Rugrats and Dirty Rugs

Since the death of our dishwasher, I have compromised with my oldest boys and have decided that if I want to make sure the pots and pans are done properly, I should do them myself. Washing the dishes is one of those chores that makes me want to gag just because it is galling to have to do it in the first place. I'd rather just thumb my nose at the tree huggers and buy styrofoam plates and cups. Really. Please. A seven-person family!! No way am I going to save the world. Anyway, one day I was doing my duty and scrubbing away when I was distracted by throwing some things away to clear off the kitchen counter. I came back to the sink to continue the dreaded chore and realized the washcloth had disappeared. I'm not kidding. It was no where in sight. Up and left. Gone. Like dust in the wind. This phenomenon brought to mind a time in the past that I had forgotten about. Our little family had gone to Mickey D's one time and Doc gave Bashful and Grumpy the job of taking the cups...

My dishwasher has died. It refuses to help me out anymore, the dang thing. I'm really mad at it. I mean, doesn't that thing understand that this is a seven person family? Does it realize how many dishes we use per day? Washing dishes by hand is a thing of the past, for Pete's sake! Not having a workable dishwasher is like going back to the dark ages. I really tried figuring out what went wrong with it, but not being a professional plumber has decidedly not helped. Tinkering with the stupid thing made me realize that I should've gone to trade school before I got married. Considering all the other little things that need tinkering with in this house that would have been a definite plus. Hindsight. After verbally blistering the machine in my kitchen for an hour, I came to the conclusion that I had to give in. I looked on the bright side, though. I have five little dishwashers in the making. I put the oldest two to work immediately.....with an evil, little grin. I set...

Now that Sneezy is two-years-old, he has attempted to communicate more. Sometimes, he will say words, sometimes sentences, and even occasionally the scream of outrage. Last night, I had decided to put on a clean sheet for his crib and put a pillow case on his pillow. I had just finished with the crib sheet and began putting the pillow case on when Sneezy let out a wail of horror. I put him in his crib and tucked him in, but the kid was still horrified by what I had done. I knew immediately it had something to do with the pillow case, but for the life of me I couldn't understand why in the world the child would not want a nice, clean, soft pillow case on his pillow to cushion his face while sleeping. I decided to ignore the ranting and raving hoping that he would eventually realize that there is absolutely nothing wrong with having a pillow case on his pillow. I crossed my fingers and prayed the child would pass out soon. After ten minutes of wailing, I finally went in there, gr...

Fear can be quite insidious. It creeps up on you without you realizing it is happening and then....BAM! You are thinking all kinds of crazy things. Take for instance me and my vivid imagination. All it takes for fear to creep in is my husband coming home late. I like to think of myself as a usually easy-going person. I like to give my husband space. I'm sure the poor man doesn't want a nagging woman asking the five W's like a seasoned reporter the minute he walks in the door. Of course, I'm yelling in my head at him all the same. After all, he didn't come home just a little while after his normal time. We're talking LATE, people. It was dark outside. The kids were getting ready for bed. I was starting to think about calling hospitals. Of course, I'm telling myself not to worry. It's a sin to worry after all. I'm not putting my trust in God. I have to trust that my husband will be alright and nothing bad is going to happen to him. Everything...

We went to visit the doctor the other day. Of course, in our house that is not an unusual occurrence. In this particular instance, Happy needed stitches. The boy had decided to stand on top of a kitchen stool. Said stool decided to tip over and fall out from underneath him. The poor kid's forehead slammed into it and he bled all over himself. Being the expert in "do we need stitches or not", I took one look at his head and knew we needed a doctor since I am not an expert in stitching up rambunctious boys. My bedside manner would be decidedly lacking. Everything went as expected until it was time for Happy to feel the sting of the needle. Things didn't go well after that. The doc had decided to put a paper-like material over his face while he stitched him up and Happy was not happy with that. The kid started screaming his head off. It wasn't the kind of "Help me, this hurts!" kind of screaming. It was the extremely angry Celtic warrior kind of scream...

We seriously need a normal backyard. You know. The kind that is fenced-in all around and six-feet tall. The gate is padlocked and no one in his right mind would dare venture forth with a German shepherd in the yard. One that happens to be the neighborhood terror right now. I need a normal backyard, people. One with thick, cool grass and tall, bushy trees to give shade. Lots of them. Instead, I've got a backyard that brings in four boys covered from head to toe in dirt after an afternoon of play. They literally come inside looking like dust bunnies. Large ones. Enduring their mother's horrified reaction, they are asked, "What in the world are you doing out there? Rolling around in the dirt?!" As if that were something to be looked upon as insane. Which, to them, is an absolutely normal thing to do. Come to find out, they like to take the tricycle to the top of the bluffs and roll down the hill. It's all about the high-risk sports. Who wants a normal backyard ...

I often wonder if the liberal testosterone running through their veins aides in the shut-down of the brain. They are such violent creatures at times and often their hands are in permanent fists. Even Sneezy has perfected the fist with his tiny, little baby hand. I would swear they try to think up ways to perfect their masculinity, but often they end up with escapades that border on the moronic. I have said to myself more often than not that I am surrounded by morons. Case in point. Due to the extreme critter conditions we find ourselves here in southern Colorado, we have the ever-present bug spray in the garage. This is not the kind you find in a dinky, little can. It's the kind that you carry and has a hose attached to a spray nozzle. Heavy-duty stuff here. After all, we want to KILL the spiders, not numb them. We keep it high up off the floor because after all we do try to be responsible adults and keep poison out of reach of children. It even has it in big, bold letters on the...

We've lived in this particular house in southwest Colorado for about three years now and have not seen the mythical creature called the rattlesnake.....until last night. My parents have come for a visit and brought a trailer with them to the delight of the boys. They parked it in our driveway and we all have beaten a path to and from the house. Last night, Mom was tired and decided to call it a night. Two seconds after she walked out the door, she walks back in and nonchalantly says, "Okay. Someone go out there and kill the snake." Pandemonium breaks out. Everyone just has to see the snake outside and lo and behold, after some inspection to the thing on the sidewalk with big boots and a monster flashlight, the verdict was a baby rattlesnake had decided to visit. Oh, joy. With Unca Gug smashing it with a baseball bat and Doc holding the gun on it just to make sure, the wiggling mass of snake was finally put to rest. I think I will be walking to the trailer on my tippy-to...

Grandma and Grandpa have come for a visit and they have been imparting some of their wisdom and advice to the boys. Grandma asked the two older boys (9 and 12) if they have thought about where they will take their girlfriends on a date. Of course, their reply was an adamant no, so Grandma decided then and there to give them some advice. She told them to take their girls to a nice restaurant with sit-down service and nice silverware and then after that take them to a movie. She informed them that a good date would cost them approximately $80. Grumpy replied, "Wow! That costs about as much as a bunny rabbit!" (His mind is always full of future plans for buying his own pet rabbit.) Grandma said they would need to get a good job so they could afford to do this. Grumpy said, "Or I could just use a VISA."

There is a phrase that I am fond of repeating. Actually, I have no choice because the reason for my favorite phrase happens on a daily occurrence. I have five sons who scream just to hear themselves do it. It seems to be their favorite pastime. Throughout the day, I am constantly yelling, "Shut up!", or "Stop it!", or "Be quiet!", or when I've really had it, "Shut the *&%$ up!" Well, not really, but that's what I'm thinking by the end of the day while I'm grabbing my hair and pulling what is left of it by the scalp. There are times when I've given a blow-by-blow description of my day to Doc and my usual phrase ends up in the conversation. "He was screaming his ever-lovin' head off!" Again, this is a daily occurrence and I am forever repeating that particular phrase. It's no wonder that Grumpy has picked it up himself. Sneezy was ready for his nap this morning and we all knew it was time because the child ...

Ghastly. I love that word. It's the kind of word that you have to say with an English accent. Ghastly. Every time I hear it or read it, I laugh. I can't seem to help myself. Just the sound of it rolling off my tongue emits giggles out of my mouth. I then wonder how I can use it in my every day life. What would I describe as ghastly? Well, maybe the kitchen floor after dinnertime. Yes. I would say that was ghastly . Or, maybe the bathroom floor around the toilet after the boys have used it. Definitely ghastly . Even possibly, that one time when I was stranded on the road with five children and two flat tires. That was definitely a time that exuded ghastliness. Is that a word? If not, it should be. There are times in my life where that word should be used and laced with scathing sarcasm. I wouldn't be averse to using it as a mild profanity, either. It makes one feel quite brilliant actually when describing a scene that one would call revolting in the extreme. Or just mild...

"You know what, Mom?" "What, Sleepy?" "Inside your eye is disgusting stuff." "Oh." I take a moment to laugh. "Yeah. Bashful and Grumpy looked into my eye and said there is disgusting stuff in there." Okay, then.

One evening, while visiting my parents, I decided to give my rank toddler a bath. I plopped him down on the floor and looking into the tub, my face scrunched into confusion. This was an older tub and didn't have any mechanism to plug it up. I knew my parents had a special plug for it, but I couldn't find it anywhere. So, I yelled down the stairs, "Mom! Where's the plug to the bathtub?" To prove that I am getting old in more ways than one, I thought I heard her say it was on the floor next to the tub. The only plug I could see was the toilet plunger. "Huh," I muttered, and grabbed it. I stuck that dang toilet plunger into the tub to see if it would plug up. As I pushed it down, it popped right back up and I said to Sneezy, "They can't be using the toilet plunger to plug up the bathtub." My face was a study in confusion as I yelled down the stairs, "Do you mean the toilet plunger, Mom?" just to make sure our wires weren't cro...

Bashful comes in the house after having a rousing, good time outside playing with some neighborhood boys. He bypasses the kitchen and troops downstairs to the bathroom. He happily explains to me that there is yet another boy to play with while turning on the bathroom faucet. I interrupt his dialogue to inform him that we do have cups in the kitchen and he is quite able to fill one with water from the kitchen sink. The boy looks at me as if I have suggested something totally incomprehensible. His expression was like, "Why would I do something like that?" and proceeded to bend over and put his mouth in the running water. I'm raising a bunch of barbarians.

This morning, I announced to the boys that two new movies would be arriving in the mail soon. Happy anticipated this with bated breath. He even knew what time the mail lady usually arrived and asked if he could go outside and get the mail. He put on a mismatched outfit and shoes and trudged out the door. After a while, I came out of my daze and noticed that there was no Happy exclaiming his excitement and waving the tell-tale red envelopes in the air. I called and called for him in the house and then Grumpy noticed that Happy was still outside. We realized that the mail hadn't arrived yet because Happy had decided to lie down on the ground and wait for it come.

It was time to go to another birthday party. We were rushing out the door as usual when I noticed that Grumpy had yet to put some socks on. I told him to go find some and went out to the car. I mentally crossed my fingers and thought, "He can find his own socks, for Pete's sake! He's nine!" We sat in the car and waited for him to come out so that we could be on our way. We arrived at the party all accounted for and I told the boys to take their shoes off when we got in the door. I was talking to a friend of mine when she looked behind me and started laughing. I turned around and there was Grumpy with only one sock on. "Wha....where is your other sock?" I demanded huffily. He sheepishly replied, "I couldn't find another one."

A few months back, my husband bought an exercise bike. Oh, joy. I pointed to the general direction of the TV and said he better put it there if he expects it to be used at all. I love to kill two birds with one stone. I have neglected that poor bike and dust has settled over it for the past couple (okay, maybe a few) weeks. Last night, I discovered a box of Ghiardelli chocolate-covered pretzels. Considering my weakness for chocolate and the empty bag this morning, maybe I should dust off that exercise bike.

One beautiful summer day, Doc, the boys, and I were visiting beautiful West Virginia and my family. We were sitting out on the deck scattered around in chairs and Mom was making dinner for us all. She made fried chicken and homemade French fries. We sat outside and enjoyed our feast and ever since then, I've craved that meal with more than just hunger pains. Tonight, I'm making a dummed-down version of that meal.......shake-n-bake......because I can't make fried chicken. I am making homemade French fries, though. I'm going to eat this meal with Doc and the boys and I'm going to miss you, Mom. Now, I better go before I burn it.

My parents have the cutest dog in the world. He is a cocker spaniel and his name is Buddy. He is aptly named because he is my dad's buddy. He loves cuddling with him in his favorite chair or sleeping with him in bed. Buddy is twelve years old now and deaf as a doorknob. (or is it doornail? Whatever.) He is a barking dog and now that he is older there are times when he doesn't realize that there are people walking their dogs on the street and my parents will get a reprieve from the ferocious barking and snarling of teeth (a little exaggerated, of course, for dramatic purposes). He will occasionally see the passing car by chance and bark his ever-lovin' head off and I'll hear my mom yell the usual, "Buddy!" and I often wonder if he even hears her. He can still see her face, though, and the firm, no-nonsense look she gives him quiets the dog, but I can tell how hard it is for him not to bark by the continued rumbling in his throat. While visiting about a week...

Sleepy and I were going over body part names this morning. He asked, "What are these bumpy things on my hands called?" I said, "They're called knuckles." "Oh. Where's my chest?" I pointed to the general area. He was quiet for a second and then pointed to his head and announced, "And this is my melon!"

Our Grumpy is a little worry-wart. I have probably contributed to this with my own anxiety over certain things. One of the things that he worries about is gas for the car. We are always traveling on Sundays and I am always thinking out loud to myself. One of the things I always need to remind myself about is making sure there is enough gas. I always seem to be daydreaming and there have been times when I've gasped aloud and wheezed, "I'm almost out of gas!" My son knows about my notorious absentmindedness and he has probably envisioned all six of us walking down the road looking for the nearest gas station in a blinding blizzard or drenching rain. It's not a pretty picture. Now, he is the one who makes sure I am aware of the gas gauge. Soon after we get in the car, I often hear, "Mom? Do you need gas?" or "Mom! Don't forget to get gas!" Doc has pointed out to the boy that he is too young to be worrying so much.

Doc and the boys have had to contend with a grieving woman in the house since I came back. Since my grandmother's funeral, I have been a blubbering mess. Yesterday was awful. I cried for two hours on the way to church. After Doc's beautiful sermon, I sat on the toilet in one of the bathroom stalls and sobbed. I even had to leave church a little earlier than usual in order to weep almost all the way home. My family has been witness to this new and different woman and I'm sure they are wanting the old mom and wife back. At one point, I was sitting on the couch in Doc's office weeping away when Sleepy came in. He sat next to me and put his arms around me and we cuddled while I talked with Doc. After a little while, Sleepy looked at me and said, "Mom, you look so beautiful." I know there will be more days when I will cry for my grandmother and my family that is thousands of miles away, but it helps to have sweet, little arms wrapped around me for comfort.

I've been away for a week visiting family. You can tell by the look of my house. Things have gotten a little messier and certainly crustier. The boys had their spring break and spent their days being as lazy and carefree as possible. Because everyone knows that doomsday is approaching and school will begin again so it's time to live it up! They've had fun watching movies, playing PS2, and whatever sorts of games that boys play. When I was greeted by them after a week apart, I could tell they needed a little mother's care. Happy wore jeans with gigantic holes in the knees with a shirt that didn't fit. Sleepy and Grumpy wore clothes that didn't match. I did notice they all had socks on. Which is something. I'm sure they've driven their father up the wall. One time, I called and I heard the boys yelling and carrying on in the background. Bashful's shrill voice could be heard yelling, "Shut. UUUUUUP!!" Doc told me that if he heard Sleepy ye...

This morning, I was sitting in the front row in church with my boys. I turned to Bashful, took his chin in my hand, and asked, "Are you my sweetheart?" I'm his mom so I don't care that the kid is 12 years old now and I'm probably seriously weirding him out. He didn't answer me at first and just kind of grunted. I wasn't going to take that as an answer and stubbornly asked, "Are you my sweetheart?" Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered, "Yes," probably hoping no one was listening. To embarrass him further, I squealed, "Oh, goodie!" and smothered his face with kisses.

We were in the car driving home from the airport. I had spent the week in WV and Doc and the boys were picking me up. Sleepy and Happy were telling me what they wanted to be when they grow up. Happy wants to be an airplane pilot and a firefighter. Bashful's response was, "Well, you'll be rich, but you'll be so busy your brain will explode."

I did some cleaning this week. I went at it with a vengeance. My kids even noticed and I got a couple comments from Sleepy and Happy. "Hey, Mom! You went to WalMart and got new stools!" exclaimed Sleepy. "Uh, no, son. I just cleaned them," I explained drily. "Oh." A little while later, Happy became incredulous and yelled, "Mom! You cleaned the stools?!" "Uh, yes, Happy, I did." Okay, so I get the hint.

Monday morning dawned bright and clear as usual here in the semi-desert. It was the day of picking up your dogs from the kennel after being away for the weekend. I went to get our dysfunctional bowel animal from her home away from home and was greeted with whines and excitement. She is always happy to come back home. Putting her in the backseat, I had to constantly tell her to get out of my face while I was driving. "Yes, yes. You get to go home now. Good doggie. No! Get out of my face, dog! Okay, it'll be alright. Good girl." After I filled the tank with gas, I turned toward home and I ended up behind a pickup truck with two beautiful yellow labs standing in the truckbed. I commented to Leigh about the two nice doggies and how pretty they were, but she didn't seem too impressed with them. A little ways down the road, I was chatting with the dog (don't ask me why) when my eyes were riveted on the truck flying down the road in front of me. I never thought ...

We were cuddling in my favorite chair by the window enjoying the view of the mountains when Happy announced to me, "I don't like bunnies." This was surprising to me since he is always outside looking for them in the bunny-made burrows in the bluffs behind our house. His brother, Grumpy, is always sticking up for the plant-eating creatures and whenever I tease him about getting out the BB gun, he is always ready with a quick and panicky response about how he thinks of that notion. Bashful even wants a bunny for a pet which I've adamantly informed the child, "Never, ever, ever." (I also said this about the dog, the cat, and the birds, but look how that worked out.) So, I gave Happy a squeeze and asked him why he doesn't like bunnies. He replied, "I like eagles better. I think the eagles need to come and eat the bunnies." Well, okay then.

Our little Happy is quite the little worry-wort. Last Saturday, I left to take Grumpy to his basketball game. Happy watched Grumpy and me very carefully as we put on our shoes and walked out the door. I kissed him and told him I would be back later. A little while after I left, Doc put his shoes on to go outside and get the mail. Happy seems to be under the impression that whenever Daddy puts his shoes on, he is going to church. So, when Doc put his shoes on, Happy thought he was leaving. He said, "Mommy left with Caleb. If you go to church, I be scared."

Previously published June 8, 2008. It was 9:00 in the evening and I had just put the boys to bed. I went to look into Bashful's room and sighed forlornly as I looked at his empty bed. He had gone for an overnight stay with his dad up in the mountains and I was lonely for him. Wryly, I wondered what kind of mournful mom I am going to turn out to be when the kid leaves for college someday. The wind had picked up considerably in the last few minutes and was howling like a banshee. There isn't a lot of precipitation where we live. When we actually get a thunderstorm, we prop our chins in our hands and stare out the window in awe. When we get a snowstorm, we immediately bundle into our winter paraphernalia and go romping in the snow. We take what we can get when it actually happens. One thing we do get a lot of is the wind. The wind can get to a person sometimes. Drives me batty with the way it howls right along with the coyotes. When I leave the windows in the bedrooms open, the wi...

This past Saturday, I had the opportunity to take my son Grumpy to his basketball game. I was looking forward to enjoying myself while watching cute kids dribble and shoot. I picked a seat in the bleachers and with a big "go get 'em" smile on my face, stuck my thumbs up to let my son know that I was there to cheer him on. An hour later, I sighed with relief when I felt the cool breeze on my face as Grumpy and I left the school building. That was one of the longest hours of my life! I did enjoy watching cute kids dribble and shoot. I did enjoy watching my son dribble and pass and block. It was great! The problem was the parents sitting behind me.....yelling in my ear. Don't get me wrong. I encourage all parents to cheer for their kids. But this is what I heard.....for an hour...... "Get the ball, Taylor!", "Shoot the ball, Taylor!" "Steal it from him, Taylor!", "Get the rebound, Taylor!", "Good job, Taylor!", ...

I often wonder if I could have a super power, what would it be? Sometimes I think I would like to be able to multiply myself. One of me that is the cleaning lady, one that is the chef, one that is the wife, another would be the homeschool teacher, and so on. I don't know about you, but I believe that every homemaker has multiple personalities. We always have to switch to different modes in order to do everything we need to do. We even occasionally have to switch to the "handyman" mode and that's just plain weird, if you ask me. When I was younger, I was fascinated with the show I Love Jeannie. I would practice crossing my arms and bobbing my head while blinking just to see if what I wanted would appear before my eyes. Of course, I knew it wouldn't happen, but it was still fun. Whatever Jeannie wanted done, all she had to do was blink and voila! magic would happen. It would be nice to blink and have a fabulous dinner appear on the dining room table. The laund...

Our house was brand new when we moved in about three years ago. Bright and shiny like a new penny and no one had lived here before us. Every weekend, we would all pile into the van and take the trip to see the progress on the house being built just for us. We have pictures of the piece of land we bought with no house on it. We have pictures of the house when it was just a skeleton of what it is now. We excitedly awaited the time we would be able to move in and make it our home. In the three years we've lived here, we've certainly done that. Considering the boys' destructive abilities, I'm surprised the house hasn't crumpled down upon us. Not that they haven't tried to do just that either. Little Sneezy has approached toddlerhood and life has been a little more hectic. Trying to keep those chubby, baby fingers from reaching for everything is a full-time job. One evening after dinner, Sneezy took a cup full of water that was sitting on the table and poured it o...

During the days when we had a family of mice in the house and Cleo was constantly in the midst of battles, something strange happened to our vaccuum. It was a fairly new vaccuum because we had just broken the tenth vaccuum we've owned since the first year of our marriage. Considering we've only been married 13 years, that says a lot about us. Vaccuums do not last long in this house. We've tried all kinds and our present vaccuum is the canister kind.....and florescent green. After the hero of the day (Mr. Mouse Killer) came and wiped out the mouse population living in our house, I noticed two humongous holes in the hose of our vaccuum. I couldn't decide if I or the boys had tried to suck up something that was really sharp and thus blew out the side of the hose in a couple places, or the mice were really, really, really hungry. This fairly new vaccuum was officially not fairly new anymore. I had to wrap up the holes with duct tape and keep my fingers crossed that it wou...

It was Happy's turn to go out to lunch with Doc today. He is the fourth in line and it probably seems to him that he always has to wait so long for his turn with Daddy. Doc takes the boys out once a week for some one-on-one time alone with him and they always get to pick wherever they want to go. Happy picked Wendy's. Doc asked, "Do you want to get a broccoli sandwich?" Waiting with suspense, we expected to get a "No way!" What we got instead was, "Yep. It's my favorite."

Last Sunday morning, a friend of ours let Sneezy borrow her little stuffed Dalmation puppy. It was quickly confiscated by four-year-old Happy since Sneezy was mostly interested in driving his mother crazy during the church service. It wasn't long when Grumpy (the one with the stuffed animal fetish) realized that there was a cute, little stuffed puppy within his vicinity. It wasn't long after that when Happy and Grumpy were alternately snatching and resnatching the puppy from each other. I had to put a stop to it and gave Happy the puppy. We were in church after all and Grumpy is nine years old after all. It seemed fair at the time especially when my nerves were already stretched taut for everyone to see since we were all sitting in the front row. After church, Grumpy took off with the stuffed animal not to be seen from again until our friend from church asked about her puppy. As I yelled for Grumpy to return the animal, our friend changed her mind and said that he could have it...

It is official. I can now listen to Doc's sermons online! Woo-hoo! If you would like to listen as well, then here is the link: www.apostles-evergreen.org Just scroll down and the sermons are on the left side bar. You may think I am biased, but I say that he is one of the best preachers I've ever heard. (The link is also on my own side bar under Church of the Apostles.)

Everyone in this house knows about Grumpy's stuffed animal fetish. Even four-year-old Happy has figured this out. The older boys and I were in the midst of our schooling when we hear a little sing-song voice coming from upstairs. "Grumpy! Guess what I've got?" Grumpy looks up the stairs and as soon as he realizes that Happy has his favorite cuddle bunny, dangling it like a carrot in front of a rabbit, the boy became a blur. He flew up the stairs. Happy squealed and turned toward his bedroom. He yelled to his co-conspirator, six-year-old Sleepy, "Hurry! Hurry!" He streaks through the door and it slams shut. Of course, they aren't strong enough to keep it closed and what commenced was a bitter struggle on Grumpy's part and a gleeful tugging on Happy's. Happy has figured out what makes Grumpy tick. This is going to be interesting.

Two Sundays ago, it was Superbowl Sunday. To get it out in the open right away, I rooted for the Steelers. I told the boys about the momentous occasion. They seemed interested about it, but when it came time to sit down in front of the TV to bask in football delight, they opted to play PS2 games. They were not, on the other hand, able to quite ignore their mother's intermittent yells. She was quite excited throughout the game and near the end of the 2nd quarter, their mother started to scream....and scream....and scream. (If you were watching as well, you would know why.) "Go. Go! Oh, my gosh! GO! No way! Run! RUN! Woo-hoo!" Sleepy and Happy were quite confused about what could possibly make their mother scream in such a way and were a little worried about her. They sat down with their mom and Doc to watch the football game. When there was another amazing touchdown taking place, their mother began to scream again. Doc's ears began to bleed. During his mother...

I have written this particular post to encourage everyone.....because we ALL have one of those days...... This morning, I was awakened by the buzzing of the alarm clock and immediately hit snooze. I hit snooze three times and after each time I immediately fell asleep again. There's something about having five boys that enables me to do that. After the third time, I went about getting ready for church and waking my sons. Half an hour before we were to leave, I asked Bashful to let Leigh outside in order for her to do her business outside instead of inside. Outside is always preferable. I kept an eye on the clock and ten minutes later, I asked Bashful to let her back in. I should have known he would be in his own world and so he didn't hear me. Five minutes later, I asked if he had let her in. He said, "Oops," and opened the back door to wake the entire neighborhood. "Leigh!" No answer. No running paws. We had ten minutes until we needed to leave, so I told...

When I put on my trusty "after childbirth" jeans a little while ago, I looked in the mirror and realized the time had finally come to make the jaunt to the store for new jeans. There was a rip about twelve inches long on the inside of my thigh. Okay, then. The other two pairs of jeans hanging in my closet were not much better off. One had a rip in the knee and the other was covered in old paint. I had no choice. I plopped the baby in jail for a couple hours and girded myself for the torture of finding just the right pair of jeans. I purposely didn't think about it as I told my husband and children goodbye. I hate dwelling on sad things. I went to my favorite jeans store. The kind that is cheap. After my second tustle in the fitting room, I hit the jackpot. I knew this because I could pull them up without too much wiggling and my stomach didn't hang over the button. It was good enough for me and I headed for the cashier. They aren't even officially called mom je...

We've already had two birthdays this year and it's only February. For each birthday, I've made a cupcake cake which is very popular in this house. I have told the boys that we will celebrate Valentine's Day with cupcakes as well that have hearts and red and white sprinkles on them. They are counting down the days. A couple days ago, we were all getting into the car. It was dark outside and Grumpy had looked up at the sky to look at all the stars. He exclaimed that there was a shooting star and immediately clasped his hands together and placed them underneath his chin. His face was a study in earnest with his eyes closed. He whispered a few words and all I could make out was the word "cupcakes". As he was getting into the car, he told his father that he had wished for a thousand cupcakes. He and his brother, Bashful, thought this was hilarious and pealed with laughter. Valentine's Day just can't come soon enough.

Sneezy is 14-months-old now and is enjoying the freedom of exploration. His chubby little legs have taken him all over this house and I usually hear him screeching with pleasure over one thing or another. He particularly likes playing with the cat's water bowl. I usually find cat food floating around in the bowl thanks to Sneezy, and this morning, I heard the usual swishing around and turned to confront Sneezy with his latest escapade. He had Happy's toothbrush in his hand and was using it to stir the slushy cat food around. Nice. A few days ago, I went into Sleepy and Happy's bedroom to make sure it was picked up. Sneezy had followed me in there and turned to the closet doors. He banged on them and looked at me. I interpreted his body language and realized he wanted me to open them so that he could feast his eyes on the colorful array of toys. I left him happily playing and went about my usual business. Later, I peeked in the bedroom to see Sleepy and Happy tumbling and ...

Today, I have endeavoured to cut Sleepy's hair. Doc and I got tired of astronomical fees we rack up for six men's hair cuts every two months, so he decided to get a haircut kit. He ended up buzzing his hair. It looks really nice, but his sons all had the same expression on their faces when they saw their father's new haircut. It was something like, "Why in the world would you do that to yourself?" This morning, Sleepy's hair was driving me crazy, so I marched him upstairs to my bathroom. I grabbed the scissors and the razor and set to work. I asked, "Sleepy? Would you like your hair buzzed like Daddy's?" He replied, "No. People will look at me and freak out." "I'm just not sure I can do this, honey. Mommy's not a professional, you know." "I'm going to Bella's house soon. She will look at me and not know who I am. She will wonder where Sleepy is." His hair turned out alright. He is still recogni...

I'm really picky when it comes to romantic movies. I prefer them clean and it's really hard to find those kind of romance movies these days. Nowadays, romantic movies are chock full of butts, boobs, and beds. Just sayin'. I was bored one day and decided to google the top romance movies of all time. You have got to be kidding me. One list had Brokeback Mountain on it. Pulease. I was, in fact, so disgusted by all of the lists that I came across that I decided to make my own. I decided to call it The Top 16 Clean Romance Movies of All Time, well, because I couldn't think of anymore to make it an even top 20. Now, my list might be different from most people. I said I was picky. First, I don't like b***** women. That scratches out a whole pile of popular movies. One of them being Gone With The Wind. Does anyone besides me want to smack that woman? Second, I don't like it when the couple end up in bed together. Uh, I don't really need to know, thankyouverymuch. Th...

We have a new president now. Bah. My husband is aware of my incandescent joy and consistently reminds me to be respectful of our president and that we must pray for him just as we did for the former. I reply, "Do I have to?" as I grudgingly concede that he is right. Last night, we were barely able to eat our dinner as we depressingly discussed Obama's first days in office. When Doc announced that our taxes are now going toward abortion, I wanted to vomit. This morning, my husband jokingly announced that he is going to pray for Obama the way they did in the movie Fiddler On The Roof. "May the Lord bless and keep the tsar...far away from us!" Amen.

I took my five boys to the store today to pick up a few things. I grabbed a cart, pushed it a little out of the way so that our entourage didn't hold up anyone who came in behind us, and put Sneezy in the front seat of the cart. I looked up to count and make sure my brood were with me when I noticed Sleepy a few feet in front of us looking around. He noticed a woman pushing a cart in his vicinity and naturally believing he had the right woman and the right cart, grabbed a hold of it, and began walking away with her. "Sleepy! Sleepy! SleEPY! SLEEPY!" Even calling his name loud enough to wake the dead, he didn't hear me and continued walking away with the strange woman. The woman noticed the ignorant child and stopped to look down at him with a gracious smile. Sleepy's brothers ran after him and told him of his mistake with much glee. When I reached my boy and saw the dawning realization cross his freckled face, the giggles got to me so badly that I was bent over...

This afternoon, I went into my bathroom to get ready to go to the store. I told my little shadow, Happy, that I would be out in a second and shut the door. Within moments, I heard the tell-tale thump, thump, thump of the creaking bed. "Are you jumping on my bed, boy?" "No." The thumping ends for a moment and begins again a second later. "Quit jumping on my bed!" He makes no mention that he heard me in order to continue the charade of not knowing what in the world mommy is talking about. Although, the thumping did stop. The child will be four years old very soon and has already learned the fine art of lying....without blinking an eye. I'm in trouble.

Sleepy was reciting his 5's and not enjoying it very much. "5, 10, 15, 20, 30...." "No, Sleepy, you forgot to say 25. Do it again," I said. I left him to his recitation with his father sitting on the couch listening. While I was doing some things around the house, Sleepy told his father this... "When I grow up, I'm going to be a policeman. When I catch a bad guy, I'm going to make him say his 5's. If he can't say them, I'm going to put him in jail." Funny kid.

Well, all, here's the rest of the Christmas story a little late. My husband bought Sleepy and Happy guns for Christmas. He bought Sleepy a Kentucky rifle and Happy a World War I action rifle with a powder horn. These guns are fake, but they don't look fake. These are the kind of guns that if they took them outside to play with, we would hear the screeching of tires and screaming from people passing by our house. They would be yelling, "Oh, my gosh! That kid's got a GUN!" They both thought the guns were pretty cool, but alas, six-year-old Sleepy has been bitten by the PS2 (Playstation 2) bug. We got him a couple games to play and now Bashful and Grumpy must share their precious new present (PS2) from Christmas. They are not exactly happy about that. To his older brothers, though, it is a right of passage, so they've been quite patient and understanding in showing their little brother the ropes.