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.

A Day in the Country

Ah, a day in the country with the boys. We have friends who live in Patriot, Indiana. It's about 50 minutes from here. We set out just after chores this morning. Packed up our coats and gloves and hats and settled in for the drive. We drank coffee (water for the boys) and ate warm blueberry muffins in the van. We wound along the river through Sunman and into Patriot. Traveled gravel roads and saw horses wearing coats. When we pulled in, we stopped to admire the Osowski's horses. Beautiful creatures blowing smoke in the cold. We saw their two nine-month old calves and two longhorn cows. Free range chickens and all things natural and beautiful. A pond, a dog, three cats, rabbits. ahhhh.

Oh, to have a home in the country like that. Actually, I love this house, the Hill House. Jon also has family in Versailles, and I love their farm too. And I have another amazing friend in Patriot. Her name is Jenny and she makes organic soap. She raises goats and peacocks and has a huge farm of vegetables. But my point is, I have a lot of friends with farms and I love those farms. I am totally at ease in these places. I can settle in and come to life. And five years ago when we were trying to decide where we wanted our next move to be, I was totally convinced that I wanted a farm. Jon wanted a subdivision with sidewalks and cul-de-sacs and kids everywhere in cozy coupes. I wanted acres of land with vines to swing from and ponds to jump in. Hay bales to climb and animals to slop.

We compromised and found the perfect place. The place we now call home. The place I love more than any of my friends' farms. But today at the farm was wonderful. A change of pace. We didn't even do our schoolwork today. The boys jumped on their trampoline and played Dance Revolution and laughed and laughed. They did flips and ran from the rooster, the evil Elvis. And I got to hang out and have coffee with friends.

Another good day.

A Kernel of Corn

Saturday night is the night that Jon tries to get in bed at 9:00. He and Jonah get up around 4:30 on Sunday mornings to get to church by 5:30 to set up. So, he goes to bed at a decent hour and after the boys are all in bed, I have a couple hours alone. In the quiet.

We had read our books, said our prayers and were all tucked in bed when my next-door neighbor called and said those words. The words that make any veteran mom chuckle because, after all, she's been there before and totally understands, "My daughter stuck something up her nose."

Emma, one of my little girly-friends, is three. She is hilarious. She and her mom, Val, are like two peas in a pod. They both will cross their arms, wag their heads and say, "Oh no you di-unnnt". Emma will put her head down and tell you that she's "berry, berry disappointed in you," and walk away. She will yell at my boys for playing football in the front yard, telling them to be nice and "STOP hurting each other, that's NOT NICE!"

Well, last night, she had stuck a kernel of corn up her nose. Lodged it right at the top and she wanted me to get it out. What an honor. I like to think that they needed me, needed my expertise and my calming presence...but in reality, Emma's mommy and daddy did just fine. They knew not to reach for it unless they could plainly see it (check). They knew it would work it's way out, either out the nose or down the throat. They knew not to panic and drag her to an emergency room to sit for three hours. They had her blow and blow and cough and blow. They tried to get it with the suction bulb and the tweezers. Just try holding down a three-year old and holding a flashlight at the same time. Long story short, after knocking it loose with tweezers and letting that kernel 'think about it' for an hour or so, Emma was able to blow that bad boy out. That baby shot across the room like it was in a watermelon seed-spitting contest.

And I'm sure, quite sure, that Emma will not be putting anything else up there until she is 18 and gets a nose ring.

Spending too long in the candy store

All week long I promised myself that today, Friday, I would allow myself to curl up under my covers and stay there all day if I wanted. Friday is my day off, the day that I love. I get to do whatever I want. I can go out to eat, I can shop, I can hang out with Melinda or Leah, I can do everything...or I can do nothing. All that is required of me is that I must get a few assignments printed out and ready for Jon. A small price to pay for a day off of schooling, dishes, laundry, everything!

So I had my coffee with Jon and set out to re-stock my Gap outlet Ebay store. My sales have dropped dramatically with the cold weather and my falling disposition. But today I felt inspired. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was hanging out with good friends last night, maybe it was my husband praying for me. Whatever the reason, I felt inspired. I felt happy. I felt like it was spring. I went into the Gap and smelled the strong scent of a great sale, a full cart, and grumpy salespeople. Amazing overstock sales today. I've never had such a full cart, and I've never spent so much money in one swoop.

After that, I went to this candy company that I had heard about called Gallerie. Okay, amazing, amazing place. A must see. I guess the huge building is where they make the stuff and then there is this teeny, tiny room for a clearance center. They make the candy for things like Choxie at Target and Macy's candy boxes. And they have things like Choxie turtles for $2 a pound!!! Dove chocolate for $2/lb., M&M's for $2/lb. The crowning jewel: I almost bought dark chocolate covered coffee beans for $2/lb, which was going to be my most incredible buy of the day. But, BUT...(my heart is beating fast just writing about it), then I saw it:

The 10 pound box of, you guessed it, dark chocolate coffee beans.

EEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKKK! (Girl screams and does the 'oh my gosh' dance while wiping tears from her eyes, that's me)

You guessed it, I bought it, the whole kit and caboodle for the incredible rock bottom bargain-basement price of $5.00!

I decided it was time to get out of there before I spent too much money and before I brought too much candy into the house, but doggone it, old rusty wouldn't start. Even after some wonderful worker named Dee tried to jump Jon's truck with a car even older than Rusty, I was still stuck. Add to that the fact that I didn't have my smell phone plus the fact that Jon couldn't come to get me for a while because he had to pick up Jack from school...and you have a lonnnnggg time to spend in the candy store. I ended up buying things like two pounds of gummy teeth and gummy brains ($1.60 total), 4 pounds of candy bones (.40 TOTAL), and more turtles (I had to eat some while I was waiting).

I did spent a lot of time waiting in the truck with no heat, but I knew that Jon would come and rescue me. And when he rode in on his white horse (aka, gold van) with the boys all hanging out the doors and windows, I swooned.

My Braveheart sidled up, assessed the situation, and immediately mobilized the troops. "Boys, get your coats on and zipped up. Melanie, get back in. Okay, boys, up here, we're going to push this baby to start." I've never kick-started a car before and quite honestly, I didn't believe it would work. But the way Jon said it, with such confidence, and the way the boys were all in front of me pushing the truck backwards out of my parking spot, I knew it would work. I had no idea how we were going to go from me turning the key, getting absolutely no noise, no turnover, no nothing...to the truck starting just because they pushed it fast enough. But if those boys could be out in that cold pushing and believing, doggone it, so could I. And when Jon said to pop it, I popped it - and it roared to life. How does that happen??? I felt like Jon had slayed a dragon for me. I don't know if anyone else felt it, but I tell you, I felt it. He had come for me. He had rescued me. Me and my coffee beans. Me and my baggage, all of my baggage, both literal and figurative. He had come. Just as I knew he would.

So, if you must spend all day in the candy store, just know that you will end up buying something totally impractical like a little pooping candy cow. Coffee beans, practical, cow, impractical. So why did eveyone go crazy over a silly cow that poops green candy?

I Hate Winter

No, really, I do. I feel it coming on in my bones every year just after Halloween. For some reason, Halloween is the cut-off each year - the official end of being all things outdoors. Even when I was little, things changed starting the first of November. My grandparents left for Florida every November 1, and from then on, things were...just different. We'd cram in 'just one last visit' several times, playing as much and as hard together as we could to help us over the long winter without them.

I hate winter.

It causes me to melt into unexplicable pools of weepiness at the drop of a hat. It makes my bones cold and the tip of my nose red and my fingers type slowly. It causes me to be drawn to the dark basement and the warmth of Jonah's electric blanket. It is a cruel trick of the logistics of our house that I must pass through this warm, dark bedroom everytime I go to the laundry room. Every time I pass the bed and refuse to curl up into my fetal position, I feel that I should hear thunderous applause.

This is the first winter in four years that we have had heat for the entire winter. I should be hysterically thankful for that. Those were cold mornings...Jon would get up and turn on the kerosene heater. He said that walking on the kitchen floor (which is over the garage) was actually painful before the heater started warming up the house. Thank God for a working furnace this year.

This stinking winter causes me to drop more four-letter words than fireworks on the fourth of July. Normally, unless I am in hard labor, I don't go farther than the occasional 'snap' or 'crap'. Not in winter. My adjectives of choice are narrowed down considerably.

I hate winter. With a passion. Don't lecture me that all seasons are beautiful and that I have so much to be thankful for. I know all of that. That is what keeps me afloat. So, today I looked back through my pictures and decided to take myself to a happy place...

Hidden Valley Beach and pool.

Now I don't know if you know this, but we live in what was recently declared on a nationwide scale to be 'the best kept secret of the midwest'. We live half a mile from a mile-long lake, complete with kayaks, speedboats, pontoons, fishing, swimming, and everything else you could possibly want out of a lake. It also has a sand beach. How amazing is that? The beach is one of our two main hangouts in the warm months, from about May - October. It has a playground and swings, picnic tables and a porch swing. People see it and are amazed. Everyone says the same thing along the lines of, "I can't believe how amazing this place is. I never knew..." You should see the sun go down behind the lake. My favorite is when it is swirls of purple and pink. I call it the cotton-candy sunset. I also love when it is brilliant, fiery orange. Breathtaking. We used to meet for small group at the beach every week. We'd all bring some small assortment of food and we would end up with the most amazing spread. Wine and cheese and Italian food and healthy food and Oreos. And then, to play in the water, to watch the kids who never tire of the water. ahhhh, good times.

Our other favorite hangout is the pool here. Again, it's about half a mile from our house in the other direction. Swim lessons, swim team, pool parties, basketball, tennis...so much to do at the pool. And it doesn't matter what kind of food I pack or how elaborate of a lunch we just had, snack bar food is better. By the end of last summer, I was taking our popcorn up to the pool and asking them to pop it in their microwave. The kids thought I bought it there and were much more excited about it than normal....I mean, this is the kind of pool where everyone is familiar. When Jackie was little, he couldn't see into the snack bar. The workers would just pick him up and take him in to let him pick something out. And the pool....I love the pool. Sometimes during the course of a day we end up at the pool three different times. We're off school and have no schedule, no plan for the day except to swim and stay cool. Well, once a week we have to cut our grass, but other than that, we're at the beach or the pool.

My boys have gotten to be quite the divers too. They can do the most amazing assortment of flips and twists. By the end of the summer, I had to stop watching - it just made me too nervous. Even one of the lifeguards hated to watch, but was forced to because of her job. She'd give me the play-by-play, "He bounced once, twice, he's in the air, he's flipping one and a half, twisting around, ending with a dive...and...he's clear." Breathe.

Oh, just thinking about the pool and beach makes me feel a bit better. I can almost feel the sand between my toes and smell the sunscreen. I can't wait to load up the car with buckets and flippers and towels and sandals.

Wish it was tomorrow...

An Inside Look at the Price Loo

Over the years, I've come to realize that what is perfectly normal to me actually has the potential to make others cringe.

Such as our bathroom...

In our first home, we had just one bathroom. One tiny bathroom. As boys entered our family, the bathroom began to take on some of their personalities. When Jonah was about seven, he was reading Captain Underpants. So one day he decided to make our toilet into Harry Potty. He cut out little arms and facial features and glued them to our toilet. It was cute. I thought it was very creative and ingenious.

There were times that I would take a shower only to discover that all of the shampoo, conditioner, hand soap, shaving cream, and any and all of my lotions had been made into 'mixtures' by Jonah and Gabe.

Then there was the night that I tripped and fell over a lightsaber on the bathroom floor. In the dark. Into my forehead. Any other mother may ask, "Why, pray tell, is there a saber on my bathroom floor?"

Just the other day, my little friend, Benjamin, was perplexed as to the reason that there was a raccoon skull on the floor. I fail to see why this perplexes him...

Toenail collections, scab collections, rock collections, sand collections.

Piles of powder, snow, mud.

And don't even ask my boys what they do while they are...um...in there with the door locked. Many, many times I have entered the potty, post...you know...and have found Star Wars action figures hanging, all within an arm's reach of the toilet. Not only hung, but first bound and tortured by band-aids, then hung by toilet paper. Sometimes they are choked with toothpaste, sometimes they are frozen in carbonite Hans Solo-style, by being embedded in a bar of soap. Dental floss goes quickly in our home, not because of it's hygienic properties, but because it has great zip-line properties. When paired with Batman, it's the greatest adventure of the day.

Often I find an entire roll of shredded toilet paper in the sink, mounded up soggy volcano-style with any assortment of lava inside: toothpaste, antibiotic cream...mud.

A few years ago, this was a conversation I was involved in:
"Melanie, you wouldn't believe the things my kids were doing in the bathroom. It got so bad that I had to close and lock the bathroom door and hide the key."
"Oh, what were they doing?"
(heavy sigh from my cousin), "They were (whisper here) unrolling the toilet paper - the entire roll! You just wait, you'll be locking your door any day now."

I guess that maybe I should have locked the door the day that Jack decided to get a drink by himself. Out of the toilet. The unflushed toilet. But he was so proud of himself...

See, I think that really creative things happen when my children actually have to sit still for a while. And being in the bathroom forces them to be still until nature is finished with them.

And I happened to like the Harry Potty...

Connecting the Dots

It's not often that one gets to see how the dots in one's life actually connect. Usually when a bad situation arises, I fail to think that it may actually be a 'blessing in disguise'.

About 11 years ago, Jon, Jonah, and I were at the YMCA swimming and having a grand ol' time. At the end of the day, just when Jonah was having a meltdown, we discovered that our car wouldn't start and we were stranded at the Y. Now, I don't know if you've ever had a toddler in meltdown AND were stranded with a broken-down vehicle with no money, but it's stressful! Add to that a very short-tempered husband (he has so much more control now, thank God), and a frazzled young mom and you have a highly volitale situation. We had no money for towing, and nobody to call, so a lady from the Y offered us a ride home when her shift was over in an hour. Waiting, pacing, crying, sighing, waiting, crying...you get the pic. Finally she took us home and drove off. I was never so happy to see home. I just wanted to change my baby (had used our only diaper at the Y) and put him to bed. But after she drove off, we realized that we had left our keys to the house in her car. Now, looking back, it seems like it was not that big of a deal, but standing there that day, we certainly didn't feel that way. Our nerves were shot and we were freaking out way too much. Jon started checking the windows on our house to see where we could break in. Our basement windows were those old, rusty windows that wind open. They were originally glued or caulked right to the cement opening, but since they were about 50 years old, they were completely rotted out. Jon just touched one and the entire window just fell in and shattered.

So, although we had gained entry into our home, now we had this gaping hole in our basement. And we didn't live in the safest of neighborhoods. It wasn't the worst, but we had already each had our cars broken into several times. So while I was putting Jonah to bed, I could hear Jon down in the basement throwing things around. Finally I heard his drill and when I went down to check, there was a huge piece of plywood drilled into the cement walls with 2x4's covering it. It weren't pretty, but at least the hole was covered. Eventually I talked him into spray painting the plywood black from the outside of the house so it wouldn't stick out like a...piece of plywood covering our window...permanently.

Okay, fast forward five years. It's the middle of the night and it's snowing outside. We still live in that house, a little cape cod in Delhi. Two bedrooms on the first floor. We live in one of them and Jonah and now Gable live in the other. Do you know how you hear something in your sleep, and it jars you awake, but you're not really sure if you dreamed it or if it was real? That's what happened. I had heard a noise. I woke Jon up with the words everyone dreads, "Jon, I heard a noise." And he answered the way most hard-working, sleep deprived men would, "mm". The dog, Scout (the greatest big black dog ever), was still asleep on Jon, so I figured that I dreamed the noise. Then, a second later, I heard this banging so loudly that honestly, I broke out into a cold sweat immediately. Terrible feeling. I jumped up and ran to look out the front window. What I saw still sends chills down my neck. It was footprints in the snow - from the street, through our front yard and around to the side yard. I couldn't see much because I didn't have my contacts in, so I went to the bathroom and flipped on the light while calling for Jon. By now the dog was barking and Jon was up and in Braveheart-mode, wielding a Scottish Claymore and yelling, "FREEEEDOMMM" and stuff like that. We looked out all the windows and now realized that some creep had just left out yard. By the time the police got there and walked all around, we all pieced together what had happened: Someone walked through our front yard, unlatched the gate, walked out to the middle of our backyard. They turned around and could hear and see the television flashing (I had accidentally left it on) in the upstairs window and figured we were upstairs watching it. He then walked (this part still makes me sick) all the way up to my precious boys' window and looked in. This was obviously the boys' room because of all the toys in the window. So he went to the basement window just under the boys room. Remember, he thinks we are upstairs watching television and can't hear him. So he went to the basement window, which happened to be the only window in our house that wouldn't just fall in with a sneeze. This also just 'happened' to be the window that five years ago had caused all that stress. You remember, the one that was now made of plywood and 2x4s. The only window worth a lick and he proceeded to kick it. Hard. Loudly. Several times. Enough times to wake me, the dog, and Braveheart, and start the chain of events that made him think twice. Enough times to get the dog to bark and the bathroom light to come on and flood his eyes with light telling him to get the heck outta' there.

I still can see his silent tracks through our yard and everytime I see them, I thank God for that day that our car broke down at the YMCA. And I thank Him that sometimes, and how thankful I am for those times, He lets us in on connecting the dots.

Just when I was winding down for the night...

So, I just put Jack to bed and was beginning my wind-down for the evening. All had gone well. I had prepared an amazing meal (if I do say so myself) for some of our most favorite people in the world, Dave & Leah, Benjamin and baby Eve (Eve gets extra points because I was at her birth :), Ben gets extra points because Jack said he is 'like my little brother'. Fresh whole wheat bread, beef stir fry, rice with cilantro, and steamed broccoli. Yum. Then Dave and Leah brought baklava...to die for...and we had a good hot cup o' joe.
Life was good, oh, life was good.
Notice the picture of the little runt kitten? That's Grace just over a year ago. Grace came to us when my dad discovered a family of kittens, all dead except for one who was barely breathing. Grace. He brought her to us late one night when she was about two-three days old. I knew that if I could just get food in her and get her through the night, she'd have a chance. She had absolutely no fur and looked like a shrew. Her skin was all scabs and fleas freely crawled in and out. I know, yuck. But she was so weak and so small . I don't know if you've ever hand-raised a kitten before, but it's amazingly like raising a baby. Every two hours, round the clock, she had to be dropper-fed. After she ate, I had to, uh, stimulate her to 'go'. A mother cat normally does this by licking the kittie's backside. Since I couldn't talk Jon into doing this, a warm, wet cotton ball did the trick nicely. You should have seen us celebrating her peeing accomplishment a day and a half later. For poop, same routine...After she ate, she had to be wiped down head to tail with a little damp, warm cotton ball, roughly, to imitate a mother's tongue. This is supposed to help her learn to clean herself. At all times, Grace had to be kept warm with a heating pad or hot water bottle. Again, around the clock. Imagine trying to go to the library or to the store. She goes too. I was a 'sling mama' with my boys and I was a sling mama with Grace. Baby wearing. She went everywhere with us, with her bottle (eventually she was on a teeny bottle), her cotton balls, and her hot water bottle. Ultimately she opened her eyes and her ears opened up. Of course, she thought I was her mommy and I never once discouraged her.
Maybe I should have because she has absolutely no cat sense. She drives the other cats crazy, messing up their 'almost' kills and all. The other cats will stalk a mole for hours and she'll just dance up and mess up the whole attack. You can almost see the other cats shaking their heads and walking away....
But my non-cat-savvy cat Grace (actually she's Jack's cat) got her little butt kicked tonight. She has just started going outside and she's not really good at it. The other cats really try to help her, honest they do, but she's dumb as a brick I tell ya'. Her eyelid is now scratched totally open and her little extra eye-membrane-thingy is torn and hanging down over her eye. Her eye is dripping, not tears, but blood. I can't even get to the other parts of her to check her out. Jon held her down while I cleaned her up and put med on her and she just about bit me! Talk about biting the hand that feeds you!
And I thought the night was nearly over.

Five boys alone in a van

Well, what should I have expected?

It was New Year's Eve, 2007, and I had a van-full of boys. Three of my own and two of their friends visiting from Canada. Now, these boys are great friends of theirs and any friend of my boys is...(you get the picture) So, one of these poor, deprived boys has never experienced Skyline. To Gable, that is a crime. The world revolves around Skyline time to him. So I decided to run into Kroger on the way home to get a can or two of Skyline and make some chili cheese french fries and 3-ways for the boys. After all, it's as American as apple pie in our house.

When we got to Krogers, the parking lot was packed because everyone was getting their last minute party supplies and drinks. So I locked the boys in the car and gave them my cell phone just in case someone tried to break in and they needed to call 911. Pretty good thinking on my part, I thought. There were two 12-year olds in the car, a 10 year-old, a 9-year old, and a six year-old. Not the smartest thing to leave them in the car, but not the worst thing in the world.

As I'm checking out, I hear Jonah yelling at the top of his lungs, "MOM!" So, of course, I just yell back like I'm in my own backyard, "I'm over HERE!" He runs over and tells me that our alarm is going off because one of the kids 'accidentally' knocked the lock and he needs my remote to turn the alarm off. No problem. Slightly embarassing and irritating, but no biggie. I can handle it.

I finished checking out and run out to the van to see people coming away from it looking at me like I am the spawn of satan, the worst mom ever, the evil one...whatever. The crowd around the van is dissipating, but as I am getting closer, I still hear this screeching, this curiously familiar yelling. I fly up to the van, sure to see blood, when instead through the glass I see my nine-year-old son holding his legs up in the air and screaming, "Somebody help me, I'm havin' a baby! I'M HAVIN' A BABY, I TELL YA'!"

Okay, deep breath, get into the van, try to look like I'm giving the kids 'the business', when actually I'm dying laughing.

As the drive continues, I find out that the story had many dimensions. The boys said that when the alarm went off (it's a Honda horn for goodness sake and it's loud), people all crowded around the car once they realized there were kids inside. Then one of our friends came up and yelled through the glass, "Are you okay? Give me your mom's cell phone number and I'll call into Kroger to get her." Between the car's alarm, Gable yelled out my number to him and he tried to call me on my cell phone. But me, being the responsible mother that I am, had left the cell phone in the car for the boys to use in case of an emergency.

But although that is funny, nothing compares to the sound of my son's screams of labor pains from across the parking lot. No, nothing.

A Good Day

Today was a good day, a great day. Again, I got up and was totally dressed and ready before I headed downstairs for the day - Day 2. Jon and Gable were already heading out to the Community Center for some dad-son time. So it was just Jonah, Jack, and me. The boys got their chores done with no complaining and started school. Around 2, Jon and the boys decided to go to the skatepark to try out Jon's new skateshoes. Where did I head? Straight up the stairs, as fast as I could...to my bed. Ahhhh. When did life get so good? How did this happen, in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon - peace and quiet AND a nap. Of course, when I got up, all of the boys' friends started pouring in. They all were skateboarding at a frenzied pace on the driveway with no blood, wonder of wonders. And, here is the crowning jewel of the day - I made t-bone steaks for dinner.

I must admit that I did feel a bit posh going down to the freezer in the basement and pondering over which cut of beef I wanted for dinner. We have 1/8 of a dead cow lying in our freezer. It's a bit creepy at night, but I won't pass that on to the boys: nightmares would surely ensue.

The only low point of the day was this morning when I just wanted to slip on a pair of shoes to go outside and shovel dog poop. Just on a whim, I decided to try on Jonah's slip-on Chuck Taylor's. Unfortunately...they fit me. Mind, the last time I had a pair of Chucks on my feet was when he was almost one year old and Jon and I each bought matching dark green converse. We decided that our little baby needed some too, so we dyed a pair of white jimmies the same color green as ours so we could all match. As I am standing there with my baby's shoes fitting comfortably on my feet, I am re-living the whole Chuck Taylor shoe history. sigh...

But, today was good, which is a real bonus for me considering it is early January. Usually by now I am curled up in a fetal position half of the time.

Today was a gift.

My 'Things' for the day

I have goals, you know. Just today my goal was to get up and get completely 'ready' before I headed downstairs for the day. Usually I get up and hang out downstairs for about an hour before I head back upstairs to get dressed, brush my teeth, and put my contacts in. Sometimes it takes until lunchtime to get all of those things done. Sometimes I just get one of those done in an hour's time. But today, hold on to your hat, today I got them all done before I came downstairs. The boys wanted to know where I was going...

But I do have goals each day. This little morsel is something that I paid about $2,000 cash to my counselor to pick up on. But actually, it was one of the best investments in my, in our, life. I think everyone could benefit from a good counselor. I stray...

At one point of the counseling game, the counselor asked me what a good day looked like. After I sat in total silence for a while, I confessed that I truly had no idea. That week I thought and thought about what I wanted a good day to look like. This is what I came up with:

- pray each day, at some point, nothing fancy, just talk to God
- fully engage each one of my children individually at least once a day - eye-to-eye contact
- love my husband and allow myself to be loved by him
- not procrastinate
- laugh, out loud, with total abandon

Okay, so it sounds simple, but it's not always so simple. However, having this list of 'my things' is a lifesaver. It helps me during good days and it helps me during bad days. When a day is great, I still have to stop and consider what is really important to me and make sure that the day wasn't just great because of trivial things. When a day is crappy, I can know that maybe, just maybe the day really isn't as crappy as I think if I can get 'my things' in. I can be in a completely bad mood and know that I did well for the day. It wasn't a lost cause, I made a difference just for today. And that is a pretty darn good feeling.

The Chipmunks

The boys and I went to see Alvin and the Chipmunks just before Christmas. What really stuck out to me in this movie was Alvin. I think every family has an Alvin. You know, the kid that does his own thing, marches to his own beat, and makes you just squint and shake your head.

Jack Huston Price.

This is the kid that sang TNT at Gratisfest in 2006 when he was just four years old. The boy who stood ON TOP of a playground set and said to Jon, "Look Dad. I can jump from here and not die", then proceeded to jump (he was four then too). That would be the growth-plate-hurrah. This child is the one who did the Broncos touchdown dance, fell off the couch into the coffee table, and split his head open clear down to his skull. The skull...

Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, Jack is heading the other way doing exactly what will make him the dirtiest and whatever dangerous thing will put my stomach in a knot. Just this morning, Gable and I were outside in the van, engine on. We were heading to church. We're waiting and waiting. Gable is getting panicked and saying that this is the worst day in the history of the world (he hates, more than anything, to be late. Even on time is late). Finally I head back up to the front door to get Jack. When I last saw him, he was fully dressed with teeth brushed, food in his belly, hoodie on, and just needed his shoes. Mind, I had set the shoes out by the door and given him clear instructions: get your shoes on and meet us in the van. Anyway, I got to the front door and it is locked from the inside. hmmm. I knocked. No answer. I knocked louder. I started to call for Jack and then I began to do the mom-freakout thing and started yelling for Jack. Banging on MY door and yelling for my son, thinking that somehow, someway, someone got in my home and was now holding my baby hostage. (Did I mention I couldn't find my keys to the house and was already using the emergency key to the van, so I really had no way in) Forcing a calming dose of reality into my brain, I took a breath and heard...a guitar and a little boy singing/screeching 'Love Addict'. The child cannot even hear me banging on the door and yelling my loudest. He's into this little rock world with his guitar. I can now see him through the side window rocking his heart out and screaming the words. Anyway, I finally got in, focused him on 'shoes, Jack, shoes', guided him to the door while using my hands as blinders to all things shiny trying to catch his eye.

This is my little Jacker-the-Head-Cracker, born at 5 pounds, 8 ounces, but never once has his presence been insignificant. He learned to skate at two. He told me he just doesn't get into sweet little kid music because he's 'mostly just into rock and roll.' He wakes me up in the morning telling me that he wants to build a 1) skateshop today 2) restaurant today 3) new house today. He truly is the coolest little kid around. And he still comes up to our bed on cold nights and wraps his little arms (tightly) around my neck and asks if I want to 'snuggle buggle boo'.

I am so blessed.

My New Toy - This could be trouble...

Okay, so this is my blog. Kind of weird, but since I started journaling early in '07, it's not as weird as it could be. Okay, it's still weird. Now, I think I have it set up properly, but am I really going to give anyone access to it? And if I do, does that mean I have to be careful of what I say? Should I let the boys read it? Oh, this is too much. I think I should just pat myself on the back for getting it set up and just call it a night. Dang it, I can't remember what I named my blog. Maybe this will be my one and only and will float around in the cybersphere forever. Too much for me.