I So Totally Rock, Dude!

Last week I started swimming lessons. This is a huge thing for me because I have never in my life learned to swim. I knew it would be embarrassing but I decided to swallow my pride and go for it. If I'm going to do the TriathaMom then I want to be as ready as I can be.

The first day of swim lessons I approached the check-in table and waited in line behind a few moms with their kids in tow. When I reached the table the lady asked if I had signed a waiver yet.

I told her I hadn't and she asked me, "What's the name?"

"Gerberta."

"Is she here with you?"

"Um... I am Gerberta."

"Oh... well, what is your child's name?"

"Well, I have a bunch of kids but none of them are taking lessons. I'm here for me. I'm signed up for adult lessons."

"Oooooooh! Okay!" *nervous laughter* "Well, you don't need to sign a waiver since you're over 18. Go ahead and go in."

"Thanks. But, ummm... how do I know where to find my teacher?" (Did I really just ask that?)

"Just ask at the table inside by the pool. They'll tell you where you need to be."

So, into the pool area I went. When I checked in at the poolside table the gal there told me, "Okay, Gerberta - your teacher is Sharon. You'll be in the Turtle class."

"I'll be what?!"

"If you just go wait under the turtle sign then your teacher will come and find you."

"I will do that. Thanks."

Seriously. Just like all of the cute little swimsuit-clad kiddos who were there for their swim lessons, I got to stand beneath a picture of a water creature and wait for my teacher. So, there I stood - next to the Nemo and Jellyfish classes of anxious 5 to 7 year olds - waiting for swim lessons to start. It was awesome.


Would you like to hear what makes swim lessons even better? When I signed up I was told that I would likely be the only student in the class, but it turns out that I have a classmate. His name is Kevin, he is from Beijing, China and he is a second year accounting student at our local university. We have some awesome conversations before and after class.

Kevin: "So, you have your own children?"
Me: "Yes, I do."
Kevin: "So, how many children do you have?"
Me: "Ten."
Kevin: *eyes like saucers, jaw on the floor* ". . . . "

He decided to sign up for swim lessons because he usually runs for exercise, but lately he is getting too sweaty. Kevin is my equal in swimming skills - which means our poor teacher has quite the task before her. I guess that's why she had an assistant helping her out after two days with Kevin and I floundering and splashing about in the lap lanes. Now we're getting some serious one-on-one.

There are quite a few things I have learned in the last week. First of all, wearing goggles makes it so much easier to swim. Seriously! When Sharon suggested goggles to me, I thought she was crazy. How in the world could wearing goggles help me swim better? But they totally do!

Also, I never would have guessed it, but I am a PRO at floating! The back float makes me laugh every time because of that feeling of complete weightlessness. The front float freaks me out because I feel like I'm playing dead.

The most important thing I have learned, though, is that I will NOT die if I swim with my face in the water. And when I need to breathe while swimming it's like barely lifting my face out of the water to deeply inhale the scent of my wet armpit. (That's what Sharon's assistant told me. I love her.)

So, one week of lessons down, one week to go, and I'm pleased to announce that the Turtle class is coming along ...swimmingly.

Give me some fin.

What's Good For The Goose

The training for this TriathaMom is totally kicking my trash! The other morning I was feeling completely frustrated that I can not run farther than half of a block. I kept thinking, "Why do I need to stop and rest so much?"

And then I looked out into the field.

Along the typical 2-mile route where I run there are quite a few hay fields. As I approached one I noticed there was something out there. The closer I got the clearer they became - a flock of geese. Not just one or two, but a whole field full of them. I had never seen anything like it before. I snapped a picture of them with my phone camera.


Can you see all of those dark brown shapes? Geese! It was awesome.

As I continued to shuffle down the street I started to think about those geese. What were they doing? Migrating? Out for a morning flight together? I had no idea. But this thought came to me:

I couldn't even walk 7 months ago and now I'm complaining about needing to walk when I want to be running? If geese, who are born to fly, have to stop and rest sometimes - then it's perfectly fine for me to do the same.

So, how's my training going? Amazing.

Picture Perfect

Coolister called me from school with a predicament. He had printed off an assignment before school but left it on the printer. He asked if I could email him the paper so he could print it off at school and turn it in. Sure, I told him. I could do that.

He then asked if I could take pictures of the walls in his room and email those, too. What? That was an unusual request. Well, he told me, that was homework, too, but I forgot to do it. I told him he could do it when he got home seeing how it was HIS assignment, not mine. However, he turned on the charms and asked, pretty please? Not wanting to argue, I reluctantly agreed.

As I got my camera that small part of my brain that never got past the age of 12 formulated an idea and by the time I got to Coolister's bedroom I was giggling over what was about to transpire. Here are the pictures I sent him:



When I went to pick him up after school, the first words out of his mouth were:

You are so dumb, Mom.

I erupted in a fit of laughter. He laughed, too - and told me that he almost forwarded the pictures to his teacher without looking at them. Oh, what a glorious thing that would have been! I am sure that his teacher would have appreciated the lesson in my immature humor.

It still makes me laugh when I think about it.

Laws Help Us

photo from internetjournalist.com

Today's 5-6 year-old Sunday School lesson was on obeying laws. As part of our discussion I posed this question to my class:

What are some laws and rules that are there to help us?

Here are my favorite answers:

"You have to wear seatbelts in the car... except when you're driving to church, because it's just right close by."

"Keep your house clean or it will look like trash... white trash."

"You can NOT marry your sister. Or ANYone in your same family."

It's All About The Journey

photo from laisietu.com

I set a goal last year and the time is drawing near for me to have accomplished it.

However difficult it has been, I have accepted the fact that it is not going to happen.

This song sums up what I have learned.

And so does this quote:

"The tragedy of life doesn't lie in not reaching your goal. The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach. It isn't a calamity to die with dreams unfilled, but it is a calamity not to dream."

~Benjamin Mays

I'll tell you all about it at Four Perspectives.

Oh, To Be Like A Child!

I recognized the sound right off; it was one of those cries that meant pain.

Curly ran to me, sobbing, and grabbed my leg in a hug.

I knelt down to embrace her and, rubbing her back, asked, "What happened, love?"

When she was finally able to control her breathing enough to speak, she simply said, "Hubba hurted me."

"Hurt you where?" I asked, but she didn't answer.

I pointed to the typical hurt places while asking repeatedly, "Does it hurt here?"

Finally, Curly stopped me and said, "Not on my outside. He hurted me in my heart."

The worst, most painful kind of hurt. Hurt feelings, broken hearts, mental anguish. Hurt brought on by words and actions.

Hubba slowly approached from the other room, looking at Curly and I with apprehension. He went to his little sister, and while wrapping his arms around her, said, "I'm sorry, Curly. I didn't mean to hurt your fee-o-lings."

And then she brought a happy ache to my own heart as she wiped her tears away and uttered these words as she hugged him back, "It's okay. I already forgived-ed you, Hubba."

Already. Before he had even told her he was sorry, Curly had forgiven him.

I recognized that I was being taught something.

Earlier this morning Coolister and I were arguing. I felt that he was being disrespectful and I, in frustration, was yelling at him. I finally ordered him to his room as a way to end the disagreement. All morning I fretted and stewed over the exchange, wondering where I had gone wrong in my parenting and why he couldn't just listen and try to see things my way. When the time came for Coolister to leave for church (he helps with the services at a rest home near our house an hour before our own meetings begin) he acted as if nothing had happened. "I'm leaving, Mom!" he called as he walked out the door. And then added, "I love you!"

It was all just water under the bridge for him. Coolister had moved past the mornings' argument. He had already forgiven me.

I am not proud to admit that I am the kind of person who tends to hold a grudge. If I am offended or have my feelings hurt by someone, I am not so quick to forgive. Instead I let the feeling fester and grow inside of me until it fills a part of me with frustration, anger and hatred. This does nothing to anyone but myself - I am the only one who is harmed by the monster inside as I continue to feed it with resentment and loathing.

I want to be more forgiving and loving. I want to be more like my kids.

And so it goes. I, as a mother, think I am teaching my children all about life. Yet, in reality, they are the ones teaching me what life is really all about.

Regarding Laundromats

Because our clothes dryer's motor decided to make a dramatic exit the week of Christmas, (Dear Dryer, Nice timing, jerk. Sincerely, Gerb) I have recently become well acquainted with our local laundromats. It had been well over 16 years since I had the opportunity of laundering my family's clothing surrounded by strangers and I wasn't sure of where to go.

The first place I tried was like being in a foreign country right within a couple of miles of home. To summarize, I had children getting into my purse, eating my snacks and rummaging through my baskets while their parents sat nearby giving me threatening looks. When I went out to my car to lock my personal items in the trunk, I returned to find the mother of the previously mentioned children going through my clothes in the washing machines. (I promise you, I am not making this stuff up.) When I tried to ask the kids to stop or their mother to explain what in the world she thought she was doing, I was met with blank stares. The joke was on me... no one there spoke English. Needless to say, I did not return to this location.

My next attempt was in a place equally close to home but in a different direction. This place was definitely an improvement but it had the feel of a cowboy bar in the backwoods somewhere with a distinctive smell of chewing tobacco and some twangy music playing overhead... and me without my iPod. I firmly believe that I endured some sort of torture, having nothing to listen to except for the drone of washers and dryers along with sad songs about beer, trucks and boots. A homeless man wandered in, set his knapsack and bedding beneath a bench in the corner and checked all of the vending machines for forgotten change before locking himself in the bathroom for the remainder of the time I was there. I decided not to return here, either.

Allen suggested I try the place we frequented as college students way-back-when. I was skeptical about the location still being a laundromat but I was happy to give it a shot. As I approached the building I noticed that everything around it had changed but the laundromat was still there. Suffice it to say that this is the place I have returned to every time since. Clean facilities, new machines, wireless internet and a comfortable atmosphere made it worth the extra drive.

There are some things to be said for laundromats in general.

First of all, it is awesome to get 8 loads of laundry done in a two-hour time span. It is also fun to people-watch and enjoy some treats all to myself (except at that first place) as the washloads are running. I'm sure it must have saved us some money on our gas and water bill for the last few weeks as well.

However...

It is no fun to load up the clothing and linens of 11 people and cart it into a self-serve laundry, basket by basket. There is also nothing glamorous about folding that amount of laundry in a short amount of time, keeping track of which dryers hold your items, or trying to hide your unmentionables from the people who surround you.

In the end it all comes down to this:

I'm definitely going to appreciate having a working dryer at home again.

Life Is A Highway

Yesterday we made the long trip back home from our annual visit to sunny southern California. As we drove and the scenery changed from the Joshua Trees of the high desert to the bright lights of Las Vegas; from the crimson cliffs of southern Utah to the snow-covered mountains closer to home, I realized that these road trips are a lot like life.

Sometimes the roads are free and clear with no obstacles or distractions, but other times we get mired in traffic and chaos and we have to make a choice. We can patient and wait until we pass through it all or we can become angry and frustrated about the surrounding chaos - even though it is something beyond our control.

Often we will notice that the traffic is stopped on the other side of the road. This makes us thankful that we are traveling in a different direction just then.

There are times where we may become lost and unsure of where to go. We can choose to stop and ask for directions or try to make our own path to our destination but either way we are usually able to eventually get to where we are going. Some paths are more difficult to travel but offer a much better view while other times the road will be easy to navigate.

We may encounter ground-shaking storms or patches of ice which require us to slow down for a bit or maybe even to stop altogether in search of shelter. Other times we will enjoy perfect weather; sunshine with just enough cloud-cover to offer warmth and protection at the same time and road conditions which are near perfect.

When we start to run out of gas it is an opportunity to pull over, stretch our weary bodies and fill up our tanks again. The road is always there, but we don't have to rush to get back to it; we can take our sweet time, take pictures, and resume our road-trip when we feel ready.

Some journeys are long and seem almost never-ending, other trips are much too short, but the excursion is always worthwhile for the people we meet, the experiences we gain, the memories we make and the beautiful scenery we take in along the way.

And regardless of the length of our drive or the things we encounter, the journey is all worth it when we reach our destination in the end.

Unexpected

Last Sunday was a little worse than what is typical. Allen had some meetings that prevented him from attending our meetings with us so I was left alone to wrangle the youngest kids.

About 10 minutes into the meeting Little O started his squirming which then became whining which developed into full-fledged You-Better-Get-Me-Out-Of-Here-NOW-Or-The-Whole-Congregation's-Gonna-Be-Sorry.

I grabbed Little O in one arm, the diaper bag and bottle in the other, and headed for the foyer. When I got there I realized that Hubba and Curly had followed me out as well. Curly wanted me to help her color a picture. Hubba wanted to pretend he was a train headed into a volcano that was ready to shoot hot lava UP TO THE SKY! Little O wanted to run. I wanted to die.

I looked back into the chapel to get some reinforcements (aka The Teenagers) but realized that they were all heading up to the front to participate in a Christmas musical number. All-a-Boy sat on the edge of the bench, reading something, while Princess and Cowgirl tried desperately to annoy each other. I let out an exasperated sigh. What could I do from the foyer with a wiggly, screaming little boy?

I was lucky to have a friend who was happy to have Curly sit with her. This left me with the two rowdy boys and a whole hour yet to keep them un-rowdy. Hubba kept trying to jerk away from my grip and get closer to the gym where he wanted to run for the remainder of the meeting while Little O bashed his head back against my face and chest hoping I would let him down. I was trying not to cry as I stood there feeling helpless and I offered a silent prayer in my head.

Please, Heavenly Father, I pleaded, I am trying to do what's right. I want my kids to know that church is the right place to be today. I don't want to let them run around but I don't know what to do. Please, help me to make it through this meeting without breaking down. Help me to do what is right. Help me not to cry in front of people.

I stood for a few moments longer, wrestling with my boys, and just when I was nearing a point beyond frustration, help came.

I like to think that my Heavenly Father has a sense of humor, because the help I sought came in the most unexpected and unlikely way...

It was a cat.

She came out of nowhere and started pawing at the doors to the church, meowing and jumping about. Hubba noticed her first and dragged me to the doors. "Awww, mom, that cay-at is so cold outside and it is so warm in he-yer. She just wants to come get warm for a minute. Can't we let her in? She just wants to he-yer the people singing..." After I explained that cats do not come inside churches he and Little O were content to stand near the door and just watch her.

She would strut from one end of the doors to the other, occasionally stopping to stretch or roll or pounce at a stray leaf and they were mesmerized.


That cat silently entertained my boys for the rest of the meeting. Then just as the congregation began to sing the closing song, she turned and left.

Some may say it is a coincidence that the cat showed up when she did, but I see things differently. Coincidence or not, that cat was an answer to my prayer. It was evidence to me that my prayers are heard and that my Heavenly Father will not leave me alone when I am frustrated and upset and at my wit's end.

Yes, a cat, of all things, was evidence of my Savior's love for and understanding of me.

And I was so very thankful.

Life, Love And Learning

The best and most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart. - Helen Keller

I am not sure I can adequately express what I want to, but I am going to try.

The children at church took a walk across the street with their teachers today to sing some songs for the residents of the rest home there. First we walked the halls, holding hands and singing a few familiar favorites, bringing some residents to their doorways to share a smile or offer a wave as we passed by.

We continued to the main gathering room where we congregated on a stage to present a few more numbers. As we stood there singing, I looked out over the crowd. The faces I saw were happy, almost lit up with joy. And why? Because some children that they didn't even know were there to sing some songs for them.

My heart ached for these people, despite their currently pleasant demeanor. Thoughts raced through my mind. Why were they here? Did they have family? If so, did they come to visit? Were they lonely? Hurting? Sad? Scared? Where would I be when I reached that stage of my life? I continued to stand there, mouthing the words to each song along with the crowd of kids, but not actually singing for fear that my emotions would come to the surface. I am not sure how to describe what was going on inside of me except to say that I felt a great deal of love towards our audience.

When we were finished with our music we turned to exit the room. Residents of the home waved farewell, smiling, some calling out things like, "Such beautiful children!" and "Come again!"

I wanted to take the time to hug each person there, to tell them that they were loved and important. But I didn't. Not only for fear that I would become emotional but also because it was time to get back - time to sit in my classroom with the sweet 5-year-olds who I have stewardship over each week. Time to teach the lesson that I had prepared.

As we gathered back at the church and settled down for class I had a similar emotion overtake me, only this time it was one of love and appreciation for each of the kids in my class. I am uncomfortable crying in front of others and welcomed the distraction of Little O being brought to me right then as I don't think I would have been able to hold back what was threatening to emerge.

As I walked through the halls of the church, my little boy in my arms, I continued to think over the things I had felt. And I realized something. At the rest home as well as in my classroom, I was not edifying them. They were edifying me, offering me a glimpse of things that I needed to see and feel.

In reality, they were the ones teaching me the lessons today.

Lessons about the power of music and the love of mankind and the ties that bind us all together.

Remembering to count my blessings.

And none of that even comes close to sharing what I really feel.

Kindness Begins With Me

I taught my class on Sunday about God's desire for us to be kind to others. We talked about how happy it makes us feel when we do and say nice things as well as how it feels to be the recipient of kind words and deeds.

To illustrate I had each child take turns sitting in a chair at the front of the room with a felt crown on their head. I then asked the other kids to say something nice about the person wearing the crown, "Prince/Princess (insert name here)".

Here were some of their responses:

Prince Hubba

"He pways wif me so nice!"
"You are a very loving boy."
"I like his clothes a lot."

Princess S~

"She is very creative."
"She's my best fwend."
"Her is so beautiful!"

Princess E~

"I love your smile!"
"She is so pretty."
"Her have great hay-o (hair)!"

Prince Super C

"You are nice to others."
"He is so smawt all the time!"
"I like to play with you."

Once class had ended, I had a feeling of regret. I wished I had given myself a turn with the felt crown and heard what nice things the kids would have said about me. It seems selfish, I know, but like I taught my class, we all enjoy hearing nice things that others say about us. Is there really anything wrong with that? (No, there's not.)

I have decided that for this week, everyone I run into or think about will be deemed "Prince/Princess (insert your name here)". I'm going to compliment others on things I notice, even if it may embarrass them a little. I'm going to perform small acts of unexpected friendliness. I'm going to offer words of encouragement and kindness and try to proliferate those warm, happy feelings that come when we feel loved. If my class of 4 and 5-year-olds could benefit from it, couldn't we all?

You know that saying about how the teacher is often the one who gets the most out of giving a lesson?

Yeah.

Superhero 101

Picture from photobucket.com

I recently became reacquainted with an old friend. Because the last time we spoke was at my high school graduation, she could not get over the fact that I now have a large family and am still reasonably sane (which, actually, is debatable).

"You are SuperMom!" she exclaimed. "Do you give lessons?"

And I figured... heck, why not? So, my friends, I welcome you to Superhero Class.

If you want to be a superhero like me, you can do so in a few easy steps.

First of all, every good superhero wears a disguise. If you want one like mine, go find yourself some comfy pajama pants and an old T-shirt with a mustard stain. I like to call it The SUPERSUIT! (cue superhero music)

The next thing that every superhero needs is a SECRET WEAPON. I have two... safety pins and bandaids. With these weapons at my disposal, I can fix anything! (cue superhero music)

Unfortunately, every superhero also has an ARCHNEMESIS. These tend to present themselves in the most inopportune times! Mine are... (shudder) ...unfamiliar animals. And bullies. (cue evil archnemesis music)

However, each superhero is also blessed with amazing SUPERPOWERS - just waiting to be realized! For example, here are the two which I have discovered in my Super Self.

My lesser power is: Invisibility!

• I can disappear when someone comes knocking at my door while I'm in my SuperSuit!
• When the school is looking for someone to volunteer as PTA president, no one can find me!
  
• When I want to eat a package of cookies or a king-sized candy bar without any assistance... POOF! I am invisible! (Unless those darned crinkly wrappers give me away!)

And my super-est power is: Transformation!

• I have the power to transform a mountain of dirty laundry into neat stacks of nicely folded clothes or a sinkful of dirty dishes into a sparkling kitchen!
• I can turn a table into a fort, transform felt and ribbon into a costume and make wilted carrots and leftover potatoes into a gourmet meal!
  
• But my best, most amazing superpower is the ability to transform one of these:

into one of these: (cue superhero music!)

Any questions?

Bye Bye Birdie

Wednesday night began with an announcement in the backyard. "Guess what, guys?" I asked as cheerfully as possible. "Tonight, we are going to PAR-TY!"

Everyone was immediately suspicious. "Why?" asked All-a-Boy. "What for?" asked Cowgirl. "Do we get refreshments?" asked Princess.

"YES!" I answered enthusiastically. "We are going to have ICE CREAM! And COOKIES! But first someone has to guess which chore we are taking out of the job jar FOREVER!"

Hopeful guesses were immediately shouted out. Vacuuming? Dishes? Laundry? Bathrooms?
Nope.

Shoe job? Trash job? Toy closet?

Keep guessing.

Dusting? Make beds? Clean Buddy's cage?
"That's it! We don't have to clean Buddy's cage anymore!" I told them. And then All-a-Boy, in true tease-cowgirl-who-loves-the-bird-most fashion, said, "And then Buddy will DIE!"

"Actually," I interrupted, "he already did."

(I told you I wasn't good at this kind of thing.)

Weeping and wailing and questions of unbelief began immediately and I explained how I had found Buddy and then buried him. But tonight were going to celebrate Buddy's life, not be sad about his death. Cowgirl took it the hardest, as was expected. All-a-Boy was quick to make up for his untimely teasing.
"Where did you bury him?" Cowgirl asked. It was the question that I dreaded most. Because honestly, it had taken everything in me to place Buddy's little birdie body in a paper bag. I did not want to deal with a backyard burial. So, I buried him in the only place I was capable of... (please do not think badly of me!) the trash can.

"He is buried somewhere in the yard," I answered (truthfully!) while passing out ice cream bars. And then the Buddy Celebration began.

We all took turns jumping on the trampoline and sharing our favorite memory of our little feathered friend.
Thumbelina recalled the time that our bathroom was flooding and All-a-Boy ran to Buddy's cage, opened it, then yelled, "Fly away, Buddy! Save yourself! Be free!"
All-a-Boy remembered when Buddy became a phantom bird and found his way into the crevice between the kitchen sink and the dishwasher.
Princess laughed as she talked about the time Buddy flew onto the tray of Baby O's highchair and O was excited for the company.
Cowgirl's favorite memory was of the day we got Buddy.
I don't think Hubba had a story, but I think he may have seen Buddy's ghost...

Afterward, we went inside for a movie night and slumber party.
The next morning I asked Cowgirl if she would like to clean the cage and sell it then use the proceeds to purchase a stuffed animal which lives online as well. She liked that idea.
We listed the cage for sale and Cowgirl had cash in hand by this afternoon.

We're going to buy her a Webkinz bird tomorrow.

(For those of you who marveled over my cruelty in burying the bird in the outside trash receptacle, hate me no more. Allen always had a soft spot in his heart for Buddy and wanted to give him a proper burial so I dug the bag out from under a few things and he will find a new resting place in our yard very soon.)

The Old Barn

It doesn't look like much from far away. The aging, dilapidated barn sits nestled among green fields and small creeks and ponds with only horses and mosquitoes for company. At first glance it appears to be a ramshackle sort of place with broken windows and cobwebbed beams.


Yet, for my mother-in-law, it stores a wealth of memories and stories from her childhood years. This place is all that is left of the dairy farm where she grew up in Afton, Wyoming.


As we wandered through the old barn, listening to mom's recollections of years past, I felt a melancholy kind of sadness come over me. I could picture the barn as it had been back in its prime and wondered how it had come to be the way it was now, broken and in disrepair. It got me thinking about people.


Like the barn, we all start off sturdy and clean with a new coat of paint. As we face life's storms the paint slowly peels and cracks. Windows break. Grime accumulates. Beams and boards warp. And before we know it we are only a shell of our former selves, something that no sandpaper or even a fresh coat of paint can repair.

When others look at us, do they see what's really still there?


Do they look for the story behind each bent nail and loose floorboard or do they only notice the wear and tear, not realizing that it is simply evidence of something more?

Do others notice the beauty of the places where the cracks in the walls and shattered windows have allowed light to shine through?


If we could, what would we choose? To look as striking and solid as we did in our prime, never having to endure any of the pounding hail or lightning strikes that life throws at us - or to tolerate various storms and allow some of life's experience to show through in these bodies that house the person who we truly have become through it all?


At the end of my life I hope I'm like the run-down old barn. Perhaps weather beaten and warped, but well loved because of the experiences and interactions that have made me that way.


And every last measure of who I am bursting with stories of a life lived to the fullest.

What's In A Name?

Photo from Disney/Pixar

Last Sunday at church, I wanted to emphasize my point with a story.

"There was a little boy named Wally," I began, summarizing the narrative in my lesson manual.

"WALL-E?" Super C asked. "Like the wo-bot in the movie?"

"Actually," I replied, thinking quickly, "the boy's name was... Wilbur."

"Like the pig in Shaw-let's Web?" Super C countered.

"Okay," I suggested, "let's call him Walter."

"Walt-o is the boy in the movie about the house in space!" Super C told us.

"Hmmm. How about Will?"

"That's my fwend Lilly's bwuth-o!" he informed me.

"Well, Super C, what would you like me to call him, then?" I inquired.

"I fought you said his name was WALL-E. Why awen't you cau-wing him that?"


Good point.

Oh, Happy Day!

To Cowgirl's Kindergarten Teacher:

I just had to say thank you.

Thank you so much for instilling the hand-washing OCD in my little girl.

Your lesson on germs had such an effect on her that even now, two years after the fact, she obsessively washes her hands after touching almost anything.

Swing sets. Television sets. Tea sets.

Doorknobs. Bedknobs. Broomsticks.

Before meals. After meals. Sometimes even during meals.

If cleanliness is indeed next to godliness then Cowgirl is headed straight for heaven.

Perhaps you think I am exaggerating some. Allow me to prove my case...

Cowgirl recently received a crisp, new dollar bill from the Tooth fairy. What do you suppose she wanted to spend her newly acquired cash on?

Stickers? A new puzzle, perhaps? Some candy?  Oh, no. She wanted to buy hand sanitizer.

She could not hide her excitement when she asked me if hand sanitizer was available at the Dollar Store. I told her we could check and her face lit up like it was Christmas morning.

When the day came for our Dollar Store excursion Cowgirl was beside herself. As she practiced piano the song she was playing became the melody for her own special lyrics:

Hand sanitizer, my hand sanitizer, Today is the day! I will buy you today!
Hand sanitizer, my hand sanitizer, I get to go buy you today!

She was singing about hand sanitizer. I am not making this up.

Imagine her excitement when she realized she could purchase a package of two small containers of hand sanitizer. It was frightening.
So, Cowgirl's Kindergarten Teacher, I really just needed to take the time to say thank you. Thank you for completely freaking her out when it comes to germs. Thank you for fostering a love (cough... obsession) for hand washing.  She couldn't be happier.

Sincerely,

Cowgirl's Mom

Resistance Is Futile

There was one day this week where I was actually away from my computer for nearly 18 hours.

Amazing, I know.

Of course, nearly 8 of those hours were spent sleeping. And 3 of those hours were spent away from home. But, still.

Amazing.

Most of those 8 sleeping hours were spent having dreams that were somewhere closer to nightmares. In the first one, I was aimlessly searching for a computer. I tried the library, public schools, even the bank - all to no avail. I could not get online regardless of how hard I tried. I can not remember why I needed to be online - only that it was increasingly more important that I do so. You know those dreams where you wake up and feel like you never went to sleep? This was one of those.

I awoke to my crying baby, glad for the escape from my search for an internet connection.

When I fell back asleep, a new nightmare took shape. It was one of the worst I can remember ever having. It involved the death (by spontaneous combustion) of my younger brother as well as the realization that my flesh was falling off in chunks.

To top it all off, I had a headache that would not go away for 3 days after this internet fast.

My conclusion?

Avoiding the computer is completely not worth it.

The Parable of the Peanut Butter

photo from epicurean.com

Once upon a time there was a boy. He had a mother and a father who loved him very much. However, the boy's parents were perplexed when they found an almost empty jar of peanut butter beneath the boy's bed.

Later that afternoon the parents questioned the boy as to where the jar of peanut butter had come from.

The boy told his parents this story of how the peanut butter came to be beneath his bed.

One day when the boy was at school he noticed a friend who was enjoying some nearly-expired peanut butter on crackers. The friend arrived at a point where he no longer had crackers, yet his peanut butter was still near to overflowing. "Whatever shall I do with this nearly-expired jar of peanut butter?" the friend wondered aloud. The boy, who was used to eating nearly-expired peanut butter, offered to take it off of his friend's hands. "Thank you ever so much!" the friend replied. The boy then brought the peanut butter home and placed it beneath his bed. He did not want to leave it in his locker at school. He did not want to leave it in his knapsack. He did not want to place it upon his dresser. He wanted it to be beneath his bed so that his younger brother would not ask for any nearly-expired peanut butter.

"How is it, then," the boy's mother inquired, "that your jar of nearly-expired peanut butter carries the same label, non-nearly-expired expiration date AND batch number as the plethora of peanut butter which is placed in our pantry?"

The boy lowered his head in shame. His parents were right. He had pilfered the peanut butter from the pantry. And it was then that he realized that one lie begets another and another... until the sticky, peanut butter web has been spun to the extent that one becomes stuck in it.

The End

Blankets

Curly is quite a little blanket-lover. She carries her blanket(s) with her everywhere she goes if she can get away with it.

I was thinking about that yesterday morning as she crawled into bed with me, blanket in tow, to watch and listen as the rain beat a steady rhythm against our windows.

"Mom has blankets, Curly." I told her. "We can share."

"No, mom, Curly want Curly's blank-let," she responded.

And why not? Honestly, if I could carry around a blanket without being looked upon as some kind of freak I probably would.

Think about it.

Blankets give warmth and security. They are a place to hide. They make a great place to sit at a beach or park. Blankets offer comfort. They make the perfect forts when draped over a table or chair. They can be used to protect items that are fragile. On a rainy day I could wrap myself in a blanket with a good book and a bowl of popcorn and be content for hours. They offer protection from the elements. Besides all of that, how many of us keep a spare blanket in our car?

A blanket's functions are really just as individual as the person who owns it.

Sometimes I think kids have a wisdom beyond their years.

Curly, you keep toting around that blank-let.

Unexpected

A couple of days ago Coolister asked me to come see something.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Just come see," was his reply.

So I followed him down the stairs as he informed me, "I think there is a mouse in our dryer."

I stopped. I am not a big fan of mice. Sure, they look all cute and tiny and they're awesome helpers if you're Cinderella or Gizelle, but those little rodents also occasionally jump onto people who are just trying to help them get out of the house without killing them off (I know this from personal experience).

As we approached the dryer I could hear the scritch-scratch noise of little mouse claws trying to work their way out of somewhere. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as the heebie-jeebies made their way up my spine. Coolister cracked open the dryer and looked inside but no beady little black mouse eyes peered back at us. I sang the beginning refrain of Gizelle's "Happy Working Song" but no little critter responded. It was not in the dryer.

The noise came again, scritchity-scratch... from the dryer ventilation tubing. It was trapped in there and couldn't get out.

Since we didn't want to cook the little rodent and have roasted mouse stench in the dryer, we had to help it escape.

Coolister and I devised a plan. First, remove the dryer vent, then turn the end of it over into a large container, allow our little mouse intruder to fall into the container, put a lid on and take the container outside to set the mouse free.
Once it got to the part where we were supposed to remove the vent, I got squeamish. I could just imagine the disease-carrying rodent jumping out, landing on my arm and running up my sleeve. I let Allen and Coolister take over while I took pictures. It wouldn't jump out! They shook the dryer vent, encouraging it to escape. Finally, it landed in the big, blue jug.

"It's a bird!" Coolister exclaimed, pulling the lid over the container's opening.

A bird.

I like birds. A lot, actually. My heebie-jeebies went away as we walked outside to free our feathered friend.
We pulled the lid off the top of the jug but he wouldn't fly away. He just sat there, bewildered.
Finally Allen tipped the jug onto its side and our temporary visitor found freedom.
I couldn't help but remember another visit we had from a bird a couple of years ago. I wondered what lesson I was supposed to learn this time around.

I decided it was this:

Sometimes we get ourselves in predicaments that we can't get out of on our own. At times like this we need to rely on others to help us... and that's okay. It's not always easy to accept help from others but sometimes it is necessary.

We just need to realize that we can't make it through life's journey alone.

And that is why God gave us friends.