Rugrats and Dirty Rugs

To Date or Not To Date

2010-09-30T20:55:00.003-06:00

Doc and I have actually been tweeking with the idea of going on a date.

I know. Totally weird.

Not the idea of doing something romantic. It's the idea that we actually might have the guts to dump our offspring on some unsuspecting person.

This has always been a hard decision for us to make. I mean, we do watch the news and let's face it, we're paranoid.

That's probably why we haven't been on a real date that didn't include scarfing down our food as fast as we can and running back home to see if it's still standing and no one is bleeding.

Just the other day, I asked Doc, "So, are we going out for Chinese tonight?" I was crossing my fingers mentally, chewing on my lip.

I so wanted to be irresponsible. We haven't been on a date in forever and I was craving Chinese like crazy.

I suggested that our 13-year-old son get a chance to hold down the fort for a couple hours. I even turned on my sexy voice and said, "We'll have our cell phone with us."

His reply to me was, "I really don't want to come home to find dead children."

Yeah, well, I guess not.

So, back to the old drawing board of finding the one person we can sucker into watching our five boys.

It's not like they are real terrors. They're actually cute, little buggers. It's just that, well, sometimes they get a little loud and maybe they get a little bored and maybe they get into things and maybe those things end up on the carpet, and the walls, and maybe a little on your favorite pair of pants.

I've been so desperate to get out of the house, though. So much so, that I try to tempt the boys to do their chores and reward them with a night out with mom.

I try to sound like it's the coolest thing in the world. My voice is super-excited when I say, "We can go see a movie or go out to a really nice restaurant. Ooh, we can even find a STEAKHOUSE."

This was for Bashful's benefit because like mother, like son. He's a sucker for steak. He almost wavered when Grumpy broke in.

"That would be kind of gross cause then it would be like a date. Eeuu."

I immediately scoffed like it was so not true because I could see Bashful was still thinking about it and Grumpy was totally cramping my style.

Before I could go for the piece de resistance called the DQ Blizzard, Bashful turned down my offer and asked for $10 instead.

Some parents do not have a problem with dropping their kids off at someone's house. You can still hear the squeel of the tires as they peel out of the driveway.

But, I feel guilty every time I leave the house alone to go to the grocery store, for Pete's sake! Maybe because my children are still begging and crying at the door as I peal their arms off my legs.

There have been occasions when I cave in and let them go with me. On one such occasion, I did.

When I got home from the store, I burst through the door and announced to Doc, "No more Mrs. Nice Mommy! I am NEVER bringing them to the store AGAIN!"

Sometimes, it takes a few times for me to remember, "Oh, yeah, that's why I don't let them come with me."

Still, just going out by myself is enough to make my stomach cramp with guilt. My children get out just as much as I do and I realize that maybe they need some time out in society, too.

Then, I remember that I have actually mastered my "indoor voice" and I don't announce to the whole room that I need to go "pee pee".

It would be nice to get out with Doc sometime, though. I need to look across the table and say, "Oh, yeah, you're the one that helped me make those little boogers. How've ya been, anyway?"

You Know You Have a Toddler

2010-08-09T10:06:00.003-06:00

You know you have a toddler when:

1. Your work is interrupted by intermittent screaming.

2. You hide in your bathroom in order to get some peace and quiet.

3. Your house looks like a war-zone.

4. Stanley Steemer is your friend.

5. The thought of the toddler's personal bathroom is not a good thought.

6. You cripple your feet stepping on toys that are strewn throughout the house despite threatening the child's life if he even thinks of taking toys out of his room.

7. Your refrigerator light goes out thanks to the child's constant opening of the door.....and then leaving it open for who knows how long.

8. You feel guilty for leaving your home even to go to the grocery store because he was crying as you left the house.

9. Fenceless swimming pools give you the creeps.

10. Five minutes after you mop the kitchen floor, you find oatmeal strewn all over it.

Homeschool Rambling

2010-06-10T08:53:00.002-06:00

I never dreamed I would one day homeschool my children.

Growing up, I thought that homeschool was just a weird concept and that homeschooled kids were a little off.

Then I grew up and learned differently.

If the homeschool kids are a little off then that's because the parents are. I mean, they would have to be to want to teach all of their children themselves.

Take me, for instance.

Whenever I am introduced to people and they find out that I homeschool my children and that I have five boys, their reactions are always the same.

Complete and utter thankfulness that it's not them.

I do wonder if I am doing the right thing or just plain crazy.

There are subjects that I love to teach like History and Literature, but I'd rather put a stake in my heart than do a science experiment or math.

I love teaching my sons, but sometimes the burden of their education sits too heavily on my back. There are a lot of mornings when I get out of bed still in the fetal position.

I question myself all the time.

I try to drill into my sons' brains that education is very important, but I'm afraid it's going in one ear and out the other.

What will my sons' remember about this time of their lives? Will they remember it as absolute torture? Do they call me "The Terror" behind my back?

There are the frustrating days. Sometimes, it's like pulling teeth to get them to stop daydreaming and do their work. I have to sit there and make sure they do it instead of doing laundry, etc. because they'll start goofing off and before you know it, paper is flying everywhere not to mention the cat. Therefore, sometimes my days are not as productive as I'd like.

There are the good days. These days make up for the frustrating, pull-out-my-hair days.

The days I will cherish and think about forever because they all culminate into a big part of my life.

I don't know what will become of my sons.

All I can say is, after all this one-on-one attention, they better not become a bum.

Monster Mash

2010-06-08T12:03:00.002-06:00

It's amazing how all my boys come from the same womb, but they are so different from each other.

These differences manifest themselves in different ways, but the most recent was during a movie.

I was desperate for some quiet time and decided to pop in a movie for the youngest ones hoping it would work. Sometimes, movies just don't do it for my little ones.

I turned on the movie and tiptoed away. So far so good.

I grabbed my current book and hopped into bed, snickering. Oh, yeah. It's me time.

A couple chapters later, I realize it's too quiet.

Is the movie actually working? Are they really watching it?

No way.

So, putting on my spy face, I tiptoe to the door and peek around the corner. If they really are watching it, I don't want to disturb anything. After all, I'm in a crucial part of my book.

There they were. The three of them. All glued to the screen. After watching the adorable scene they made together, I started noticing the part of the movie they were so entranced with.

Maybe I should mention that I put in the movie Monsters, Inc.

Yeah. I forgot about the part where "Kitty" scares the crap out of the robotic boy in the practice session and therefore, scaring the crap out of "Boo" and making her cry.

Realizing this a little too late, I watched the reactions of my boys. Seven-year-old Sleepy's eyes are big as baseballs, five-year-old Happy looks bored and nonchalant, and two-year-old Sneezy slaps his hands over his eyes so he can't see anymore.

Yes. You can say it.

I'm a bad mother for letting my little baby see the big, scary monster movie.

Vacuum Surgery

2010-06-02T09:51:00.003-06:00

One of the banes of my life are vacuums.

I don't even know if I'm spelling it correctly half the time. I hate the dang things, and they even go out of their way to be hard to spell. I even had to google it to make sure.

I know I speak of them as if they are more than inanimate objects, but I really think they have their own personality.

They love to make it hard on me. Personally, I think they are all hypochondriacs. I have to be very careful with them or wham! They are refusing to work for me unless I get out the band-aids.

Every few years, we have to buy a new vacuum.....and the good ones don't come cheap, either.

In my house, we need a really good vacuum I can trust because this is no run-of-the-mill carpet we are talking about.

It's the kind that has boys, dogs, cats, and clumsy adults using it.

Our last vacuum bit the dust a few days ago after only a few years of use. The last few weeks of its life I had to have Sleepy or Happy sit on it in order to produce enough suction.

After much groaning and high-pitched whining, it started to give out with outright screaming. Knowing something was very wrong, I decided to start taking it apart to see what's what.

I called Doc in because two heads are better than one, and I needed him to see the definite proof that we will have to get a new vacuum.

My strategy proved better than I thought since pieces of broken metal starting falling away during surgery.

My reaction was shock even though I'm surprised I felt any. The boys' faces looked as if they were saying, "Uh, I don't think it's supposed to look like that."

My conclusion as well, my dear Watsons.

Surprise, Surprise

2010-06-01T07:50:00.002-06:00

Our cute, little booger is being potty-trained now.

Oh, joy.

I hate potty-training. To me, there's nothing cute about it. It's a nasty, disgusting business and I'd rather it pass by without me having to do with it.

The nasty, disgusting part is really not the part that I hate the most.

It's the fact that I have to get off my patoosky every stinking hour to place the cute, little patoosky on the potty chair.

Let's face it, I'd rather be doing something else.

He is the last one, though, so I will prevail in this. I must or the child will be using my floor for a potty chair for years to come.

Case in point.

Sneezy came to me with a soiled diaper telling me that he "poot". I don't know why I didn't believe him. Maybe because I didn't smell it, but I took his diaper off thinking there were no surprises.

Well, that surprise plopped out onto my carpet and I gasped in shock with my jaw to the floor.

Since Sneezy was standing in close proximity to the "surprise" I told him not to move. I went to grab his ankle to enforce this decree, but he jerked away.

His foot landed in the surprise.

It was Sneezy's turn to look utterly shocked with jaw to the floor as he stared at his foot oozing with surprise.

After the shock started to wear off, his face slowly crumpled into despair and wailing commenced.

I grabbed his ankle to prevent him from doing more damage to the carpet and proceeded to laugh until I cried.

The look of shock on his two-year-old face was priceless.

Death to Dollies

2010-05-27T16:38:00.002-06:00

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 shown Sneezy what's what.

After all, what else is a boy supposed to do when he sees a frilly, little doll?

Just Call Me Rhonda

2010-05-24T10:22:00.003-06:00

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 meet boys of all ages with the name DJ. Of course, it was just a nickname, but I ended up being extremely irritated with feminine angst. All of this was compounded by the fact that I was named after a MAN as well.

I was definitely NOT a tomboy. I was a girly girl through and through.

What kind of girl ended up with her knight in shining armor only for him to call her DJ? Only in the books does he call her "Rosalind, my love!"

Even though it was not easy growing up with the name, I have come to terms with it....or so I thought.

Today, I got to talking to my boys about the meaning of their names.

We even googled them.

Definitions like loyal, steadfast, gift of God, peaceful valley, protector, defender, fiery, Christ-bearer, righteous, manly, warrior....the list goes on.

I wanted them to realize that the names their father gave them are something to be proud of.

They are names that are not only rich in meaning, but fit their personalities as well. I know in my heart that the names my husband gave to our sons were also given by God.

Then, Grumpy wanted to know the meaning of my name.

I decided to google my dad's name and the meaning means "white" or "blond". It's also a form of Dionysius who happens to be the Greek god of wine.

Hmmm. Not being blond myself I decided to google my name "Dee".

It means swarthy.

SWARTHY! SWARTHY?

Forget that.

I have decided to just forego the literal meaning of my name and be happy with the fact that I was named after a man that I love and respect.

He is a man who dedicates his life to God and taught me about Him. He is a man who God has His hand on. He is a wonderful father and grandfather.

I am proud to bear his name.

Clean Up

2010-05-17T11:47:00.004-06:00

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 inspect the area. Of course, they have no idea that the carpet needs to be vacuumed and Lord forbid they have to dust.

Dust? What do ya mean, dust?

And since they treat the floor like a trash can, there is always a fine layer of crumbs and pieces of trash littered all over.

You would think they were blind.

Just the other day, I found cheese in the couch.

You might say, "Just forbid them from eating in the living room."

I might say, "And you think I haven't?"

You might say, "Then, you must follow through on that."

I might say, "Then I'd be spanking butts all day every day not to mention they are sneaky, little fellows."

Thus, the cheese hiding in the couch.

Since I am not omniscient and stringing them up by the ankles won't work either, I have decided they are going to clean up their own crap.

This is kind of like potty training.

They will be learning how to clean for the rest of their lives.

Until someday they make the excuse to their wives and talk about how hard they work all day to bring home the bacon and they have made their contribution to the family blah, blah, blah.

Whatever.

Fairy Tale Crow

2010-05-17T07:27:00.002-06:00

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't really boost my morale.

I went on a recent camping trip with my parents in their darling home on wheels. Their bathroom has a skylight and standing in front of their mirror with the light shining down was very revealing.

That little bathroom wasn't so darling anymore.

With my mouth falling to the floor, I lifted up layers of hair to find strands of gray that had been laying in wait for me to discover.

My mother has assured me that I have a few years left before I have to absolutely do something about the gray. She had to assure me this in a very calm voice because her daughter was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

I kept imagining myself looking like those long-haired crows in the children's fairy tales. You know, the ones that like to put children in a big, boiling cauldron and eat them. The gray-haired ones that have that cackling laugh as they stir with a big, wooden spoon while their long hair keeps getting into the liquid.

When I start growing a beard, I'll tell Doc to send me to the circus.

He just might.

The Cool Mom

2010-03-24T16:07:00.004-06:00

I've always wanted to be the "cool mom".

You know, the kind of mom that never raises her voice. I always imagine the "cool mom" to be able to explain to her children the reason why they can't do something in a calm voice with logical reasoning.

Of course, her children always understand this logical reasoning and reacting to her peaceful, sweet voice, naturally, they acquiesce to her request with no more wimpers and whines.

The cool mom also bakes something sweet everyday.

Cookies are a must to munch on when waiting for dinner. She always makes sure the kids never grow too hungry and something is always there to give to them in the meantime.

The cool mom lets them jump on their beds, too. If she passes by their bedrooms, she just laughs at their antics and continues on. Never mind that their rooms look like a tornado hit it. She can just clean it up tomorrow.

The cool mom knows how to tune out the loudness, too. After all, they have to learn to express themselves and if they're having a really good time, she wouldn't want to bust their bubbles by telling them they need to be quiet.

Who cares if it sounds like an army of zombies battling it out in the living room at 8:45pm. They'll be going to bed soon and she can relax for about half an hour before she, too, hit the sack. She doesn't really need more time than that, right?

The cool mom also lets them eat in the living room....or anywhere else in the house that strikes their fancy. How else are they going to watch TV and eat at the same time?

I also envision what it will be like to be the "cool mom" when the boys are teenagers.

A "cool mom" understands that they will still be learning all the rudiments of shaving and seeing hair scattered all over the bathroom sink is just going to be one of those things that happens during this time of discovery.

Also, they will be in such a hurry that they will revert to their toddler days and urinate all over the toilet trying to get done as fast as they can so they can make it back in time to finish whatever it was they were doing at the time when their bladder so rudely interrupted them.

The cool mom also knows that growing boys have really big appetites and need their nutrition so it's okay when they eat an entire loaf of bread....each....in one sitting. Oh, and don't forget those cookies will always be in demand.

Thinking about it for a while, pursing my lips, I realized, "Welp. I'm definitely not the "cool mom".

Night Tremors

2010-02-10T19:18:00.003-07:00

It was 2am in Lakeland, FL and I had just become engaged.

So, after entering my dorm, I decided to call my parents with the good news. I was ecstatic and I wanted to share this momentous occasion with them.

As soon as my mom answered the phone, I screamed, "Mom, I'm engaged! I'm engaged!"

This was not a good thing to do to my parents in the middle of the night.

At first, she didn't even know it was me. She thought it was my sister calling. My sister was babysitting and my parents were worried about her being in a strange house.

They had told her to call them for any reason and especially if anything happened.

When I called them, all she heard, at first, was one of her daughters screaming incoherently into the phone in the middle of the night.

It was enough to give her a heart attack.

When I calmed down enough to speak with a modicum of coherency, my mother heard my name coupled with the word "engaged" along with the scrambled story of how it all came about.

After hearing the story, my parents congratulated me with great relief at the knowledge that no one was dying.

I think I eased them into it pretty well.

Despair vs. Delight

2010-01-17T18:17:00.002-07:00

"Sleepy! Shoot those guys! Aaah! Stupid man! Sleepy! Shoot that guy!

They keeping coming, Happy!

Sleepy, that's mine! Aaah, Sleepy! Sleeeeepy! Stop trying to get me!

Let's go!

How do you press get off?

Sleepy! Come back I can't go! Sleepy! Come back! Sleepy! Come back! I can't move!

Press star!

Come on, Sleepy! Let's go!

I'm going to kill you! You killed me!

I'm not going to kill you!

Leave me alone!

We're under attack, Happy! If you want to be a Jedi, then let's switch!

Don't shoot me! Aaaah, Sleepy! I'm trying to fight someone!

Protect me, Happy! Ok, let's go!

I'm coming!

Come back here, I can't move! Come back down here! I can't go!

That's because you don't have a gun!

Die! Die! Die!

Sleepy! I was going to kill one!

Sleeeeppyyy!! Let me kill one!!

Die!

(Sneezy, the two-year-old, growling, "Die, die, die", in the background.)

You're the blue guy!

Sleepy, help me!

Arrrrggggghhhh!

Wailing, "I wanna switch!"

More crying.

All of this is going on while Sleepy and Happy are playing a PS2 game that belongs to their older brother. They sneaked on while he was in the bathroom.

Screaming and yelling commence when Grumpy realizes his position in front of the TV has been usurped.

In between the yelling and screaming, Grumpy gives pointers.

Off My Rocker

2010-01-16T07:15:00.003-07:00

Sometimes I wonder where my brain went.

I have to keep in mind, though, that the five things that I usually have to think about at once have doubled since the time we moved to AL.

Still.....my memory has never been so decrepit.

Yesterday evening, we were invited over to a friend's house for dinner. I decided I better pick out the boys' clothes because Lord knows they would end up wearing three-day-old jeans with a hole in the knee and a shirt with yesterday's spaghetti sauce on it if I let them pick out their own clothes.

Someone has to make sure these kids look presentable.

I go into Grumpy and Sleepy's bedroom to get a particular pair of pants from the shelf in their room for Sleepy to wear.

They weren't there.

I knew they had been. I specifically remembered that. But, for the life of me, I couldn't find them anywhere on the shelf.

I called the boys and said, "Where are the black pants with the red stripe going down the side?"

Now, to understand the situation fully, you must grasp the fact that there are a ton of clothes and they have absolutely no idea what I am talking about. But, mom is mad about the whole thing and she is going to make them understand this.

Because SOMEBODY took those pants off the shelf and I want to know WHO!

Well, time was getting away and I had to put some other pants on the kid before we rushed out the door.

Later, after having a good time and coming home pleasantly tired, I went into my room to ready for bed.

There, on my bed, as plain as day, were Sleepy's pants that I had been looking for.

I had taken them off the shelf myself earlier that day in hopes of preparing for the evening.

After this story, my kids will definitely think their mother is off her rocker.

Dishwasher Despair

2010-01-11T19:17:00.003-07:00

Since our move to Alabama, I have been pleased as punch to know that I will have a working dishwasher. With a seven-person family, that really comes in handy.

After living on plastic and styrofoam for about a week, I was finally ready to break in the dishwasher in our new home.

The kitchen was unpacked and we had used our dishware and silverware and I was happily putting everything in the dishwasher to be cleaned and sterilized.

Yippee!

Then, the let-down.

I pushed the door in and turned the knob and.....nothing.

Nada.

"Um, honey? Uh, the dishwasher doesn't seem to be working."

After a couple minutes of pondering the situation and stewing over the fact that the owner of the house we are renting probably will not put in a new dishwasher, I had to face the fact that I did not have the most desired-for dishwasher that I needed.

Time for the tantrum.

"I do NOT want to wash dishes for the rest of my LIFE!" I yelled into the kitchen.

Next came the pouting. So, I went to the bathroom and locked the door for a while.

After a few minutes, I came back out to do some more unpacking. Doc was happily putting together some lamps he had bought at the store and he asked cheerfully, "Wanna come see the new lamps? Come see!"

Being the in the dirty, rotten mood that I was, I growled, "At this point, I don't have a working dishwasher. So, woop dee frickin' doo."

Doc got up, went into the kitchen, flipped the switch on the wall above the sink and voila! The dishwasher came to life!

To say I felt relief after that would not be good enough. I went from despair to ecstatic happiness in a nanosecond.

My husband is my hero. He flips a switch and all is right with the world.

Alabama "Snake"

2010-01-11T19:01:00.002-07:00

Well, we have bid a fond adieu to the beautiful mountains of Colorado and greeted Alabama with an accepting heart. Of course, we could do this because of the rumors of balmy weather and green stuff that grows everywhere.

Instead, we were greeted with bone-chilling cold and cracked lips. I wasn't really expecting my poor, dry skin to take a turn for the worse, but alas, I reach for the lotion every five minutes.

My sons have had absolutely no problem announcing to the entire neighborhood and a couple neighborhoods across town of our arrival.

One of our first nights in the area, we all troop outside to clambor into the car. This takes a lot of time and great effort on the parents' part. A friend of ours once said it is like herding cats. Very apt.

They decided to take their time getting into the car and explored the driveway. Since it was dark outside, it was hard to see and they mistook a big stick in the driveway as a snake.

Bashful has made it known among the family that Alabama has big, bad, scary snakes amongst the reptile population. So, when they saw that stick, they made sure I could hear them from the back door as I was coming out.

"Mom! There's a snake! A snake! There's a SNAKE in the driveway!"

Of course, what am I supposed to do at this point besides take a cursury glance at the "snake" (to make sure it is just a stick, of course) and tell them in my best "mothery-I'm-not-yelling-in-front-of-the-neighbors voice" that there is no snake and it is just a stick. NowpleasegetintothecarbeforeIscream.

All in a pleasant, non-threatening voice for the neighbors' benefit.

Because I wouldn't want the neighbors to begin to think that they have a crazy, screaming banshee living on their street.

My sons already know they have a crazy, screaming banshee for a mother. That's bad enough.

Disappearing Drinks

2009-11-17T21:02:00.004-07:00

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 over to the soda pop dispenser and filling the cups with their preferred drinks.

On the way to the drink dispenser, the cups disappeared.

When Doc brought the food to our table, he questioned the boys about the cups.

"Where are the cups?" was met with dumbfounded stares.

It was amazing to Doc and me how those cups could just up and disappear on the way to the drink dispenser, for Pete's sake!

As I stood in front of the sink thinking about that little family episode and looking everywhere for my washcloth, I realized the apples didn't fall far from the tree.

Death of the Dishwasher

2009-11-17T20:48:00.003-07:00

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 to work teaching them how to do the monumental task of making sure the dishes we eat off of do not contain anymore germs.

Like potty-training, this is going to take some stubborn persistance on my part. For instance, teaching them to not to get water all over the floor.

Pillow Cases Bad

2009-11-14T09:11:00.002-07:00

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, grabbed the pillow, ripped the case off and said, "There! Are you happy now?"

The boy immediately shut up by putting the ever-present thumb in his mouth and cuddled with his pillow.

Yeah. I guess so.

Vivid Imagination

2009-11-10T16:15:00.002-07:00

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 is just peachy.

And then that insidious voice of fear says, "Yeah, right. He's probably all mangled up in his tiny, little unreliable vehicle after having been smashed to smithereens on the highway by a truck driver who fell asleep at the wheel."

Oh, I have all kinds of scenarios running around in my head.

By the end of the night, I had the man's funeral planned out.

Not kidding.

I had to give myself a good smack in the face after that.

Celtic Warrior

2009-11-07T10:50:00.003-07:00

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 screaming. It was the "How dare you do this to me!" kind of screaming.

The screams continued throughout the procedure and it rattled off the walls of the entire building. Intermittently, everyone heard, "Get this thing off of me!"

Needless to say, it was no picnic.

Of course, I felt compassion for the boy, but after the 50th scream, my patience was at an end. I ended up hissing at the child to please knock it off and sometimes not with a please.

Once the material came off his face, Happy immediately calmed down. We all breathed a sigh of relief and I rattled my ear with my finger to try and get rid of the ringing.

As soon as I could, I hustled the boy out of the building apologizing profusely to everyone all the while. I had to keep in mind that, after all, the kid is only four.

Someday, I will tell him that when he goes into battle he may be scared. I will remind him of this day and tell him that he may be scared, but he has a warrior's heart.

And a warrior doesn't let fear stand in the way.

Dust Bunnies

2009-08-29T08:24:00.003-06:00

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 when you can fly down a hill and risk breaking your neck?

Next thing I know, they'll be jumping out of airplanes.

Bug Spray

2009-08-15T11:40:00.003-06:00

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 product itself: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN.

So, we thought it would be safe on top of the fridge in the garage totally not realizing that our children may be getting taller, but they still require parental supervision.

One day, 7 year old Sleepy comes to tell me his daily observations of life in general when I noticed he had a peculiar rash on his face.

My forehead scrunched in confusion and with great exasperation yelled, "What happened to your face?!"

He calmly replied that Grumpy sprayed him with bug spray. He went on to show me the various body parts that had gotten in the way as well when I pulled up his shirt to check.

"Grumpy?! Grumpy did this?"

You may well wonder why I ask this question, but I always thought Grumpy was more intelligent than this.

Thus, I wonder at this point if maybe the testosterone got in the way of his brain.

After Grumpy was found, he was brought to the firing squad.

He looked quite disconcerted to find his mother just staring at him with her mouth open and fire in her eyes for a good minute before she started into lecturing.

When his mother gets going, it could be a good ten minutes before she starts winding down. After all, this is poison we're talking about. It needs a good ten-minute lecture if not more.

All the while my mouth is streaming forth with all sorts of outraged motherly noises, I'm thinking, "Dumb. Just dumb. I'm surrounded by morons."

The I wonder about the things I don't know about.

It's enough to make me shudder.

Snake Scare

2009-08-12T16:39:00.002-06:00

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-toes next time.....and maybe I'll bring Doc's gun along with me just to be on the safe side.

VISA Solution

2009-08-12T16:33:00.002-06:00

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."

Ever-Lovin'

2009-06-09T09:37:00.003-06:00

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 made his bad temper more than obvious.

Grumpy took it upon himself to deposit the bad-tempered tyrant in jail, er bed and shut the door.

After he trooped downstairs, he informed me, "He is screaming his ever-lovin' head off!"

Ghastly

2009-06-06T10:22:00.003-06:00

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 mildly disgusting.

The word ghastly should be used at all occasions of ghastliness if only to make one feel better.

Disgusting Stuff

2009-04-23T12:32:00.002-06:00

"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.

A Round, Little Plug

2009-04-22T18:46:00.004-06:00

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 crossing.

In order for her deaf daughter to hear her, she raised her voice and said, "The plug is on the shelf in the bathtub."

"Oh," and there it was. A round, little plug.

This was definitely one of my dumbest moments.

2009-04-22T18:41:00.003-06:00

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.

Waiting for the Mail

2009-04-15T13:09:00.003-06:00

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.

No Time for A Sock

2009-04-11T13:51:00.003-06:00

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."

Chocolate and Exercise

2009-04-08T16:50:00.002-06:00

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.

Nostalgic Chicken

2009-04-08T16:30:00.003-06:00

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 Buddy

2009-04-03T12:26:00.003-06:00

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 ago, Buddy became my cuddle buddy. This wasn't a good thing, though. That meant Buddy was lieing on the couch next to me. Which wasn't allowed.

Oops.

I should have realized since Mom's couch is white.

White.

Buddy is black as midnight and has fur as soft as the softest stuffed animal. Grumpy would have been pea-green with envy. So, when Buddy jumped onto the couch and snuggled up next to me, I thought he was allowed and it was perfectly fine with me. I enjoyed running my fingers through his silky hair.

So, when Dad told Buddy to get off the couch, I joked, "I'm just his sister. He won't listen to me."

Throughout my visit, Buddy got to be bad. I think that's why he liked me so much. We spent the whole week cuddling together on the couch.

At the end of my visit, Mom took Buddy for a walk and he came in with dirty paws. He immediately jumped onto the couch and left Buddy-size paw prints on her very white couch. Since I was in the kitchen at the time all I heard was, "Buuuudddddyyyyy!!!" in a Mother-is-exasperated-voice.

Poor Buddy. I come to visit and now he's in trouble.

Body Parts

2009-04-03T12:23:00.002-06:00

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!"

Worry Wart

2009-03-30T18:37:00.002-06:00

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.

Sweet Little Arms

2009-03-30T09:18:00.003-06:00

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.

Spring Break 2009

2009-03-29T17:30:00.002-06:00

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 yell one more time, "Dad! Happy bit me!", he was going to go upstairs and bang their heads together.

Yes. Things have been a little crazy around here without my tender-loving care. (Or you could call me the drill-sergeant.)

Grumpy even has a black eye.

Courtesy of Sleepy.

Are You My Sweetheart?

2009-03-29T17:26:00.003-06:00

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.

Brain Matter

2009-03-29T17:22:00.002-06:00

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."

2009-03-15T18:15:00.002-06:00

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.

Dog Day Morning

2009-03-10T12:39:00.002-06:00

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 I'd see the day, but one of those yellow labs did a somersault out of the truckbed, and rolled over and over on the side of the road creating a cloud of dirt.

By the time the dog had finished rolling around and stood up, the owner had hit the brakes. Thankfully, the dog looked fine to me if a little dazed.

I'm sure I made a comical impression with my mouth wide open yelling, "Oh, my gosh!" over and over again.

I may have yelled at our dog and okay, so maybe I have spanked her, too, (I have since learned that doesn't work....at all) but I can say she has never fallen out of my car.

Of course, that's not to say that won't ever happen either.

Little Rabbit Foo-Foo

2009-03-10T12:30:00.004-06:00

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.

Leave Taking

2009-03-09T15:32:00.002-06:00

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."

A Windy Night

2009-03-05T08:20:00.000-07:00

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 wind is so strong the doors slam shut and give me a fright enough to make my heart slam in my chest.

This particular night, I looked out the front window to see my boys' shoes on the front step. I decided to bring them in before they were blown away. I struggled to open the front door. The wind just wanted to slam it shut again, but I was determined. I squeezed myself through the opening and thought if I used my ample hind-end to prop it open, I would be able to reach down for the shoes and make it back into the house just fine.

My butt was no match for the wind.

As I bent down to pick up the shoes, the door slammed shut. Even as I turned to try the doorknob, I knew it was locked. Knowing Grumpy had just gone to bed and hoping that he didn't fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, I pounded on the door calling Grumpy's name.

No one came.

I debated with myself. Sneezy had just fallen asleep five minutes ago after a horrendous time of getting him to sleep. I also realized that I couldn't stand outside forever, so I rang the doorbell.

Pandemonium within. The dog started barking her head off and the baby was immediately and rudely awakened. I could hear him protesting this offense vehemently through the door.

Still no one came.

Pounding on the door, yelling Grumpy's name, and ringing the doorbell two more times finally brought my knight in shining armor to the rescue.

I'm thinking maybe I won't disassemble the doorbell after all.

Name Calling

2009-03-02T08:21:00.002-07:00

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!", "Steal it from him, Taylor!", "Go all the way to the basket, Taylor!", "Get the rebound, Taylor!", and so on.

I wanted to reclaim my childhood by putting my hands over my ears and yelling, "Just shut up!"

It was painful.

I told Grumpy as we pulled out of the parking lot that if I ever hear the name "Taylor" again, it will be too soon.

Genie In A Bottle

2009-02-28T09:30:00.002-07:00

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 laundry would be folded in a flash, and I would enjoy watching an enchanted magic eraser scrubbing my bathtubs for me.

The vaccuum would be running all over the house sucking up those pesky dustmites and the sheets would shake themselves out and gently fall back to the bed while the blankets smoothed themselves of any wrinkles.

I have to say that I am truly happy with God's will for my life. I am not unhappy when I have to clean the toilets or wash the dishes.

I was just thinking that maybe it would be nice to have the washcloth do the chore by itself so that I can keep a better eye on my toddler and prevent him from putting things into the toilet and flushing it.

Or playing with the plunger. Or playing with my dishes and watching one of them fall to the floor with a crash. Or spilling cereal onto the carpet. Or...

Yeah. Things like that.

Hole In The Wall

2009-02-28T09:10:00.002-07:00

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 onto the kitchen floor.

I asked Bashful to get a towel and wipe it up because our floor gets quite slippery when wet and I don't want to have to take anyone to the ER.

Of course, the job didn't get done and the floor remained wet.

Bashful and Grumpy had just made plans to do something together that made Grumpy quite delirious with excitement. He made a flying leap toward the stairs and landed into the wall thanks to the still wet floor.

There is now a hole in the wall.

About the size of Grumpy's head.

Death To All Vaccuums

2009-02-27T08:43:00.002-07:00

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 would still work.

In the convening months, it has been touch and go with the vaccuum. Most days, I have to take everything apart and shake out things that wouldn't go all the way through and then put everything back together again to finish vaccuuming up the chips or cereal that were crushed into the carpet thanks to Happy.

There are days when I wish for death to all vaccuums.

I'm still waiting for the invention of the perfect vaccuum. The kind that never breaks, never clogs, cleans the air while your at it, sucks so well that you know there is nothing in or under that carpet, and is cheap.

Wishful thinking, I know.

Broccoli Sandwich

2009-02-23T12:13:00.002-07:00

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."

Puppy Switch

2009-02-21T08:16:00.004-07:00

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.

Muttering under my breath, I made sure he said thank you and we were off for home.

The next morning, Grumpy was busy with homeschool, so he didn't have time to play with his new confiscated addiction.

I was sitting at the computer teaching someone when the screeching noise coming from Sneezy finally pierced through my skull and I yelled, "What is going on?! What's wrong with him?"

I usually expected someone to answer me and Grumpy replied, "Happy won't let Sneezy hold the new puppy."

I marched up the stairs and there is Happy and little 15-month-old Sneezy grappling for the stuffed animal.

Happy wasn't letting Sneezy have it and Sneezy was adamant that it was his. He was holding onto the thing for dear life.

I was actually thinking at the time that it would have been nice for Sneezy to wait to fight with his older brother until he was at least two years old.

2009-02-14T16:27:00.002-07:00

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.)

Tormentor

2009-02-13T08:27:00.003-07:00

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.

Superbowl Screaming

2009-02-09T12:23:00.003-07:00

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's excitable fit, four-year-old Happy reached out and rubbed her back in order to soothe her.

Along with the screaming, came laughter.

Next time, in order to not frighten my little boys, I will probably have to gag myself.

Doggone Morning

2009-02-08T17:08:00.002-07:00

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 Bashful and Grumpy to go outside and look for her.

Five minutes later, no Leigh.

I called for that dog over and over. Called her names, too. Gnashed and gritted my teeth alternately while complaining about the dog to the boys.

"Ungrateful....how could she?!.....where'd she go?.....that stupid animal!"

Finally, I had no choice and drove away. I called Doc and informed him of the latest dog escapade. When I asked him if I should turn around, he said no, and we hung up.

Twenty-five minutes later, Doc called me and told me to go back. Our poochie-pooh is an aggressive dog and if she decided to pick a fight with a neighborhood dog, we would be dog doo-doo....so to speak.

As I began to turn the car around, Sleepy and Happy came out of their own worlds to ask what we were doing.

I explained the situation and was dumbfounded when Sleepy informed me that he had put Leigh in the basement.

I pursed my lips and thought to myself, "This is Sleepy we are talking about here. The kid has no concept of time."

"Uh, you mean this morning? Are you sure?"

"Um, I think so," he replied. He didn't sound very sure.

I drove all the way back home.

I went into the house and opened the basement door.

There was that dang dog sitting pretty at the bottom of the stairs wagging her tail.

Yeah.

It was one of those mornings.

Jeans Jaunt

2009-02-06T16:16:00.002-07:00

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 jeans. Not a bit of elastic in them. Well, not that I know of.

Now that that's over, I think I need to find some new shoes.

A Wish Upon A Star

2009-02-04T15:22:00.003-07:00

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.

Getting Around

2009-02-04T15:11:00.002-07:00

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 wrestling about on the top bunk.

I looked around for Sneezy and only saw two chubby, little legs poking out from underneath the bed.

How cute is that.

Hair

2009-01-30T12:34:00.002-07:00

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 recognizable. I'm sure I'll be better at it the more I practice. Shoot. I've got three other boys to go and then I'll have to do it all over again very soon.

Doc was lamenting his receding hairline as usual while I was fussing over Sleepy's hair.

He remembered a prayer he had when he was a boy.

"Dear God,
Please don't let me go bald until I'm AT LEAST 30!"

I think God is starting to answer that prayer.

The Top 20 Clean Romance Movies Of All Time

2009-01-24T12:55:00.008-07:00

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.

Third, in many movies these days, the main characters have gay friends. Uh, I don't think so.

So, this list is going to be of the movies that are MY favorite and happen to be clean enough for me which also means there may be some kissing in these.

You have been warned.

So, here goes in no particular order:

Roman Holiday- Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck

The Lake House- Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves

Sleepless in Seattle- Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan

Casablanca- Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman- a classic!

While You Were Sleeping- Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman

You've Got Mail- Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan

Becoming Jane- Anne Hathaway and James McAvoy

Sense & Sensibility- Hugh Grant and Emma Thompson- superb acting

Pride and Prejudice- Colin Firth- the one with Keira Knightley is nice because the acting by the guy was really good, but Keira rubs me the wrong way- she comes across as too mean.

My Fair Lady- Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn- the screenplay is a riot. It would be considered politically incorrect these days. That's probably one of the reasons why I like it so much. So funny.

Always- Holly Hunter

Ever After- Drew Barrymore- English accents in France. Yeah, I don't get it, either, but it is a clean romance at least.

Wuthering Heights- Ralph Fiennes and Juliet Binoche- the musical score is beautiful.

Jane Eyre- William Hurt- the best version I've seen.

Gigi- Leslie Caron- I always end up speaking in a French accent after watching this movie. It's so fun.

Bringing Up Baby- Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant- the relationship of the characters smacks of mine and Doc's. I always laugh my head off. A true romantic comedy. In fact, the best.

So, there you have it, people. Now, it's time to order/buy that special DVD, pop some popcorn, grab your favorite blanket along with your guy, and settle in for some mindless entertainment.....unless he's like my guy.

You know.

The kind of guy who makes comments throughout the movie like, "Well, isn't that nice?" or "Kissy, kissy, kissy," or "Pulease," or...well, you get the drift.

Then comes the time when you must kick out said guy and be content with watching the movie by yourself.

Because then you'll get some peace and quiet.

So, what's your favorite?

UPDATE: ***People! How could I forget The Wedding Singer, 50 First Dates, and The Princess Bride?! That takes it to 19, so in order to make it an even 20, I'll put in Striving's suggestion Bed of Roses. Thanks! So, the title is now The Top 20!

Prayer for Presidents

2009-01-24T10:28:00.003-07:00

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.

In His Own World

2009-01-15T18:02:00.003-07:00

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. We were all huddled together laughing our heads off in the middle of the store.

Sleepy was proud that he had done something so funny.

When two parents who are often in their own world produce offspring, it's going to be quite an adventure.

Thump, Thump

2009-01-15T17:57:00.003-07:00

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.

Reciting the 5s

2009-01-14T17:04:00.002-07:00

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.

Best Christmas Ever, Part 2

2009-01-06T08:25:00.002-07:00

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.

Running Days

2008-12-30T07:52:00.002-07:00

Even as a young teenager, I was horribly out of shape.

In high school, I had the bright idea of joining the girls' cross country team. During the first practice, the coach said that we would warm-up by running a mile.

By the time a fourth of a mile went by, the other girls were little specks ahead of me and I was breathing for my life. I thought I was gonna die. There was no way I was going to be able to finish running the warm-up let alone a three-mile race. I hadn't even gotten half-way.

It was a blow to my pride and I was also confused. The year before, our gym class had to run the mile as a requirement. I had failed miserably then as well. I was quite aware that I was part of a very few who could not run the entire time. I didn't get it. I was young and healthy, so why was this so hard for me?

Of course, I quit the cross country team never to be seen or heard from again. I thought that was the end of it. I mentally shrugged and thought that there was no way it was gonna happen. I comforted myself with being a band geek and went on with my life.

Until next year.

When I found out that the mile was a requirement for gym yet again, I determined then and there not to be left in the dust again.

At that time, my family's house was right next to the church that my dad pastored. So, I made use of that fact.

Every day for I don't know how long, I would go over to the church and run 10 laps around the sanctuary. It was small sanctuary and I knew that I had to increase the number of laps when I was ready.

I put in my favorite Christian music in the church's music system, turned up the volume, and began my training.

As time went by, I slowly boosted the number of laps to 15 then to 20 and eventually went for 30 laps. It was my habit to stretch before running and not after. This was a mistake that I would later learn to regret.

After running, I would go downstairs to the kitchen and gulp down a glass of water. My face would be beat red and I would be breathing as if I had run a marathon, but I patted myself on the back for being able to climb this mountain.

I was at 30 laps around the sanctuary when it came time for the requirement in gym class.

It must have been a lousy day outside because our gym teacher announced that we would be running in the halls. Any other year, I would have been extremely horrified by this knowing that other kids would know my downfall, but this year, I was ready.

I took up my position with the other kids and began. It was amazing. I remember passing a girl that I admired running so slowly as to be walking with her face covered in sweat. I turned to smile at her yelling encouragement. I was quite pleased with myself. I was actually the one this time encouraging the ones who were having a difficult time.

When I crossed the finish line, I raised my arms and yelled, "Yes!" My gym teacher was talking to another teacher and barely gave me a glance.

I watched her closely to make sure she wrote down on her clipboard that I had indeed finished the mile and in much less time than usual. I wasn't even breathing hard. I stood there for a second wondering why I wasn't being fawned over and congratulated.

My gym teacher continued to talk to the other teacher. To come all this way...... it was definitely an anticlimactic moment.

I was determined, though. I was not going to let this moment get away from me. I inwardly celebrated and I'm sure everyone saw the smile on my face. Everyone was going to know I had run the mile, darn it.

Pride goeth before a fall, they say.

A couple days later, I came down with the worst pain I ever felt in my calves. I couldn't even walk. My gym teacher told me I had shin splints.

Didn't I know that I'm supposed to stretch before and especially AFTER running? Uh, no. No one told me that little piece of information.

So, that was the end of my mile running days.

Best Friends

2008-12-23T16:02:00.002-07:00

We have the oddest pets.

Our dog, Leigh, and our cat, Cleo, have become best friends since Cleo joined the family a year ago.

They have taken up the habit of cuddling together in the basement while Doc works in his office. Occasionally, Doc will turn around and see Cleo licking Leigh's face clean.

Leigh doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she's gotten so used to it that when Doc pets her on the face, she takes her paw and rubs her face as if he has dirtied it again.

Odd. Just odd.

Tooth Time

2008-12-19T11:26:00.002-07:00

Sleepy has a new hole in his mouth.

It is always jarring for me when the next one comes to me with, "Mom! My tooth is loose!" My reaction is always, "Already?!"

In fact, he had two bottom teeth loose at the same time. I took his little face in my hands and said, "You are growing up, little one."

Last night, we were eating dinner when Sleepy announced that he had lost his tooth. He showed me the empty space as proof.

I smiled and asked, "So, where's your tooth?"

The kid was stumped. He had no idea where his tooth had gone.

This reminded me of the time when Bashful lost his first tooth. He came home from school one day with a new hole in his mouth and no tooth to be found. He had no idea what happened to it.

So, with his family's help, Sleepy began looking around for it. Bashful was the hero of the day when, on his knees, he squinted at a white speck on the floor and yelled, "I found it!"

He handed it to me and Sleepy came to have a look. Just as Doc came close enough to see it as well, Sleepy took the tooth out of my hand and it promptly fell on the floor.

"Oh, no!"

The tooth had fallen underneath the table amidst the crumbs. Baby's favorite pasttime is swiping his arms across his tray and scattering his food onto the floor. Thus, the crumbs.

Every last person was either squinting at the floor or on their hands and knees looking for the tiny, little tooth.

At last, Doc found it and I promptly put it in a sandwich baggie. I warned Sleepy to put it under his pillow right away, or he would lose it.

The next morning, I woke at dawn. With a jolt, I remembered my duty as Tooth Fairy and grabbed a dollar off the bookshelf.

I creeped into Sleepy and Happy's room to find them curled up inside their tent. With careful maneuvering, I exchanged the money for the tooth without falling on top of the boys or waking them.

I was happy that it had turned out well with this one. In the past, the Tooth Fairy has been a real deadbeat. She had been lax in her duties and forgotten the nightly exchange before with Sleepy's brothers.

This morning, my outspoken, matter-of-fact, six-year-old said as he pulled out his dollar, "This is so cool!"

As Time Goes By

2008-12-15T15:17:00.003-07:00

This post is guaranteed to make everyone of you feel sorry for my kids.....or say what a horrible mother I am.

Believe me, I'm feeling guilt ridden as I write this.

I put three-year-old Happy in the tub to take a bath. I washed him up and since he insisted on staying in the tub to play, I left the bathroom to finish teaching Sleepy his Phonics and Language Arts.

As many of you homeschool moms must admit, time can get away from us while we are "having fun".

Well, time went by.

During his studies, Grumpy had to use the bathroom. He came out a little while later and exclaimed in a loud whisper, "Mom! Happy's sleeping in the bathtub!" He thought this was hilarious.

Now, one would think that I would instantly remember that I had left him last taking a bath.

This was not the case.

My forehead scrunched up in confusion. Poor baby, I thought. He must have been exhausted. I was wondering why the poor child climbed into the bathtub in the first place.

I went in to get him when I noticed the child was unclothed with his head perched on a toy ship snoring away.

Cue hyperventilation.

I grabbed a towel, wrapped him in it, and carried him to my room, all the while apologizing profusely for forgetting all about him. He was quite forgiving and that twisted my guts even more.

Right now, I am going to my happy place.

Clueless

2008-12-15T12:31:00.003-07:00

A few years ago, my mother gifted me with a beautiful, black suit.

The minute I tried it on in the fitting room, I loved it. It fit perfectly and made me look thinner which I always love.

After Mom purchased the suit, she hugged me and said, "Every pastor's wife needs a marryin' and buryin' suit." She would know since she had been one for 25 years.

I was quite touched by this and waited for the day when I would truly be a pastor's wife and wear my suit to the appropriate occasions.

Saturday was Doc's first funeral/memorial service. The evening before, I pulled out my suit from the back of the closet and tried it on.

I looked in the mirror and turned from side to side. I asked Doc, "Do you think I can get away with this?" I rely on his opinion which is totally unconventional among today's woman. I figure the man knows what looks good on me better than I do.

When I got the go-ahead from Doc, I was thrilled. I had packed on a few pounds after the last baby and was crossing my fingers. I really wanted to wear the suit my mom gave me especially for this.

The next morning, I put on the suit and decided to wear black hose with it. I pulled out the hose from the back of the drawer and pulled them on. One thing about me is, I hate to wear hose. I hardly ever wear them.

My boys kept looking at my feet and saying, "Mom, you have black feet." I have probably solidified in their minds that girls are weird. We do crazy things to ourselves, ladies. There was a hole in each foot, but I shrugged because I knew my shoes would cover that fact.

I tended to the boys' hair and while doing Sleepy's I noticed something peculiar about his pants, but couldn't quite figure out what was wrong.

After we were all slicked down and beautified, we got in the car for our two-hour trek to the church. The pastor of the church was there to greet us and I got out of the car to say hello. After I shook hands with the man, I turned to get the baby out of the car.

I realized at that moment, that my hose had rolled down to my thighs. Walking very carefully, I managed to get the kids inside the building without my hose falling down around my ankles. I made it to the bathroom in time to pull them back up, but throughout the day, I constantly had to make sure they were where they were supposed to be.

Every once in a while, I would get a look at Sleepy's pants and the wrongness would strike me, but I would just shake my head and shrug. I still couldn't figure out what was wrong about those pants.

When the reception was over and we were getting in the car, I turned to look at Sleepy again as he began to climb in. It struck me and I gasped. "Sleepy! Your pants are on backward!" The kid looked down at himself and said, "Oh."

I sighed with exasperation and told him to get in.

When we were almost home, I stopped to get gas. When I climbed back in the car, my skirt rode up my knee and that's when I noticed the giant, monstrous hole in my hose.

I could only console myself that my skirt was calf-length.

Back Stroke

2008-12-12T15:23:00.003-07:00

I finally got a good look at Bashful and Grumpy doing their swimming lessons last night. The previous two nights, I was too involved making sure Sleepy and Happy behaved themselves and didn't get chlorinated water into their teacher's eyes by splashing too much.

I looked across the pool to observe Bashful and Grumpy as they make the trek across the pool. Their swimming instructor was right by their sides. Chuckles started in the pit of my stomach, gathered in my throat, and erupted in giggles out my mouth.

Grumpy was doing his front stroke. The kid looked like he was drowning or trying to get away from a shark. Then, it was Bashful's turn. When he turned his face to the side in order to breathe in air, his face resembled that of a person silently screaming with his mouth as wide as he could get it.

Bashful's back stroke was much better, but Grumpy was less graceful.

When it was all over and we were in the car, I informed Grumpy that when he does his back stroke, he needs to straighten out his arms and move them a little slower.

He asked, "What if I accidentally hit my teacher?"

"Well, I'm sure he'll be smart enough to get out of the way."

Bashful said, "He did hit him one time."

"Oh."

"It's On My List"

2008-12-12T15:11:00.002-07:00

In the Veggie Tales movie, Pirates Who Don't Do Anything, Larry the Cucumber's character is afraid of everything. He even has a list of things he will have nothing to do with because they scare him too much. If he came across something he was afraid of, Larry would say, "It's on my list." The boys watched this movie to death before we returned it.

One night, I told Sleepy to go up to his room and change his shirt. We were going to the swimming pool for lessons and I wasn't about to let him go out in public with peanut butter all over himself.

He complained that it was too dark upstairs.

Now, you might wonder why he didn't just turn on the light. Well, Mommy Dearest has yet to replace the lighbulbs in the ceiling light, but that would require too much effort.

I would have to go into the garage, find the ladder, find the lightbulbs, and trudge everything up the stairs and set to work. For something like that, I would need to do a breathing technique I learned during labor. That could take a whole day, people.

So, when he came downstairs refusing to step his pinky toe on the threshold of his room, he said, "It's too dark, Mom. It's on my list."

Surviving the Cold

2008-12-11T08:20:00.002-07:00

For the past three days, we've had snow on the ground.

It's kind of nice, but a little unusual. It has also brought with it the cold weather.

I have always said to everyone within hearing distance that I love the snow, but I hate the cold. Too many nights I am shivering to death and my toes are like ice cubes.

After Christmas, winter always seems long, drawn-out, and dismal.

One good thing about the cold is that it just gives me an excuse to curl up with my favorite blanket and drink hot chocolate.

Last night, it was no different.

Freeze the spit in your throat cold.

I also had to take the boys to their swimming lessons, so I made sure they all had their coats handy.

When the lessons were over and we left the building, Grumpy was running ahead of me with his coat in his hand.

I complained, "Grumpy! It's cold! You need to put your coat on!"

Patiently, he replied, "I'll survive this, Mom."

That boy is going to be a Navy Seal someday.

Oblivious

2008-12-10T14:07:00.002-07:00

One time, Doc came home from work after being gone all day.

Sleepy greeted him downstairs.

"Dad! You just woke up?! It's dark outside!"

Sisters Not Allowed

2008-12-09T09:39:00.002-07:00

Girls are a mystery in this house.

Of course, I'm a "girl", but that doesn't count because I'm just "Mom".

Whenever a commercial comes on that is clearly geared toward girls, the boys are disgusted and insulted that they have to sit through something so gross.

They all cover their eyes with their hands or a pillow and exclaim, "Eeeuu!" Sleepy has even gone to the point of putting his hands all over the TV or standing in front of the horror flick to hide it until it is over.

Occasionally, I will also hear them say contemplatively, "I don't like girls."

Sleepy isn't as harsh about it as his older brother, Grumpy. He even asks if they will ever have a sister someday.

Grumpy nipped that one in the bud.

We were sitting at the dinner table when Sleepy asked his hypothetical question. Grumpy replied before I got the chance.

"We are never having a sister. Not ever, ever, ever."

Well, I guess that's it, then.

"I'm Only Six!"

2008-12-08T09:33:00.003-07:00

During Sunday School, I was helping six-year-old Sleepy in memorizing a particular verse.

As is the case with memorization, we had to recite the verse over and over. During our recitation, I was hearing complaints from the boy like, "Why do I have to do this?" and "I'm only six!"

About the tenth time, I looked at Sleepy and asked, "Do you want to do it again?" He thought about it for a minute.

He had turned his eyes up to the ceiling and quirked up his little mouth. When he came to a decision, he looked at me and asked, "Why don't we just wait until I grow up?"

What Number Are You?

2008-12-04T12:49:00.002-07:00

Sleepy and Happy are in Stage 1 swimming lessons while Bashful and Grumpy are in stage 3. We have told Sleepy and Happy that if they don't put their heads under the water, they will not be able to go on to stage 2.

I have also lowered myself to the point where I have bribed them both with a "special prize" if they put their whole heads under the water for every lesson.

In the locker room last night, Sleepy saw a young man either in his late teens or early twenties. He was considerably taller than him and yet Sleepy knew that he was still young. Craining his neck back in order to look way up, he asks, "What number are you?"

The man replied, "Um, I'm the swimming instructor."

Best Christmas Ever, Part 1

2008-12-03T15:43:00.002-07:00

The boys are currently on a sugar high and completely blissful after a rockin' Christmas party with some of their friends.

They are driving me crazy.

The cacophonous noise reverberating through the house is enough to wake the dead, although you wouldn't know it since Sneezy is sleeping throughout.

You would also think they wouldn't have any energy left to spare after all the holiday games they played at the party, but there it is. Something we adults wish we could bottle up and save for ourselves.

At one point during the celebration, Sleepy came up to me with his arms full of his presents, cookies, apple slices, and drink.

With a sublime smile on his face, he announced to me, "Mom, this is the best Christmas EVER!"

With a smirk, I was thinking, "Wait until you get a load of what your father bought you for Christmas."

To be continued....

Locker Room Incident

2008-12-03T11:47:00.004-07:00

When my husband joined the Air Force and was sent to basic training, there were a lot of things he had to learn one of which to keep his eyes up...especially in the shower room.

He once told me that there were only about eight shower heads to fifty men. I don't know if that's an exaggeration, but it's probably not that much of one. So, there he was having to share a shower head with other guys at the same time.

Eeeuuu. So, that's one of the times when he had to keep his eyes up. Obviously. If a man didn't learn to study the walls and the ceiling, he'd get his face bashed in.

Thus, to my point of this post.

I signed my boys up to take swimming lessons. Last night, it was their first night and Doc and I were thinking about the logistics of getting the boys in and out of the locker room with minimal problems.

It was decided that Doc would go with the boys and I would stay with the baby. I did a jig, kissed them all, and shoved them out the door. I had the whole house to myself with a sleeping baby. It was too quiet.

Anyway, Doc had quite a story for me when they got back. All five of them had just entered the locker room, when they were greeted with an old man who was standing with his back to the room.

His backside was completely bare.

They came to a sudden and complete stop. There was a collective gasp emitted from the strangled throats of my men. Including Doc although he managed to be more discreet. Their faces were a comical study in horror and disgust. In fact, they were so disgusted by the sight before them that six-year-old Sleepy took the word right out of Doc's mouth.

"Eeeuuuu!"

This, of course, was uttered into the quiet of the room and since the man couldn't help but hear he turned to look at them. Bashful was so horrified that he put up his hand to block the side of his face and then proceeded to study the ceiling.

Sleepy's expression was one of confusion. He looked as if he wondered if he was in the right room and trailed after his brothers uncertainly. Happy was oblivious to it all. Those two proceeded to change into their clothes without any sense of modesty.

Bashful and Grumpy refused to change until a stall was available all the while studying the ceiling and walls. Grumpy's face was a study in horror.

When they returned home, Doc informed me of their evening together. I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair.

Trickery

2008-12-02T15:49:00.002-07:00

I have picked up a new read, or classic as it may be, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. To my great delight, I have picked up a winner. I have only started it and yet I'm laughing at the wonderful wit and language of Mark Twain's genious.

I decided to read it because my oldest son will attempt to decipher its pages for Literature class in the near future. I know he will enjoy the many predicaments and pranks that Tom finds himself involved in.

One particular passage has caught my eye so far. In Chapter 2, Tom must white-wash the fence as punishment for one of the many misdeeds he has done recently and he is bitterly morose about the fact that he has to work especially on a Saturday.

Along comes a boy and inspiration strikes. He tricks the boy into wanting to paint the fence. One boy after another comes along and he tricks them in turn to paint the fence. This is a very short synopsis and doesn't really go into it that much, but I don't want to give away too much. This is a story that everyone needs to read and appreciate especially if you have boys.

I was reading this chapter with great admiration. I was thinking that I wish I had that much ingenuity when I was a girl. Then, another thought struck me. If I thought about the strategies and logistics of the ultimate trickery, maybe I could deceive my boys into WANTING to do a particular chore.

Like the bathrooms.

It's a thought. It will take some careful planning. I have a feeling, though, that I have five Tom Sawyers living with me. Then, they will be the ones into tricking ME into wanting to clean the bathrooms.

Which they have a time or two. It's better to have a bathroom that smells like lemons than one that smells like a mysterious substance.

Carnival Ride

2008-12-01T17:57:00.003-07:00

Last night, I took Sneezy out of his high chair and sat him upon my lap. He had been throwing his food onto the floor and I had about as much as I could take of that.

In the meantime, Sleepy was putting black olives on his fingers and pretending to be a frog, Bashful was crawling underneath the table in order to tickle Grumpy, Grumpy was asking in an unusual baby voice if he could have pumpkin pie for dessert, and Happy was actually behaving himself for once.

I was trying to teach my sons good manners at the dinner table and wasn't sure if anything was computing. In a split second, the chair I was sitting on collapsed underneath me. Sneezy was quite upset. It probably felt like a carnival ride to such a little person. I handed him off to Doc to be comforted and laboriously rose to my feet.

I was quick to point out to Doc that maybe it was time for a new table and chairs.

Where's the Fire?

2008-11-21T12:24:00.003-07:00

Denial is a powerful thing. I say that to myself a lot. Probably because I make use of denial often. Like, for instance, when I hear crackling coming from the kitchen and even get a whiff of smoke, I will still tell myself that the kitchen could not possibly be on fire.

I was sitting in the living room writing. I was quite distracted and really into my imaginary world. So, when Grumpy wanted lunch, I told him to go ahead and make himself something to eat. He decided to make Ramen noodles.

He filled a pot of water, turned on the stove, and went downstairs to continue his playacting and mouth noises. After a while, I came out of the world of my own making to hear crackling. I thought maybe there was a bit of dried food getting crusted over even more or maybe there was a bit of water that was reacting to the heat.

I told Grumpy that maybe he should go into the kitchen and make sure the stove wasn't on fire. He ran up the stairs and stopped dead in his tracks. "The stove is on fire!" he yells. For a second, I didn't believe him and my mouth was already forming a smirk when he turns to look at me. There was no indication that he was pulling my leg. The kid was serious.

I jumped up out of my favorite comfy chair and ran into the kitchen. There was my Pampered Chef stone cracked into pieces and a plastic bowl that had been sitting on top of it was in flames. I ripped open the fridge and looked around wildly for the baking soda. There it was sitting on the top shelf. I grabbed it and noticed that it had been unopened.

Right about this time, the smoke detectors went off. The piercing noise was enough to wake the dead or the neighbors at least. I'm still trying to rip open the box of baking soda when everyone else come running upstairs to see what is going on. During my wrestling match with the box, I looked around to see mouths open and shocked eyes. Finally, in defeat I grabbed a steak knife and gritting my teeth cut open the box. All this time, the fire was still going strong. I promptly poured baking soda onto my pour defeated Pampered Chef stone.

Waving aside smoke billowing around me, I turned to Grumpy. "That's what you do when there's a fire," I began. I finished my lecture with, "And don't ever use the stove again." I could have begun hyperventilating and looked around for a paper bag, but frankly, since the danger has passed, I'm too busy mourning over my stone.

Miscellaneous Sunday

2008-11-17T08:03:00.002-07:00

During Sunday School hour yesterday, I was going over a particular verse with Sleepy. I wanted him to memorize it and so we worked on it together for a while. During this time, I kept hearing, "Why do I have to do this? I'm only six."

After repeating the same verse over and over, I asked, "Do you want to do it again?" to which he scrunched up his face, thought about it, and replied, "Why don't we wait until I grow up?"

Imp.

(I am also proud to say that I ended up with nothing revolting-looking smeared all over my face. My husband did keep a close eye on that for his accident-prone wife. At one point during the day, though, he brought me one of the earrings that I had been wearing. It was found on the floor and someone had picked it up and asked him about it. Of course, he knew who's earring it was and patiently brought it to me. So, for a little while there, I was wearing only one earring.)

Nightmare on Motel Drive

2008-11-13T10:46:00.005-07:00

A few nights ago, I had a dream. Actually, it was more like a nightmare. In it, our whole family was staying in one motel room with the dog. (This has actually happened in real life, although we only had three kids at the time.)

In my "dream", we were getting ready to leave when we noticed the smell of dog poop. When we investigated, we found a horse pile of dog poop up against the wall under the heater. Doc took one look at it and announced that he wasn't cleaning it up. He was going to leave it for the motel cleaning ladies to deal with it.

I was in agreement. I wasn't going near it. I just shrugged and said, "She's your dog." So, as we finished packing up, we all had to deal with the horrendous stench filling the small room. Crinkling up my nose, I took a bag and began filling it with the toys that had been strewn all over the room.

I picked up toy after toy. There were toys in the corners, under the beds, and under the blankets and pillows. In fact, they were everywhere. Just when I thought I had picked them all up, there would be more somewhere else.

I was still picking up toys when I woke up. The room was dark and I noticed that it was still very early in the morning. I realized that my dream wasn't just a dream. It was my life. I still have to clean up the occasional horse pile of crap left behind by Leigh and her picky stomach. I still have to constantly step aside toys that are carried upstairs by disobedient children.

The one thing that stood out, though, in my nightmare was Doc's uncharacteristic reaction to the dog poop. I thought it was kind of funny considering he would pronounce that action as a totally white trash thing to do.

Methinks, I need to dream better dreams......or "accidentally" lose the dog and put fire to all the toys.

Pollen Face

2008-11-10T08:03:00.002-07:00

There comes a time when it's not my kids that give me the blog fodder. Yep. Yours truly has provided the tale this time.

Yesterday, some very nice people asked me to take some flowers home with me. Due to the lack of space in our seven passenger car, the flowers were relegated to sitting on my lap. Since they were blocking my view and taking up quite a bit of space, we opted to hand them over to a nice couple that Doc was going to spend a few minutes with at their house.

After Doc safely handed the flowers to me in the car, he went around and got in the driver's seat. I turned to look at him as he said something and as he saw my face, the man actually recoiled from me in horror.

"What is that all over your chin?!" he exclaimed wildly. My forehead scrunched in confusion and I whipped open the mirror above me. I started in horror as well when I saw smears of something that looked like ketchup all over my chin. "Oh! It must be pollen from the flowers!" Doc was quite relieved that I hadn't been walking around in church with ketchup smeared all over my chin.

He gave a big sigh of relief and laughed while I giggled at the assumption. I wiped the pollen off as best I could and we took off to dispose of the flowers.

When we got to the couples' house, Doc took the flowers from me and the boys and I settled in to wait for a few minutes. After a while, Doc came back with the gentleman so that he could have a few words with me. He provided eggs for us as usual and some candy for the boys and I thanked him profusely for his generosity.

While we were talking, the poor man had a hard time looking at me and I thought that maybe that was just his mannerism or he was shy. I didn't think about it much and we said goodbye. I turned my head to the front and as I turned I saw my face in the side view mirror of the car.

I pursed my lips and with a shrug turned to face my husband. "Well, I've gone and done it this time," I think to myself. Erupting with laughter, I turned my face for my husband's perusal. "Doc, I just had a conversation with the man with pollen all over my face." Indeed, it looked like I had wrestled with a ketchup packet and the ketchup won. Streaks of pollen were all over the right side of my face.

Again, Doc recoiled in horror, covered his face with his hands, and groaned. I laughed even harder at this reaction. Eventually, his shoulders began to shake. The man was given over to laughter as well and we laughed all the way down the long, bumpy drive.

Irresistible

2008-10-30T08:21:00.004-06:00

I still can't believe that this creature came from my womb.

He is utterly perfect and he is irresistible to me and many others as well.

He is so beautiful that it hurts to look at him. My insides melt and turn to mush every time I see his face.

His skin is translucent. The veins in his temples and even his cheeks are visible through the skin. The skin is pale, but a healthy color, and softer than any material that comes to mind. His cheeks are forever pink giving his face a permanent cheery look.

His hair is softer than silk and the color of dark gold. It lays flat across the top of his perfectly round head to gather in curls at the nape of his neck. I run my fingers through it just for the delight of the feel.

The features of his face and body are perfectly proportioned. Nothing seems out of place. His nose could be described as a button nose and his mouth is a dark pink rose and oftimes is full of his thumb.

His eyes are startlingly blue. They are like gems lit from within. When he looks at me with those eyes, they radiate happiness. They are outlined with impossibly long lashes that brush his rosy cheeks when he blinks.

He is a little guy. He is not as solid as his brothers Happy and Grumpy. His size is more like his brother, Sleepy, and maybe a little like Bashful. It doesn't seem like he is almost a year old because he is so little.

He is strong, though, and ready to follow his brothers in every way. His sweet little voice has its own language and I love to watch him as he talks. I live for it and crave more of that sweet language of his. His voice often bubbles into a laugh when he is delighted with something or someone. My heart twists within me at the sound.

I often wonder what he is thinking, but he has no trouble telling me what he wants. Most of the time, he wants me to hold him so that he can lay his head on my chest. I am more than willing to comply with this.

His thumb automatically goes in his mouth as he lays contentedly. I run my fingers through his hair, I study his features, and I realize how irresistible he is.

Repressed Memory

2008-10-27T08:45:00.002-06:00

We were all sitting around the table during lunchtime and it was a riotous time as usual with everyone speaking at once along with the occasional screech from the baby.

Doc was talking with the boys, but I wasn't paying attention since I was focusing on not getting baby food all over Sneezy along with myself and the walls.

Therefore, I was quite surprised when Doc grabbed my head, pulled it back, and gave me a long smooch right on the mouth.

When I was let up for air, I giggled and looked across the table at Sleepy and Grumpy. Sleepy was grossed out and said, "Eeeuuu! Gross!" I turned to look at Grumpy. His face was a study in shock.

At first, he couldn't speak. He wasn't looking at the culprit. He was looking straight at me as if I had done something horrific. He yelled, "Don't EVER do that again!" He then covered his face as if he had seen something that had traumatized him forever. He's gotten over it since then. I think he has repressed the memory in order to survive.

Doc and I had a good laugh over that. Oh, how things will change.

15 Minutes

2008-10-22T11:48:00.002-06:00

It was a cold and overcast morning, but we didn't mind it too much.

We were going to see Sarah Palin.

I have been keeping track of her on TV even watching the VP debate, so I was very excited to see her in person. So, we all woke up in the dark, wrestled the boys into their warm clothes, and were out the door with a few snacks in the bag for any grumpy stomachs.

As we were on our hour-long drive, Doc said, "You know, there's probably only going to be old people and women there." I agreed and we waited impatiently for the trip to end.

We arrived at the stadium where the political rally was being held and were stunned by the extremely long line. We made it to the end and began our agonizing wait. When we thought we had reached the point of entry, we were wrong. The line still curved around and around and we realized we had to wait longer than we had anticipated.

At one point, I thought of leaving, but Doc said, "We've waited this long," so I shrugged and hefted Sneezy higher onto my hip and set in for yet another wait. The boys were doing fantastic. I was amazed by their patience considering they don't really know who Sarah Palin is and how she could affect their lives.

After an hour and a half of twiddling our thumbs, we were almost at the check-in point when everyone was ordered to start running. The security had closed the gates and were letting the rest of us in through the back.....where you can't see a thing and you are not actually inside the stadium. They basically led us to a dead end.

I could feel the tick in my eye begin to twitch.

Doc and I looked at each other and turned back toward our car. It was no use. We couldn't see a thing let alone our little ones.

As I was walking a ways behind Doc and the boys, a reporter asked if we were leaving. I said yes in a bummed out sort of way. She asked if she could interview me and lo and behold, I made it on the news.

I'm famous now. Sort of.

Woman Bully

2008-10-18T08:19:00.005-06:00

Yesterday was a glorious day. The weather was perfect for pumpkin picking.

I decided to take the boys to a pumpkin farm and meet other homeschool families. Whenever I go on a field trip with five boys, my mind is usually on two things: making sure they behave in public and not to lose them forever. These jobs are really big and take up a lot of room in my brain.

In our family, everyone is in his own world including me. Sleepy wasn't looking where he was going at one point during our field trip and ran right into a friend of his who was sitting on the ground. Sleepy went flying forward into the dirt. I made sure apologies were made and brushed the dirt off his jeans.

We finally got in line for the hayride and made it to the pumpkin patch in one piece. The boys were having fun picking the perfect pumpkin. My youngest ones were finished in record time, but my two oldest were being picky. I decided to give them time and went over to the pavilion nearby to get out of the hot sun.

Here is where the day sunk to an all-time low for me. I had three pumpkins in the back part of my trusty double stroller with Sneezy in the front. There was a big step I had to get over, but this was established with relative ease. As I was inching forward, a sweet, little girl stopped right in front of me not really noticing that she was blocking my path. I mentally shrugged and smiled.

Instead of mowing the poor child over, I decided to inch my stroller to the left in order to get out of the way. I believe my actions may have been interpreted differently by her mother. As I was inching over trying not to run over the little girl, her mother rushed up and said, "I'm sorry."

Typically, a woman like me would interpret this as "I'm sorry my kid is in the way. I mean, she just stopped right there in front of you. Thanks for stopping and not running her over. Let me get her out of the way." My kids have done this so many times since they are always in their own world and I always grab them by the arm and say, "Get out of the way, honey," or "Pay attention."

So, being the woman that I am, I said, "Oh! That's okay!" as if to say, "Really, don't worry about it. She can stay there as long as she wants. I'm in no hurry. No harm done." A woman like me would know that is the universal meaning for "That's okay" when someone's kid is in the way.

This particular woman does not interpret "That's okay" the same way I do. In fact, she was downright irate. She said, "No. I'm sorry.....she was WALKING!"

Well, okay then.

I do not remember the last time I have come across such rudeness in a stranger. It twisted my guts and I felt sick. I was mortified that I had offended someone over something so trivial and not intended in the least.

She took her daughter by the hand and went over to sit down on a bench. As nonchalantly as possible, I pushed my monstrosity of a stroller out of the pavilion to stand nearer to the pumpkin patch. I didn't relax until the woman and her daughter waiting under the pavilion left the area in the next hayride.

Even now, I have nothing to say to that woman. I have no snappy comebacks. I do not wish to tell her off in my mind only explain the situation from my point of view. I would inform the woman that I did realize her daughter was there and even though she thought I was trying to mow her down, the truth is, I was the one trying to get out of the way.

If I could go back, I would still have left the pavilion instead of explaining myself. It is my theory the woman was PMSing if I could exhibit just a touch of cattiness. If I had gone over to her to resolve the issue in a friendly manner, I think I would have gotten scratched for my efforts.

Any thoughts I could end this with would be for the next unsuspecting mother. I wish her well. She's going to need it.

Twirling Spiders

2008-10-16T10:05:00.002-06:00

As long as I can remember, I've always twirled my hair.

I take a piece and wrap it around my finger over and over again. It's a habit that I've never cared to break.

When I was in college, Doc would bring me over to visit his grandparents. After a while, I was quite comfortable in that environment and eventually they learned this about me.

I was laying on the couch twirling away when Doc's grandpa said, "You twirl your hair!" This seemed to surprise him and he smiled.

I smiled uncertainly wondering why this seemed to please him and answered, "Why yes, I do." With a shy smile he announced, "I do it, too. Ever since I can remember."

I looked at the receding hairline with a few curls left over and thought how darling it was that we have found something like that in common.

Fifteen years have gone by and that sweet man has passed on, but I still think of him whenever I catch myself twirling my hair while deep in thought.

This morning, I was doing exactly that when Sleepy noticed it. His comment was, "Your hair looks like a long, long hairy spider."

I guess it would.

Just Like Me

2008-09-25T16:39:00.005-06:00

I often wonder if any of my sons are like me.

Lately, I scanned my baby pictures looking for some facial resemblance to my sons and didn't find much.

Occasionally, I glimpsed a certain expression and would exclaim, "There! They look like me!", but then I would turn to another picture of myself and think that no, I must be mistaken.

I put my baby pictures away with a sad, little sigh. I didn't want to believe that the ones I had carried inside me for nine months and labored through excruciating pain didn't have one iota of resemblance to me.

Today, I was enjoying a conversation with Doc upstairs when I heard, "Grumpy!"

I must explain that it wasn't a short, sharp yell. It was long and drawn out. It had the feeling of utter exasperation permeating throughout the word. It sounded as if the lungs were expiring as much carbon dioxide out of them as possible. It spoke of anger and frustration.

It was spoken by his older brother, Bashful.

And he sounded just like me.

Homemade Fruit Roll-Ups

2008-09-23T21:39:00.004-06:00

I was speaking with a very nice woman from my church about canning peaches. This tip isn't about canning peaches, but that's where this conversation started.

I happen to love the idea of canning. I just don't know how to do it. One day, I keep telling myself. One day.

In the meantime, she gave me some tips on how to use the produce that I buy. Of course, freezing the fresh fruit was one of the tips and I confessed that I already knew about that little bit of heavenliness.

She wasn't finished.

She also told me that I could boil my fruit until it was soft and puree the goodness in my food processor or blender. Next, unroll some plastic wrap onto the counter and pour the pureed fruit onto the plastic wrap. Spread it all out and then let it dry.

Cut it into sections and roll them up. Voila! Homemade fruit roll-ups!

I have to tell ya'll. I was amazed.

For more WFMW tips, go to Rocks In My Dryer.

Dark Sundays

2008-09-23T21:15:00.003-06:00

Every Sunday morning, I wake up at 6am. I have to set the alarm clock because the Lord knows I could never wake up in time on my own. For the past two Sundays, I've been waking up in the dark.

Joy of joys.

I'm not really complaining. Really. It's just a little disconcerting. It takes coffee and a hot shower to wake up and after a little while, I begin to wake the boys.

The experience of waking in the dark has them bewildered, but they are my little troopers. No one cries or complains at the indecent hour.

The quietness of the early morning is instantly shattered by the happy chatter. Constant questions repeated over and over are asked in order to jar my sleep-deprived brain into answering.

After rushing them through a breakfast of cereal, I hustle them upstairs to wrestle them into their clothes and put some semblance of order to their hair. Brushing of the teeth is a must.

By 7:30am, I slam the front door shut with a prayer that I haven't forgotten anything. Most days, I have forgotten something and must unlock the door in order to retrieve said forgotten object.

Occasionally muttering under my breath and most Sundays growling, "Argh!", I peal out of the driveway to begin what has become a routine weekly trip to the mountains.

Every Sunday, we drive two hours to our church.

After these months that have flown by, the trip doesn't seem so long anymore. This past Sunday, it was even a little fun.

I looked in my rearview mirror to see a blond, curly head bobbing up and down in time to Alvin and the Chipmunks sing a song about a bad day.

When I see that, it's just about worth it to get up in the dark.

Snow

2008-09-16T21:11:00.004-06:00

A little known fact about me is I love snow.

You probably know by now my love for classic literature and my addictive need for chocolate, but you may not realize my utter fascination with the white stuff that comes from the sky.

I eagerly await the season that brings this particular precipitation. When my husband and I first came to southern Colorado, we were utterly dumbfounded when it started snowing near the end of September. We had never seen the like. Snow in September? Crazy, but I was still entranced.

I hate the cold, but I realize that without it, there would not be the heavenly frozen flakes falling quietly and gently to the ground.

When the snow falls so much that I can't see the ground anymore, I love to go outside and just stand there and listen. It's amazing how quiet it is.

There are no birds singing. The amount of cars going by has slowed down and only occasionally do I hear one slashing down the road. The wind has died down and all is still.

All but remains is the gently falling snow and the mountain of the wet, fluffy stuff growing up to my knees.

The time has come to fall backward and make snow angels, build snowmen, and sled down the hill. The quiet is broken by the screams of laughter coming from my children as they throw snowballs at each other and their "outraged" mother.

After some time, we begin to tire. It is time to go inside to the warmth of the house and hot chocolate. Time for a good book and an afghan thrown across my shoulders. Time to look out the window from my nice, cozy chair and smile at the white beauty.

Yes. I love the snow and I look forward to it.

No Bite Cupcakes

2008-09-14T14:51:00.002-06:00

My boys love to eat. They are always thinking of their stomachs and what's for dinner. My Happy, though, is the one who is game for everything. He is the one who eats salad while the others turn up their noses.

I thought the boy ate everything....I was wrong.

A couple days ago, I thought I'd celebrate the beginning of fall and make a batch of pumpkin cupcakes.

They turned out pretty good, all moist and pumpkiny. All the boys loved them. Except Happy.

The first cupcake ended up nibbled on and placed strategically where the baby could dig his chubby fingers into it and leave crumbs all over the family room floor.

The second cupcake was also nibbled on and then hidden in the couch.

I told Happy that he wasn't allowed to have anymore cupcakes since it was obvious to me that he didn't like them.

He protested. Of course, he liked them.

I realized the boy didn't want to not like them. It seemed a sacrilege not to like something that had sugar in it.

I assured him it was okay not to like the cupcakes. Even his father spit out the one bite he had into the trash.

There was no way he was going to accept this, though. He was going to like these cupcakes even if he had to choke them down.

They had sugar in them after all.

Choking on Candy

2008-09-10T14:25:00.004-06:00

When Grumpy was just a little guy, we went on vacation to visit Grandma and Grandpa.

One night, my mom gave some hard candy to Grumpy to give the rambunctious child something to do. He sucked on it for a little while and then proceeded to choke on the dang thing.

This was a life-threatening kind of choke. The kid couldn't breathe. I just sat there in shock, but my mother immediately grabbed him, bent him over her lap, and slapped him on the back. The piece of candy promptly fell out. She told me she had just finished a CPR class and that's how she knew what to do.

To this day, I joke with her that she almost killed him and then saved his life.

That day became an immediate and profound impression on me. It was something that gave me the knowledge to deal with a very scary situation years later.

My fourth child, Happy, was around a year old when he picked up a penny off the floor and popped it in his mouth. We forever have stray pennies that I am constantly picking up. Whenever I spot one, I sound like a grouchy pirate yelling, "Aargh!" as I bend down to pick it up and dispense with it.

Of course, the child started choking which brought my attention to him. I then did something that you should never do- I stuck my finger in his mouth in order to get the penny out. The penny only slid back further.

I began to panic when the past flashed before my eyes. I grabbed Happy, bent him over my lap, and slapped his back. The penny fell out and he stopped choking.

The relief. Oh, the relief.

My WFMW tip is to take a CPR class. If not, remember this tip. It could save your baby's life.

For more WFMW tips, go to Rocks In My Dryer.

The Cherub in the Photograph

2008-09-09T21:11:00.008-06:00

Baby Sleepy is gone forever.

You might say, "You shouldn't say that. He's not gone. He's still there with you." I can't help it, though.

I was grabbing papers that had been stashed away in our old van. We needed to clear it out in order to trade it in for the new car. One of the things that had been forgotten was an old picture.

The picture was about five years old. In it, Bashful, Grumpy, and Sleepy are all smiling at the camera sitting on the grass in front of our townhouse in New Jersey. Bashful still has that same sweet face. Grumpy looks younger, but I could still see the resemblance.

It was Sleepy who made my breath stop in my lungs and I gasped for air. I could not recognize that sweet, baby face. I fought tears as I realized that the baby soft blond hair was gone. The chubby pink cheeks were in the past.

These days, I am teaching my six-year-old Sleepy to read and write. The baby fat has melted away and he has become long and lean although he is still kinda short. His hair is brown and there are freckles on his nose now where there weren't any before. He is even learning how to ride Grumpy's old bike.

There is very little resemblance to that cherub in the photograph. I study that picture often now scanning it for something that I can hold onto, but the past has slipped through my fingers.

They say, "Cherish these moments because they will be gone before you know it," and "they" are right.

A Titus 2 Woman

2008-09-09T21:06:00.000-06:00

One night, we had friends over for dinner. The meal was finished and the men were cooped up in the den. There was clinking of glasses and smoke was wafting underneath the door. Every now and then, I would hear raised voices and knew they were having a rousing good time talking about theology, philosophy, and politics.

I was in the kitchen with my friend and we were also having a good time talking about everything under the sun. My friend was making herself at home in my kitchen. We had already done the dishes together, but at one point, she got down on her knees and began organizing my drawer full of plastic bowls and lids.

I was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter and watched her with fascination. My eyes were glued to her every move when I said, "You know, you don't have to do that." She informed me that this was her way of feeling comfortable. I could tell how much she was enjoying herself, so I just sat and watched.

When I first met her, I thought she was friendliness itself. The more I got to know her, though, the more I realized her other qualities. I attached myself to her because I admired the joy she took in keeping a clean house and organizing her bills. I wanted to learn from her and I did.

I learned how much happier I am when my house is clean. Not just the carpet vaccuumed and the floor mopped, but the walls cleaned, my refrigerator scoured, and the baseboards washed. I took joy in breathing in deep of the Murphy's Oil Soap scenting the whole house. I began to notice my closets and began organizing them. I realized how much more content I am when I am organized and everything has a place.

Her submission to her husband and care of her children was a thing of beauty for me. Because of her example, I began to realize other needs for my husband and children that I didn't notice before.

The thing that stood out the most in this woman, though, was her thirst for knowledge of God. She took joy in learning the Scriptures and talking about it. I remember going over a particular passage with her and realizing the truth of it.

Her inner beauty was something that I wanted for myself. I learned many things from her, but most of all, she taught me what it means to be a friend.

She often mentioned that she wants to be a Titus 2 woman. You are, sweet friend, and that is my wish as well. I thought of her as I was driving home after church one Sunday. Since that night in my kitchen, she has moved away with her husband and children, and I miss her dearly. Even though we are apart, my life will forever be changed for the better. She was an example to me in so many ways. May we all endeavour to be a Titus 2 woman.

Titus 2:3-5- "the older women likewise, that they be reverent in behavior, not slanderers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things- that they admonish the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be discreet, chaste, homemakers, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be blasphemed."

Rain = Love

2008-09-07T11:50:00.003-06:00

Every time I look out the windows of our home, I see a great big sky. It stretches for miles and most of the time it is bright blue with a few wispy clouds floating by. Because the sky is so big here, I can always tell when a thunderstorm is on its way or if it's casting its shadow in a different town.

The other day, I saw the dark clouds hanging over the mountains in the distance. I was in the family room with Sleepy at the time and I decided to ask him a science question even though we have not discussed this particular subject in school yet.

"Look, Sleepy! It's going to rain!" I said with excitement. "Uh, huh," he answers. As we look out the window together, I asked him, "How do you know it's going to rain?"

"Because we need rain," he replies. "But, how do you know it's going to rain?" I insisted. "Because God loves me," he answered frankly.