to fix the problem.
After work my husband arrives home. By this time several boys are in our house playing games in the den. My husband asks my son for the key so he can take a look at the brake light.
Key? Hmmmmm. . . well I took it with me to so and so's house, and I remember showing it to so and so, hmmmm. . . . .
(This is the point in the story that all parents with teenagers are shaking their heads in sympathy or smiling because it is now us, not them.) Yes, he had lost THE ONLY key we owned to the vehicle!!!
The night was spent searching and the next day spent making phone calls. A couple of days later the locksmith shows up at our house to make new keys. We hoped that the age of the truck would mean no computer chips in the keys, but we were not that fortunate. The oldest son learned a valuable lesson when he had to write the check on his account to pay for the locksmith and keys.
It took another couple of trips to the testing place to finally obtain his license. But now he is officially licensed to drive.
And so another chapter of our lives begins.
simple faith
It was our oldest son's 16th birthday. He had finally helped narrow down the choices for his first vehicle. My husband, my son, Red, and myself head to the sunflower state to shop for a truck. At our second stop he lays claim to a dark blue 1999 Ford Ranger. He is happy and all is right with the world.
The next week it is time to take his driving test for his license. I make the "prepared mom" phone call to make sure we show up with all the paperwork, etc that is needed these days to take a driving test. After lunch we journey out to the testing facility and take a number. After waiting a short while, it is his turn. Height, weight, picture, fingerprint, signature - let the driving test begin!
A few short moments after the tester leaves to meet him in the parking lot she returns. It seems his brake light over the cab is out. The lone ranger cannot be used to take the test. But, we could bring out another vehicle.
No problem - we can do this. I assume that mindset and we return to the house to pick up my vehicle. We run a check on all the lights, etc before driving back out to the testing facility. Amazingly, my brake light above my rear door is out also!
My son is getting a bit frustrated, but me - no way. I continue my no problem mindset and off we go (screwdriver in hand) to an auto parts shop. . . afterall, changing a lightbulb cannot be that difficult. We get in line and I am still confident that this will go well. This store's commercials promise me a good experience with a knowledgeable and very helpful person.
To make a long story short, that was not my experience. I was also a bit surprised to find out that when you remove the light cover on the brake light that the entire mechanism comes out - wires and all. I know, I asked myself the same thing - why would it be so complicated? You should just be able to pop off the cover and replace a bulb without dealing with all sorts of wires and plastic thingies.
My mindset had deteriorated a bit - focusing more on the false advertising and poor design. But I offered one last hope. We could pick up my husband's truck and still do this testing today. My son declines and I don't blame him. I don't even like to pull the truck in and out of the garage because of its size, much less would I want to try to parallel park the thing for a driving test.
My son is disappointed but not too much. He is off to hang with some of his friends until Dad can get home to fix the problem.
After work my husband arrives home. By this time several boys are in our house playing games in the den. My husband asks my son for the key so he can take a look at the brake light.
Key? Hmmmmm. . . well I took it with me to so and so's house, and I remember showing it to so and so, hmmmm. . . . .
(This is the point in the story that all parents with teenagers are shaking their heads in sympathy or smiling because it is now us, not them.) Yes, he had lost THE ONLY key we owned to the vehicle!!!
The night was spent searching and the next day spent making phone calls. A couple of days later the locksmith shows up at our house to make new keys. We hoped that the age of the truck would mean no computer chips in the keys, but we were not that fortunate. The oldest son learned a valuable lesson when he had to write the check on his account to pay for the locksmith and keys.
It took another couple of trips to the testing place to finally obtain his license. But now he is officially licensed to drive.
And so another chapter of our lives begins.
simple faith
Friday, June 20, 2008
Updates. . .because life is a bit crazy
Oldest son: Working at the concession stands at a baseball complex. Staying up late, sleeping late (for him), playing worldwide on his new XBox live connection. Counting down the days until he can get his license, but not wanting to help find a vehicle.
Youngest son: Playing baseball and either talking or texting on his phone. Staying up later, sleeping really late, playing worldwide on his brother's new XBox live connection. Looking forward to baseball being over so he can hang out at the pool all day every day.
Husband: After 20 years with one company, has gone to work for a commercial bank. Coaching son's baseball team because "somebody had to do it". Decided it was time to also begin a home remodeling project - because it's best for everything to be crazy at once! Shopping for new clothes more often than ever because things are different at the new job. Somehow managing it all pretty well considering the pace things are moving at around here the last few months.
Baseball: Going pretty well considering the team was a last minute put together. I have been keeping books - pretty easy until you have to have 2 going at once when you are the home team. Most exciting thing so far. . .youngest son pitches his first no hitter! No walks, no hits, no runs!!! We were all so proud!
Basketball goal: Constant source of contention in the house. It refuses to stay up - probably has something to do with the 40 plus mph winds we have had for several weeks straight. The kicker was the day it hit my husband's pick-up when it blew over. Somehow we all survived the incident, although it was not pretty.
House: We are doing some work in the kitchen, laundry room, and bathroom. We, well actually my husband, scraped the ceiling texture off all three rooms. The house is still a minor disaster area. We are waiting for our installer to come in a couple of weeks to put up the ceiling tiles that look like tin and to put in our floor that is ceramic tile that looks like wood. It will be great once it is all done. . .whenever that will be.
Me: Trying to keep everyone and everything going with some resemblance of order and peace. And that is why my blog is so woefully out of date!
Just choosing to dance with the changing rhythms.
simple faith
Oldest son: Working at the concession stands at a baseball complex. Staying up late, sleeping late (for him), playing worldwide on his new XBox live connection. Counting down the days until he can get his license, but not wanting to help find a vehicle.
Youngest son: Playing baseball and either talking or texting on his phone. Staying up later, sleeping really late, playing worldwide on his brother's new XBox live connection. Looking forward to baseball being over so he can hang out at the pool all day every day.
Husband: After 20 years with one company, has gone to work for a commercial bank. Coaching son's baseball team because "somebody had to do it". Decided it was time to also begin a home remodeling project - because it's best for everything to be crazy at once! Shopping for new clothes more often than ever because things are different at the new job. Somehow managing it all pretty well considering the pace things are moving at around here the last few months.
Baseball: Going pretty well considering the team was a last minute put together. I have been keeping books - pretty easy until you have to have 2 going at once when you are the home team. Most exciting thing so far. . .youngest son pitches his first no hitter! No walks, no hits, no runs!!! We were all so proud!
Basketball goal: Constant source of contention in the house. It refuses to stay up - probably has something to do with the 40 plus mph winds we have had for several weeks straight. The kicker was the day it hit my husband's pick-up when it blew over. Somehow we all survived the incident, although it was not pretty.
House: We are doing some work in the kitchen, laundry room, and bathroom. We, well actually my husband, scraped the ceiling texture off all three rooms. The house is still a minor disaster area. We are waiting for our installer to come in a couple of weeks to put up the ceiling tiles that look like tin and to put in our floor that is ceramic tile that looks like wood. It will be great once it is all done. . .whenever that will be.
Me: Trying to keep everyone and everything going with some resemblance of order and peace. And that is why my blog is so woefully out of date!
Just choosing to dance with the changing rhythms.
simple faith
Monday, April 28, 2008
Just Another Night in the 'Hood
My husband and I had returned home from a dinner on Thursday night. Nix was at the house hanging with the boys. I had just changed clothes and was settling in to watch the Survivor recording when the excitement began. . .
Youngest son enters the house from playing basketball outside:
"I think Nix broke his ankle."
Simply said. No sense of urgency or sound of being overly concerned in his voice.
I pause for a split second thinking, "Yeah, right."
But I realize that Nix has not followed him in - nor has my older son.
I make my way outside and find Nix laying in the grass, obviously in pain. Great!
"Hey bud, let's roll you over so I can look at your ankle."
"I can't roll over. It hurts too bad." Crumb!
My youngest son has followed me outside. "Call his mom," I say.
I begin asking Nix questions. My youngest son returns outside, phone in hand trying to reach Nix's mom. My husband has also ventured outside.
"Have you gotten ahold of her yet?"
"No. Nobody is answering either phone." Perfect!
As this is said Nix points out that he thinks the car coming up the street is his mom. Sure enough, she pulls up - wow!
"Um, I think you may want to pull in the drive," I say.
"Is that Nix on the ground?!"
"Yeah."
Luckily Nix's mom is low key. She has taken him to the emergency room no less than 3 or 4 times this school year. Concussion, cracked ribs, broken collar bone. . .all from football season.
We eventually get him loaded in her van. She points out this would be the second broken bone in our care - the sledding incident that ended up with a broken hand a couple of winters ago. I know. . . crazy.
She will stop by the house to get her husband - and the camera. Poor Nix will have more than one page in his scrapbook of emergency room visits!
Diagnosis: torn ligament.
Treatment: brace, crutches, and lots of sympathy from junior high girls.
I think he will rebound and hopefully be well in time for all the football camps.
simple faith
My husband and I had returned home from a dinner on Thursday night. Nix was at the house hanging with the boys. I had just changed clothes and was settling in to watch the Survivor recording when the excitement began. . .
Youngest son enters the house from playing basketball outside:
"I think Nix broke his ankle."
Simply said. No sense of urgency or sound of being overly concerned in his voice.
I pause for a split second thinking, "Yeah, right."
But I realize that Nix has not followed him in - nor has my older son.
I make my way outside and find Nix laying in the grass, obviously in pain. Great!
"Hey bud, let's roll you over so I can look at your ankle."
"I can't roll over. It hurts too bad." Crumb!
My youngest son has followed me outside. "Call his mom," I say.
I begin asking Nix questions. My youngest son returns outside, phone in hand trying to reach Nix's mom. My husband has also ventured outside.
"Have you gotten ahold of her yet?"
"No. Nobody is answering either phone." Perfect!
As this is said Nix points out that he thinks the car coming up the street is his mom. Sure enough, she pulls up - wow!
"Um, I think you may want to pull in the drive," I say.
"Is that Nix on the ground?!"
"Yeah."
Luckily Nix's mom is low key. She has taken him to the emergency room no less than 3 or 4 times this school year. Concussion, cracked ribs, broken collar bone. . .all from football season.
We eventually get him loaded in her van. She points out this would be the second broken bone in our care - the sledding incident that ended up with a broken hand a couple of winters ago. I know. . . crazy.
She will stop by the house to get her husband - and the camera. Poor Nix will have more than one page in his scrapbook of emergency room visits!
Diagnosis: torn ligament.
Treatment: brace, crutches, and lots of sympathy from junior high girls.
I think he will rebound and hopefully be well in time for all the football camps.
simple faith
Friday, April 25, 2008
Laundry Lady Lamentations
Last week my people were just hanging at the house one morning. Volunteer/Meeting Girl was working on a project and preparing for a meeting. The Laundry Lady was on day 2 of trying to make the mountains of laundry disappear. It was all going calmly and relatively well - the morning seemed to be on track.
About midmorning, as meeting time was approaching, the Laundry Lady went to make the "switch". You know, taking the stuff out of the dryer and putting the next load from the washing machine to the dryer. All in hopes of repeating the process in a timely manner throughout the day.
The large load of khaki shorts and pants was in the moving process. A couple of pair were thrown in the dryer when something caught the Laundry Lady's eye. . . something icy blue - definitely out of place amongst the khaki. Further examination revealed the substance to be gum.
The Laundry Lady sighs. Volunteer/Meeting Girl checks the time. And the Queen of Hearts, well she roars, "Off with their heads!!" She obviously assumes the boys are to blame - actually everyone assumes the boys are to blame.
A deviation from the time schedule is required while the Laundry Lady shakes out every piece of clothing from the load. Also she checks every item for more gum. There is plenty to be found. She even checks each pocket of the several pair of khaki CARGO shorts and pants that make up the load. A part of her is just wanting to make sure an entire pack of gum is not still in a pocket. The Queen of Hearts is secretly hoping to find the offender.
All the items are then reloaded into the washer. Hopefully another round will get rid of any sticky stuff.
After Volunteer/Meeting Girl is back home, the Laundry Lady revisits the problem. While loading the khakis into the dryer she pulls off a few more icy blue pieces. Saying a quick prayer of protection, she pushes the start button on the dryer.
All seems to be well as she unloads the dryer. Nothing appears to be stuck together or ruined. A quick peek into the dryer shows no signs of damage either. Whew! She opens the washer to make the next "switch" and suddenly realizes she is somewhat stuck to the floor. Yes, by something icy blue.
"OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!!", yells the Queen of Hearts. But with whose head? Everyone realizes that the offender has not been identified. Calmer voices prevail. The Mom is in completely control by the time the boys are picked up from school.
This week the Laundry Lady checked ALL the pockets in the khaki load. Her findings? A couple of quarters, a movie ticket, and an entire pack of icy blue gum.
Sigh - someone is going to have to learn to do his laundry if this keeps up!
simple faith
Last week my people were just hanging at the house one morning. Volunteer/Meeting Girl was working on a project and preparing for a meeting. The Laundry Lady was on day 2 of trying to make the mountains of laundry disappear. It was all going calmly and relatively well - the morning seemed to be on track.
About midmorning, as meeting time was approaching, the Laundry Lady went to make the "switch". You know, taking the stuff out of the dryer and putting the next load from the washing machine to the dryer. All in hopes of repeating the process in a timely manner throughout the day.
The large load of khaki shorts and pants was in the moving process. A couple of pair were thrown in the dryer when something caught the Laundry Lady's eye. . . something icy blue - definitely out of place amongst the khaki. Further examination revealed the substance to be gum.
The Laundry Lady sighs. Volunteer/Meeting Girl checks the time. And the Queen of Hearts, well she roars, "Off with their heads!!" She obviously assumes the boys are to blame - actually everyone assumes the boys are to blame.
A deviation from the time schedule is required while the Laundry Lady shakes out every piece of clothing from the load. Also she checks every item for more gum. There is plenty to be found. She even checks each pocket of the several pair of khaki CARGO shorts and pants that make up the load. A part of her is just wanting to make sure an entire pack of gum is not still in a pocket. The Queen of Hearts is secretly hoping to find the offender.
All the items are then reloaded into the washer. Hopefully another round will get rid of any sticky stuff.
After Volunteer/Meeting Girl is back home, the Laundry Lady revisits the problem. While loading the khakis into the dryer she pulls off a few more icy blue pieces. Saying a quick prayer of protection, she pushes the start button on the dryer.
All seems to be well as she unloads the dryer. Nothing appears to be stuck together or ruined. A quick peek into the dryer shows no signs of damage either. Whew! She opens the washer to make the next "switch" and suddenly realizes she is somewhat stuck to the floor. Yes, by something icy blue.
"OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!!", yells the Queen of Hearts. But with whose head? Everyone realizes that the offender has not been identified. Calmer voices prevail. The Mom is in completely control by the time the boys are picked up from school.
This week the Laundry Lady checked ALL the pockets in the khaki load. Her findings? A couple of quarters, a movie ticket, and an entire pack of icy blue gum.
Sigh - someone is going to have to learn to do his laundry if this keeps up!
simple faith
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
A Whole New World
I turned around twice in my kitchen and found myself in a new world. . . . .
Last summer the neighbor's falling tree took out our basketball goal by the driveway. We finally replaced it a couple of weekends ago. Once again, the driveway was filled with boys playing some very serious pick-up games.
While preparing dinner last week I looked up to see something new - a boy I did not know in my driveway and his vehicle parked on the street. Just last spring I would have opened my door, greeted him, and introduced myself. I decided against this because, well, the boys are getting older and "the mom" doesn't need to be so June Cleaverish. I also noted that there must be more boys still in the vehicle because at least 3 of the boys from my yard had congregated that direction and seemed to be visiting with somebody.
Although I opted not to embarrass my boys, I did alert my husband to the new development. Always good for teenagers to know "the dad" is home for crowd control purposes!
At the dinner table we received a breakdown of names, etc. from the predinner game. It allowed us to at least put names and faces together.
While cleaning after dinner I hear unfamiliar voices in the driveway. This time it is a group of boys I know who have shown up to play the nightcap. They drove themselves!
I looked at my husband and said, "You realize we have just entered a new world."
And so, instead of checking the driveway to make sure I do not back over anyone's bike or scooter I will now try to avoid backing into anyone's vehicle.
Wow - things change quickly!
simple faith
I turned around twice in my kitchen and found myself in a new world. . . . .
Last summer the neighbor's falling tree took out our basketball goal by the driveway. We finally replaced it a couple of weekends ago. Once again, the driveway was filled with boys playing some very serious pick-up games.
While preparing dinner last week I looked up to see something new - a boy I did not know in my driveway and his vehicle parked on the street. Just last spring I would have opened my door, greeted him, and introduced myself. I decided against this because, well, the boys are getting older and "the mom" doesn't need to be so June Cleaverish. I also noted that there must be more boys still in the vehicle because at least 3 of the boys from my yard had congregated that direction and seemed to be visiting with somebody.
Although I opted not to embarrass my boys, I did alert my husband to the new development. Always good for teenagers to know "the dad" is home for crowd control purposes!
At the dinner table we received a breakdown of names, etc. from the predinner game. It allowed us to at least put names and faces together.
While cleaning after dinner I hear unfamiliar voices in the driveway. This time it is a group of boys I know who have shown up to play the nightcap. They drove themselves!
I looked at my husband and said, "You realize we have just entered a new world."
And so, instead of checking the driveway to make sure I do not back over anyone's bike or scooter I will now try to avoid backing into anyone's vehicle.
Wow - things change quickly!
simple faith
Friday, January 25, 2008
Girlfriend Advice
A recent response to "my oldest son just got his permit" line:
"Good luck with the permit thing - my advice, make sure he gets plenty of driving time before getting his license and call your doctor and ask for prozac."
Girlfriends - gotta' love them!
simple faith
A recent response to "my oldest son just got his permit" line:
"Good luck with the permit thing - my advice, make sure he gets plenty of driving time before getting his license and call your doctor and ask for prozac."
Girlfriends - gotta' love them!
simple faith
Labels: Boys, Just a little sassy, Life
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Milestone Day
I found myself in front of my 15 year-old's closet, trying to remember what he had worn to school that day. I remember him showing up in the kitchen dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. Since it was not going to get above freezing I had sent him back to put on something long - you know, with legs and sleeves.
I remember the navy sweats, but what shirt? There was nothing obviously missing. Try as I might, I could not remember even the color of his t-shirt, or which hoodie he had worn.
"This is crazy," I said to myself. But moms do crazy things like this - worrying about things our kids do not worry about.
The phone rings, it is the call I have been expecting.
"Mom, I'm done."
"Great! Do you want to come home and brush your hair or change?"
"No - I'm good."
"What hoodie do you have on?"
"I'm not wearing it. I am going to wear my t-shirt."
"Which t-shirt do you have on?"
"Gray Hollister. Can you just come get me? Do we have time to get something to eat?"
"We can afterwards. Be there in a minute."
I am in the van remembering this milestone day in my life. I had known for several days exactly what outfit I was going to wear and had taken much care with my hair and my make-up.
I knew worrying about clothes and hair were not going to be high on my 15 year-old's list, but his blase' attitude was a bit unnerving.
We arrive at the tag office. I have tried to give his hair a quick once over with my hand, but he pulled away. Boys! Well, this boy anyway!
It takes only a few minutes until he is official. He leaves the building with his driving permit - and his picture looks great.
He weighs his options for a treat. No, we are not getting anything triple dipped. Smoothie? Yes, I can do that.
Fifteen and a half years ago we were blessed with a beautiful baby boy who has given us much joy and laughter. The milestone days are coming quicker now. He will all too soon be journeying out on his own.
Just trying to embrace each day.
simple faith
I found myself in front of my 15 year-old's closet, trying to remember what he had worn to school that day. I remember him showing up in the kitchen dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. Since it was not going to get above freezing I had sent him back to put on something long - you know, with legs and sleeves.
I remember the navy sweats, but what shirt? There was nothing obviously missing. Try as I might, I could not remember even the color of his t-shirt, or which hoodie he had worn.
"This is crazy," I said to myself. But moms do crazy things like this - worrying about things our kids do not worry about.
The phone rings, it is the call I have been expecting.
"Mom, I'm done."
"Great! Do you want to come home and brush your hair or change?"
"No - I'm good."
"What hoodie do you have on?"
"I'm not wearing it. I am going to wear my t-shirt."
"Which t-shirt do you have on?"
"Gray Hollister. Can you just come get me? Do we have time to get something to eat?"
"We can afterwards. Be there in a minute."
I am in the van remembering this milestone day in my life. I had known for several days exactly what outfit I was going to wear and had taken much care with my hair and my make-up.
I knew worrying about clothes and hair were not going to be high on my 15 year-old's list, but his blase' attitude was a bit unnerving.
We arrive at the tag office. I have tried to give his hair a quick once over with my hand, but he pulled away. Boys! Well, this boy anyway!
It takes only a few minutes until he is official. He leaves the building with his driving permit - and his picture looks great.
He weighs his options for a treat. No, we are not getting anything triple dipped. Smoothie? Yes, I can do that.
Fifteen and a half years ago we were blessed with a beautiful baby boy who has given us much joy and laughter. The milestone days are coming quicker now. He will all too soon be journeying out on his own.
Just trying to embrace each day.
simple faith
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Naughty List
My 13 year old accidentally found himself on Santa's naughty list Christmas Eve morning.
While preparing to leave my mom's house, he tripped over one of my just-turned-four-year-old nephew's toys and broke it. (It was later repaired.)
My nephew immediately went and told Granddad and insisted my son be put on Santa's naughty list. He even handed the phone to Granddad and told him to call Santa.
Granddad did and my son found himself on the naughty list (at least in my nephew's eyes)!
At some point in the day he must have redeemed himself because Santa arrived on schedule to stuff his stocking.
simple faith
My 13 year old accidentally found himself on Santa's naughty list Christmas Eve morning.
While preparing to leave my mom's house, he tripped over one of my just-turned-four-year-old nephew's toys and broke it. (It was later repaired.)
My nephew immediately went and told Granddad and insisted my son be put on Santa's naughty list. He even handed the phone to Granddad and told him to call Santa.
Granddad did and my son found himself on the naughty list (at least in my nephew's eyes)!
At some point in the day he must have redeemed himself because Santa arrived on schedule to stuff his stocking.
simple faith
Labels: Boys
Monday, December 17, 2007
Old School
Old school. When I hear those words it brings to mind images of stuff from the 70's - you know, afros, high top canvas Converses, Boston - old school stuff.
Cell phone boy has an old school streak in him. He has always been a whistler. Lately he has been whistling "Candy Man" and "Sweet Caroline" (yes, Neil Diamond). If I had to describe him, I would say, "Adam Sandler at 14."
Saturday several boys were hanging at the frat house while the snow was falling outside, biding time until the winter formal. They were taking a lunch break from their search and destroy game on one of the gaming systems. I was in the kitchen also and heard the following:
Cell phone boy: "Let's go old school after lunch."
My ears perk up and my mind wants to move to imagining things like board games or Pong. But before my mind can wander it is moved to a state of shock and confusion.
"Let's play Halo 2!"
Halo 2?? Wait, didn't Halo 3 just come out this year? I'm not really up on the gaming stuff, but I know we have owned it less than six months. You are kidding me, right?
I am wise enough to say nothing. I know they don't really think I am cool (although I am), but no need in driving home the perception by pointing out what old school really is about!
Halo 2 - puuuleeeze!
simple faith
Old school. When I hear those words it brings to mind images of stuff from the 70's - you know, afros, high top canvas Converses, Boston - old school stuff.
Cell phone boy has an old school streak in him. He has always been a whistler. Lately he has been whistling "Candy Man" and "Sweet Caroline" (yes, Neil Diamond). If I had to describe him, I would say, "Adam Sandler at 14."
Saturday several boys were hanging at the frat house while the snow was falling outside, biding time until the winter formal. They were taking a lunch break from their search and destroy game on one of the gaming systems. I was in the kitchen also and heard the following:
Cell phone boy: "Let's go old school after lunch."
My ears perk up and my mind wants to move to imagining things like board games or Pong. But before my mind can wander it is moved to a state of shock and confusion.
"Let's play Halo 2!"
Halo 2?? Wait, didn't Halo 3 just come out this year? I'm not really up on the gaming stuff, but I know we have owned it less than six months. You are kidding me, right?
I am wise enough to say nothing. I know they don't really think I am cool (although I am), but no need in driving home the perception by pointing out what old school really is about!
Halo 2 - puuuleeeze!
simple faith
Labels: Boys
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The Drama of It All
Although I love many things about my small city on the plains, there are a few things that make me want to beat my head against the wall. Winter formal would be one of those latter things.
It is a tradition that began I don't know when, but continues today - a formal winter dance for the junior high students. I have dealt with this tradition from almost all sides: parent; chaperone; and president of school PTSA hosting it. I have not (AND WILL NOT) deal with it as dance chair. It just seems to add more drama to the ever so drama filled junior high years.
I will just share a bit of our story from this year - don't want to overburden you with all the drama.
Let's begin with our oldest son. He is not really big on this type of event, so my approach with him began just with one question, "Are you going to winter formal this year?" He answers affirmatively, which surprises me a bit, but I am glad he is venturing out for the occasion.
The next question is one that must be asked several times over the weeks leading up to the dance, "Are you taking anyone?" The answer to this question changes often. At first it is no. And then a friend asks him to take her. This creates some drama for reasons I will not go in to, but eventually I must ask. . . .
"Does she want us to pick her up or are you just meeting her there?"
"What color of dress is she wearing?" (Corsage/pictures - he can't fathom the need for this - just trust me.)
"Will she want to take pictures?"
He promises to find out the answers. The next time I inquire about these things - she has decided to go with her ex-boyfriend who cheated on her with 2 girls while they were dating. I assure him she has not made the best choice, but am secretely a bit thankful to not have those complications in our evening.
We manage to find some clothes and the issue of a pre-party to attend works itself out thanks to the POLO house.
Now on to the younger son. There really is no question as to whether or not he is attending. Any sort of social gathering calls to him like a moth to a flame. But I do have to ask if he is going with anyone. I am informed that his girlfriend is a Trojan. This is news to me - have not met her. I quickly adopt a "don't ask, don't tell policy". She is out of our school district and technically is not allowed to attend.
We manage to find some clothes and the issue of a pre-party to attend works itself out thanks to Pink's house.
I drop the boys off at their pre-parties and hang around at each for a bit. The one at POLO house is much more interesting as more and more 9th graders arrive - girls with heels and dresses and cleavage. While trying to snap a group shot of the 23 which were in attendance at that time, we ask Blondie try standing up straight and bending her knees as opposed to the hands on the knees bend over on the front row pose. A world of difference between 7th and 9th graders!!!!!
My oldest son was way out of his comfort zone at the pre-party and was hesitant as we dropped him and others off at the dance. My husband and I discussed this over dinner and were anxious to see how the evening went for both boys.
They were eventually dropped off at home by friends, with cell phone boy in tow. We inquire how the dance was. Our younger son's girlfriend did make an arrival there. That is how he spent his evening. We asked our older son if he had fun and THAT smile came across his face. He glanced at us, his brother, and cell phone boy then said that he danced with one girl all night. I knew the name but, didn't really know her.
"She was at POLO house." Oh my, Blondie!
Well, we sat up for a bit listening to all the stories. It was good to hear them all and know that our boys and their friends really are good kids.
The evening was filled with the perfect amount of drama (for our house anyways)!
simple faith
Although I love many things about my small city on the plains, there are a few things that make me want to beat my head against the wall. Winter formal would be one of those latter things.
It is a tradition that began I don't know when, but continues today - a formal winter dance for the junior high students. I have dealt with this tradition from almost all sides: parent; chaperone; and president of school PTSA hosting it. I have not (AND WILL NOT) deal with it as dance chair. It just seems to add more drama to the ever so drama filled junior high years.
I will just share a bit of our story from this year - don't want to overburden you with all the drama.
Let's begin with our oldest son. He is not really big on this type of event, so my approach with him began just with one question, "Are you going to winter formal this year?" He answers affirmatively, which surprises me a bit, but I am glad he is venturing out for the occasion.
The next question is one that must be asked several times over the weeks leading up to the dance, "Are you taking anyone?" The answer to this question changes often. At first it is no. And then a friend asks him to take her. This creates some drama for reasons I will not go in to, but eventually I must ask. . . .
"Does she want us to pick her up or are you just meeting her there?"
"What color of dress is she wearing?" (Corsage/pictures - he can't fathom the need for this - just trust me.)
"Will she want to take pictures?"
He promises to find out the answers. The next time I inquire about these things - she has decided to go with her ex-boyfriend who cheated on her with 2 girls while they were dating. I assure him she has not made the best choice, but am secretely a bit thankful to not have those complications in our evening.
We manage to find some clothes and the issue of a pre-party to attend works itself out thanks to the POLO house.
Now on to the younger son. There really is no question as to whether or not he is attending. Any sort of social gathering calls to him like a moth to a flame. But I do have to ask if he is going with anyone. I am informed that his girlfriend is a Trojan. This is news to me - have not met her. I quickly adopt a "don't ask, don't tell policy". She is out of our school district and technically is not allowed to attend.
We manage to find some clothes and the issue of a pre-party to attend works itself out thanks to Pink's house.
I drop the boys off at their pre-parties and hang around at each for a bit. The one at POLO house is much more interesting as more and more 9th graders arrive - girls with heels and dresses and cleavage. While trying to snap a group shot of the 23 which were in attendance at that time, we ask Blondie try standing up straight and bending her knees as opposed to the hands on the knees bend over on the front row pose. A world of difference between 7th and 9th graders!!!!!
My oldest son was way out of his comfort zone at the pre-party and was hesitant as we dropped him and others off at the dance. My husband and I discussed this over dinner and were anxious to see how the evening went for both boys.
They were eventually dropped off at home by friends, with cell phone boy in tow. We inquire how the dance was. Our younger son's girlfriend did make an arrival there. That is how he spent his evening. We asked our older son if he had fun and THAT smile came across his face. He glanced at us, his brother, and cell phone boy then said that he danced with one girl all night. I knew the name but, didn't really know her.
"She was at POLO house." Oh my, Blondie!
Well, we sat up for a bit listening to all the stories. It was good to hear them all and know that our boys and their friends really are good kids.
The evening was filled with the perfect amount of drama (for our house anyways)!
simple faith
Monday, December 10, 2007
You Just Never Know
It was Saturday night and we were headed out to a party. I popped my head out the kitchen door and said to the five boys playing football in the cold and wet of my lawn which was quickly becoming a skating rink:
"I ordered pizza - the money is by the front door. Take your shoes off when you come in. Somebody is tracking mud through my house!"
They reply:
"Okay."
"It wasn't me."
"Or me!"
Sunday afternoon as we pull into the drive after church and lunch I see something on my porch railing. Two socks - frozen solid. Not even a matched pair.
Somethings are better left unknown.
simple faith
It was Saturday night and we were headed out to a party. I popped my head out the kitchen door and said to the five boys playing football in the cold and wet of my lawn which was quickly becoming a skating rink:
"I ordered pizza - the money is by the front door. Take your shoes off when you come in. Somebody is tracking mud through my house!"
They reply:
"Okay."
"It wasn't me."
"Or me!"
Sunday afternoon as we pull into the drive after church and lunch I see something on my porch railing. Two socks - frozen solid. Not even a matched pair.
Somethings are better left unknown.
simple faith
Labels: Boys
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Why I Speak
It was Shade Off Drugs day during Red Ribbon Week. My fifteen year old son shows up in the kitchen sporting his Texas Hold 'em look - mirrored sun glasses, San Diego baseball cap, and an orange hoodie with the hood up.
"I like that look!", I say. "Make sure you don't loose any of that stuff at school."
"I won't." (Read that again with a 15 year-old attitude.)
"Have you seen my backpack?"
"Have you looked on your back?"
And he wonders why I say the things I say. . . .
simple faith
It was Shade Off Drugs day during Red Ribbon Week. My fifteen year old son shows up in the kitchen sporting his Texas Hold 'em look - mirrored sun glasses, San Diego baseball cap, and an orange hoodie with the hood up.
"I like that look!", I say. "Make sure you don't loose any of that stuff at school."
"I won't." (Read that again with a 15 year-old attitude.)
"Have you seen my backpack?"
"Have you looked on your back?"
And he wonders why I say the things I say. . . .
simple faith
Labels: Boys
Friday, September 28, 2007
Children's Books
I wandered in to the children's book section this week. I was needing to purchase a gift for my nephew's 2nd birthday. I had looked at the toys at the superstore, but the words "recall" kept ringing in my ears. I also found myself wondering how every toy I looked at would allow his imagination to grow. A two year old boy is fascinating to watch!
It's been a long time since I have been in the children's book section. I began by browsing the Christian books. There were several that were beautiful, but none that had the simplicity for which I was looking.
I began walking a bit more and found the Dr. Suess section. There were several board books just like I was hoping to find. I picked one up, opened it, and was immediately taken back in time.
I was sitting on a couch with a freshly bathed and jammied toddler boy snuggled up to me. We were reading "Go, Dog, Go!", complete with sound effects and drama.
Well, that book was a keeper.
Next came "Dr. Suess' ABC Book". The rhythm of reading that book came back quickly - "Big A, little A. What begins with A?" Once again I was back in one of my boy's bedrooms. This time it was a rare afternoon quiet time that they had brought a book to me to read.
Keeping that one too.
I picked up a couple of others and continued browsing. And then I found it - quite possibly one of my favorite bedtime books - "Good Night, Gorilla". And it was a board book! I smiled as I looked through it, remembering the silly antics of the baby gorilla.
Okay - I HAD to get this one also. So, I put back a couple of other books and left with the three mentioned ones.
We have a special book shelf in one of the boy's closets that holds "keepsake books". These are the ones I cannot bring myself to part with each time we clean out books. Our copy of "Good Night, Gorilla" is there. It's actually in good shape considering all it has been through - two boys. Just one loose page I need to repair and one page that is completely taped back together.
A good reminder to seize each moment, for it all passes quickly.
Carpe Diem.
simple faith
I wandered in to the children's book section this week. I was needing to purchase a gift for my nephew's 2nd birthday. I had looked at the toys at the superstore, but the words "recall" kept ringing in my ears. I also found myself wondering how every toy I looked at would allow his imagination to grow. A two year old boy is fascinating to watch!
It's been a long time since I have been in the children's book section. I began by browsing the Christian books. There were several that were beautiful, but none that had the simplicity for which I was looking.
I began walking a bit more and found the Dr. Suess section. There were several board books just like I was hoping to find. I picked one up, opened it, and was immediately taken back in time.
I was sitting on a couch with a freshly bathed and jammied toddler boy snuggled up to me. We were reading "Go, Dog, Go!", complete with sound effects and drama.
Well, that book was a keeper.
Next came "Dr. Suess' ABC Book". The rhythm of reading that book came back quickly - "Big A, little A. What begins with A?" Once again I was back in one of my boy's bedrooms. This time it was a rare afternoon quiet time that they had brought a book to me to read.
Keeping that one too.
I picked up a couple of others and continued browsing. And then I found it - quite possibly one of my favorite bedtime books - "Good Night, Gorilla". And it was a board book! I smiled as I looked through it, remembering the silly antics of the baby gorilla.
Okay - I HAD to get this one also. So, I put back a couple of other books and left with the three mentioned ones.
We have a special book shelf in one of the boy's closets that holds "keepsake books". These are the ones I cannot bring myself to part with each time we clean out books. Our copy of "Good Night, Gorilla" is there. It's actually in good shape considering all it has been through - two boys. Just one loose page I need to repair and one page that is completely taped back together.
A good reminder to seize each moment, for it all passes quickly.
Carpe Diem.
simple faith
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Hazard Pay
For a couple of years now I have petitioned for hazard pay for the laundry lady. It started a couple of summers ago when I opened the trunk of things that had spent a week at Boy Scout camp with my youngest son. The smell literally made me take a step back.
Things have not changed since. Recently I have even found myself walking through the house while they are at school spraying the Febreze like a mad woman.
The following conversation took place Saturday afternoon. My husband is driving, I am in the passenger seat and my youngest son is in the back - having just completed a football game. I have spent the few blocks from the field to our house alternating between trying to hold my breath and taking quick breaths with my hand under my nose. We are pulling into the garage when it begins.
Youngest son: "Something smells."
Mom: "It's you."
Son: "No - something smells."
Mom: "Honey, it's you."
Son: "No. The garage smells like Lowe's."
Mom: "Oh - Dad picked up some stuff for the lawn. You need to put your football stuff in the basket outside."
Yes, I said the basket outside - as in on the back patio. I have begun making him put his really smelly stuff in a laundry basket outside until the laundry lady can wash it.
Anyone want to sign a petition?
simple faith
For a couple of years now I have petitioned for hazard pay for the laundry lady. It started a couple of summers ago when I opened the trunk of things that had spent a week at Boy Scout camp with my youngest son. The smell literally made me take a step back.
Things have not changed since. Recently I have even found myself walking through the house while they are at school spraying the Febreze like a mad woman.
The following conversation took place Saturday afternoon. My husband is driving, I am in the passenger seat and my youngest son is in the back - having just completed a football game. I have spent the few blocks from the field to our house alternating between trying to hold my breath and taking quick breaths with my hand under my nose. We are pulling into the garage when it begins.
Youngest son: "Something smells."
Mom: "It's you."
Son: "No - something smells."
Mom: "Honey, it's you."
Son: "No. The garage smells like Lowe's."
Mom: "Oh - Dad picked up some stuff for the lawn. You need to put your football stuff in the basket outside."
Yes, I said the basket outside - as in on the back patio. I have begun making him put his really smelly stuff in a laundry basket outside until the laundry lady can wash it.
Anyone want to sign a petition?
simple faith
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Becoming ZITS
Sometime back, at least ten years ago, a new cartoon appeared in our local newspaper. Some of my friends loved it and declared in insightful. I did not agree with them. The cartoon featured a family of a dad, mom, and teenage son (an a college son who makes rare appearances). The teenager was lazy, clueless, and a bit sassy. The parents muttered under their breath and exchanged looks between themselves. How could this be funny? Surely my precious young children would never become such creatures.
In the course of 35 days this summer the following occured in my life: my oldest son turned 15, my youngest son turned 13, my husband and I celebrated our 20th anniversary, and I turned 40.
Over the past few years the cartoon has become more and more "meaningful" to me. I have discovered that without a sense of humor about the teenage years, you will face way too much stress and frustration. Laughter is good medicine.
So today I will freely confess, my life has become ZITS!
simple faith
Sometime back, at least ten years ago, a new cartoon appeared in our local newspaper. Some of my friends loved it and declared in insightful. I did not agree with them. The cartoon featured a family of a dad, mom, and teenage son (an a college son who makes rare appearances). The teenager was lazy, clueless, and a bit sassy. The parents muttered under their breath and exchanged looks between themselves. How could this be funny? Surely my precious young children would never become such creatures.
In the course of 35 days this summer the following occured in my life: my oldest son turned 15, my youngest son turned 13, my husband and I celebrated our 20th anniversary, and I turned 40.
Over the past few years the cartoon has become more and more "meaningful" to me. I have discovered that without a sense of humor about the teenage years, you will face way too much stress and frustration. Laughter is good medicine.
So today I will freely confess, my life has become ZITS!
simple faith
Monday, April 16, 2007
Who's Asking?
A couple of weeks ago my 14 year-old son was having a bad day. He was more than a bit out of sorts. The results of this type of day and the impaired workings of a male teenage mind left him with a broken hand.
It has been painful for him to explain to adults exactly what happened. But to make a point - he is the one who always has the explaining to do to anyone inquiring about his hand.
"What happened to your hand?"
"I got mad and hit the floor."
"What were you mad about?"
"I was mad at my mom."
Yes, sad but true.
Every time this conversation has happened, it has been a bit of an embarrassment for my son. But today the conversation was different.
We are entering the ballpark for my youngest son's baseball game. . .
"What did you hit?"
"What?"
"What did you hit?"
"Oh, the floor."
The question comes from a local high school football player/wrestler who is greatly admired by all athletic teen boys - he is also recovering from the same type of injury. Well, actually he took on a cement wall.
My 14 year old is suddenly walking lightly. I am not sure I am thrilled by the exchange. . .
My youngest son pitched the last inning. His older brother declared one of his pitches "sick" - that is a really good thing for those of you who don't speak cool teen slang.
His dad and I thought it was too!
simple faith
A couple of weeks ago my 14 year-old son was having a bad day. He was more than a bit out of sorts. The results of this type of day and the impaired workings of a male teenage mind left him with a broken hand.
It has been painful for him to explain to adults exactly what happened. But to make a point - he is the one who always has the explaining to do to anyone inquiring about his hand.
"What happened to your hand?"
"I got mad and hit the floor."
"What were you mad about?"
"I was mad at my mom."
Yes, sad but true.
Every time this conversation has happened, it has been a bit of an embarrassment for my son. But today the conversation was different.
We are entering the ballpark for my youngest son's baseball game. . .
"What did you hit?"
"What?"
"What did you hit?"
"Oh, the floor."
The question comes from a local high school football player/wrestler who is greatly admired by all athletic teen boys - he is also recovering from the same type of injury. Well, actually he took on a cement wall.
My 14 year old is suddenly walking lightly. I am not sure I am thrilled by the exchange. . .
My youngest son pitched the last inning. His older brother declared one of his pitches "sick" - that is a really good thing for those of you who don't speak cool teen slang.
His dad and I thought it was too!
simple faith
