Home again, home again jiggity jig

The boys came home from camp Saturday afternoon. Kevin drove down to Maryland at the butt crack of dawn to get the bikes, and then drove back home. The boys came home on our church bus.

Jeremy came to me first. I threw my arms around him and as I kissed his head I smelled him. It wasn't a bad smell, really, just earthy. He appeared to be all in one piece, and relatively free of injury. He was excited to tell me everything about camp, and show me all of the knives that he bought at the trading post. He came home with 5 knives. I sent away him to camp a boy scout and he came home a mercenary.

John came off of the bus wearing his Metal Mulisha hat with a Burger King crown over it. I said, "You went away a peasant and came home a king?" The hilarity here never ends.

We spent the rest of the afternoon listening to the boys' stories of camp. The spiders, the pranks, the fun and laughs, the work and the learning. John told us that on Wednesday night Jeremy had a terrible headache. Jeremy's bunk mate was off for the night completing his wilderness survival merit badge. This badge entails spending the entire night out in the wild. On your own. You also have to set up your own shelter and sleep in it. I have no desire, ever, to complete this badge. So Jeremy was going to be alone for the night, and because he had such a bad headache John did not want him to be alone. He had Jeremy bunk with another boy whose bunk mate was also completing the wilderness survival requirements. (This tent was right next to John's.) I was very touched as John told me this story. My boys usually get along very well, and they truly enjoy each others company, but they are boys in the truest sense of the word and moms of all boys know what I mean. So when I hear things like this, I am so proud that they consider each others feelings and look out for each other. Even if they do sometimes tell one another that they wish they would take a long walk off a short pier.

I asked then what they wanted to do for dinner and John said, "I don't care as long as we are all together." Then my heart melted from his expression of sentiment and I died on the spot. We ended up going to Jose Tejas where we gorged ourselves on chips and burritos. I went to sleep last night content with knowing that my boys were tucked up in their beds under our roof. Good stuff.

Spray Park

With the boys gone Joe is a little on the bored side. I will go in the pool with him, and play with him but I know it is not the same. For one, I don't want to have a splash contest. And two, I don't think that seeing who can slap the hardest with a pool noodle remotely resembles a good time.

We headed to the splash park with some friends. Good, clean, wet fun. Just what the doctor ordered.


"Mom," he said. "This is beast." The boys may not be here is physical presence, but their vernacular lives on.

Follow me, boys!

This past weekend was bih.zey. We spent the majority of the day Saturday helping to get the boys packed for Boy Scout camp. It was this particular day that one of my boys informed me that he only has one pair of underwear. Well, what do you wear all of the other days when the lone pair is being laundered I asked. I should have known better, really, than to ask that. Nothing, he replied nonchalantly as if I asked him what color the sky is.

I had another conversation with this same child concerning his shower bag. All kinds of red flags went up when he asked me what a shower bag was. Oh.My.Gawd.

"Please tell me that you showered at camp last year."

"Uh. I went swimming every day."

Alrighty then.

As my oldest son was packing his bag, he found some random items, clothing and such in his pack. I knew what he was going to do before he did it.

"Tell me you are not re-packing those clothes. Are they clean?"

He did not immediately answer with words, instead he buried his face in the shirt and inhaled deeply.

I gawked in amazement when he finally said, "They smell clean."

Very well then. Both of my boys are fully prepared to live in a frat house, or a third world country.

We drove down to the camp on Sunday along with the scout convoy. I like being part of convoys. They make me feel safe, it is like a gang on wheels. We followed the bus with my truck and Kevin's trailer as I had volunteered him to bring all of the scouts bikes to the camp. He loves when I volunteer him for things like that. But honestly? I did it because I knew he would have volunteered himself had he been a part of the original conversation.

We arrived at the camp, and I was so happy to be there. Usually Kevin has the privilege of going to the camp with the boys either to drop them off, bring them home, or camp with them for a few days. My job primarily consists of helping to pack their bags, supplying snacks for the ride and doing the laundry when they arrive back home. Yay me. So this was a real treat. I was able to see the camp that they would call home for the next six days.

Soon after arriving the boys began to grumble over all of the unwelcome guests, specifically spiders, in the tents. John came up to me and said, "Mom! I swear there is a spider in there the size of a dinner plate, and its fangs were dripping venom." He gets his love of exaggeration from me.

I told him to open the tent flaps and let in some light. I reassured him and his friends that once they moved in, the spiders would move out. Or they would be carried away in the night and have their bodies sucked dry of blood. Either scenario was possible.

The boys had a schedule to keep so we decided to head out. I knew that John would not give me the hug that I desired, but Jeremy, as the younger child, most likely would. I thought wrong. Not only did he not want to hug me as I was leaving, his main concern was not even saying good-bye to me but rather, did I have any water. Hydration trumps tearful good-bye.

I was wishing that I could have stayed at the camp with the boys. They are getting older and they want less to do with me and more to do with their friends and their own activities. I know that them wanting to separate from me means that I have done my job because really, who wants their grown children living with them? But all of a sudden I was struck with the fact that they will be gone before I know it and I want to savor every moment. I was thinking all of these things and then I glanced at the daily camp schedule.

Reveille? At 7am? I no longer waxed poetical about staying with them. I don't like to be up at 7am in silence. So a 15 year old boy blasting out Reveille on a bugle? Not my cuppa. There is a reason I am not a Boy Scout.

If you have scouts, and have not seen the Disney movie Follow me, boys! I highly recommend that you borrow it from Netflix, or you can view it on Amazon. It is a terrific movie from back when Disney was still putting out a wholesome, quality product.



And one of my favorite quotes from Lord Baden Powell, British Army officer and founder of Boy Scouts, "The spirit is there in every boy, it has to be discovered and brought to light."

Summer thrills

Yesterday we took the boys to Six Flags Great Adventure. We do this every year. The boys wanted me to ride the big coasters with them, and I went along hesitantly. I am way too old to be riding roller coasters. Granted, I don't suffer from the list of maladies that they post on the warning signs as you enter the ride, but I suffer none the less. Those rides wreak havoc on the central nervous system. I truly believed that I was suffering from a brain bleed after getting off of El Toro. I had to literally force myself to walk.

"You can do it."

"That's it. One foot in front of the other."

Who knew that putting one foot in front of the other could be so difficult. I felt Lindsey Wixsons pain.

The boys had a blast and thought that my screaming was hilarious. I tried to explain to them that I was not screaming from an exhilarating adenaline rush, no. I was screaming because it was excruciatingly awful. The ride so set me off of my keister that I was bordering on sick for the rest of the day. The thing that really did me in? The rotating and revolving, while 40 feet up, hot air balloons in the Loony Tunes park. That's me, hard core all the way.

Kevin took the boys on the park's newset ride The Green Lantern. I opted out with Joe and we made a cotton candy run. I really wanted another funnel cake, but at almost $10 a pop went for the cheaper air sugar. Yes, we paid almost $20 for two funnel cakes. (If anyone from Six Flags corporate is reading this entry please know that we were extremely displeased with the prices in the park. We paid to enter, and to park. Is it really necessary to charge exhorbinant amounts of money for water and funnel cake? And. AND! Don't even get me started on the bag restrictions and forcing us to purchase locker space for the offending bags. Seriously Six Flags? Family fun? I think not. Family extortion is more apropos.)

I sound bitter, but really we had an amazing day of fun and laughter. And it only cost us $300.

So today we are recovering and letting our brains settle back into their rightful places.

Friday List

1. I took my oldest to the doctor for a physical, he needs it to get into Boy Scout camp. In one year he has grown 4 inches and gained 10 lbs, all of which is muscle. He is officially taller than me. Now when I yell at him, I yell up. Luckily I still have two other children that I can yell down to.

2. We sold the beast. The beast is Kevin's Suburban, and it was aptly named. Trust me on this one. I never understood people who named their vehicles until I met the Beast.

See?

It is missing 60% of its original paint and its back seat, which our dog ate. The dog did not eat the paint, however. The air conditioner works when it feels like it, usually in the middle of the winter, and the heat blows at full blast on occasion rendering its passengers defenseless. People have suffered second degree burns on their ankles and severe dehydration from this glitch.

My husband, bless his heart, wanted the blue book value for it based on the fact that it has new tires and a swell stereo. I told him to take the tires off and pull the stereo out and just push what remains into a lake and wave adios. But no, he held firm and he got his price. Apparently there are other people in the world as dumb as we are.

3. I can't stop listening to this. Or watching this. The girl jumping gets me every time.

Newly minted high schooler

I can't believe it. This is a good place to insert all of the cliches about them being babies yesterday and enjoy the years when they are young, but it really is so true when it is happening to you- time passes at an alarming rate of speed.

One day you are encouraging them to crawl and the next day you are mounting the church sanctuary stairs getting ready to hand them their 8th grade diploma.

And just like that they are taller than you. And eat more than you. And make you laugh harder than you ever thought possible. And make you prouder than you ever imagined.

They even put up with you embarrassing them, because deep down they love you as much as you love them. Even if they show it by rolling their eyes and sighing at you.


We made it this far. I can only hope that high school is not the death of me. Or where I gain 300 pounds from stress eating.

Our weekend plans

include a graduation. My eldest is graduating from 8th grade. Where does the time go? I don't know.

This is their walk out song. We chose it because it is fun, and an exhortation to our children as they are burgeoning into adults.







Every moment is a chance to let Your light break through
This life, this life was meant to shine

Hold your heads up high, this is a moment to rise!

Scenes from a weekend

1. This past weekend was a flurry of activity. It began with our dog, Sami. She is a Lhasa, and little dogs like her are notorious for having eye issues. She developed this blue film on her right eye that was seriously freaking us out. It looked like she was getting glaucoma, or going blind, neither of which was a good thing. I took her to the vet. She has a scratched retina that requires us to administer eye drops and pain meds. The vet asked about her pooping and if she is regular. I told her that I try to never watch the dog go potty. I think it is humiliating for a pet to have an audience while doing its bidness. Plus, ew.

2. Sitting at dinner last night we were discussing career options after college. We encouraged the boys, as we always do, to seriously consider working with their hands, and following in Kevin's footsteps in working for PSEG. We also told them to work hard, save as much money as possible and then get married. John saw the logic in this line of reasoning, and remarked that he was going to buy a small house on a big piece of property. Jeremy said he was not going to do that. I asked him where he planned on living, and he said, "In a cardboard box." Way to aim for the stars, kid.

3. Dexter. Kevin's co-worker told us about this show and we added it to our Netflix cue. This begs the question, why have we not watched this show until now? It is so darkly funny and witty. Love! We watched a total of 4 episodes this weekend.



"Needless to say I have some unusual habits, yet all these socially acceptable people can't wait to pick up hammers and smash their food to bits. Normal people are so hostile."


4. Kevin came up behind me as I was washing dishes and began to breathe on my neck.

"STOP!" I screamed.

He thought that I was liking it and kept doing it. Apparently blood curdling screams and moving as far away as humanly possible while trapped within his grasp did not register with him as being displeasureable.

"STOP!" I yelled again.

"I didn't know that it bothered you like that." He said.

"No, not in a good way."

"Like what way?"

"Like in a Dexter serial killer way."

Smells like teen spirit

My oldest is graduating from 8th grade next week, I can hardly believe it. Yesterday was his first graduation practice, and only one of us was excited about it. Guess which one. (Hint. It was not the teenager.)

"Mom, what did I look like up on the stage when we were singing?"

"You looked like someone was holding a gun to your head."

My good friend, who also has a son graduating, was laughing hysterically at John's face.

"That teenage angst face kills me." she said. You have no idea how much it kills me too, I wanted to say.

He really is coming out of the worst of the teenage angst, I have to be honest. I was nervous about him being a teenager. Teenagers are interesting creatures and teendom? Yes it might end well, and also a giant fireball might consume everyone. You never know, it could go either way.

I decided the best way to approach it was to treat him like an adult. I began asking his opinion and consulting him and listening to his input. I began letting him make his own decisions and letting him own his failures. And do you know what happened? He began acting like an adult. Who knew? I am growing up right along side of him.

Inappropriate pool fun

We opened the pool last Thursday, and the boys could not wait to get into the water. The water was very cold, like Polar Bear Plunge cold, but this did not deter them. They are part reptile.

Last winter when we were visiting my parents down in Florida, we went on The Jungle Queen, and one of its stops is a little island that houses an alligator wrestler and his gators. He performs a one man show with two alligators, one of whom is named Big Sexy.

Last summer we were given some rafts and floats by a family member who was closing up their pool for good. Among the inflatables was a gigantic alligator which the boys have affectionately named- you knew where this was headed, didn't you- Big Sexy.

Joe was trying to ride Big Sexy, but he is, well, he is big, and hard to climb up on when you are little. Jeremy was helping him.

Although Jeremy's help more resembled pushing, jostling, shifting, sliding, and a whole lotta laughing.

"Here. Just get.your.legs.up.like.this. Why are you so squirmy, Joe?"

Mission accomplished. But not for long. They decided to get on the gator together.

Hilarity ensues.

And then it is over. "Hey! Jeremy! Let's do it again!"

You can imagine how funny it is to hear the kids call this thing Big Sexy. Last night when Kevin had arrived home from work, Jeremy ran to meet him.

"Dad?" he said. "Can you fill Big Sexy up?"

"Fill up who? What?"

And the neighbors! All the shouts of the kids?

"Stop jumping on Big Sexy!"

"Go and get Big Sexy."

Someone is going to report us, I just know it.

Hilarious

When your 7 year old says, "Mom, you know in poker stay means you don't want any cards. Hit me means you want another one."

Even funnier? When your 7 year old wins.

Shark Bait! Who-ha-ha!

Today the boys and I are headed down to the Camden Aquarium. We love aquariums, specifically this aquarium, we just don't love the location. Camden is a less than upscale area of New Jersey. It is not as bad as Trenton, but it holds a strong second.

Joe just told me that my breath smells like our dog , Sami, so if worse comes to worse and we are car jacked, I can just breathe on the perp. Did I just say perp? Paging Starsky and Hutch.

Now if I fall into the shark tank, well, my breath will do nothing to deter the ensuing feeding frenzy, I am sure.

Here's to a thrilling day of aquarium adventures minus car jackings and shark attacks.

Oh, boys

Last night I was at a planning meeting for my oldest son who is graduating from 8th grade. We were nearly done finalizing the details and I was getting ready to leave for home when my phone rang. It was my oldest.

Mom?

Yes.

Do we have any ice cream?

Uh, I don't know. Did you look in the freezer?

Yes.

Did you look in the garage freezer?

Yes.

Did you find any?

No.

Then there is no ice cream.


This boy is graduating from 8th grade. He is very bright, and has a good deal of common sense which is why his phone call left me scratching my head.

We repeated the conversation this morning, in person, almost verbatim, substituting the word ice cream for waffles. Does he think that I play hide the food? Or maybe he thinks that I keep a secret stash of ice cream and waffles in my underwear drawer.


A lunch conversation:

...so then he jumped the bike over the double and bailed before he hit the ground. It was so funny, mom, I was laughing so hard I peed myself a little.

Well, peeing yourself a little is funny when you are 11. Doing it when you are almost 40? Not so much.

Ew. Mom!


I'm the gross one? Boys.

Tuesday Hodge Podge

My middle child refuses to sing Christmas carols, not even the funny ones like Grandma Got Run Over by A Reindeer. I told him that I was going to have to use the North Pole Hotline to call Santa. My threat did not garner the reaction I had hoped for. He simply glanced at me with a look that said, "Bring it, sucka."

Well, I told him that Santa said refusal to sing Christmas carols is not severe enough a penalty for a stay on the naughty list, but it did earn him a spot on the "People of special interest" list. Santa is watching, dude.

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Last night we all cozied up on the couch and watched a movie called Silent Night. It based on a true story, and well worth the spot on your Netflix cue. The boys enjoyed it and commented on the fact that it was a war movie with no cursing or gore which prompted me to seriously reconsider cancelling cable.

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Kevin and I watched two episodes of Hoarders. I am not proud of this, but I have come away with some information that you might want to put in the 'con' column if you are considering becoming a hoarder.

1) Animal poo. 'Nuff said

2) Of the 4 people featured in the 2 episodes, 3 of them were missing their top front teeth. It begged the question, Did they lose them in the hoard? I can't say what for sure, but something about hoarding does not sit well with secondary dentition.

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Lastly, I can't stop eating. Something about the cold that makes me ravenous. Anyone else putting on their winter layer?

Unbuttoned

Yesterday after church Joe informed me that he had to go to the bathroom. We were sitting in our church's multi-purpose room snacking on some pastries that we got for donating to one of our missionaries. Every week after church we have a coffee fellowship and the proceeds go to the person or group that is running the coffee that day.

We grabbed our things and headed to the bathroom. He asked me to unbutton his pants. He is quite capable of unbuttoning his own pants, he simply did not want to be separated from his precious baked good. I obliged his request and also directed a kiss on the nose his way.

He looked up at me and smiled. "You are such a good mommy." he said with the sweetness of an angel.

This boy, he has the power to melt my heart.

The family tree

My husband is a jack of all trades. He has two skill sets that have come in handy when we need some extra money. He used to work for the utility as a tree trimmer. He now works for the utility as a lineman. No, not a linebacker, a lineman. When your power goes out, he is the one who comes to restore it. He does not love to do tree work as it is quite labor intensive and dirty. Plus he always says that the tree looks 100 times bigger than its original size when he has to go and begin the work.

Over the summer, my aunt had a major act of God occur in her backyard. An old tree uprooted after heavy rains came and fell into her neighbor's yard. She has an even older, larger tree sitting right next to the fallen one that was causing her great alarm. She was convinced that it, too, was going to fall squarely on her roof and kill her in her sleep. She asked Kevin to come and look at it. He did not have to, as he knew the tree in question. I know that he was hoping she would not ask him to take it down, but he would never say that. She asked and he obliged. Or rather, she asked me and because he loves me, he obliged.

The tree that needed to be taken down is easily over 80 feet tall. It spanned my aunt's roof and was situated in such a manner that if it the take down of any branch was miscalculated, it would take out neighboring structures. Not exactly the ideal situation for taking down trees. A professional tree crew would use a crane and a bucket truck to complete the work, but we don't have a crane. We have three children who can work, though. And work they did.

Yesterday we all went back to my aunt's house to finish taking down the tree. It is grueling work for Kevin, especially in light of the fact that he worked nights the night before at his regular lineman job. If you have never seen a tree climber in action, look here. He puts on his spikes to aid in climbing, and then his saddle. The saddle is then loaded up with his chainsaw, hand saw, and rigging rope, about 40 extra pounds of gear. It is all climbing and rigging and calculating where to drop branches. It is dangerous, precise work. Imagine swinging from a tree with blades hanging from your waist. You would rather sit by the pool with a good book, right?

John and I work the rope on the ground and Jeremy uses the hand saw to cut off manageable pieces of brush for Joe to drag to the trailer. It is a family affair. I am so incredibly proud of all of my boys. They went to work yesterday with not one complaint that they were hot, or tired, or hungry or just plain ol' did not want to work. They are awesome, all of them.

I am a blessed girl.

Fall schedule and larceny, what a combination

I have decided that I am not decorating for fall until September 15th. I know you were all on the edges of your seats waiting for that announcement, so now you can move on with your lives. You're welcome.

I told my husband the other day that I was feeling very pressured to decorate for fall.

Pressured by whom he asked.

The internet, I mumbled.

He looked at me quizzically.

I explained to him that on the blogs I frequent people are already ushering in fall. They have begun decorating for fall and making crafts and reveling in the cool weather. I am not ready for this. I am holding, very tightly, to the last days of summer. Oh, I know what I said last week. Am I not allowed to change my mind? Please, I just don't want to be cold.

I had all good intentions of writing up a new Transformation Thursday post featuring the green ottoman that I recovered, but my plan was thwarted by the town thief. My oldest son's bicycle was stolen last night. In truth, he and his cousin had their bikes stolen. They left them out in front of the WaWa. We have told them before not to do this, as they are simply borrowing trouble. Last night they borrowed and bought trouble. He called us to ask for help and we told him to call the police. I drove down to meet them and my husband began trolling the streets for two BMX bikes. Two very expensive BMX bikes.

As the kids were entering the store, they noticed a group of kids loitering on the sidewalk, and my niece recognized one of the boys from school. When they came out of the store the kids were gone and so were the bikes. It was easy to deduce what had happened.

The police came, took all of our information and told us that they would be on the lookout and would contact us if they found anything. They then headed down to the home of the boy that my niece knows. I wanted to follow them and see if the kicked the door in or used tear gas, but they didn't. They calmly talked to the boy's parents. That could have been so exciting.

We all continued to search in different directions around town. I drove slowly up and down all of the neighborhood streets peering into driveways and behind parked cars. I asked everyone I saw if they had seen some kids riding two bikes, and then proceeded to describe them. No one had. I said- well if you do please call the police because they are stolen. It was like a scene from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, and I was large Marge. (In case you are not a fan of the classic movie, Pee-Wee's bike is stolen.)

I knew that we were probably not going to find the bike, and I went through the full range of emotions. I vacillated between wanting to throttle my son and buy him a new bike. Between utter compassion and total frustration.

We all arrived home about the same time, and as we were discussing our plan of action for tomorrow, my cell phone rang. It was the police, and they had found John's bike. We could not believe it!

Two boys rode it to the park, sat with it for a while and then got up and left. A man who was shooting some hoops all by himself saw all of this transpire and thought something was fishy so he called the police. Something was fishy because I had circled that park twice and there was no sign of the bike, or the boys.

The police brought the bike to our home. It had a flat tire, but other than that it was in perfect condition. I asked if the man had gotten a description of the boys and the police officers said that he had not because it was so dark. I wanted the bike dusted for latent prints so we could find the perp. And then I remembered that I am a housewife, not an investigator on CSI. And also, the police think I am nuts.

The police seemed to think that the boy whose house they had gone to put the word out to get rid of the bike. I don't know about that. What seems more plausible to me is word got out that some crazy housewife in a Tahoe was combing the streets in search of the bike and threatening people with jail time. I would be scared of me, too.

Weather or not

Last week the weather here in New Jersey began to break, giving us a glimpse of fall. I was sad when my husband came home from work and said, "Summer is almost over." I am not ready for the summer to be over, and please don't rush the fall. Fall means that winter is around the corner and that? Oh, that depresses me. I do not like to be cold.

(In a perfect world it would always be 81 degrees with 13% humidity and no rain. Ever. Does anyone know a place where such a weather pattern exists? Please tell me because I want to go and live there.)

So, the weather here? Let's just say that Mother Nature is fickle. We had a beautiful end of the week and Saturday with temps in the high 70's. On Sunday the heat returned with a vengeance with temps topping out in the mid 90's. This makes me happy.

Lest you think this is a mind numbingly boring weather report, I do have a point.

The boys and I are holding onto our last few carefree, lazy days of summer with a tight fist. We decided to hit the skate park for some high flying antics. That is to say, they perform the high flying antics. I sit in the shade and pray that I don't have to put pressure on gigantic bleeding gashes or call 911 to reattach a severed limb.

Exhibit A: This is called "something no hander." Something is not the actual name of it, I just can't remember what the first word is. I affectionately refer to it as "could lose your hander." The boys think that I am hilarious.

This boy has no fear, it is hard to believe that I birthed him. I get scared when I have to open Pillsbury muffins. I am sure that one of these days the can is going to burst and I am going to lose an eye.


My child is the one hurtling through the air, with breakneck speed, wearing the black shirt. That is his friend on the left, he aspires to be like my oldest. His mother, and his orthopedist hope otherwise.


No montage is complete without my baby. That nose. Don't you just want to pull it off, dip it in chocolate sauce and eat it? No? Okay, it's just me.


Yesterday we had a high of 96 degrees here. Those ramps are metal, and the park floor is black top. Hot metal + black top = hot enough to pull a baked potato right out of the ground. After 2 and a half hours, the boys were done.

As we were driving home the topic of discussion was the weather, and how the boys are hoping for a break in the temperature. As the last of the sweat was trickling a river down my back, I silently agreed with them.

Fall? We are ready when you are.

The joys of boys

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling as if I never slept a wink. Don't you just hate that? My poor husband is suffering from a nasty sinus infection which means I am suffering by proxy- the only difference being he gets to ingest the codeine spiked medicine, I don't. I mean...I could, but it seems naughty. I know that he is really sick because he is not giving me the play-by-play of his symptoms. He gets into the bed and does not come out except to get more medicine and tissues.

I teach an early yoga class on Thursdays so I had to be up. It is entirely possible for a person to be walking around, giving the appearance of being awake and fully present, when in reality they are still asleep in their comfy bed in their mind. I believe the word I am looking for is zombie. Yes, I was a zombie yesterday.

After teaching I did feel more awake, and when I arrived back home I was ready to face the day. I cleaned the family room until it sparkled finer than frog hair, did a few loads of laundry and cleaned the kitchen.

It was then that I noticed Joe, playing all by himself. He had found dice under the couch and he came to ask me what game it belonged to. I told him that I was not sure, but he could check to see which box it was missing from. He scampered off and I heard the closet door open.

"Mommy?" he called from the living room, "Can I play the game with the pieces that pop out at you when you set the timer?"

"Perfection?" I asked.

"YES!" he said, giggling.

I asked him if I could play with him and he told me that I could, but he had to set the game up first. Oh, what fun we had! We successfully placed all of the shapes into their compartments and had time to spare, so we counted down the seconds, anticipating the POP! of the board and its pieces. We laughed and high-fived each other like dorks.

He looked at me and said, "I love spending time with you." Anything after that is a blur because my heart exploded into a million little pieces and I died from a love overdose. So much love have I for this boy.

We had a treat last night, too. My mother took the boys out to dinner and so Kevin and I were able to go out all by ourselves. It was bliss. I didn't have to take him to the bathroom just as my food arrived and I did not have to cut up his food. It's the little things that I appreciate.

We ate way too much and had wonderful, uninterrupted conversation. We went to Dick's Sporting Goods where I bought a new pair of running shoes. I am happy. So are my knees. We went to that mall and bopped around a bit, but we both really just wanted to go home. Cue the dilemma- the kids did not want us to come home. Right before we left to go to dinner Jeremy asked, "Are you coming home right after you are done eating?" We told him we were not sure. He told us to stay out, that they wanted to be alone with grandma. In fact, grandma wanted us to stay out, too.

We stayed out as long as we could, but coffee and the couch beckoned. We decided to call home to see if it was alright if we come back. Jeremy answered the phone.

"It's mom, can we come back home?"

"Uhhh, no. We're watching a movie with grandma."

"Please, you won't even know we are there."

"No."

At this point I am laughing. "Jeremy, honey, we want coffee, and we don't have anything else to do."

"Alright. But you have to stay upstairs."

Apparently their father and I are kill joys and are not welcome at their chocolate chip cookie/twizzler/movie party. Just wait until they want breakfast, or have no clean underwear, then I will be numero uno once again.

Trauma averted

Independence Day is a holiday that we have approached with much trepidation in the past five years. We do so because of the fireworks and the inevitable trauma that would ensue. In the past Joe has hated it with a capital Loathe. He would not just cry, he would shrieke, and his whole body convulsed with fear. His pudgy baby hands would be wrapped so tightly around my neck that I would need another person to pry him off of me.

The first year that we took him to the fireworks we lived in Wilmington, NC. We went to the fireworks display that is held in downtown Wilmington, one of our most favorite sites. When the fireworks began, Joe was...I would not say intrigued, but rather stunned. Stunned by the noise and the visual display. He was only two and a half, and it was all new to him. We were standing on the restaurant and boutique lined street that overlooks the Cape Fear river when the fireworks began. He cried so piteously that a waiter from a restaurant came out and asked if I wanted to bring him inside. Shortly after that exchange the fireworks ended. We headed home with our traumatized baby. The next year we avoided the fireworks, or rather Joe and I did, Kevin took the older boys.

Last year Joe was wooed into attending the fireworks simply because there were inflatables and ice cream at our towns pre-show display. During the actual fireworks he whimpered and had me cover his ears. He had his eyes closed tightly for the duration, opening them only to ask me, "Are they done yet?" It leaves a person mother feeling awful. Thinking that you are making holiday memories with your child only to have it come back and bite you in the butt.

This year was different. He not only kept his eyes opened, but he smiled and enjoyed the fireworks. The cotton candy that I bought from one of the vendors also helped.

I, on the other hand, was itchy through the whole display. Lord have mercy. I am so ready for this poison ivy to be done. I am still coming out with patches of it, if you can believe it.

Three things are keeping me sane.
Number 1: bagels with cream cheese.

Number 2: The Help by Kathryn Stockett. If you have not read this book, go out and get it. Now. GO! I love this book. I could not put it down. It had me laughing and then it had me crying. If it is possible for a book to grow arms and reach out and grab you, this book did that. As I was approaching the final pages I slowed my reading down simply because I did not want to leave Jackson, or Minny, or Abiliene. They are like my good friends and I miss them.

Dear Miss.Stockett,
Please write another book. Go on. I will wait.

Thank-you,
Mrs. Gardner


Number 3: