Thankful "Thursday"

I had to forgo my Thankful Thursday post because I was busy cuddling on the couch with Jay, boxes of Hot Tamales, NERDS, Reese's Pieces and Milk Duds. We watched "Transformers" completely uninterrupted without having to ration out the sweets to children that act like they haven't seen a granule of sugar in 10 years. As if! It was much nicer to cozy up to my husband than to my computer so I have no regrets about abandoning my blog!

So, I'm thankful that I made the choice to spend time with the most important person in my life rather than the most important electronic in my life.

I'm thankful for my sister. She's the best Auntie my 3 hooligans could ever ask for.




But let me just take a break from all this thankful stuff and say that I H-A-T-E making yeast rolls. I've tried crescent rolls, sweet rolls, pizza rolls and dinner rolls in one week. I've wasted no less than 20 cups of flour, several packets of yeast, and half a dozen eggs. I loathe the stickiness and the fact that the recipe says "add 4-5 extra cups of flour until the dough is no longer sticky." I add 4-5 and then another 6-7 more cups! And it is still sticky! Almost every surface in my kitchen and my can of Pam is crusted in dried up dough.

I need an intervention! I just can't stop making yeast rolls until I get it right! But I'm driving myself mad. HELP..............

So that brings me to my last thankful thought. I'm really thankful for frozen dinner rolls.

Tooth Trouble

In our house, the tooth fairy has "issues." She has such a global reputation to uphold that she is prone to bouts of fatigue; what with all that flitting around dispensing money and hauling her enormous stash of teeth. So when a tooth is ready to be placed under a child's pillow in our house, she figures that we're nice enough folks and won't go on a global smear campaign if she falters in her fairy duties.

Drew's first and second tooth loss events were disasters and, to make myself feel better, I chalked it up to inexperience and nerves. I wrote those episodes off as the opening act for the big show, and no one pays the money to see the opening act. So I rehearsed and refined and vowed to do better. No missing teeth! No replacement shark's tooth! No empty tooth fairy wallet! No note of explanation next time!

Thursday, Drew bolted off the bus with his newly extracted tooth tucked securely in his backpack. I placed it in a baggie and put it on the counter with some other items that were clearly not trash. Apparently, the tooth wizard thought differently. (Jay resents the use of the word "fairy" when describing a task he must complete. Therefore, to comply with his impassioned plea and in an effort not to injure his masculinity, I have dubbed him "The Tooth Wizard.")

Later that evening I returned home from flitting around Target and DSW (in search of some fairy shoes) to find Drew's tooth was M.I.A. WHAT? NOT AGAIN! I put it in a baggie to keep it safe!! I wasn't aware that I need a safe to protect little lost teeth. In desperation, The Tooth Wizard was commanded to dig through the trash (because fairies draw the line at dumpster diving).

The tooth was not recovered.

So the next night another note of explanation was written and another shark's tooth was placed under Drew's pillow. He figured that the tooth fairy was good for either $5 or $25. After all, he had to wait an extra night because of his parent's blunder. Owen figured that the tooth fairy ought to bring him a dump truck for good measure. But the tooth wizard only had a buck in his pocket...and no dump truck.

I'm facing the music. We're not so good at the tooth fairy and tooth wizard business. But we've got Santa and Mrs. Claus down pat!

Thankful Thursday

Drew's top tooth has been hanging by a thread for weeks. It gives me the creeps. Today was the day that drastic measures were going to be taken. Auntie arrived and we decided that she could tie the tooth to a door and yank it out. I'm pretty sure that that rarely works but she was gung-ho anyway. But...

I'm thankful that Drew's tooth FINALLY came out. And it came out on the bus with a little help from his seatmate....who apparently isn't creeped out by a dangling tooth. I'm grateful that this time Drew didn't lose the little dentin nugget to the black hole that is the sink drain or swallow it down his gullet.

I'm thankful that my sister is here....and she brought goodies. Really good goodies. For me and the boys. (pictures tomorrow. today we had no sun. And no sun means no pictures. Unless I buy lots of fancy lamps.)

I'm also thankful for homemade pizza, smoothies and apple crisps. And Kai is thankful for those things, too.....as is evidenced by this picture.

It's the Little Things

Often times in the hustle and bustle of everyday life, I forget that little things matter. Little moments. My days are made up of a series of little moments that often go unnoticed, unacknowledged or passed over because I'm too frustrated with life's nitty-gritty "have-to-do's". I'm kind of tired of the have-to-do's, so I'll focus on the lesser known "little things that matter."

For example, today when Drew was at school and Owen at preschool, Kai and I went to Target. As we walked hand-in-hand into the store I glanced down at my little boy dressed smartly in his navy blue pea coat and noticed that he was sauntering. He had a full on swagger! A gait that said, "Look at me! I'm out-and-about with my lady and I'm a big boy and I want everyone to know it!" He was proud to be walking instead of carried and his face was shining as brightly as the autumn sun above.

It sure wasn't a big thing. But I'm learning to realize it's the little things that matter. And that moment mattered. So it goes on my list of very important little things.

And tonight after I sang "I Am A Child of God" for the 4,249th time, I had a request from Owen that I stay in his bed "for a tiny bit." After a few moments of silence I asked him to tell me something happy. I expected that he would speak of his Lego's or bike or the cake ball that he had for his tasty treat. (Oh, yes. I made cake balls. They were divine.)

Instead of those very predictable answers he came up with something that I've added to my list of "very important little things." Upon putting his hand on my heart he said, "I love your heart."

Couldn't you just melt?

After another moment of silence his hand moved a little bit to the south and he added this: He said, "And I love your squishy things."

That won't be making the list.

(Owen looking crazed.)

Thankful Thursday

Well, nothing noteworthy to report. I'm grateful for that.

Nothing noteworthy means we've had no disasters or major malfunctions. Nothing noteworthy also means that I shouldn't mention that Owen locked us out of the house yesterday without shoes, cell phone or a way to change Kai's steaming diaper. No, I shouldn't mention it because this is par for the course with Owen.

Luckily, I discovered an unlocked window in which to hoist my little locksmith through. After he opened the door for me he said, "See, Mama? I fixed it. Now you can be happy!"

Happy? That's one way to put it.

I'm grateful for a yard large enough to accommodate my hooligans and their shenanigans. The current game of choice is "Rodeo Station." The rules are simple: one boy is the horse, one boy is the cowboy and one boy is the rodeo clown. Boys are flying everywhere with limbs all tangled up as the horse is bucking and the clown is inserting himself into the fray.
I'm grateful for this little boy who looks so much like his Daddy.

Thankful Thursday

I didn't post my Thankful Thursday musings last week because I was on a plane.....

All by myself....

TO HAWAII!!!

And did I mention? I was ALL. BY. MYSELF.

My bag wasn't loaded down with Matchbox cars, fruit snacks, Dr. Seuss books, crayons, ratty stuffed dogs, front pack, diapers, wipes, stroller, coloring books or goldfish crackers.

Nope.

Just me, a few magazines, a good book, my Mac and a whole box of Hot Tamales. For me. NOT to share....with anyone.

So that is my first thankful thing. I got to be just me. A grown up woman, traipsing around the airport without a bladder that is full to bursting because I can't cram three grumpy boys and all our carry on luggage in the tiny bathroom stall; therefore, emptying my bladder must wait unless I want to risk misplacing a boy or two while I scream at the one child that actually fit in the stall to "STOP LOOKING UNDERNEATH THE STALL! GIVE THAT POOR LADY HER PRIVACY!"

I had a blissfully empty bladder and a leisurely stroll through the terminal, finished my book and browsed around the overpriced gift shops. Priceless.

Secondly, I'm thankful for a mother who gladly steps up and takes care of my boys while I am gone and Jay is working. I never worried about them. I only worried about her!

Thirdly, I'm thankful for sisters-in-law who swoop in to save the day when Jay's work decides to do another bad magic trick and make his vacation days disappear at the very last minute. AGAIN.

Fourthly (is there really a "fourthly"?), I'm thankful for this beautiful family.


It is one thing to know that your little brother is a great husband, Marine, war veteran, helicopter pilot and all around good guy. It is another thing to see him be a Daddy to two of the cutest twins in the world. I would move heaven and earth to visit them....even if they didn't live just a 5 minute walk from this beach.......


Or a 10 minute walk from this one....



Finally, I'm thankful to be back with my four boys. I missed them terribly.

Freedom of Choice

The bedtime-all-request-hour was in full swing tonight when I made the rounds at bedtime. Having sung "I Am A Child of God" the past 472 nights in a row, I knew what Owen's choice would be. So I started the song but was abruptly halted mid-stanza.

"I get to choose the song," Owen proclaimed with much enthusiasm.

(Maybe I'll get to sing something different? Maybe his musical tastes are widening?)

"Pardon me," I say, "what song would you like?"

"Ummm...........

I Am A Child of God, " he says.

OK, well, at least he gets a choice.

On to Drew's room where I remember to let him have his choice, even though I know what song I'll be singing.

Yep, "The Star Spangled Banner" it was.

I look down to see my little boy doing a silent karaoke as I sing our National Anthem. He is mouthing every word.

When I finish he asks what the song was about. Not one to shy away from a lesson about our wonderful country, I go on to explain that the song was written a long time ago when people were fighting to make this land into a country. There were people that wanted to be free to choose how and where to live and not be under a king or queen that took things from them....especially their right to choose.

Furthermore, I told him that his Uncle Kimball is in Iraq (and last year in Afghanistan) and Uncle Merrill who was in Iraq, are trying to help the people there gain their right to choose. And aren't we lucky to be able to make our own decisions?

After digesting this information and recalling the words to the song, "the bombs bursting in air," Drew asks,

"Why don't they just play a game to figure out who gets their way? And if they want the same thing they can just toss a ball back and forth to see who gets it. And if they don't want the same thing then they can just go away from each other. You shouldn't tell other people what to do."

If only it were that simple, maybe my brothers would never have to leave their families.

But I like that it is that simple for Drew.

The innocence of youth. I wish, sometimes, I could get that back.

Growing Pains

*Our home grown goodies.

I have never been a grower. I don't derive much satisfaction from working the soil and nurturing the tender buds until they yield their harvest. I enjoy the fruits of other people's labors. Fresh produce and freshly cut flowers for my table and windowsills are divine.

So when Jay and the boys planted a garden I was the biggest cheerleader of their efforts. From the choosing of the seeds to the tilling of the soil. From bunny proofing to watering to picking and eating. I cheered them on. I ooo'd and aaahh'd over each little sprout. But I didn't do much more than that. Jay is the one that desires a green thumb. I desire the finished product with no dirt under my nails.

Green onions, zucchini, peppers, sunflowers, jalapenos, peas (they were pitiful peas) and carrots. After much waiting and constant checking by the little farmers, we had our first vegetable. And we had a decent yield. For several dinners we had fresh corn and then corn chowder. And then we had a corn worm and I was done with corn for a while.

And then came the prolific zucchini. Zucchini soup, zucchini bread and muffins, zucchini stir-fry and zucchini potato cakes. And JUST when I thought I couldn't figure out what to do with my zucchini anymore....Captain Owen comes to the rescue.

I hear from the toy room the sounds of bombs and airplanes and giggles and shrieks. As this is a normal occurrence, I just tuned it out until I heard Captain Owen shout, "Drew! Let's throw the zucchini at the ceiling like a rocket ship!"

Those boys had squirreled away in their toy room their most favorite zucchini to use in a manner befitting little boys, not necessarily a zucchini. Apparently (from the look of that poor green squash), that zucchini had spent days moonlighting as a boat, airplane, truck and rocket. More power to it! For soon it was to become another boring dinner.

And so I chopped, diced, boiled, cooked, seeded, shucked and peeled. But I didn't grow....produce, that is.

I'm in the business of growing little boys into men. I'm growing a string bean, a carrot top and what appears to be a very hearty melon. I'm growing boys that don't see a zucchini, they see a toy. Boys that play with their food, and eat it, too. (Well, everyone except Owen, that is.)

My only wish is that all they needed was sunshine and water to bloom and grow. I could do that. But they need my love and imagination and organization and creativity and tenderness. And just when I've reached the bottom of my bag of boy fertilizer, they need more...my energy and time.

So what is left?

It is when I'm scraping the bottom of the bag, desperate to find one more handful of something to give, I realize that my growth hasn't stopped just because I'm "grown." Perhaps in those needy times, I am growing the most, in tandem with my boys. They are aging me into this perfect patina of patience and love and slight insanity.

And they're tossing in a heaping handful of fun for extra measure. Gotta love those hooligans. They are redefining perfect for me. And I like it.

See? NOT perfect!

Still not perfect.
(On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.)

Thankful Thursday

I. Jay and his parents. 35 years ago today, my mother-in-law gave birth to her first child and I'm the benefactor of her, and my father-in-law's, exceptional parenting skills. I lucked out. I'm so thankful to have spent the last 10 years with Jay and look forward to decades more.

II. A husband who gets a birthday present that is just as much to please his pulled-pork lovin' Southern Belle as it is for him. We're........ I meant Jay, is getting a smoker tomorrow! At last, I can have a decent pulled pork sandwich anytime I want without having to travel home to Alabama. Bring on the pig!!!

III. A round-bottomed baby who is in the 96th percentile for height and 70th for weight....probably because he tosses a cookie off his plate in favor of a crisp apple. And it could be his insatiable desire for Carnation's Breakfast Drink Mix. Apparently, it is the drink of champions.

The Trouble With Boys Is...

Apart from the stitched and glued up skin (Owen and Drew) and the chipped teeth (Drew) and the missing tooth altogether (Kai), I believe my boys are living a healthy and balanced life. It is I who has lost all balance and some of my sanity!

I've infused my wardrobe with as many girly things as my budget will allow and I wear a very feminine scent daily......even though nobody notices or cares. I notice and I care! So when I'm pouring salt on a slug on the driveway or forcing a smile and a pleasant "thank you" when I'm handed a gift of a giant bug from a grimy hand; all I have to do is take a wiff of my perfume and know that not all of my femininity has been drowned in this sea of masculinity.

I've composed a short, and personal, list of things entitled....

"You Know You Live with ALL Boys When..."
(I warn you, it ain't pretty.)

You hear a veritable symphony of toots coming from the back of the van,
enough to resemble a high school drum line at the football half-time show.
FOLLOWED BY....
a chorus of giggling.
AND....
the loudest giggler is the big boy driving the vehicle.


You just never know what will be dismantled, disfigured, flushed, blown up, modified, melted or "fixed" next.


You always have a front row seat to a WWF show.

Occasionally you have to do the wrangling and wrestling yourself.
Kai has challenged me to a center ring fight more than once.
And he's in the heavyweight division.



You have four toilets in the house and I only use the one in my room
which remains off limits to all but me.
I believe that little boys are only meant to go potty in wide open spaces.
Let me tell you, some of my sanity has been lost to the fumes of my bleach cleaner.


My Men. I can't live with them. And I can't live without them.