Rugrats and Dirty Rugs

Our two-year-old is a little guy. Sometimes it seems he is the same size now as when he came out. He is also beloved by his older brothers and they take great pride in teaching him new things. One of these new things he learned was shown to his father just the other day. Sneezy came into the room with one of my dolls. There is no cause for concern, though, because what came next was definitely a male thing. He grabbed it by the neck and in his little, baby chipmunk voice said, "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" He proceeded to punch it in the face, throw it on the floor, and stamp on it with all his might. Knowing this was not a particular bloodthirsty action he taught his son, Doc couldn't decide if he was shocked or proud. Of course, he didn't have to decide for very long and out came the usual guffaw of delight when his sons prohibit overt manliness. Sneezy's two oldest brothers exhibited great male pride as they informed me that it was them who had sho...

Growing up, I've never liked my name. When I was a kid, I went around telling my friends in elementary school that my real name was Rhonda. To this day, I don't know why I picked that particular name. I guess I liked the sound of it then, though now I'm wondering why I didn't pick something that was more flowery like Heather or Rosalind. Something majestic like Elizabeth or Katherine would have been better than Rhonda. Even something like Sunlight or Cream Puff would have been prettier to me than that, for Pete's sake. Many people mistakenly thought my name was just a couple letters- DJ. I often ended up grinding my teeth trying to explain to them that I had a REAL name. I would have to go into the story of how I received my name upon my birth. I was named after my father. They took his first and middle initials and just spelled them out. Problem was everyone called me DJ. The reason I didn't like this was because I believed that was a boy's name. I would me...

One of my most challenging jobs as a mother to sons is teaching them how to clean. Sometimes I often wonder if it is a lesson in futility. First of all, each one of them has a serious Peter Pan complex. All play and no work. My house clearly reveals this concept. I have designated them each a kitchen chore. One has to sweep the floor, another has to empty the dishwasher, another has to clear off the table, and the last has to fill the dishwasher. They do their jobs, but that's it. Therefore, the table still has crumbs, the kitchen counters are covered in empty containers and leftover food, and pots and pans are waiting to be scrubbed. Makes me think I need to have more children just to get the job done. But since my body protests this idea profusely, I must clean up after my children clean up. Even other rooms in the house need my particular attention after the boys have "cleaned up". They will say that they are done and since I take this as a grain of salt, I must inspe...

I can tell that I'm getting old because recently I've been relying on coffee to give me that added boost. Growing up, I watched all the adults in my life gulp the nasty stuff down as if their lives depended on it. I often thought, "Why in the world would someone drink something that tastes like liquid cardboard?" Well, I've discovered the chemistry of doctoring up the vileness. If you put enough creamer and sugar in it, voila! Liquid dessert. I've become desperate enough to try it. I realize it's not the end of the world. After all, it's just coffee. It's not like it's a definite sign of old age. Gray hair is, though. I have long hair down to the middle of my back. Doc has even called me Rapunzel. I've grown it this long because it's camouflage. People have to look closely to guess my age. Or maybe I'm just fooling myself. I'm not going to dwell on that too much. Anyway, I discovered something about myself that doesn...