I know you are, but what am I???

It's finally begun. And it took volunteering at Vacation Bible School to make all the tell-tale signs come together into one concise message - "I'm not as young as I used to be." Maybe concise isn't the right word. Because I could also say the message my body is telling me is "I'm not as young as you think I am."

I'm not fishing for support or kind words (or sarcastic admonition from those older than me). I'm just recording the event.

The morning after the first night of VBS, I was pretty relieved with how little soreness I had from jumping, twisting, and waving my arms about. The second night, I came home and took an Aleve. This morning (after the third night), I woke up and was surprised to find that my knees sounded like doors on a haunted house. My left shoulder ached so badly, I could hardly open the Aleve bottle. And my left achilles tendon...well, let's just say it tried to talk my left shin and calf into retaliating against me for grave injustices.

But, I have to tell you this - even if I have to run through the Emergency Room on Friday night after VBS is over; it'll be so worth it. That sea of little faces smiling and dancing and jumping around having fun come back to me every time I take a step and my knees threaten anarchy.

Tonight, I'll give my whole body a Braveheart soliloquy before VBS. And tomorrow, I'll ask Chad to open the Aleve bottle, get two out, drop them into my mouth, and pour some water down my throat. Because I won't be able to move. At all.

Then, when my body laughs derisively at me and says, "I told you you are older than you think you are." I'll respond with, "I know you are, but what am I?"

Playing at Jakey's 4-Way Grocery

When I was a kid, my great-aunt, Teenie (whose real name is Jakey), owned a gas station in Kilgore, TX. It was just down the road from my grandparents' house. When I was old enough to walk down there, it became the highlight of my visit. My cousins and I would trek through the sticky heat and enter the air-conditioned relief of her store with a dollar or two in our pockets. For me, it was always the same treats, a Chocolate Soldier (a lot like a YooHoo) and a cherry ring pop. Aunt Teenie sat behind the cash register counter and chatted with customers while we picked out our treasure. Sometimes, if I was alone and I could be talked into singing a song to her, she'd give me the drink and candy for free. She taught me songs like 'When the Moon Comes Over the Mountain' and 'Moon River' and I sang Journey's 'Open Arms' to her. It was quite the trading of pop culture between us.

Jakey's 4-Way Grocery has long since closed and time has claimed her wooden siding and roof. Vandals have given her windows a jack-o-lantern appearance and the insides are filled with family member's storage of forgotten belongings. But, she's still beautiful to me. For a girl who grew up in a more suburban setting, the store's rural decline is magical, if not bittersweet.

My parents moved back to Kilgore several years ago and live next door to my grandparents' house. I visited them this weekend and decided to take my two little ones on a walk down to the store to get some pictures.

Release the Kraken

Confession time (again). Right around the time one of my kids turns 15 months, I lose my humanity. Until they reach about 3 years old, I'm befuddled, exhausted, spacey. Symptoms of this manifest themselves in a myriad of ways.

At church, you might be in the middle of a conversation with me and I will, without dismissing myself, scamper away with wide eyes.

On the phone, you might find that you are having a conversation with two people. Or four people. It might sound something like:
"Yesterday I was at the grocery...DON'T STAND ON THE TABLE!...and the avocados were...WE DON'T EAT LEGOS!...such a good...OH NO!...I have to go...**click**

If you have been a victim of either of these situations, my apologies. You see, from 15 months to 3 years old, I feel like my every day is solely devoted to keeping my child alive. Cade in particular. I used to joke about how Stone was going to be the kid who walked out of the house with a cape and a plunger saying, "Don't ask if you really don't want to know, Mom."

But Cade...

You can only childproof your house so much. I can keep him out of sockets and ovens, and most of the time dryers, but try keeping him off couches, tables, cats, piano benches, toilets (older brothers aren't always diligent about closing bathroom doors), and weight benches. I'm convinced that dare devils are really people with faulty depth perception. Think about it.

At any rate, now that it's summer, I have some back up to help me chase him from one near-death feat to another. Pearce and Cole are invaluable partners in the cause of keeping Cade alive. When Stone was this age, we lovingly called him Babyzilla. But that term doesn't do Cade justice.

We spend our days getting from morning to nap time and then again to night-night time. And each time we let him out of his crib, someone yells, "Release the Kraken!"

Parenting by Force

I have super cool kids. Not perfect kids. I mean I can't get sappy on you and say they are little angels. They are more like imps. Or, starting into my Star Wars themed posting, they are more like Ewoks. Cute, but impish. Yes, that's a better description. In Pearce's case, though, he's less Ewok and more Anakin.

***If you are Star Wars illiterate, please see the glossary below***

Without going into detail (because you really don't want to know how Pearce got himself in trouble this time), I had to find a way to convey how important it was to trust your parents. How important it was to have your parents' trust. And, conversely, how damaging/dangerous it is NOT to trust your parents. And that's where my streak of brilliance became clear.

I sat in a conversation with him that would have looked to an outsider like a monologue on my part. Pearce sat hunched, embarrassed, resentful while I prattled on about the value of trust and the perils of lying...blah...blah...blah...
I saw his eyes glaze over and I knew the conversation was over. So, I stood and told him that I was done with what I needed to say. That if he wanted to talk to me about the importance of honesty between us, he could come to me at any time. I gave him the choice and I went on with my day.

Later, in the car, he told me he was ready to talk about trust and to be completely honest with me. This is where the lightbulb officially went *ding*!!!

I asked the boys if they remembered when Anakin started to be confused by the Emperor. He started by making decisions that he didn't feel good about, but he was told that he would have something good from it (in Ani's case, the equivalent of super powers in the force). I asked, "Do you remember while that was happening what you felt every time he had a conversation with Obi Wan or Padmé? Do you remember when she asked him, 'Ani, what's wrong?' what you wanted him to do?" Both boys passionately recalled how they wanted Anakin to TELL SOMEONE! They said, if he had just been honest with Obi Wan or Padmé, he wouldn't have gone to the dark side! That Obi Wan and Padmé loved him and would have helped him. (Can you see my brilliant conversational arc ahead?)

I asked whether they thought Obi Wan and Padmé had Anakin's best interests in mind. They said yes. I asked whether they thought the Emperor had his best interests in mind. They said, "No! He was using Anakin."

I told them that the world was the Emperor. I explained that by 'the world' I meant anyone who tried to get them to do something that they knew wasn't right. I told them that anyone who tried to get them to do something against their better judgement did not have their best interests in mind (just like the Emperor) even if they were offering something in return. Then, I explained how as a parent, all I had was their best interests in mind. I finished by saying, "I'm your Obi Wan." They looked at me with wide eyes, so I repeated it.

"I'm your Obi Wan."

So, this is my new parenting technique. Parenting by Force (also known as the Obi Wan Parenting Method):

I will only tell you the truth.
I will allow you to learn hard lessons and love you through your mistakes.
I will protect you from things that are over your head.
I will teach you how to use your powers for good and how to trust yourself.
I will love you enough to take a lightsaber through the midsection for you.

Wouldn't that make a great poster? Might happen.

Star Wars term glossary:

Anakin - a heroic, but confused character who succumbs to the draw of the 'dark side' of the force. He eventually becomes Darth Vader.

the Force (as defined by Obi Wan Kenobi) - "The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together."

Obi Wan - a major character in the Star Wars films who mentored both Anakin Skywalker and Luke Skywalker. He's the equivalent of Gandhi and Bruce Lee mixed together.

Padmé - also known as Queen Amidala. She was the Queen of a planet and a politician. She fell in love with Anakin Skywalker and became the love of his life (and mother of Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia).

The Emperor - the main antagonist in the film series.

Ewok - let's just let the picture define them

You win some; you lose some.

I find it funny how MANY pictures I have to take of my children to get one to come out. Stone in particular. His face is constantly morphing.

You know how much I like to let the pictures do the talking.

You win some:











You lose some:


Never ask a child under 6 to say cheese. It just doesn't work.



Looks like Stone smells something pretty rank.



"Is that lady really wearing spandex in public?"

In all fairness to Stone, I was playing with a new Photoshop action, so the first two are pretty fixed up. But still, what the heck is up with those facial expressions???

5K Training Update

I hope you enjoyed the humorous narrative that was my first run. I'm here because I have almost 4 complete weeks of training under my belt and I have VALUABLE lessons to share with you. You know, in case you are considering torturing your body in such an exquisite way.

Lesson One:
Remember the errant saddlebags and knees? Let's just say they are assimilated. For you Trekkers (by the by, 'Trekkers' does not cause a spell-check red flag - we geeks have come a long way), they are in the collective. However, and I stress this, my lungs and heart are still in full rebellion. They have banded together to stage a coup. They are trying very hard to keep my saddlebags around. My saddlebags must have a great personality.

Lesson Two:
If you get cocky about how well you are doing, run your routine in reverse. Today I discovered that I HAD been running downhill most of the way. Reversing the routine, well, it changed my paradigm. And gave my heart and lungs a bit of a tactical advantage...

Lesson Three:
I decided to mix up the play list a bit. I added a U2 album to my running playlist. U2 makes music for motion. The guitar player plays like he's on the move. I want to jump into a convertible and get my Grace Kelly scarf flowing to their music. If people in a horror movie had U2, they'd get away EVERY time.

Lesson Four:
Wind and humidity are evil.

That is all.

Refuge

I decided to start the C25K (Couch to 5K) program. It's a slow, regimented program that will train me to run a 5K in 9 weeks. I've had knee problems from jumping into a running program ahead of the beginning, so this time I decided to take it slow. Today was the first day of the program. So, this morning, I left the house with my cell phone and lots of optimism. I downloaded a program to my phone that sends audible tones when I'm supposed to walk and then when I need to run. It works 'on top' of my music, so I get to listen to my favorite playlist while training.

About three minutes into the 5 minute warm up, I realized something. It was quiet. I mean, there was music in my ears, but there wasn't a person around needing something. No one calling "Mamma" over and over and over again. I was alone with my favorite music and the cool April morning. Euphoria.

Until the tone rang and it was time for my first 1-minute jog. My body responded with a resounding "NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" My shins started burning after 15 seconds. My knees felt like they had sand in them. My
saddlebags protested by sending my brain messages that they were bruised beyond functioning. Just as I was thinking, "What WAS I thinking," the song I was listening to ended and I was once again reminded of the quiet. It was much more powerful than my body's rebellion.

I paid attention to my body. Felt the muscles in my legs working - allowed myself to be in awe of the human form. I felt the breeze across my cheeks. I almost wanted to close my eyes.

Another tone and I was walking for two minutes. My legs were burning. Lungs were weighted. From a 1-minute jog. This was bad. But the quiet, it was so worth it. So, I gave myself to the quiet. Listened to my music, paid attention to the pounding of my feet against the pavement. I was aware of the earth around me, of my body finally settling into the work - loosening in relief that the long winter of inactivity was over.

It was a blissful and painful 25 minutes. The secret to getting outside for a run? 11 years of motherhood to four kids. Who knew.

A whole new ball game

You'd think that, having four kids, I'd be pretty educated at this parenting thing. You wouldn't think that I'd be getting schooled by an 18-month-old. Alas...

Staying at home with children is a whole new ball game. It's sort of like this: say I was an expert at baseball. Let's compare the wisdom I gained raising Pearce and Cole to that. I'm a seasoned baseball veteran with overall good stats. Enter Stone and (especially) Cade. You've just taken me from my comfortable world of baseball and dropped me onto a cricket field. Ok, there's a pitcher, a bat, bases - looks slightly familiar. Except you call the pitcher a bowler, the batter a batsman, and the field is sort of roundish with only two bases. Suddenly, I'm in familiar-looking, but totally alien territory.

You get it? That's what it's like raising these two little ones (again, especially Cade). Case in point, this morning, I was feeling pretty cocky. Too cocky. I needed to get the Monday routine started. Mondays, I have the house cleaning to do - vacuuming, mopping, dusting, etc. - on top of my normal daily routine of laundry, dishes, and phonics with Stone. I devised a brilliant plan to keep the kids out of my hair for what I was sure was going to be along time.

Sidewalk paint.

We have a *tiny* pad of concrete out our back door that was the perfect place. They were safe, engaged, and (best of all) out of my hair.

I went to load the laundry and make the bed feeling pretty good about myself. This is what I came back to. People, I'm telling you it was no more than 3 minutes later.























































































Who am I kidding? Raising Stone is like Cricket. Raising Cade is like being dropped into Quidditch.

Good thing he's so cute. How else would he survive?

Lost - an alternate universe of my own

I know. You are used to humor. And maybe I'll throw some in here so you don't feel shell-shocked. Waylaid. I'm convinced there's a worm hole at the entrance of Pearce's school. I wake him up each morning and he stumbles into the kitchen with sleepy eyes and bed head and hugs. He still looks like a boy in the morning. He gets ready by himself - never has to be redirected anymore (ok, sometimes I have to knock on the bathroom door when the shower time goes past 10 minutes). He gets in the car and we talk, laugh, banter on the way to school. He gets out of the car, tells me he loves me and enters school...

...and becomes a clownish, distracting, unfocused menace to society. Just this year we've had two detentions, two referrals, multiple phone calls and emails from not just one, but three, teachers. What happens to my son upon entering the school? Remember my post about body snatchers? I'm convinced my theory is wrong as he's still my Pearce at home. Why can't I get through to him? Do you know how hard it is to punish him when he acts pretty awesome around me? Can you imagine how confused I am to learn that these problems are occurring? I'm exhausted from thinking about it, trying new methods of encouragement, consequence, reasoning. I live in dread of the school's phone number. And there are no positive messages coming from the school, so this year has just beaten me down. Can he really be that bad a kid and me not know it? Am I being duped by my child? Is an 11-year-old capable of keeping up a perfect farce at home? I don't know anymore.

Why does he have this split personality?

Two words.

Worm hole.

The Best Milkshake in the World

Saturday, I'm heading to Carlsbad Caverns with my mom, my two oldest boys, and my niece. I haven't been since I was around 14. I'm looking forward to seeing it with adult eyes. At 14, I was looking past stalagmites to see if there were any cute boys my age also touring the cave. Guano was mildly interesting - mostly because I've always been amused with potty humor and, come on, bat poop being used for scientific purposes is kind of funny. I also vaguely remember stalactites shaped like inappropriate body parts. I might even still have a picture of a giggling me standing in front of a calcium carbonate breast.

Mostly, though, I remember the milk shake at the end of our descent into the earth. That milkshake was the single best milkshake I'd had in my long 14 years. And to this day, I know I haven't found a milkshake to compare to it.

So, I'm looking forward to several things. For one, my mom told me that she was in charge of discipline, so I get to be fun mom (and aunt). That means cannonballs in the indoor pools, potty humor galore, and lots of jokes at Muddy's (my mom) expense. I'm looking forward to seeing my kids discover Carlsbad and see how the differ or compare to me as a kid. I 'm looking forward to getting some pictures of the cave with a digital camera (maybe even of some calcium deposit body parts or bat poop). Mostly, though, I'm looking forward to the milkshake that is waiting for me. The milkshake that has held my heart captive for 23 years. The milkshake that turned me against all other milkshakes. The Carlsbad Caverns milkshake reward for descending nearly 800 feet into the earth.

Latrine

My freshman year of college, I majored in Theater. One of my required classes was Phonetics. One of the many things Professor Caldwell said that I remember to this day was how funny the dichotomy is between a word's sound and its meaning. For instance, the word 'church' is generally thought to bring to mind a place of harmony and worship, yet the word itself is quite brutish on the tongue. Conversely, the word 'latrine' flows out of the mouth and yet it means a military toilet; conjuring images and odors not so pleasant!

I present to you a visual example of this thinking. I took these pictures several weeks back on a camping trip. I am pleased at how they turned out. They make me happy when I look at them.





However, after taking several shots of the older three boys, Chad informed me that he'd been emptying the pee bucket by throwing its contents into that same patch of grass.

Thanksgiving Traditions

Here's the step by step guide to Thanksgiving at my parents' house:

1. Keep OUT of mom's way as she prepares huge Thanksgiving feast. Seriously, walking into the kitchen is an invitation to certain death. I once watched my mom simultaneously stir green beans and disembowel my cousin for asking when dinner would be ready. The giblet gravy tasted funny that year...

2. Risk life to walk into kitchen to ask Mom if she's making plenty sweet potato casserole. It must be done.

3. Sit down at table and eat oneself into oblivion (multiple helpings of said sweet potato casserole to blame).

4. Clean up table - realize the dinner rolls are still in the freezer. I don't think we've had dinner rolls a single Thanksgiving in my lifetime. Mom buys them...they just don't make it to the table.

5. Scream at the Dallas Cowboys and referees as though they can hear you for first half of game. Recently, a new tradition has developed of explaining to grandchildren that such language cannot be used by anyone under 18.

6. Sleep open-mouthed through second half of game.

7. Wake up and descend on pies (or another helping of sweet potato casserole in my case).

8. Take football outside and throw it around talking about how we are better than (enter name of Cowboys quarterback depending on the year). Well, except for Staubach. No one defames Staubach in my family.

9. Eat leftovers and argue over who ate the piece of pie that you put a toothpick in. Why can't people respect the toothpick rule???

Good times.

Finger Sweep

In an earlier post, I wrote about Cade's quirkiness. It's hard to capture mannerisms on film, but last night while we were eating hamburgers, I finally remembered to pull out the camera while he was displaying one of his strange habits.

THIS is why we finger sweep multiple times a day. I'm a bit surprised we didn't also find a Lego Obi Wan Kenobi head. It's one of Cade's favorites. Don't judge me! You try keeping tiny Lego products off the floor with four boys running around. Tiny toys just seem to apparate.









Apparate - it's a Harry Potter word.

Preparing to be amazed

Cade just came into the office whining. In order to pacify him, I hand him one of the thousands of catalogs that have been filling our mailbox this week. He smiles at me and takes the catalog in both hands. He walks purposefully into the living room and finds just the right spot to sit down with the catalog. He sits and curiously regards the cover. I'm thinking to myself, "That baby's going to open the catalog and peruse." Just as I'm preparing to be amazed, he looks at me, grins, and thrusts the corner of the catalog into his slobbery baby mouth.

Facebook Faux Pas

Before I get into the meat of this, let me tell you a little about my personality style. I have always cared WAY too much about what people think about me. If you gave me a choice on being 'right' or 'liked', I would definitely choose 'liked'. It's been the bane of my existence in many situations. It's hard to lead a project in the corporate world worrying too much about what people think of you. This personality trait has caused me much anxiety over the years.

Ok, background set (and if you know me, you know I haven't gone deeply enough into just how true this is).

The other night, I attended a hayride party at my friends' house. This is a favorite annual party of mine and my kids. It's our first time to get dressed up for Halloween and the hosts always go all out. Over the last few years, I've met many of their neighborhood friends. There are even a few I've become acquainted with enough to look forward to seeing them again.

As I'm catching up with one woman about what's going on in my life, she asks me how my photography business is coming. I'm surprised because we just talked about how it had been a year since we've seen each other and I didn't start this business until recently. I ask her how she knew and she responds, "I read it on your Facebook page."

Here, a smarter woman would have said, "Of course!" I, on the other hand, responded by asking, "Are we Facebook friends?" Now, go back and imagine me saying that in slow motion. Go ahead and laugh, it didn't happen to you.

Luckily, this particular woman is either WAY TOO nice, or she has a firm grasp on the divinely ridiculous. I fessed up to being an idiot, asked her her last name, made the connection, and told her she was the subject of my next blog post.

There's more to the story - like how we became friends in the context of Mafia Wars instead of under the true umbrella of friendship, but I'll not sully the story by giving myself too good an excuse.

When you respond to someone with the sentence, "Are we Facebook friends?" you probably have too many Facebook friends.

Multiplicity

You know, I've always watched Funniest Home Videos with a mixed sense of smug satisfaction and veiled disappointment. I never had a kid who ran around the house banging into things with a bucket on his head. Or a kid who hides 18 frogs in her pull-up. Or a brother who paints his entire younger sibling with chocolate syrup. Obviously, I have funny kids. That comes with the territory of parenthood. But I've never had THAT kid. The one who leaves you responding with slack-jawed head- shaking. Until now.

I'm sad to say I have no video evidence of this, but I have good character witnesses who will back up my claims.

1. At 14 months old, Cade doesn't have a single word in his repertoire except "Uh." Uh means more, that, cat, no, yes, yummy, and pick me up.

2. He eats soap. He puts it in his mouth, makes a horrendous face, takes it out and looks at it, then puts it right back in his mouth to make sure it tastes that bad.

3. He likes to stick his hand RIGHT in the middle of a dirty diaper. It's impossible to change him anymore. I'd need three hands. One to lift his legs, one to do the diaper/wipe stuff, and one to keep his hands out of the action (this usually results in a bath - see #2).

4. He has discovered the joy of crawling with his forehead on the ground. He is still shocked each time he goes from rug to hardwood or over a threshold. He cries, looks at us like we put it there on purpose to torture him, and goes right back to it. He has constant rugburn on his head.

5. He hoards food. In his mouth. For hours. We fed him olives the other night and discovered olive pulp inside his cheek right before bedtime. Actually, this also applies to bugs, mud, Legos, and cat hair.

So, we have ourselves a living case of Multiplicity where my precious Cade is the tongue-shaving #4.

Don't count your chickens

I handed Stone a camera this weekend to keep him occupied while I photographed sisters at the Botanical Gardens in Ft. Worth. The pictures he got were pretty awesome. I thought I might have had an artistic genius on my hands. I made a web album, sent it to his grandparents, bragged, you get the drift.

Here are some shots from the first batch:





Pay close attention to the rear view mirror in this one...

After all that, he asked for the camera while I was working in the office and I gave it to him. Who am I to deny his growth as a future savant? Here are some of the second batch:








There's a certain simplistic beauty in the consistency, right?

Metamorphosis

I'm writing this mostly to process. For cathartic purposes. It's finally happened and I guess I should have seen it coming, but I honestly didn't. My oldest child has been body-snatched.

I lived the creepy sci-fi moment two weeks ago and I'm still waiting for it to make sense. Let me backtrack a moment. We started seeing notes in Pearce's daily planner from teachers. This was not a shock. He's always been a bit of a talker. Dratted DNA. Those notes were joined by an amassment of failing grades, an email from the Math teacher, a phone call from the Science teacher, and finally detention.

Detention? By the time this word rolls around, we're on our fourth 'enough is enough' talk with Pearce. It's time to take it to DEFCON 3.

DEFCON 5 - everything is normal
DEFCON 4 - each parent handles discussions and maintains radio communication with the other (Pearce's dad and I are divorced).
DEFCON 3 - parents schedule a formal face-to-face talk with child. Punishment is decided by both parents, set at both houses, and communicated to child. Teachers are informed.
DEFCON 2 -
DEFCON 1 -

You might notice that DEFCONs 1&2 aren't defined. Yet.

During this face-to-face with Pearce, he finally blew a gasket and dramatically informed us that if he did what he's supposed to do, he'd 'just become another slave in the school'. That he didn't understand why he had to respect adults if they didn't respect him.

It's like my kid is living his own pre-pubescent Breakfast Club and he chose Judd Nelson's 'I'm-a-disrespectful-clown-to-mask-the-pain' character. He's much more of Emilio Estevez's 'I'm-a-jockish-follower-who-taped-a-guy's-butt-cheeks-together-to-fit-in-with-my-football-buddies' character. Not that I'm condoning that behavior.

He finished his tearful diatribe and I was officially lost. Up to that moment, I always thought Pearce and I were alike. I was the kid who celebrated an 'S' (satisfactory) in conduct. Mostly, I stuck with the 'N' (needs improvement) and irregular 'U' (use your imagination). But, I NEVER bucked under the saddle of authority. I knew that point where my teacher had had enough.

At any rate, Pearce stunned me into silence. I'd been handling most of the conversation to that point because Frank had a wisdom tooth removed earlier in the day, but he stepped in after seeing the horror on my face. It was the highlight of the conversation for me because the anesthesia and cotton in his mouth gave him a Marlon Brando effect that was awesome to behold. In his best Godfather imitation, he told Pearce that he understood him because they were so much alike.

What? Wait. Hard-headedness...defiance...flippancy...

That's when I had my epiphany. It's not my fault!!! I wanted to shout it from a mountain! Pearce isn't in trouble because of my genes! It's Frank's fault. Oh happy day! If Frank had switched from Marlon Brando to open-mouthed Donald Sutherland, I wouldn't have been surprised.

Humor aside, I actually left that conversation feeling confused and defeated. Pearce was struggling and I had no tools, wisdom, or frame of reference to help him. It was my first parental roadblock. Like writer's block of the heart.

That was two weeks ago and things are better - not perfect - but better. Pearce and I have had good talks since then about how he's a funny kid, but part of being funny is learning timing. And how in the middle of class is bad timing (i.e. NOT funny). We had the heart-to-heart about how he feared I was on his teachers' sides and I had the chance to explain to him that we were all on HIS side. Which probably sounded like that 'This hurts me worse than it hurts you' mumbo-jumbo my dad pulled on me when I was a kid (which makes total sense to me now).

I just thought boogers, slobber, dirty diapers, and throw up was the messy part of parenting. We hadn't hit 5th grade yet. Sheesh.

Because potty humor is funny

This one is long overdue. I've been on blog hiatus for most of the summer. I actually thought I posted this, but it must've been that I told the story so many times.

On our trip to Colorado, we had a chance to talk to the boys about taking responsibility for their actions. It came about after a disagreement between Chad and me. I kept smelling a paper factory and he swore to me that the smell was emanating from the back seat. For two days we disagreed. Finally, The Culprit making the smell accidentally made a sound that went with it. We entered into a family discussion about how even saying, "I didn't toot!!!" was like fibbing if you did, in fact, toot. We told them it was important to take responsibility for yourself, your actions, and the truth.

We should have thrown in that it's not polite to pass wind in a closed car. Chad was opening the back windows constantly and instead of lying about it, the boys just laughed and claimed it. Proudly. Don't worry, the manners discussion happened too (although I had a hard time keeping a straight face during it), it's just not as funny as the rest of this post.

So, we get to Colorado and there's a beautiful meadow of bluebonnets in front of a mountain. I ask Chad to stop the rented Jeep for picture time. I tell the boys I want a nice shot this time - meaning no funny faces, rabbit ears, gang signs, or tongues.


Here's the first one. Please notice Cole's grin. There's a Cheshire Cat-ness about it, no???



Pearce is the first one to figure out what the grin is all about. Reaction follows:






Mom stops shooting and admonishes the boys. "This time, no funny faces, rabbit ears, gang signs, tongues, or GAS!"

Promises are made. Promises are broken.








I give up. I'll just take pictures of landscape without humans.

Meanwhile, back in the Jeep...




*sigh* Someday, I'm going to get a GREAT shot of MY OWN KIDS!!! And when that day happens, you will be the first to know!

Bad Parenting 101

Parents are always looking for that perfect moment captured on film. The first careful steps...the first baby giggle...the first date, etc. I agree that firsts are important. I just think that other firsts are given less priority than warranted. In a house with four boys, a dare-devil dad, and a tomboy mom, we like to capture other momentous occasions. The first bruise...the first abrasion...the first contusion...(if only there were a way to capture a concussion).

I grew up in a family that bragged about cuts, scrapes, and broken bones. My mom and I have been in a friendly competition for decades. I take pictures of my newest injury and send them to her and she calls to tell me she's had worse scratches in her eyeball.

Chad, on the other hand, grew up as an only child. I'm pretty sure his ouchies were treated with more parental decorum.

This diametric is evident in our household. When the kids get hurt, Chad is quick to console and give kisses to boo-boos. I am grabbing the camera and yelling, "That was AWESOME!" There are many a dirty look thrown my direction from Chad. And many an eye-roll from me. It works, though. Chad soothes and cuddles while I make light so as not to scare.

The first birthday brings us to an interesting crossroads. In my family, there is a tradition (a twisted rite-of-passage thing) to let the baby reach for the birthday candle's flame. You may be getting some insight to why my mom is called "Scary Mom." And we'll just call Dad "Camera Co-Conspirator."

Chad and I have come to a compromise (after a rather nasty disagreement caused by Stone's charred little baby finger). I lay in wait for the shot and RIGHT as the the baby gets to the flame, he blows it out. This year was the last year to get it right. And boy, did we!



I'm proud to say no babies were injured in the making of this blog posting. There were, however, heavy cupcake casualties...