some stuff said

As I pushed my arm into my coat sleeve, Sis ran up to me, and (without being coerced) said, "'Bye, mama. Thanks you for makin' dinner."

Is she not the sweetest thing ever?
-------------------------------------
While wiping her baby's butt, I overheard S mutter, "Bay-beee! Lay still. You have poop in your crack!"
-------------------------------------
B dropped his train on the floor, and responded with a hearty "Oh shit!"
(Shoot. I've GOT to stop the potty-mouth!)
-------------------------------------
B was whining about who-knows-what, and doing that thing where he pushes himself, face-up, across the carpet with his feet, usually in a circle. Z stood and stared at him for awhile, put his hands on his hips, and said, "Sheesh. That boy is crabby, isn't he?"

---------------------------------------------
How much do you want to know about me? If not so much, don't read on....
I wear thongs. I do. Shut up. On with the story.
Z was crying in the middle of the night. I turned the hall light on, and went in to check on him in only my night shirt and underwear. He turned over, quickly sat up, and said in a very chipper voice, "Your butt, mom?"
"Oh, Your butt?" (I left to get some pants on before seeing what he actually needed....I assumed it wasn't so important if he could be so easily distracted by my butt.)

The Tree is Up and Trimmed

So, our tree has been up for about a week, and we finally finished decorating tonight. We started a few days ago, and only half-lit (not started on fire, but put lights on...is that lighted?) the tree before our supply of lights ran out. It took forever to find typical, small, white lights. We searched seven stores, to be exact.
So, here it is....our completed tree....
and a pic of S posing in her new shirt. (She said I "hadta" take the picture. I'm just following basic commands.)

---------------------
I gave Z medicine today, for pain. He ran head-first into a piece of furniture the other day. S witnessed the "giving of the meds".
A couple minutes later, S came into the kitchen, clutching her neck, gagging, grunting, and basically freaking the heck out of me.
I tried to stay calm...I threw the dishcloth into the sink, and shakily ran to her. "What is wrong, honey? What's going on? Are you ok?"
She looked at me calmly, and replied, "Yeah, mom. I'm choking. I need my medicine."

Manipulation at its best.

Birds Get to Have All the Fun (with pics!)

We went to playgroup last Wednesday, and the kids stood in awe of the family's beautifully-adorned Christmas tree. One of the moms there promised her that our family would get a tree soon too. I didn't think much of that simple promise until S started asking me every half-hour if "we get our kissed tree NOW, mama!?"

"No, not now. You need to take a nap now. Maybe in a couple days."
"No, not now, we need to go to church now."
"Nope, not now, you have to take a bath."

And so on, for six whole days, until FINALLY, one fateful afternoon, we donned our boots and warm hats and mittens, and drove to the local Christmas tree farm. There were horses waiting to greet us. We fed the horses bits of mud and soggy grass for awhile, until a LOUD tractor rumbled up behind us. Eyes popped out of sockets, and everyone slowly, stiffly, started backing towards the safety of the barn.
B advised the family, "We not ridin' that. We noooooot." I grabbed up Z, and settled him down in a pile of hay. I walked towards B, who ran in the other direction. I caught him, and realized that Z was screaming hysterically. K and I snuggled in the hay beside all three petrified kids. The tractor rattled violently, and lurched into motion. "It's movin', mom!" squealed Z, and suddenly the world was right again, and a giant smile replaced the look of pure horror.


The tractor stopped in the middle of a giant selection of perfect Christmas trees. The tree guy started "educating" us on the various "brands" of tree. Blue spruce is prickly and good for small kids, because they will only touch it once or twice. White spruce or something is softer. And so on.
"I like that one," I said. Keith agreed.
Tree Guy was not satisfied. He wanted to display his collection. He took us further into the woods. "I like that one," said K. So did I. Tree Guy was not satisfied. He took us further and further into the woods, past more and more trees that would have been glorious in our holiday living room. Finally, we sternly said, "Yup, this tree is perfect. We want this one. It is great!"
Tree Guy studied it (for a long time), and said, "Um, that is a big tree. Are you sure you want that one? Do you have a big room to put it in?"
"No."
"You should look for something smaller."
("Ok, Tree Guy. Let's venture on.")
We did find a tree, quite a bit smaller (good thing, because our angel has a headache from her halo digging into the ceiling). We did take Tree Guy's advice about the prickles...it isn't working.

During our quest for the perfect tree, Z spent his entire time asking, "Hey, Mom! Where's the nest? Mom, where is that nest? Mom, the nest? The NEST! MOM!"
I tried for awhile to find the nest, and gave up, because it was getting dark. I looked up in trees, on the ground, on bushes, for the said nest, and my searches were in vain. I never found the nest, and Z continued to ask.

After cutting our tree, we dragged it to our waiting wagon, and Z smiled brightly, squealing, "THERE is the nest, Mom! Put me back on the nest!" (Yup, I guess to a two-year-old, the heaping pile of wagon hay looks much like Big Bird's nest!) I'm glad you found, it, Z-er!

Snot and Snow

I wiped Z's runny nose with a wipe, folded it in half, and then wiped his butt. Z pouted suddenly, sighed long and hard, and said, "MOM! I don't WANT boogies on my butt!"


This is the boys' first snowman ever. He's toddler-sized.



S begged and begged until my mom felt enormously guilty and finally invited S over for the day. She didn't get to join in the festivities today, but we will have all SIX (or so) months of winter to build more snow toddlers.

Think First

So, do you remember how I said that I sometimes experience airhead moments? Here is my latest example. Our good-looking, really-nice mechanic calls to say that he will deliver our van to us. I am grateful. He says he will come in the next half hour. We hang up.
He calls again in 30 minutes:
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Vaughn. I am looking for your house. I think I missed it, because I am right across from the school. Where are you from there?" I look across the street, and I can see a green-grey van drive by.
"Um, I think I see you. Are you driving a van?"
"Yup. That van would be yours...."
"Oh."
What was going through my brain in those two seconds before I decided to ask the question? Did I think he was coming to hang out with the family? To share my lunch? To drive over and check out the route before actually bringing my van to me? Hmmm.

And just so I don't feel as stupid, here are some dumb things other people have said in CHURCH BULLETINS: (I know, I know...lame. But read them, I was laughing like I had a few too many juice boxes. I might be extra special tired and overwhelmed, because K is gone all weekend, but I really think they might just be funny.)
1. Area Promise Keepers are having a pancake breakfast for the Community Cooperative Ministry shelter for abused and battered women. They've been touching women for Christ for ten years.
2. Barbara C remains in the hospital. She is also having trouble sleeping and requests tapes of Pastor Jack's sermons.
3. Don't forget, Ash Wednesday is Monday, March 5th.
4. God Is Good. Dr Hargreaves is better.
5. Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It is a good chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.
6. Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.
7. Next Thursday, there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.
8. Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles, and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.
9. Thank you, Lord, for the many miracles we are too blond to see.
10. The Baby shower will be at 2:00 p.m. Saturday. All ladies invited. No clothing needed.
11. "The church in the 90s -- How do I respond as a Christian woman?" Our lesson this week will be presented by Ben Cole, John Crowder, and Bill Vaught.
12. The ladies of the church are collecting items for Newborns in Need: fabric and supplies for knitting, crocheting, quilting, and sewing; finished goods; new and gently used clothing and blankets in good condition. Please place your baby in the bassinet located in the hallway.
13. The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been canceled due to a conflict.
14. Tonight's sermon: What Is Hell? Come early and listen to our choir practice.
15. Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.

Psycho Clowns

Once, a long, few minutes ago, in the small town of (oh, let's say) Wallmount, moments before the local Hallo-luia Party, there appeared a psycho clown.

He was young, and inexperienced at being psycho (and a clown), so he made his brother an accomplice."We need a girl on our team, in order to be politically correct and all....", snarled the second psycho clown. And so, along came little S. She doesn't LOOK crazy, but don't let that fool you...all clowns are crazy, aren't they?

The trio braved the feeding of a large treat-bearing elephant, they fished for giant sharks (or was that a package of Smarties?), and they picked up innocent swimming ducks with their bare hands, all in the course of a few hours. (I don't have pictures of any of the games, sorry). They were generously awarded for their bravery.

The Mama and the Papa

B, S, and Z, if you are anything like me, some day you will want to know what your mama and papa were like when they were young.... young like we ARE right now. (Shut up, readers!)
So, I was gonna tell you, and I realized I couldn't think of anything to say, except to tell you what we DO.
Here goes, from morning to night on a typical day, when Papa isn't working:

We walk into the bathroom, we look into the mirror, Papa has to prop his left eye open with a toothpick (practically). Mama’s eyes are crossed, because both of us went to bed too late last night. We were probably reading a book until close to 2 am. (I read funny novels and memoirs about crazy people, and your papa reads theology and books about Alice in Wonderland.) Anyway, it is morning, and I make some sarcastic remark about how Papa "forgot" to do his hair. He ends up slopping some waxy stuff in it and calling it good. I am mostly satisfied.
We both eat cold cereal (with really thick milk, because the doc says you punks need whole milk till you are 3 years old).
Finally, we all get dressed, and take you somewhere fun, (the museum, the beach, the park, the local gardens, out to ice-cream, the store, anywhere but home) because despite the elation YOU feel about stacking blocks and doing puzzles, Papa and I would go crazy just sitting in the house all day

What else should I say? How 'bout random stuff?
I have to poop, always, without fail, every time I have to be in front of a crowd. This particular "need" almost always makes me late to whatever important event I am attending, such as my final exam in speech class and my wedding. I get a rash all over my neck and chest when I am in front of a bunch of people. (I have learned to wear a turtleneck....I have a short-sleeved turtleneck for summer. I'm not kidding. No, I did not wear a turtleneck in our wedding.) Papa is fine with speaking and being in front of people.
I love being busy and I love people. I take the three of you to a friend's house or we go out with friends almost every day. Sometimes twice a day.
Yet, I hate entertaining people. I don't like having people over, because I feel like I am responsible if they are not having a good time. I can't take that pressure. I hate one-on-one (probably for the same reason), sometimes even with my closest friends. I do better in big groups. Papa thrives on one-on-one.
My newest haircut makes me think I should be wearing one of those collared screen-printed sweatshirts...the kind with a schoolhouse on them (or a small, furry kitten). I'm sorry if those things have come back full circle in the 2030s (or whenever you are reading this) and you have one on right now. They remind me too much of my excessively wrinkly Sunday school teacher. The one with the flannel boards. If you are over 50, they might look glorious on you. Otherwise, take it off before you read any further.
When my life feels out of control, I care more about stupid stuff, like if my house is clean and if my hair is cute. Papa only cares about his hair and clothes when life is going smoothly (not right now).
I used to think I was mentally-impaired and that people didn't want to tell me the truth about myself. I used to make my mom promise I was “normal” at least once per week. Papa still thinks he is impaired, although he blames his crazy teenage experiences. :)
Both Papa and I will eat almost anything. We went to a banquet the other night, and looked up only after we had finished everything on our plates, to notice the mostly-full plates of the people surrounding us. Apparently, the chicken was dry and the potatoes were too garlicky. The rolls were too hard, and the veggies were soggy.
I was just glad I wasn't cooking. K and I eat more because it is food, I think, and less because of how things taste, (unless that something is cheesecake).
Also, I am reminding myself of my Grandma Owen a little bit, calling my husband Papa and all, but you know what I mean. He's Papa to you. To me, he is, um, funny, smart, sometimes witty (okay, not so much), and really, really nice.

Hiding

This is what Linda found while searching for L's shoe the other day. The lid was closed, she opened it, she found this:

Perfect Illustration

Remember awhile ago, I said that B is quite intense,(and that he gets upset if Z even looks at him funny?) Here is an illustration of that emotional side of B (kind of, although you might have to admit that Z is doing more than just looking at him funny!)
A very simple conversation:
B: "No ha, ha, Mom..."
Z: "Ha, Ha."
B: "NO, Ha-ha, mom!"
Z: "Ha, Ha!"
B: "NO, HA-HA, Mom..."
and so on....and so on:

Lion

Here is (dun-duh-duh-DAH!) one more poop story:

Mama: "Z, did you poop?" (I don't know why I asked, because he smelled like STANK! I'm sure I knew the answer.)

Z: "No, Mama. Z not poop! Z clean!"

Mama: "Are you sure?"

Z: "Yes, Z not stinky!"

Mama: "Are you lyin'?"

Z: "Yup."

Mama: "You are?"

Z: "Yup, I lyin' (lion). Roar! I'm a sheep too!"

Mama: "Oh," as a went to get the wipes and a new diaper.

Helping

B will NOT poop on the potty. He stays dry. He will not poop. Except in his pants, where he then informs me of his mishap by saying calmly and clearly, "Mom... (sing-song) I pooped (also sing-song). Clean me."

Someone told me to just let him run around free-sailin'.

Since he knows how to pee on the potty, he probably wouldn't pee on the carpet, and hopefully, he wouldn't want to just poop on the floor....
The goal is that he would tell me he had to poop, and I could casually respond, "Why don't we try the potty?" He poops once on the potty, and "Wallah!" Problem solved.

I tried this what-seemed-to-be-expert advice. He stayed dry all day. He didn't poop on the carpet (like I feared he might). We decided to eat outside.
B went around the corner of our house, came back calmly and said (sing-song, again, of course) "Mom....clean me."
I walked over to the side of the house to find a brownish log on our deck. S and Z were squatted around it, amused. Entertained. Proud of their brother.

And so, in the end, my bare-butted boy managed to foil my potty-training plan again!


Sis wanted to try the potty. She sat. And sat. And sat and sat.

She didn't go.

Finally, after deciding she was done, S ran to the kitchen to find her brothers. Two seconds later, I heard "Maaaama...I peed on the floor!"

I walked over to clean it up (luckily, it was one of the only places in our house that is not carpeted), and found Z "cleaning it up with his toothbrush". B's toothbrush was in his mouth, and I hoped like heck that he had not tried to clean up the mess as well.

"I cleaned it already, mom!," Z chimed.

"Thanks, buddy. You sure are a big helper!," I mumbled in return.

Respect

So, Z just had his exit interview with his PT. She no longer thinks that he will need special education in the future, so she cannot offer PT through the special education school system. He graduated! Yay, Z!
On to the point:
He started PT at Mary Free Bed, (he still needs PT, just not special ed) and he thoroughly enjoys it. He is happy to go to see Laura. The difference, you ask? Let me compare for you:
His previous PT, let's call her Maggie: "Z, walk down the hall so I can watch how you walk." (Z tucks his chin to his chest and gazes at her, shy and embarrassed. He refuses to walk. M gets frustrated with him.)
Laura: "Hey Z! Go look out the window over there and tell me what you see. Is there grass out there? Any flowers?" (Z runs over to check it out.)

M: "Z, please stack those blocks." (Z's fingers seem to betray him when he tries to stack blocks. They get in the way, pushing blocks off of his no-higher-than-two-block-stack. They push the blocks that he has already stacked onto the floor. Z knows he has a hard time with stacking, but COLORS.....He KNOWS his colors, so he attempts to display his strong points...) "Maggie, look a green block. Purple, Maggie!" (smiling and holding up block). Maggie: "Z, you need to listen. We are not doing colors right now, we are stacking. Please stack the blocks. (Z is no longer smiling, but says "Green one, Maggie.) Maggie: "Z, you need to focus. You are not paying attention. Please put the block on top of the other one." (Z throws the block across the room...hee, hee.) Maggie to me: "Z has an attention problem. He cannot get past what he wants to do to listen to what I am telling him."
And now Laura: "Z, how 'bout we stack these cups together? Look here. There's an elephant on this one. Can you put it on top of the whale one?" (Z: "What's that, Laura?", pointing to a flamingo on the cup). Laura: "That is a flamingo, Z. Can you say that? The flamingo wants to go on top of the seal." Z: "Grey seal, Laura." Laura: "Yes! That IS a grey seal, Z. Good job." (Z puts the flamingo cup on top of the seal, smiling).
Ok, one more.
Laura sat Z on her lap with some toys, while she talked to me about her treatment plan for him. Sometimes, he would ask a question or make a statement, and she would answer, and keep going.
Maggie sat Z at a table with two THREE-PIECE puzzles and asked him to be quiet, because she needed to talk to his mom. He smiled, and did the puzzles....for about two minutes. He then said, quietly, "Mom, I want to color." M: "Z, I SAID that I needed your mom's attention. You need to be quiet and sit still." (I reminded her that he was two and was not going to sit still for 30 minutes with the "entertainment" she had offered him. I asked if he could go play in the playhouse across the room.) He played quietly for about 10 minutes before he peeked his head out and said, "Hi, mama!" M: "ZEKE. I TOLD you that you cannot interrupt. You need to stop talking to your mommy until we are done here." (Z: "Hi mama!")
I want to point out that it took just as long for M to correct Z than it took for Laura to simply respond PLEASANTLY to his questions.
I just have a few comments, and then I will be through.
First, I don't mind teaching a kid to be polite and to not interrupt when I am talking to someone. Really, I don't. But the kid is TWO. I don't think any two-year old would not interrupt for THIRTY minutes. I'm not sure that I could sit in a room with two people and be quiet for TEN minutes.
Second, if a mom is in the room with her kid and is quite obviously aware of her kid's behavior.....maybe you should let the mom deal with it. (I am all about letting the community raise your child, but I'm not sure I'd want it to look like that. I have seen it look different....and I appreciate the help. But usually, the correction I have seen from friends and family has been doled out with love).
Third, there are more respectful ways to correct a child. Would M have talked to an adult like that, if an adult had interrupted her very important meeting?
I sometimes think that adults forget that kids are people. I know that kids need to learn things that are appropriate and that they need to be corrected, but I am not convinced that correction=lack of respect. For instance, if my kid is watching TV and we need to leave, I would cringe a little if K just went and shut it off. Would he do that to me? What about "Hey, guys. I know you are watching this show, but it is time to leave, so you need to turn it off, ok? B, why don't you turn it off for me?"


I didn't realize that I would be so protective about the way that people treated my kids. Really, I shouldn't even say "people", because I haven't had this issue with people----just one person.

I am pretty positive that "do unto others...." includes the way you treat kids, doesn't it?

Camping with Cocoa

We camped again this weekend.
Same campground, same campsite, but we came alot more prepared.

We had an enormous amount of tarps.

We had a tarp for Diana and Beth's tent. We had a tarp for our tent and Bonnie's tent. We had a tarp for the wood, the picnic table, and for a spot close enough to the fire to feel like we were still camping (but not close enough for it to set our shelter aflame).

And again, it rained. Almost all night. With my head buried deep in my sleeping bag, I was imagining drops collected on top of me, and I pictured our kids sleeping in currents of flowing water....but when I sat up to check (every 20 minutes or so), everyone and everything was very, very dry. Yup, our tent closely resembled a turtle (with its bright, green tarp pulled tightly around its cheap frame), but we were (relatively) warm and not at all sopping wet. It was great.




I love that camping leaves the kids with lots of safe space to play. I didn't have to keep yelling, "No, no, you need to stay by mama. No, you cannot take Max (the dog's) bone from him. No, you cannot walk into the road. No, you cannot "swim" in the creek."

I love the less-cleanup, less-supervision, less-having-to-pay-bills-and-balance-check-books escape of camping.

I'll tell you what I DIDN'T love about this particular camping trip. I didn't love the "delicacy" we consumed called hot chocolate:
The kids were way too busy to be bothered with drinking anything, so I decided I would be a "good" mom and let them have hot chocolate. At least the kids would be tricked into drinking the milk that I mixed in with it, and the cocoa would keep us nice and warm.
We contentedly drank our cocoa by the fire, sharing it between the four of us. There was just a little bit left in the bottom of the cup when S noticed a small, whitish thing lounging on the lid of the thermos. I smiled at her reassuringly and said, "Oh, S. It's ok. It is just a....(I hesitated a second while I studied the small, white, possible marshmallow to make sure I labeled it correctly....)

"It is just a....(gag, gag, swallow, gag)....a maggot!"

There was a maggot....a MAGGOT!.....on our cocoa lid. There were even more floating and crowded together in my cup when I opened it up to check. Yup....what I thought were marshmallows melting more slowly than usual were actually clusters of maggots doing syncrenized swimming in the cocoa I had just fed to myself and all three of our kids. I do not love that so much. At all. What I assumed was Swiss Miss with Marshmallows turned out to be Swiss Miss with Maggots. I still have a lump in my throat.

Yeah, I love camping, but I probably won't brave the hot cocoa again any time soon.

"You get what you Pay for" (?)

See that tent in the background? It sucked. It didn't do (at all) what you would expect a tent to do....which is to keep the weather outside (specifically, the rain), and to keep us comfortable inside. Z and I went into the tent to take a nap (on our sopping, wet sleeping bags), and we ended up getting literally rained on. It was drip-drip-dripping onto our faces, and I kept thinking it might be less wet if we laid in a puddle outside.
That is B right before the rain became torrential. Before we decided we could no longer survive outside.

We were (thank God) invited to wait out the rain in our friend's tent, and we are so thankful for that. Not only was our tent raining inside, but it was much less boring to spend the FIVE hours singing, talking (or yelling over the rain), and reading books with others than to sit in our soaking tent by ourselves.

I wonder why we can't ever find a decent tent.

Oh. Maybe it's because we keep trying to save money by getting them at Walmart.

Huh.

Crabby

Today, I have been saying things like, "Go find someone else to talk to" or "Nom (whine), I don't want to keep helping you" and "Please don't talk to me right now" and "You are really driving me crazy" and "I don't want you on my lap".

If I wasn't saying mean things to my kids, I was ignoring them so I could get "stuff" done around the house...

For instance, I wanted to go shopping today. We have no food.

I didn't go.

I couldn't open the Word document with my list on it. My computer kept crashing every time I tried.

The kids cried and pulled at my leg (and fought by my feet) while I tried.

I gave up.

Then, Z spilled coffee in the hall when he decided he was going to deliver a cup o' Joe to his beloved Papa.

Then, K spilled coffee on the bedroom floor...a whole cup.

Then, I spilled an entire bucket of dirty wet-vac water all down the stairs on my way to clean the aforementioned (how's that for a cool word?) messes above.

Then, I said mean stuff to the kids some more...

And K told me to leave for awhile.

So I went to buy milk and cereal (the only two things I could remember off my un-openable list).

And now my kids are crying and it all starts again.

I will try it this time with more patience.

Crabby.

Energy---served up with love

K and I spent about two hours laying on the floor while our kids played. Once in awhile, one of us would moan (or sigh or yawn). We were SO tired. At one point, K mumbled, "I need Energy!"
S bolted from the floor, saying "Ok, Papa! Ok! Energy? Ok....."
And then she was gone. We could hear her rummaging around in her toys. "Bam! Boom! Crash!" I assumed she was digging herself into a giant hole, as she whipped countless objects over her little shoulders. She was on a mission....seeking out the much-desired prize.
Finally, S came bursting in the room with her box of letters, threw them all down on the floor, and started sifting through them.
"N or G, Papa! N or G!" She was so happy to "understand" her papa's request and to be able to give him JUST what the poor guy needed.

Am I a Bad Friend?

I just want to confess...yesterday, I was in the van with a friend's kids, and they were fighting. These friends are 99% perfect whenever they come over. They generally do not fight, cry, whine, stomp their feet, scream, or kick at each other. (Do you even have to ASK where I thought of the verbs I listed here?!) I started to wonder if they were robokids. But, they FOUGHT today. One pointed outside and said, "Bus". The other said, "No, truck!"
"Bus!"
"Truck!"
"BUUUUUSSSS!!"

And then.....

"Up"
"No, down!"
"NO!!!! UP!"

And I was secretly smiling in the front seat....glad that these "perfect" kids were looking a little more like the kids that we are raising.

I am not, in any way, trying to say that our kids are "bad" kids or unusually naughty. I would say they are generally pretty good....with a few "normal" fights thrown in here and there. It was more that I thought this particular friend's kids were unusually good kids. (They still are good....just a little bit closer to the normal I know.) And I am secretly (not so secretly anymore) happy about this small discovery!

Pocket-Treasures and Popcicles

The dreaded day has finally come: Our kids have figured out that the big ol' white van that obnoxiously putters through our neighborhood is not JUST the "Music Truck".































Keith asked, "Who wants to wear the princess pajamas to bed?", expecting S to answer. But notice how geeked Z is about his pretty, pink outfit.




















Two years ago, our kids could hardly breathe on their own. This week, they were swimming "by themselves".

My "babies" are big kids now.

















More evidence to their maturity? Big kids store stuff in their pockets. Now those big kids are mine. This is the first pocket-treasure I have found so far. A one-inch and somewhat adorable iguana.

Genetics

I went to the store the other day. I wrote a check to pay, and the cashier asked for my license. I didn't have it with me. My change pouch that holds my ID (and spare change) was at home. So, I ran out of the store, and sped home to get my required ID. Upon returning to the store, I opened my change purse, and then realized....my license was missing! Someone must of stolen it.

Or wait....I remember!

I had gone to the gardens with a friend that day, and had thrown my ID and membership card into the stroller, which was in the back of our van the entire time. So I went all the way home for nothing.

Airhead moments.

And K still turns the wrong way to get to church every Sunday (and Wednesday). We both get lost all of the time, even if we have been there 20 times before. Sometimes we are halfway to someone's house when we realize the dish we were supposed bring is still in the fridge.

He never remembers to take a lunch to work.

I forgot Father's day.

I once preheated an oven that I had stored a giant, cake-sized tupperware in. It took months to get rid of the burnt plastic smell whenever we baked anything. I know....healthy.

I never know people's names (usually because I am not listening when they tell me). It is surprising if I remember who I made plans with (or when or where), and I rarely make it to where I am supposed to be on time. Sorry, everyone.

Let's face it. K and I are somewhat "blonde". (Ok, maybe alot).
Yet, we both loved the academic part of school (after highschool anyway), and we both did really well.
K's blonde moments are not horrible. Mine are not any worse. But the two of us together, in one household, can sometimes prove to be amazingly annoying. We were laughing (and horrified) to think of what our poor kid's have in store for them. Most likely, our kids are genetically inclined to be intellectual airheads.

If they are anything like thier parents in years to come, our kids will readily learn from and enjoy their college classes.....after they find the class schedule (and after they remember to go back to their dorm to get the books they forgot), and if they remember what building their particular class is in.

fights

Things my kids fought about today:

Z: (While I was changing B's diaper) "B has yellow poop."
B: "No yellow poop! White poop! B have white poop."
Z: "Red poop!"
B: "No. White poop!"


Also,
September farted.
Z: "S farted."
S: "No, Z farted."
B: "No, B farted."
S: "No, S farted!"
Z: "No, Mama farted!"

And...I said, "Hey guys, while your macaroni is cooking, why don't we pick up a little bit?"
S got a big smile on her face, ran to me, lifted her hands, and said, "OK, Mama...pick S up!"