Easter (Eve) 2008

Before the big egg hunt, it is imperative to look tough and hunter-like. At stake are eggs, 600 of them to be exact, but even more important than eggs, and even more important than candy, are the bragging rights and title of 'the egg master' until next
Easter.
600 eggs between only three boys still equals a hecka' lot of eggs per child, as evidenced by the large garbage bags Jonah and Gable have here.
The aftermath.

Every year the eggs mysteriously come and every year there is a new theory based upon ages: did they fall from a helicopter? did a truck spill them? was it you mom? And every year there are more eggs covering more of our yard. And every year Scooby eats some and we find wrappers later when cleaning the yard....

The Most Beautiful Smell on Earth

An Easter Lily has the most peaceful, beautiful smell on earth.
I have one that I carry from room to room with me because I am enjoying the smell so much. It stays next to my bed when we sleep and it goes in the kitchen during the day. It is truly the most amazing smell. Actually, stargazer lilies are my absolute favorite. They are the flowers that surrounded us at our wedding. But lilies are my close second favorite.

Just Climbing a Tree

A few weeks ago, Jack decided that we all needed an outdoor picnic for lunchtime. He called it a 'Fun Bun'. He explained to us that a Fun Bun meant that we have a party, but only with the people that are already at our house. So, he set up the table and chairs in our driveway (the only place not covered in mud right now), and made sandwich and grape plates. He also made little tickets for 25cents for games. One of the 'games' that we could choose was called 'climbing the tree'. Gable and I bought tickets to this game.

We have a tulip tree in our front yard and it really is a nice tree. It is tall and beautiful and has two wooden planks nailed into it to help get little feet started on their climb. After I climbed for a while, (near the bottom of the tree), I got down and went back to the Fun Bun. Gable (near the top of the tree) kept climbing.

A few minutes later, I heard a police siren chirp and looked over to see three police cars by our climbing tree. (Hidden Valley has it's own deputies, which apparently are real deputies now, complete with guns and ticket-writing abilities) The man in the passenger seat of the first car leaned out his window and said to Gable, "I want you to come down from that tree right now, son." Granted, it wasn't mean, but it was a man in authority, so it sounded pretty tough. I started over towards the police car and although it sort of embarrases me to say this, I was slightly intimidated. I have always believed that I would not even flinch when it came to defending my children, but with three police cars there, I flinched. Fortunately, I got myself together. I walked over to the police car sort of laughing saying, "WHAT?" The guy told me that my son was too high in the tree and that he simply asked him to come down. I knew exactly where Gable was, I was outside with him and frankly, boys climb trees! So, I just said, "No, he's okay."

It was at this point that things got a little unsettling. He should have just driven away. At that point I would have thanked him for his concern and everything would have been okay. But he persisted. I think it was his ego. He looked at me and then at Gable again, and then said it, "Son, I still want you to come down from that tree."

And I did the only logical thing to do: "JONATHAN!"

Mind you, Jon is not a big guy, but you wouldn't have known it from the way he plowed over the driveway and up through our yard. Jon had been on the driveway playing his guitar at the Fun Bun, so he had seen part of our exchange with Mr. Deputy Dog. Jon tore through the yard, headed toward the police cruiser and demanded, "Sir, what is your name?"

The guy said, "I'm Bruce Keller and I'm the Community Manager here in Hidden Valley."

Jon shoved his hand in through the cruiser window and said, "Bruce Keller, I'm Jon Price and that is my son in the tree. Is there a problem?"

Mr. Keller proceeded to tell Jon that his son was too high in the tree and that he might fall. Jon crossed his arms over his chest, turned to the tree, looked it up and down and turned back to the police cars and said...wait for it...here it comes...

"Well, he might"

I love that man.

Braveheart and Robin Hood rolled into one.

Mr. Bruce Keller then tried a few different lines, and ultimately, he drove off. I thanked him for his concern, but inside I felt weird. Sort of a hodge-podge of amusement and disturbance at the same time.

As the three cars drove off, Jon summed it up perfectly and simply. He said, "Do you know what that man's problem is? He's forgotten what it was like to be a boy."

And that's just plain sad.

Easter is Almost Here!

I'm not quite sure of when or why it started, but our family gives up 'stuff' for lent. Well, except me because I am a quitter. No willpower. But that's another story.

Jack decided to give up water this year. Yes, water. He only drank milk this whole Lenten season. It took three and a half weeks to convince him that it was okay to take a shower.

Jon gave up chocolate, silly, silly man that he is. What he failed to take into consideration was my frequent trips to the candy store. The poor guy! You should have seen him pass up the Dove chocolate and turtles everyday. Willpower score: Jon- 1, Melanie - 0.

I don't know what Jonah and Gable gave up. I think Gable gave up anything to do with Tony Hawk, but I just can't remember what Jonah gave up. I'd ask him but he's sleeping and I'm enjoying my quiet time simply too much.

I wonder if I can get away with dressing up the boys for Easter. I have threatened the whole suit and tie thing before, but they know I'm totally bluffing. I think what we're going for is a nice t-shirt. I'd really, really like to dress all three of them alike, but I think they are also too old for this fine Easter tradition. And I know I can't fix all of their hair all pretty.

Sigh... the days of 'Mommy gets to choose clothes and fix hair for holidays and pictures' is getting more difficult.

Jon's just not going for it anymore.

Happy Easter!

Scooby's Tattoo

After highlighting my hair last week (ahem...covering gray), I had some leftover dye. I decided to give Scooby a tattoo of an 'S', because he is such a super de-dooper dog. I only wished that I would have drawn the super symbol around the 'S'. Then I spilled a spot of dye next to the original tattoo, so now it is some sort of unknown symbol. I think he is in a gang of some sort. He has been shot before, remember???

I best keep my eye on that dog.

Date Night

Don't do it
On our date night last night, we went to Macaroni Grill (finally used our gift card and ended up paying just $7.00 additional for our whole meal!!!) and then decided to check out Ikea.

Crazy!

At the exit, there was a large marquee that said 'event parking'. The 'event' was shopping at ikea. It was crazy, but it was fun. There was only one time that I thought I may hyperventilate. I think I'll wait until the crowd dies down to go back. It kind of cheapens the whole experience now that it is in Cincinnati and so accessible. I liked the thrill of a roadtrip to ikea. But anyway, it's here and I'm just not sure that I like that. I love ikea, but I don't think I like it that everyone knows what it is now. I liked it when people would see something in my house and comment that they had never seen something like that around here. I feel sort of possessive...

I may have a problem.

Before and After

These are my guys at Kelly's Salon before the clippers started...

And.....

These are my guys after!!!!!

Look at this cutie'

Do you recognize this lil' cutie without all the curly locks? Gable Patrick is going for a haircut tomorrow and he wants to return to his much shorter hair days. He always insisted on a buzz, even when everyone else in the family had long hair. And then one day, he saw one of his friends that could put his hair into his own mouth. It was then and there he decided on longer locks. But now, he is going back to his shorter roots, no pun intended.

On another note, we are now stalking this little, tiny, scrawny cat in our woods. It is caked with mud but won't let us near it. Unfortunately, our own cats keep kicking it's butt, but the cat won't leave. What to do? We went for a long walk in the woods yesterday and put food out for it waaayyy far away from our house. Don't know why I started on that, but this may mean another cat for the Price home if it will let us rescue it.

God has blessed us so much with this Honduras trip. We didn't want to go in debt over it. We truly believed that this trip would be important to Jonah and Jon together, but didn't know how we could come up with $2400. People have been so kind, so generous. My friend even made a black light puppet for Jonah to auction for his trip and it looks like it has a buyer!!! It touched me so much to see how people give of not only their money, but their time and talent.

So, although this blog is boring as a staff meeting (staph according to some...), I am bright and cheery today because IKEA OPENED TODAY!!! And we have nutty friends who camped out there! But they got tons of great free stuff! They got two free chairs, oh, I can't think of the name of the chairs, Poang, I think. You may see them on the news with their kids in blue sweatshirts, each with one letter on them to spell out i-k-e-a. They're nuts, but nutty with two free chairs!

Apparently, I am supposed to make a picnic with Jack now, so I'm off.

Someday

Someday...
Jon will have a big boy pillowcase instead of this one.

A Bit Discouraging

When we set out to begin our homeschooling journey with our boys, we thought that we'd keep them home 'for the first few years'. Although we had many reasons for homeschooling, one of our thoughts was that we wanted the boys to be well grounded and secure before entering a large public school.

Now that we've been doing this for eight years, it is clear that those 'first few years' have been extended. We have absolutely, positively no regrets. All of our early fears for homeschooling have proven to be totally unfounded and we settled into a routine long ago. Things run pretty smoothly and the boys are all used to school at home.

But, I tell you, it is one thing to go through 7th grade math while in 7th grade, and quite another to teach it to a 7th grader. There is nothing quite like it to make me feel totally and completely dumb. If and/or when I do figure out Jonah's math, it's just to the point where I can do it and get the correct answer. It's not as if I know the logic behind it enough to explain the ins and out of it.

More than once, twice, or a hundred times, I have gotten things wrong. Now that may seem like no big deal, but if you think about it, it's pretty sad that I, as a 30 something college-educated woman have a hard time with 7th grade math. And not just math, but Bible, Language Arts, and let's not forget, Science. Oh, science. I took a test today on weather patterns and got a D. Do you know anything about weather patterns? Apparently, I don't. And the sad thing is that I thought that I did.

So much of what I learned as a student didn't 'stick'. And not only did it not stick, it's doesn't even ring a bell with me. I wonder if my kids will remember these things any better than I did. Does technology really help kids be a bit smarter? I don't know. Does having library books all over the house really help? I don't know. Does homeschooling really help? I don't know.

Jon always has said that it's not important, nor is it possible, to teach a child every single thing. He says that you just equip them with the tools and confidence and then they are able to learn, be it from you or from others or from books or whatever. It just seems like such a big job sometimes.

Especially when it's 7th grade again.

At least I don't have bad acne and raging hormones this time around. Well, one out of the two ain't bad.

Scooby Busted

My neighbor took this picture on little Emma's birthday. She named it, very appropriately I think, Scooby Busted. It makes me laugh.

And I wonder why I spend so much on plants just to have absolutely no success. I thought it was because of all the deer...

Oh yeah, I'm a Quitter...

I am a quitter.

I have come to terms with this fact long ago. I don't fight it, I accept it. I don't have willpower.

My husband, on the other hand, has tremendous willpower. He will fight his way through anything. He is a tenacious bulldog, I tell you. Poor man, he is in love with me, of all people...

The ski trip - keep in mind I have never skiied until yesterday. First of all, no one told me that everything about skiing is uncomfortable. It started with the snow pants...I wore Jon's. Men don't have hips, you know. Jon had to pull on the zipper with pliers just to get it up. By the time we got everyone into the van, my feet were numb from lack of circulation. I got a headache and was feeling hot and grumpy. Then came the snow boots. Okay, they weighed at least ten pounds each! And Jon kept saying that they needed to be tight, they NEED to be tight, Melanie. And then he did them up TIGHT since I could not bend over to buckle them in my lovely snow pants. Fine, do them up tight, what do I care. At least I looked good.

Picked out my poles like an old pro and got outside. Popped my feet into the skis and was ready to go to the bunny slope with Jack and Jon. Jonah took off on a snowboard with Gable on skis. I fell down the bunny hill and was totally and completely stuck. It's impossible to get up in skis. They're like ten feet long and, helloooo, skis don't bend doggone it. I was laying there all tangled up like a pretzel with Jon trying very unsuccessfully to get me up. As I lay there with my toes numb from way too tight snowpants, feet tingling from the gigantic snowshoes, and a headache from, again, lack of circulation, I decided then and there to quit. I was done. No use fighting it, I'm done. Jon, the bully that he is, would not show me how to get my stupid feet out of the stupid skis because he said I wasn't allowed to quit. Yeah, whatever, just get me up out of this snow...

I finally got up and got back on the little moving sidewalk that kindly delivers one to the top of the bunny hill. I was trying to figure out how to get the stupid shoes off and Jon proceeds to tell me that I simply can't quit. Why? Because I'm a Price and Price's aren't allowed to quit. I told him that I am a good Price and yet, a good quitter. He lapses into Braveheart mode, saying something about courage and fortitude and blah blah blah. I wasn't buying it...until I saw little Jack. He was having a hard time. Things weren't coming as easily as he had hoped and his little head was hanging down.

Daggone it....How in the world could I encourage him by throwing in the towel after just ten minutes? I thought of a few excuses to offer to him, but none of them seemed just right. (note to self, practice excuses ahead of time next time)

So, lo and behold, I hung in there. Jon loosened up my boots and my feet began to breathe a little. And I skiied! It weren't pretty and Jonah can do a pretty good imitation of me with my poles sticking straight out to the sides like I was walking a highwire or something, but I did it! By the end of the night, I was looking over at the people going tubing and I felt a certain smugness over them. I looked down my nose and thought 'just look at those lazy people riding the conveyor belt up the hill and laying in a tube to come down. ohhhhh, that's so hard.

And just incase you are thinking that pride comes before a fall, just know that I did fall. Plenty of times. But I skiied!!

Ski Trip

I have no idea when I have been this excited.

I am going skiing today with my favorite boys. This is my first time!

My oldest boys are getting to be quite the skiiers, but Jack and I have never skiied. Jon, being from Colorado and all, better be a good teacher. Here we are, in Indiana and all, just a few miles from Perfect North, and I have never been. I've going tubing there a handful of times, but this is new terrain. I'll let you know how it goes...Wish me luck!

Danger in the Checkout Line

Okay, I've never posted a disclaimer before, but if you find yourself appalled at topics like genitalia and menstruation...you best sit this one out.

The checkout line is always a dangerous spot for us. Not because of the temptation of all the candy and pop. Oh, no. It is dangerous simply because for that three minutes or so, my boys have a captive audience. This was a problem when my boys were younger because whatever was rolling around their little minds popped out of their mouths. Like the time one of them was potty training and told the cashier that he had on big boy underwear. Not a big deal, but then he pulled down his pants to show her his little Winnie-the-Pooh underwear. When another one of my boys was learning about the differences between boys and girls, he asked another unsuspecting cashier if she had a penis. It didn't embarrass my boys any as one of them even pulled down his pants to show everyone what a penis was, just in case they didn't know...

Like I said, it was a much bigger problem when the boys were little, but now I find myself following in their footsteps. Last night, while checking out, the man behind me was asking for directions for potato salad and the boys were doing something else and I was digging through my purse for a quarter. I found my quarter, closed my purse..and then discovered that while rifling through my purse, I had knocked out a lone...women's sanitary product...and it was now moving all alone down the conveyor belt. I am proud to say that I didn't panic. I told myself that 1) I am in a grocery store and people buy whole boxes of these all the time and 2) nature is a beautiful thing. My boys just watched the whole thing and thought nothing of it. After all, these are the boys that have proudly plastered themselves with pads and declared them big band-aids. They thought they would make terrific band-aids until they had to tear them off of their wounds...duh...

I'm sticking to U-Scan now, baby.

Jack's Prayer

After we read 'The Berenstain Bears Get the Gimmies' tonight, Jack asked if he could do the prayer. He told me to repeat after him and I complied:

1) Put one hand in the air
2) Put your other hand up in the air
3) Repeat after me: God. Thank you. For loving me. Help me. To. Not. Be a Blockhead. Amen.

Pastor Jim would be so proud...

Almost Missed It

Today, I almost missed it.

But I didn't...

It started early this afternoon when the boys came in from sledding. They all dried off, changed clothes, and retired to deep, warm corners of the couches. This was the perfect time to settle in for a movie. Just as I found a corner and a blanket, Gable looked at me and asked, "Hey mom, will you go exploring with me?" Exploring? Exploring on this day meant going sledding in the woods. In the woods, which is outside, which is cold and wet and about the farthest that one can get from the deep recesses of a couch piled high with boys, pillows, and blankets. But it was Gable....and he's sweet and cute, doggone it.

So we pulled on our gear and grabbed our sleds. I offered to sled with him in the backyard, but he had his mind set on exploring, as you may recall. So we set off into the woods. He showed me the path that he and Jonah had made in the snow this morning. We sledded it. We walked through the snow and noticed the rug of leaves just beneath. We saw the deer prints and turkey tracks. The raccoon home and the creek that was half ice, half water. Gable was so proud of all the new hills that he and Jonah had found. The only problem was that this was in the woods, which means lots of small trees and sticks. We found ourselves sledding at full speed down a hill and then coming to a complete stop against a log. And Gable found out that sledding face-first belly-down is not a good position in the woods. He found this out when a wayward stick punctured his neck.

And I am saddened to say that I almost missed this. Even while we were outside, I was tempted to say, "Okay, that's enough. I am going now." And Gable would have been fine with that. But I wouldn't have. I would have missed so much with Gable.

A few minutes later, Jonah came plowing out, now recharged and ready to go. We crossed the street and found some new hills that ended in the creek. And at this creek, we found the motherlode. Icicles. The biggest, most beautiful icicles hanging from the mini-waterfall. Beautiful. The boys promptly decided that they must have one for a popsicle. Seeing them dangling over freezing cold water, balanced precariously on a stick and a rock - it was nail-biting and hilarious at the same time. I figured we were surely headed for disaster, but in the end, the boys both struck gold. We came home with 20" icicles that took two hands to circle.

They are in our bathtub if you care to see them. I'm sure they'll be alive for a few more days...

More pics if you're not sick of us yet

Out in Colorado - Look at his little feet...
Karate Kid
Seriously, this tree grew out of total rock
Life is hard for Gable here
But not as hard as it was for Jon this day

Mojo and Gracie
Just like papa
Climbing up the deck from the ground (notice the padding - it comes in handy)
He still sleeps like a baby. Look at his legs all tucked up under him and his toes snuggled together. The only sign of him getting big is the top of his boxers sticking out.
Yes, that is a (partial) albino deer in our yard. He's breathtaking.

Good days at the swimming pool here. He made all of those necklaces and those are Denver Bronco boxers pajama shorts sticking out of his swim trunks...

This is a snowy day, perfect for pictures and cocoa. If you don't want to see lots of sappy pictures, don't check back during the day because that's what you're going to see!

Have fun in the snow. I held the boys off until 9:15 and then they were outside. The routine during a snowy day is this:
they go out
they come in
I dry their hats and gloves
they go back out
they come back in
I dry their hats and gloves
(rinse and repeat often)

This is a stay at home and look through old pictures day. Of course, while I am on the computer, I am being bombarded by three, count them, three of my son's IM pals.
Okay, so this picture is Jonah sharing Jack's bed. I think it is adorable and hilarious. Jonah and Jack look exactly alike if you can erase the hair. Jack doesn't sleep in this bed anymore. His bed is the couch.

The Bottom Line

My Grandma Henn took the boys and me to the dollar theatre today to see Enchanted, or 'Enchantment', as she calls it. After we got settled into our seats, I went for a popcorn and soda.

The theatre offers free refills on large sodas and popcorn and since the large was only around $.50 more, I opted for the large for the five of us. One large popcorn, one large soda, one cup with ice for water: $6.00 + $4.50 + free = $10.50. Whew, a lot to pay for a pop and popcorn, but I did get a free cup for water. As I was paying, two little girls, probably around seven or eight years old approached the counter. Here is the conversation as I recall:

girls: How much is water?
worker: $3.50

At this point, the girls started counting out their money, bill by bill, quarter by quarter, penny by penny. Ultimately, what they wanted was a snack and a cup of water, but since water is $3.50, it severely limited their choices. They decided to put their money together. They came up with several different scenarios for a snack and water, but the worker kept informing them that they were a quarter short, a dollar short, fifty cents short, whatever. At this point, I would have gladly given them the money, but heck, I didn't want to pay $3.50 for water. I just stood there waiting for the worker to ask them if they wanted a cup for water, but she never did. I almost walked away, but then I wondered if this was a case where I could aid a citizen in need. Kind of like Wonder Woman. Well, not exactly, but you get the idea.

Me: Did you tell them that they could get a free cup for water?
Worker: (heavy sigh, rolls eyes, then turns to girls) Is that what you want?
Girls: Yes! (very excited about this option, now have enough to spend on highly overpriced candy)

The girls are very happy now and surely are thinking wonderful things about me. They exit with their goods. I pick up my goods, feeling very helpful and very hero-like. Then, it happened. Evil was afoot.

The worker walked away from her post and approached me.

Worker: We're not supposed to do that, you know. We're not supposed to offer a free cup for water.
Me: You didn't offer. I did.
Worker: We're supposed to be making money here.
Me: But they were just little girls and they were spending their own money.
Worker: (wait for it.....) Well, we all have to do that to buy food.
Me: (laughing) Seriously? You'd rather charge her $3.50 for a bottle of water then give her a little cup so she can get her own?
Worker: Well, thanks to you, I'm may lose my job.

At this point, I walked away chuckling. Of course, throughout the entire movie I thought of good comebacks, but stopped myself from taking a 'potty break' just so I could pass her again and use those comebacks. But at the end of the movie, we crossed paths in the bathroom. I asked her if she lost her job yet...

So, there are three points to this blog. One is that I am very glad that I have a blog to record my stories. Two: I am glad I didn't make a fool of myself and three: When did a theatre that charges $6 for popcorn get so pathetic that they could not offer a cup to a little girl? To anyone for that matter. Maybe it isn't a big deal, but I just felt like it was a big deal this time. Like it wasn't just a cup for water, but something much bigger in life. I can't quite connect it all yet, but it really made me sad and angry and cynical all at the same time.

Just chillin'

Gable, Jack, and I decided to stay home today. No, no one was sick. No one was sleepy. We all just decided to stay home. It's rainy and gloomy, but it feels like spring outside. I felt a certain freedom this morning when I was making breakfast and the clock just kept ticking. I also felt a freedom when I went from jammies into sweats. (For all you Seinfeld fans, I echo George Costanza's sentiment that I would drape myself in velour if I could).

So the boys and I are watching Wishbone. Jack has never seen it, but has always wanted to. It's always played on Sundays and for years of Sundays, I worked at church. I do miss the children that I worked with. I do miss the parents. But I don't miss the obligation of having responsibility at church each Sunday. Not for a minute.

I figure that today I will catch up on some good reading. Sit on the couch with my feet up, drive thru McDonald's for a fountain soda (canned or bottled aren't the same and if you're looking for a good fountain soda, McDonald's is the best). I will play a basketball game in the rain as promised with my sweet lil' Gable, and I will play tickle torture with my Cracker-Jack.

And then life will resume as normal. I will do my laundry and do the dishes. I will get my lessons ready for tomorrow. But before then, I will simply enjoy the warm weather with my feet up on the couch with my laptop. Boring blog, but a boring day is a good thing today.

Old Friends

For some reason I have spent the past two days thinking of an old friend. I'll call her Sandy. Sandy is much older than me. Well, about 13 years. She is amazing. I think the world of her. Her story goes back so far and is so intertwined in ours that it would be impossible to weave the layers of it together for you and do it any justice in this blog. She has stayed with me in the hospital, sleeping on a hospital chair for days on end. She has cooked for me, cleaned for me, taken care of my house, my children, my husband. She has listened and counseled and cried many, many, many tears. Her life hasn't been pretty. Oh, no. Her early life was spent with a horribly abusive, alcoholic father. She ended up marrying a younger version of her father. After he left her, she was alone to raise their two girls on her own. She was the most hard-working single mother. After her girls were almost grown, she finally met a man who was as good to her as she was to him. They married, but about a year into their honeymoon, he was diagnosed with a horrible form of cancer. Just before their fifth anniversary, he died. About a year after that, Sandy's daughter delivered her first granddaughter. Jaden. Tragically, Jaden died just minutes after her birth. That year, Sandy won a lawsuit for over a million dollars from her husband's death. She gave all of the money away. She built an AIDS hospice in Africa. She wanted no fame, no notariety for it. Not even a plaque with her name on it. That's just how she is.

Sandy has also suffered terribly from manic depression for as long as I can remember.

Whenever anyone asked about our relationship, I would always tell them that it was the most mutually satisfying relationship that I've ever had. Sandy loved, totally adored, me and my family. She thought we were the greatest things since sliced bread. And we thought the same of her. She had been in our life for so long, and played such a vital part that we just assumed that she would always be with us.

When her last daughter got married at age 25, it was the first time that Sandy was alone. We feared that all of those years of running from her demons would catch up with her once she was alone. Years of keeping herself too busy to properly grieve or take care of herself were nipping at her heels. When her daughter moved away at marriage, it quickly took her down and knocked her out.

The depression quickly caught up with her and overtook her life. But this time, she shut us out too. Usually during her extreme depression, she would curl up under the blankets for a month or so, then slowly inch her way back into our lives. Sometimes, even, we would be the only ones allowed to see her in those dark days. But not this time.

For almost one year now we've called and left messages. Just brief, positive messages. Emailed messages and pictures. Sent cards. For the first month or two, she would send us a line or two to let us know that she was still alive, just severely depressed. After a while...nothing. Surely she would call at Christmas. Christmas is her favorite time and she loads up her entire car with gifts for the boys. She is nuts about the boys and loves buying things for them. Christmas came and went, along with all of the other holidays we looked for her. Nothing.

I still struggle daily with the next step. I have prayed for her. I have missed her. I have cried for her. I have been angry with her. I'm sure you can imagine the range of emotions one would feel in this situation.

So, what to do? My friend Dave and my son Gable say that I should just show up at her door. But Dave also cautions that I need to be prepared for her to slam it in my face. I'm not ready for that. But I'm getting to the place that I really desire closure. Is that wrong? I want to be patient for the next 10 years if that's what this relationship calls for. But at the same time I want to either grieve the ending of an amazing relationship or know that she wants me to wait around. I have tried to respect her request for privacy. Some days I get really mad and picture her showing up at my house and me demanding answers. What kind of friend am I? Just today I decided that if she ever shows up, I will pray to embrace her as the prodigal did for his son. Openly embrace her and celebrate. Talk later - if ever. I decided that I would go to her house tomorrow and then I changed my mind. Again.

So, since there really is no way to end this blog, I guess if you felt a tug at your heart to pray for Sandy...please don't ignore it. It would mean a lot.

Thanks for listening.

Valentine's Day

I really wanted Jon to stay home tonight. With Jon as a music man, he doesn't exactly have a 9-5. Sometimes he has meetings or classes at night. I want to go on record as saying that I do not, have never, and probably never will like Jon to be gone at night. I really don't like it. But tonight he is leading a class. I didn't want him to go. I wanted him to stay at home, snuggle with us, drink cocoa and make a fire. If he were to stay home, however, none of this would probably happen. He would probably wrestle with the boys and it would be loud and very manly smelling.

But he left and I was left to make the most of the night with three boys. Two boys who have been pinned up most of the day and one boy who is tired from skiing all day. These boys are LOUD tonight. It doesn't help that our house echoes something terrible. I think even the dog's toenails are loud on the floors tonight.

We played a game together and everyone had weird names for their characters: dorkus mcsquadpod, dorkbait deathly, king spiderman, goth cop, uncle vince drunk on coffee, quirl...weird names I tell you. Lots of noise, lots of burps.

Then we sat at the table to make out Valentines. I don't know how much longer I can get Jonah to make Valentines with me, but doggone, he did it this year. Of course, there was much discussion as to whether the hearts that Jack drew were actually hearts or, uh, butt cracks...Much more discussion than I would care to admit. I don't know what it is, but if a girl's name is merely mentioned, boys fly into this rage of, "I DON'T LIKE HER!" Then they proceed to chase each other around and scream. Did I tell you that it was noisy tonight?

The cutest thing was when the boys reminded me of Jack's first day of school. One of the boys in Jack's class got sent to the principal's office. Jack said that when the boy came back, he was quiet and had a weird look on his face. I asked Jack what happened, in his opinion, to the boy in the principal's office. He said, with much certainty, "Well, I am pretty sure that he got an atomic wedgie or something."

He's a smart cookie. I think atomic wedgies would be appropriate at times.

Just now the boys are winding down with their 'bednight snacks' as they are called here. Gable has his very own, much coveted mango and Jack has a clementine. Jack just informed me that he knows how clementine tangerines are made: You plant a pumpkin seed, it grows into a pumpkin, you take it off the vine and let it shrink, shrink, shrink. When it is small enough, it is a clementine. Then, you take it, peel it, and eat it.

That's all for tonight from the loud Price-home. I am going to make some nice banana bread, homemade butter, and a cup of hot cocoa.

Agreeing to Disagree

I should have known back in August that public school and I weren't going to have an easy time together. Well, actually I did know, but I was certain that we could work out a mutual relationship. Which we have. But, after five months, the first Price child ever to enter into public school...will be leaving.

It started last summer. Jacker-the-head cracker saw a Kids Bop song video that said, 'Let's pack up and move to California'. He loved the song and even more so, he loved the school desks where these very pretty children sat. He decided that he wanted to go to school. As the elementary school is only five minutes from our house (the junior high and high school are half an hour), and given that it would give me more time to homeschool the older boys in the afternoon, and given that Jack really wanted to go, we decided it was worth a shot.

The first day of school, all five of us took Jack into school. He had his little backpack on and was the coolest looking kid, all nonchalant and all. The hallway was packed with two kindergarten classes, all the parents, and all of the teachers. We were just standing around waiting for the big goodbye. The school nurse made her way through the throng of parents and proceeded to tell me that they will allow Jack to go to school the first day, but he will not be allowed to come back to school unless he gets his varicella immunization. Chicken pox vaccine. I told her that we had this all taken care of and that we had let them know early on that he would not be getting all of his vaccinations.

Apparently we did not have this all taken care of.

I was very sweet, very demure, very quiet - it was a beautiful and rare thing. The nurse went to the principal and explained my thoughts. He said that if I really didn't want to get the vaccine, Jack could go to school in Kentucky as he is pretty sure they don't mind there...
So, in front of all the parents, all my children, and all the teachers, she presses on. Finally I explained it in a way that she apparently understood: My understanding is that only 3% of children that get chicken pox (before the vaccine began) have complications that require hospitalization. Of those, nearly 2% are severely impoverished and have poor hygiene, leading to infections in sores. That leaves 1% of the general population to require hospitalization. And that was before every child started getting the immunization. So, if every child there has the shot except Jack and Jack gets the virus, what does it matter?

She started to say something and then I came up with this doozy. 'So, if you're saying that every child here should be forced to have an immunization against a virus because of a 1% chance that complications could arise, then every woman standing here should have both of her breasts removed because she has a 30% chance of getting some degree of breast cancer in her lifetime. And every man has a 10% chance of getting some sort of penile cancer. So let's force every woman to get her breasts cut off, and every man to get his penis removed and then my son can get immunized.

Jon's just looked around like he didn't know me and then he simply commented that the suicide rate would surely skyrocket if that happened. And no, I definitely do not always have this kind of comeback. Usually afterwards, I think of good things to say.

But the school and I have had a good relationship. It's just not the best situation for our family. Please don't think I dislike all school institutions. This one just isn't working for us. And Jack hates it. It is a battle everyday and I feel like a liar telling him how much fun he will have. He doesn't have fun. They sit at their desks all afternoon and are 'too busy' to take recess. Its Kindergarten for pete's sake. So, this is one of those decisions that although is tough to make in some regards (no more afternoons of just the older boys and I wading through math), it is a simple decision to make in others. God has given us these children. We have to do what we feel God has laid on our hearts. We feel that to live a life of huge quantities of time with our children develops into those quick, fleeting, unpredictable moments of quality time. To us, you can't have quality time without quantity time.
So, if I'm not on as much in the next few months, you'll understand why. I'll be with all three of my boys again...

I Like Ryan

I'm pulling out all the stops.

I'm a huge fan of Ryan Detzel.

He is known amongst my Lawrenceburg friends simply as 'The Deputy'. That all began when Dave, my Canadian friend who makes fun of my accent, (eh?) couldn't remember what an assistant or associate pastor was called and just called Ryan 'The Deputy'. We all thought it was brilliant and kept it.

Ryan, on my first day ever at Vineyard Westside. walked up to me covered in tattoos and piercings and said, "Are you Jon's wife?" The rest of the conversation went as follows:
Me: Um, yes.
Ryan: I just want you to know that I so almost had an affair with your husband. After he did worship, I wanted to kiss him on the lips.
Me: Um, okay.

I really like someone who says those things that really shouldn't be said out loud.

My boys like Ryan because he has a wii. Just today Jack told Gable that he wants to have his birthday party at Ryan's house. What??? Jack also said that Ryan is his third favorite guy behing 1) Jon (thank God) and 2) Matt (that's a whole 'nother ballgame, but let's stick to talking about Ryan since he is the one I am trying to gain favor with tonight, shall we?)

Ryan is an incredible speaker and is truly one of the funniest people that I know. His wife is beautiful and kind and Ava is adorable and looks like one of the Shrek babies in Shrek 3. In the cutest way, I should add. His mother-in-law is even nice to me and even remembers my name, for goodness sake.

All in all, I like Ryan.

And I love a good competition.

Random thoughts for Friday

Jack told me tonight that if your 'ugula' jiggles, it means you're going to throw up. I think he meant uvula and I think he's been watching Monster House.

I am wondering when in life I will be old enough and mature enough to not allow my feelings to get hurt. When I won't feel left out.

I had a nice cup of tea at Leah's today. Ben had made a great fort out of cardboard boxes. It had a hot wheels ramp coming out the top. With a loop..

Gable went skiing all day today. He felt so special to be chosen by his friend to go with him. That is special - being chosen. His little cheeks are pink and cold. His beanie covered all of his hair except the curls sticking out the edges. So sweet.

Tighty Whities

It gives me great pleasure to discover other's embarrassing moments. It makes them seem more human to me, and not so perfect. Of course, when it is Jon's embarrassing moment, it makes it all the better...

Jon and Gable go to the community center on Tuesday mornings. It is their time together, just the two of them. So this past Tuesday, when Jon was signing in, Gable was tugging at Jon's shirt. Here is the story as I understand it:

Gable: (tugging at Jon) Dad! Dad!

Jon: (does not reply. Apparently he is using all of his concentration up on signing in. You know, name, time in...it can be all-consuming you know.)

Gable: (louder, now with purpose) Dad!!! Dad!!!

Jon: (again, says nothing, keeps trying to figure out if he needs to sign in 'Jon and Gable Price' or 'Gable and Jon Price')

Gable: (starting to panic) DAD!! You have a pair of underwear hanging out of your pants!!

Jon: (still, focused, does nothing)

Gable: (looking around for help) Dad!!! Underwear! Pants! DAD!!!!

Jon: (finally comes to his senses, starts to circle around like a dog chasing his tail looking to grab the elusive pair of tightie whities that are hanging out the bottom of his pantleg. Bends down, picks them up, straightens up...is now eye-to-eye with the lady behind him in line. What to say, what to say??? Got it...)

"Oh, that's strange."

Lady behind him: (What to say? What to say??) Uh, that's okay, I've seen a lot worse. (Whatever the heck that means)

Gable: Dad, I kept trying to tell you!

As I hear it, Jon then stuffed the underwear into his pocket and carried them with him all day. Hopefully he didn't forget about them when he went into the gas station to pay. Imagine pulling out a wad of money along with your whities.

I love an embarrassing story.

The Bread Truck

I don't know why God does things His way. He really doesn't even bother to ask my opinion on how I would like Him to convey messages to me. If He did, I would say, please talk to me in a deep, God-like voice and give me very clear instructions. Give me encouragement. Let me know who you are and why you are and why you love me and how you love me. Tell me very specifically how to raise my children and how to love my husband. Speak to me very slowly like I am a child. And look me in the eye so that I know it is you. After you talk to me, please email the same information that you just spoke to me. That way, as soon as I doubt that I just finished a conversation with you, the written dialogue would appear on my computer to reassure my weak, pathetic faith.

So although God has not communicated with me in my preferred method, I believe he is talking to me. For example: A while back, Jon and I both felt that we were being led to devote ourselves to the church plant that we were involved in. Jon cut back his hours at his job to the bare minimum that we could survive on. It was one of those times when you step out, yet you don't know on what you will land. Things were tight, and every once in a while we would wonder if we could get by on what we were making. Then one day, we came to the conclusion that we just needed to be 'daily breaders'. We needed to stop focusing on what 'could' happen in the future or what 'might' happen if we couldn't pay this or that. We just needed to pray for our daily bread. A few days later, Jon was driving down the road and passed something. For some reason, it really bothered Jon, so he turned around and came back to see what it was. It was a loaf of bread. Not an ordinary white bread Kroger discount loaf, but a loaf of Pepperidge Farm Bread. The kind with the bread wrapper and then another sealed wrapper inside. The fancy kind that my Grandma serves. It was in perfect shape, so he picked it up, said a prayer of thanks, and drove off in his truck. A little while down the road, he passed another one. And then another one. And then one more. All fancy bread. All in perfect shape. He picked them all up, each time stopping his truck, getting out, saying thanks. When he told me the story, we both were really touched and really excited that God would give us such a tangible sign! Something that we could (no pun intended) really sink our teeth into. Jon shared the bread with our friends and that was that.

So now, here we are. Our finances are quite different than we planned them out to be a year or so ago. There isn't so much 'wiggle room' and we are paying off debt. But things are good. Things are amazing. I couldn't ask for a better life. However, sometimes we do wonder how in the world we can 1) go to Honduras 2) take a vacation 3) pay for the extras. I know vacation and Honduras aren't exactly the necessities in life, but doggone it, they're pretty important when one is raising a family. So, we wring our hands and pull our hair (not exactly, but you get the point).

And then, guess what? I'm driving down the highway and pass...

A loaf of bread.

On the side of the road.

In perfect shape.

hmmm.

Could it be?

Did I just get a sign? Can I get an audible voice and an email confirmation on this one?

Nope, just a loaf of bread sitting perfectly on the side of the highway.

Here we go: The next day I found out about the money we are all getting from the government to help boost the economy: $1200 a couple, plus $300 per child=$2100. The same day I prayed over my ebay items, set them at a crazy high price...and got it. Someone cleaned out their cabinets and, by 'chance', gave a couple bags of staple items to me. My neighbor came over with a gift card, for 'no reason'. Jon got reimbursed for stuff we didn't even ask for. Ryan hooked us up with a boatload of organic produce for dirt cheap. My brother-in-law gave me stuff to sell and told that he wanted us to use the money toward Honduras. The list goes on and on. What touched me the most was today. Jonah had some items out at Learning Tree to make money for his trip. It was just keychains and little bags of candy. Our goal over the next few weeks is to sell enough candy to pay for his passport. Well, at the end of the day, I knew there was probably $10 or so in his little bag and we were totally happy over that. A while later, I opened the bag to count the money and there was a check folded up in there for $20. It's from someone that I have never talked to, never met. None of my boys have had her for a teacher, nor are any of them friends with her children (her boys are older). She just left a note on the subject line: For Jonah's trip - will pray...

Should I not be so misty-eyed over this gift? Am I being dramatic? Or am I just feeling blessed? I don't know. I do know that sometimes things aren't miracles simply because we don't allow them to be. If we don't call it a miracle, it goes unnoticed in our hearts and lives. And then we miss the email confirmation as well.

So, call it a coincidence, but I know there is a booming voice in that loaf of bread on the side of the road. And I'm accepting it - with thankfulness.

What's a Mom to Do?

I can't stand a bully. It doesn't even have to be a big, fat, crew-cut bully. Anyone picking on anyone else just drives me crazy.

It takes a lot to make me angry. I definitely don't have the patience of Job, but I am usually pretty good at rolling with the punches.

Unless someone is picking on one of my peeps. When this happens, know that I turn into this psycho woman. A sort of Jekyll/Hyde thing if you will.

Yes, most of you know of the, uhhh, 'hair' incident in Virginia Beach. In that lovely instance, I became the psychotic wife because someone insulted my husband. I have also been known to confront woman in grocery stores because they are being mean to their children. Lovely. One time, after we passed a group of kids picking on this lone chubby boy, I u-turned and went back and chewed them all out, declaring for all to hear that 'if their moms could see them, they surely wouldn't act that way and did they want me to go get their moms right this instant, I don't THINK so...' Yeah, I know, nothing to be proud of. I have even been known (hanging my head in shame) to go off on someone during (can I say this without mumbling...it's so embarrasing), okay, I went off on someone during an outreach. Not someone in our group, mind you, but someone we were, uh, reaching out to. But, but, but, they said something mean to one of my boys!!!!! Of course, I was inconsolable afterwards and swore off outreaches just in case anyone, ever insulted my family again.
So this morning Jonah had a basketball game, in which he scored his first two points!!! It was sweet because he was the one that got the rebound from a missed shot, which is amazing considering he is at least one foot shorter than everyone else. So he got a rebound, took a shot, and scored! It was great. He's a great kid. Everyone who knows him knows that he's a great kid. He just has a great attitude. Unfortunately, one of the kids on the other team mistook this game for a football game. It was amazing. He would absolutely, positively pound into everyone. I sat through him giving people the bird, sat through him talking trash, sat through him slamming into everyone. It made more sense to me when I found out that his dad was the referee. Hmmm...Finally, I could take it no more. The strangest thing happened. I felt my blood boil. I felt my jaw tighten (seriously, I bit a hole in my cheek and now it's turning into a nice sore as a reminder) and I felt my body stiffen. Then, it happened. I opened my mouth. I told it not to open, I begged it not to open, I willed it not to open. It just didn't listen. I started yelling. Yelling. Just yelling out like the idiot that I sometimes am. Yelling at this mean kid with a steely look in his eyes. I wanted to march out there and drag him off the court by his earlobe and give him the business. Why didn't his coach stop him? Why didn't his parents stop him? Why didn't the other ref stop him? Why? What is the point of letting a kid with a horrible attitude who is foul-mouthed and body slamming into everyone get to continue to play? He made it miserable for everyone. I don't get it.
Although I lost it for a bit, I am totally glad that Jon kept me from marching out there and making a total fool of myself. I think I would have in a minute or two. After the game, Jonah said, "Mom, I heard you yelling about that kid, "Hey, #33 thinks he's a linebacker or something?!" I told Jonah I was sorry and he said that I was okay and that he knows I get a little psycho sometimes.

The Best Way to Spend a Dollar

If I had just $1.00 to spend, I would go to Wal-Mart and buy a jar of 'Flarp'. It is the best, and at just .88, it's a bargain. It's like really runny silly putty that is in a plastic container. When you break the air bubble at the bottom, you get really nasty noises. The thing that completely perplexes me about flarp is that it is scented. Scented like blueberries. I don't get it.

My youngest son, whom I am so proud of at this moment, decided to spend his $2.00 at Wal-Mart tonight on a yogurt smoothie ($1.06) and, (I'm getting choked up with pride) flarp (.88). He is lying in bed playing with it. I tried to talk him out of taking it to bed with him (I wanted it), but he was really set on taking it with him. I can't wait until he falls asleep...






On another note, I believe that tomorrow I will pull the covers over my head and sleep all day long ...ahhhhh.....my day off...

Is Jack asleep yet?

January 29, 1991

The day that I met Jon I fell in love. I know that intelligent people just don't 'fall' in love, but I did, and I think of myself as relatively intelligent. I was a young, bumbling idiot when I showed up to babysit at his sister's house one cold, rainy Saturday and he answered the door. He was hot. Granted, he was getting ready to go for a jog in the middle of January, with snow and ice on the ground and wearing shorts. But, he was hot. Oh, did I mention that already? He looked like Sean Penn without the attitude. Don't doubt me here, I have a picture to prove it.

See, Sean Penn. Oh baby, what a hottie.

Anyway, Jon asked me how many miles he would be running if he ran from Laurie's (his sister's) to McAlpins. I know that I said quite a few things, but none of them actually formed into any words.

He was hot.

When he left for his jog and I was alone with the baby that I was supposed to be babysitting, I declared that I, Melanie Clark, was going to marry that boy, whatever his name was.

And I did.

Seventeen years ago today, we had our first date. He was on leave from the Navy in January of 1991. On our first date, Jon took me to Buffalo Wings & Rings. He drank Coronas and was such a bad influence on a sweet lil' church girl like myself. He said bad words and smoked and drank. What more could I want? I was in love. We went to see Edward Scissorhands. Weird movie from what I hear...

And then he left. As quickly as he came into my life, he was gone. I truly thought that I would never hear from him again. I cried and cried when he left. I wore my USS Harry E Yarnell sweatshirt night and day. I laid at the park with my tissues and yellow blanket and cursed the day I met him. I moped and sighed and refused to eat and refused to budge from my room for anything but the necessities.

And then, one day, one beautiful day...he called. My hands were shaking and I felt butterflies. I think I floated for days after that. He told me he missed me and that he thought of me all the time and that someday...he would come back to me, for me.

And he did. Seventeen years ago.

Did I mention that he was hot? I meant, he is hot...

Thomas Alva Edison

I'm breaking my own rules tonight. I can't believe that I'm doing this, cringe, but I am.

I am doing my son's homework.

Yeah, I know, I know. Don't lecture me. I already know.

Not only am I doing his homework, I'm doing his report.

We go to a co-op on Mondays at Tri-County Vineyard with about 400 kids. One of Jonah's classes is Inventors. Over the break, he had an assignment to do a report on Thomas Edison. Over our break from Learning Tree (we are off for six weeks over Christmas), he reminded me every day for about four weeks that we needed to get to the library so he could get moving on his report. Every day I would procrastinate (one of my big no-no's), and finally, here we are, Sunday night and the report is due first period tomorrow morning.

First period...tomorrow morning.

Usually I advocate letting the chips fall where they may. Letting the boys feel some of the heat if they make a poor decision. But this time, I just know that it is my fault. My fault that we didn't go to the library and my fault that I didn't keep my end of the deal. And finally, after he nagged and nagged me, he finally forgot about it.

So, that's what I'm doing tonight. Lecture if you must. Just don't call Jonah's Inventor's teacher.

The 'Perfect' Home

We had a home inspection today. We are getting a new homeowners policy, so at 8:30 this morning a guy came out to assess the value of our home. Pre-coffee.

Now to many, this may not be a big deal. But to us, it meant that we had to clean. Our home is the home of lots of fast moving feet and the home of many critters. I guess if I was more organized, like say, my sister, I would be better at this sort of thing. My sister is the one person in the family who got the clean-gene. Even her storage room is beautiful and color-coded. It's amazing. But I am convinced that I spend more time cleaning and picking-up than a naturally organized person. I do not have the clean-gene and unfortunately, Jon is even farther away from it than I. Problem is, he thinks that he has this gene. This causes him to walk into a room, make it look like a tornado hit, then as he looks back at his path of destruction, he gets grumpy wondering who dun' it.
But, like I said, we had an inspector come over this morning. So, knowing he was going to check the fuse box, which is in the boys' bedroom, we set out to clean their bedroom last night. I still cannot figure out how popcorn can get into every single thing in the room. How does it get into pillowcases. And how can we have so many stinking air soft pellets? And why are they down in the mattress pads and in the guitar and in the vents? I think I picked up about 32 guitar picks and 24 push pins. Oh, and I stepped on one. But after about half an hour, the room looked good (to our standards anyway) and was vacuumed and dusted.

When Mr. Homeowner inspector came over, he took pictures of the kitchen and bathroom (ugh) and assorted other things. He kept trying to avoid the refrigerator in the picture. It was because of the assorted photos and drawings hung haphazardly on it. Apparently, it doesn't increase the home's value. So he kept trying to get a different view, which is difficult in a small house, and finally he had to get the fridge in the picture.

I don't know what the point of this blog is. I think I'm just trying to be okay with being the wife/mom that I am. I've heard it said that homeschooling moms are creative, and in general, more free-spirited. Maybe I'll hang my hat on that one.

I was reading today about Heath's Ledger's death at age 28. It seems he died of what is hopefully, an accidental overdose. He was the guy who was the troubled man in Brokeback Mountain. In the article that I read, it was clear that his funeral is going to be a hot ticket item for this extreme right-wing church. Apparently they are going to protest outside the funeral home and cemetery. Loudly. This is the same group that my family encountered several years ago while eating at McDonald's in Versailles, Indiana.

We were there with all three of our boys, three nephews, one niece, and Jon's sister and brother-in-law. Versailles is tiny. I think we were at the one and only intersection. There is a gas station right across from McDonald's and this group had huge signs that said things like "God Hates Fags". They had ginormous pictures of dismembered babies from abortions and were going up to people's faces totally screaming. They were fierce. They were hateful. They hated everyone except those in their group. People at the gas station were basically powerless to get them to leave. People would argue, the police would come and go, and this group would stay. It was troubling to say the least. It made me sick to my stomach to see people use God's name like that, with such hate and vengeance. To use it so selfishly. This is the same group who protests outside of slain American soldier's funerals. They say things about one soldier down, more to go and stuff like that. They say that God wants them to do things like kill gay men and bomb abortion clinics. Like I said, it's all so troubling.

When I read the Heath Ledger article, I immediately thought, 'what kind of person does this?' I mean, what kind of person wakes up in the morning and is actually brainwashed into believing that by showing such hate, such disregard for humans, that they are actually pleasing God? And then I remembered a story from the book Blue Like Jazz.

During Sorority pledge week, right in the middle of the full festivities, a group of christians set up a confession booth. People would enter and think they were going to confess their sins. And I'm betting that away at college, in the middle of the rush, people felt pretty relieved to be doing some confession. But this booth actually was a tent for christians to confess to non-christians that they had been the hypocrites. That they had looked down on the non-christians, that they had browbeaten them, preached to them, shirked them. That in reality, the one thing christians were told to do...love others...they had failed to do.

And in remembering this story, I realized that although I am not showing dismembered babies at Heath Ledger's funeral, that I have, in fact, done some pretty good misleading in my day also. There have been times that I was oh so quick to tell others of their errors instead of leading by example. So, in effect, I have held up the God hates fags sign too.

Maybe I should make a confession booth...hmmm...

Pulling Out the Big Dogs

Every year in the dead of winter, we are forced to be inside for much too much of the day. The boys don't really want to go outside, but they are forced to go outside. I am a firm believer that fresh air builds immune systems. I open the windows in the dead of winter to air out the house and let fresh air clean my house for me. I don't believe that cold causes colds and I am convinced that warm houses breed more germs, thus more illness. Since the boys were babies, they have been yelled at by well-meaning older neighbors for going shoeless in the winter. For being shirtless in the pouring rain, for being hatless in the snow. Yet, knock on wood, they remain the healthiest children I have ever known. I can count on one hand the number of sick visits we have had in our childrens' lives. Now, if we are talking injuries, I'm counting on hands and toes...But sickness, that is another thing.

So, although the weather has been 'nice' for winter, it's still winter! Every winter I get to this place, this head-scratching place where I sit and ponder over fun activities for the boys that are both fun and burn energy. That would immediately disqualify the high winter usage of video games and computer.

It's time to bring out the big dogs.

Tomorrow after all of the chores are complete, I will send them outside to get the sleds. I will send them scouring throughout the entire house to find every single pillow. They will be sent in search of helmets, knee pads, elbow pads, and mouthguards. Then, and only then will we teter precariously on the top edge of the basement stairs on our sleds...and plummet down, down, down. We will land on great mountains of pillows that will, hopefully, protect us from the wall at the bottom of the stairs. From the last step at the bottom to the wall stands about 18" of floor clearance. It isn't much room, hence the need for so many pillows. But if you can do it and not get hurt, it's a total hoot.

The first year we tried this, Jon called home one day and asked what we were doing. The boys enthusiastically told him and then he must have told them to put me on because they handed the phone over. He asked me to repeat the story, thinking the boys had surely embellished a bit. When I repeated the same story (at that time we didn't use sleds, we used laundry baskets), he paused and said, "Are you crazy?" But he relaxed a bit when I said, "Don't worry, we wore helmets". We do wear helmets. And full gear. It's a dangerous job we do here at the homeschool front. But like I said, if done properly, it's a total blast.

So tomorrow, while you are sittin' pretty, know that there is a family in Indiana who is flying down their steps hootin' and hollerin'. And maybe, just maybe, we will get Jon on a sled this year.