Separated of the Family

This was a card brought home recently from Jonathan that he made in preschool.

On the other side is the following:

Who do you love?

J: "I love my daddy and mommy and brother and dog. I also love E-- because she's in my family. I love J-- and P-- and A-- and their fish."

What do you do with the people you love?

J: "Sometimes we play together like football and we always do stuff we like to do. They love me because I heard they were in my family and they're gonna have a new house. We just got separated of the family. We're families still but in different houses."

Black Beauty In, Toxins Out

Just watched Black Beauty with Jonathan (5) for my first time ever. Bawled my eyes out. If any nasty toxins were in my body before, they’re gone now.

Cowboy at Heart

Jonathan (5) has been claiming for a couple of years now that when he grows up he wants to live at the lodge (a dude ranch where we vacation each summer) and be a wrangler. He loves to dress in the whole cowboy outfit and even has spurs for his boots. In addition to being a wrangler, he also wants to be a “rock star” (like our pastor/praise team leader) and play the guitar and sing. He often considers his guitar part of his outfit.

We have a friend who wrote the official state ballad of our state and has also written and recorded many other country and western songs about our state, cowboys, etc.

The other day our family was listening to one of his borrowed CDs in the kitchen. As usual Jonathan was trying to sing along even though he had never heard the songs before. In the middle of one of the songs, he exclaims: “Mommy, we need to buy this one!”

I said, “Does it speak to your soul?”

Jonathan (with one hand over his heart), “It makes my heart sing!”

I Stand Corrected

The other day Michael insulted my southern roots when he said: “Mom, we don’t say ya’ll in Montana.”

The Khakis

Being the only girl in a house full of boys (including my husband) has its challenges especially when it comes to bodily noises and gaseous emissions. Both my boys are following in their father’s footsteps (and maybe their mother's) and becoming experts in this area.

With that said, I was totally unprepared for the incident that took place the other day.

Both my husband and 5 year old were already in the kitchen having breakfast when my 7 year old finally came downstairs fully dressed for school in his brand new khakis.

He looked so handsome.

The only problem was that the khakis were a little too long. I quickly stopped and bent down behind him to roll them up. What I didn’t realize was that I had placed my face precariously close to his backside.

The next thing I heard was an exclamation of “Fire in the hole!” followed by an explosion close to my ear and raucous laughter.

Needless to say I quickly jumped away while the males in my house high-fived each other. I dare say they got me.

Now those of you who really know me, know that I am not a snob in this area of body humor. I will readily admit to releasing toxic fumes myself for the sake of a good practical joke. However, this episode took me totally by surprise due to my seven year old’s amazing sense of timing and control.

I will forever be on my guard from here on out…as should they.

I'm So Proud

Today my husband came home at noon and was busy making himself lunch. He was cooking bacon and eggs. To cook the bacon, he lines two cookie sheets with foil and then lays every strip of the one pound package of bacon side by side in neat order. (He then cooks it for 20 minutes at 400 degrees in case you are wondering).

Since I had sort of a captive audience with him, I thought it would be a great time to tell him about mine and Jonathan's adventures for the morning which entailed getting the 5 year old a check-up at the doctor’s office.

I was so proud of him; he was so tough getting three shots and blood drawn without crying (I didn’t say without wincing or without making a terrible face!). I was bragging about what the doctor said about him…one of the things being that he is “perfectly proportioned”.

At this my husband gives the first indication that he is listening, looks up at me and says “I know!” with a proud and excited glimmer in his eye. Seeing that this conversation was making him happy, I proceeded to add more tidbits to the story.

However, when he got a confused look on his face, I realized, to my dismay, he thought I had been talking about the bacon.

Seriously? Seriously.

The See-Saw Incident

It’s funny how the mind works when it comes to memories. Yesterday, we were at a school playground with the latest types of equipment - smooth brightly colored molded plastics and poly-coated steels on top of a thick matt of mulch - all there to provide my child with the greatest amount of enjoyment with the least amount of risk.

As I watched my youngest son (on the verge of turning 5 now) and another kid figure out the see-saw (after trial and error, they found that holding the see-saw level and both swinging a leg over at the same time got the ride started), my thoughts turned back to my days playing on the see-saw during school recesses. I loved the rides that really moved - the swings, the merry-go-round, and of course, the see-saw.

So in my minds eye, I’m reliving the feeling of flying up and down in a fairly controlled environment, feeling the breeze, smiling and laughing with a good friend. Then my mind takes a slight turn in the memory, and I remember the feeling of being at the top of the ride and slamming down hard onto the ground when that fickle friend decides to get off while they are at the bottom. Ah…, and then I remember the better friends that would faithfully stay seated while the person at the top slid down to where they were so both could get off at the same time.

And this is where my mind really honed in to one specific incident. You see, I grew up in the seventies. A reckless time when slides were slick hot metal that faced the sun and burned your thighs as you squeaked slowly down, monkey bars were tall metal structures built on top of hard compacted concrete-like earth, and swings pinched your fingers if you got high enough to get some slack in the chain. And, oh, the good ole’ days of wooden structures like see-saws that had paint chipping off and exposed splintery wood beneath.

So back to the incident. The bell had rung for recess to be over. We needed to leave the school equipment behind and line up at the door as quickly as possible. Fortunately that day, I had one of those faithful friends at the other end of the see-saw who allowed me to slide down in order to get off. And slide I did. On the way down a sharp pain stabbed me right in one of my cheeks that I sit on. I got off the see-saw and reached back (we wore skirts with shorts underneath). Yes, something was not right…there was definitely something in my cheek that was not there before. So I got to go to the school office.

While somewhat humiliating, I braced myself for what needed to be done. The woman proceeded to lift my skirt and pull down my shorts to expose my little white cheeks. She then proceeded to extract something and it was all over.

Until she showed it to me - an inch long piece of timber, half dull green paint and exposed wood, and half blood.

The end.

My Son, The Mop

My boys like to “celebrate” at a restaurant whenever their dad comes back from being out of town. So last night we went to Applebee’s.

Everything was fine until the inevitable declaration by our 4 year old halfway through the meal that he needed to go to the restroom. Neither my husband nor I are ever thrilled to visit restaurant bathrooms during dinner, but he was squirming enough to make it necessary. Fortunately, our 7 year old son was squirming also and was willing to take his little brother. So off they went. Being a responsible father, my husband feels he can only allow them a few moments of independence so he got up to check on them.

As competitive boys, they often go into the same stall and, umm…, pee at the same time. Maybe to see who can go the fastest, the longest…who knows, I’m a girl and girls pee alone. So as my husband enters the bathroom, he finds splashes and puddles on the floor around the toilet…the general filth he usually describes to me after going into some men’s restrooms. He also finds Michael (7) already finished and standing outside of the stall. Apparently they had finished the competition, but his brother was still in the stall doing the other thing. So my husband immediately tries the stall door to see if Jonathan needs any help. It’s locked.

The conversation then goes something like this:

Dad: “Why is the door locked?”
Michael: “Because I locked it for him.”
Dad: “How did you lock the door and still be on this side?”
M: “I locked it from the inside and then I crawled out underneath the door.”
Dad (astonished and grossed out): “You crawled on your hands and knees out from under the door!!”
M (proudly): “No way dad! I slid out on my back!”