This Is For The Grandmas

Hello Grandmas,

I'm sorry I have not been blogging about the kids lately. I almost forgot I had a blog. (I'm definitely a short term project girl.) So here we go again, a new attempt to create an old habit. I just need to make myself sit down and type something into this thing.

So let's talk about Michael:

• 7 year old body with a 12 year old 'tude (attitude to the lay person)
• Currently playing baseball with little league for the first time. He has gotten at least two hits and made it around the bases at least once that I know of.
• Also currently playing soccer (daddy is the coach).
• Still fired up about anything that has to do with military planes - "Dogfights" on history channel is a must see almost everyday (thanks to DVR), as well as, the periodic playing of "Battle Stations" on the XBOX
• Has discovered a new hobby: putting together model airplanes
• Loves to read chapter books
• Loves to debate and negotiate with just about any adult offering him advice or instruction; not just his parents - this includes coaches and teachers. Nana, I'm guessing this probably brings back fond memories of DH as a child. Last night, Michael's baseball coach actually asked if his dad is a lawyer. I said "yes", but I must have had a confused look on my face as to why he was asking. He proceeded to hint about Michael's desire to negotiate every instruction given to him before actually performing the task.
• Continues to be Jonathan's best friend while bordering on trying to "father" him. He likes to pass on rules that he himself has been given and impose them on Jonathan. While he may not adhere to the rule, he will always instruct Jonathan on correct behavior or duty.
• Continues to do well in school, seems to like math the most.
• Has been in his first fight that I know of over a soccer game on the playground. He said it was self-defense. I got called by the school staff.
• Has many friends at school, but not really one best friend. He has a standard group of boys that he hangs around and has been to other kid's houses as well as having friends over to his house. He tends to like to boss and not be pushed around. He likes to be silly and make his friends laugh. They laugh, however, the teachers don't. He's having to learn to read his audience.
• Michael is quietly interested in girls. He denies vehemently that there are no cute girls in his class, but he does act embarrassed and flustered when mentioning a girl in third grade named D--. Don't tell him I told you this.

Ok, and now Jonathan:

• 5 years old and full of passion for just about everything he tries.
• Seems to be moving on from his fixation with Star Wars toys and XBOX games and has most recently been pretending to be Spiderman. He still loves to dress up in his various Halloween costumes. We never throw one out.
• Loves, loves, loves animals.
• Is very caring and gentle around the 6 month old baby that I care for on Mondays and Fridays. Likes to entertain her by slapstick comedy (falling down). It seems to make her smile and laugh.
• Still loves to sing and "play" his guitar. He is requesting lessons, so I have acquired a list of guitar instructors to call. He occasionally sings up front with the praise team with me in church.
• Loved taekwando lessons that they had in preschool and is requesting more.
• Currently playing soccer. He scored his first goal last week and had the greatest reaction. He was just so excited. He strutted around. Wish ya'll could have seen it.
• He will start T-ball probably in May.
• His last day of preschool will be May 31st and then it is on to kindergarten next fall. He is so ready. He can't wait to be at Michael's school. His best friend from preschool will also be attending and he has made friends with most of Michael's friends. They sort of treat him like a pet when he is around. His old preschool "girlfriend" that he is "going to marry" whom he still professes to love and still gets "ga-ga" eyes when he mentions her is also at this school and will be in first grade. However, she may have moved on to other "love" interests.

I'll have to add more later. It's hard to get my brain to remember things these days. But as you can see, DH and I spend a lot of time at practices and games. DH works 8-5 away from home as well as serving on various boards after work or attending meetings or Bible studies before.

I just sit around now and eat bon-bons and take naps...just kidding (at least I hope you think I'm kidding!). I do some website design and management jobs here and there that I get paid for as well as various websites that I have volunteered to design and/or manage. Maybe eventually I will pursue more paying design and managing work. The rest of my time is typical mom "work", cleaning up after everyone, laundry, groceries, yard work, managing the finances, and of course, chauffeur.

So there is my first attempt at a run-of-the-mill, "this is what we are doing today" post. Hope you didn't fall asleep.

We love our grandmas!

The Big Debut

At five years old, Jonathan sang his first solo performance in a microphone for an audience of peers and their parents tonight. Or I guess I should say giggled and laughed his first solo performance. He said he did this because he was nervous.

But you could also tell he loved it. He loved being the center of attention and having everyone listen to him. He loved singing his favorite song "Self Control" from the Music Machine Fruits of the Spirit CD. He loved hearing everyone clap for him. And then you should have seen him strut around like he owned the room and knew he was the star of the show.

And to top it off (I have to brag here), the lead singer from one of our most popular country bands in town made it a point to track me down and tell me how unusual it is for a child his age to be able to sing on key. Most kids, he says, sing flat, but Jonathan sings on key.

Needless to say, I was quite proud and wanted to stay and chat with the guy giving kudos to my talented son, but I had to excuse myself in order to divert Jonathan from the potluck table where he was devouring a bag of Doritos by himself.

Rock stars...they think they can get away with anything.

I Tried Raising My Hand During Worship Once

In regard to raising my hand while singing in church...I did try it...once.

I had just returned from a Women of Faith retreat. Two days of continuously singing praise songs mixed with inspirational messages. So the next day at church I was singing with the praise team up front and I thought, Why not?

Therefore, as I was singing with my eyes closed, I raised up my hand. Now I must have stunned God since he knew I might not ever try it again. So He took that opportunity to rain down some extra living water. Literally, I'm bawling in front of the whole church. Obviously, I can't sing anymore. So I'm relegated to bowing my head and praying...not a bad thing, but not planned. And no, my hand was not up anymore.

My pastor/worship leader was, of course, elated. Emotional displays during church are proof to him that the Holy Spirit officially manifested himself. He could be right, but I wouldn't consider that the only sign.

P.S. You should know, although I can't always control when the tears will flow, that I really hate crying in front of people. Not necessarily because I'm afraid of them knowing something is wrong or that something has touched my heart, but for a much more vain reason.

I am not attractive when I cry, bordering on ugly. My nose immediately turns hot and red before any tears show up. And then when the tears do eek out, they burn and my eyes turn into little red, puffy slits. Not exactly the look I'm going for. But certainly a humble one. Who can have pride in their heart when looking like that?

Speaking of pride...

Outside My Comfort Zone

I officially accepted Jesus Christ into my life at the age of 6. Officially, yes. However, it has taken many ups and downs, a life of two steps forward and one step back, getting on and off the fence, being lukewarm and then hot again to get me to where I am today. Not the perfect Christian by a long shot, but I am sure of my salvation and where my help comes from. And while I still struggle with the daily doubts and unbelief that God can and will do all he says in the scripture that he wants to do in my life, down deep, due to what Jesus did at the cross and the Holy Spirit that now lives in me, I always have an overriding sense of faith, assurance, and hope. Those of you who also have been sealed by the Spirit will agree that this does not come from ourselves, but is a generous gift from God to feel this way when there is so much that seems hopeless around us.

I'm not saying I have always felt this way, I'm just saying this is the point to which I have been taken in the journey. So, in general, I consider myself spiritual. A true worshipper of God. And when I pray, whether I emotionally sense it or not (usually because I'm not getting an immediate answer or resolution to my concern), I know down deep God is listening and will carry out the best plan for me. And when I sing songs to or about him, either on or off key, I know he appreciates the effort.

However, I have never been comfortable with outward displays of worship that I have control of such as holding up my hands while singing or shouting out "amen" or whatever during the sermon (crying is a different story). And even though I may feel it and believe it, I've never been comfortable in daily conversation, except on rare occasions, to interlace my sentences with phrases like "glory to God" or "praise God", etc.

And now there is a new form (new to me) of singing in church that is called "free praise" where you just sing random melodies and words of praise over the top of what everyone else is singing. Obviously, this is not in my comfort zone either. For me it borders on disorder and chaos if more than one person (holding a microphone) is doing it. My spirit does not feel at peace, and I feel anxious. I probably feel very much like the old people in congregations that were being forced to convert from hymns to praise songs.

There, I've filed my complaint and now I can move on. I suppose the longer I'm exposed to this new style of worship, the more I will adapt. It won't seem so foreign and obtrusive.

Thank You God for the Boat

1:15 p.m., December 27, 2006 - I had just gotten off the phone with my husband after returning from lunch at Arriba with a his aunt. It is what it sounds like - Mexican food. I had eaten a huge plate of nachos piled with refried beans, cheese, tomatoes, jalapenos, and sour cream. We had split a side of guacamole. I had left the restaurant feeling stuffed and uncomfortable as usual.

After hanging up the phone, I planned on going upstairs to be domestic. Since the boys still share a room, I have one room upstairs that I have called the guest room for a while. Basically it has a mattress set on top of those cheap metal rails with wheels. On top of that are a couple of ill-fitting sheets (as guests would attest) and mismatched blankets. I had crowned this bed with a turquoise, white and pink quilt my grandma had made for us for our wedding. And recently, going along with the grandparent theme, I have hung a pastel painting my grandpa made for us, as well as a needle point hanging also from my grandma. I also have her old sewing table in the room to which I was going at this time.

1:30 p.m. - I had just sat down at the sewing table and was looking at the situation with the pants. However, my insides started to ache beginning with intense heartburn down to abdominal cramps. I figured, what should I expect? I had just filled my stomach to capacity or more with gas producing Mexican food. I'll just lie down for a few minutes and it will eventually pass - literally.

It didn't. I mean I did go to the bathroom a few times. Ok, things should start moving. They aren't. Even though I couldn't stand up to walk, I came down to the kitchen to get some Tums. Tums always make me feel better. I passed the kids in the living room. Don't talk to mommy, mommy's sick. I went to my room and curled up in bed. But nothing. No change.

Ok, I'm pretty nauseous now and then, and I've been breathing deeply and probably too fast hoping the feeling will pass. Or maybe I'll just throw up. But no. Ok, I'll make myself throw up. Now, this was a first for me. I had only heard that you could stick your finger down your throat to induce vomiting. I've never been a fan of throwing up and I will normally do anything I can to avoid it. So I wasn't sure it would work. It worked well. Bye, bye, refried beans. Things should get better now. It's about 5:00 now and my husband was home. I'll go sit on the couch. Be positive.

5:30 p.m. - Ok, the couch is not comfortable. I'm going back to bed. The pain has not subsided at all. I lay in the fetal position and wonder if this might not be gas and/or constipation. I'm freezing, no I'm hot. I'm shaking constantly. My legs and arms are tingling and going numb (I found out later this was a result of the heavy breathing I'd been doing for 6 hours - I didn't have enough oxygen). I called my husband in to get on the internet and see what else it might be. He decides maybe it's my appendix and suggests maybe I should to go to the hospital. The hospital! For constipation? Forget it, I'm tough. This will eventually go away.

7:30 p.m. - God help me please, God help me please. Ok, God just take me home, if it's easier. Please. My husband comes in and hears me chanting my God help me prayer. He suggests again we should go to the hospital. No, I say. However, I suddenly heard in my head "I sent you a boat." Yes, yes. A boat. (For those not familiar, there is a joke about a guy in a flood on top of his house praying for God to rescue him - God sends a guy by in a boat, and a raft, etc. - he didn't take any of them because he was waiting on something that appeared more miraculous). Anyway, I called out to my husband to take me to the hospital, please. At least they can give me an enema or something.

7:45 p.m. - We, kids and all, park in the parking lot at the hospital and I get out. I'm about to cry as the hope of pain relief is in sight. I hobble into the ER praying no one is ahead of me. The place seemed empty. They took down my list of symptoms and sent me to the triage nurse who also took down my list of symptoms. Was the first a deposition? And now they are trying to catch me in a lie if I can't repeat what I told the first guy? I felt like if I missed something, I might get sent home. Now come to think of it, every new person I met that night asked me the same questions. Are they not writing this down?

Thankfully they believed me. Probably because, by this time, the pain had caused me to enter my own little world. Yes, I have a heartburn feeling. I get my heartburn feeling at KMART. Oh, she's asking me another question. Hmm. What was the question? I'm cold. I've got to go the bathroom. No, she says, not yet. I'm thinking, What? What if going to the bathroom is the end of my troubles, and they aren't going to let me? Apparently, they want me to pee in a cup down the hall.

They put me in a wheel chair and took me to a dark room where nurses finally start scurrying around and poking me with needles. They take my blood, give me an IV and begin administering pain killers and anti-nausea medicine. I'm still cold and shaking. They get me warming blankets. That's nice. Ooh, the pain is starting to subside a bit. And I'm tired. I think I'll go to sleep.

At one point they tell me my husband is going to take the kids home. It's about 11:30. They put me in a new room because they need the other room for someone else. The bed here is more comfortable they say. Not really, but I'm not complaining. I've got drugs now. The heartburn is still there. They give me some kind of Mylanta cocktail. Ah, that's better.

The next events turned into a groggy, out-of-body experience. I swear I went to the bathroom and stood staring at the toilet for about an hour. The nurse said I didn't. At one point, I was taken for x-rays where I remember the x-ray tech saying she was in the hospital last Friday night for what I have . What did you have, I asked? The flu, she says. Are you kidding me? I came to the hospital for the flu? I'm a wimp.

The doctor gets the x-ray back and says she thinks maybe my intestines are twisted. They think while there is no stool blockage, there may be gas blockage. Nice. So I just need to...umm...pass gas. I knew it. They want to do a CAT scan to confirm. They actually had me sign a form to allow this. Really? I mean, I was not in my right mind. What was the point? I'd sign anything to make it all go away. Cut of my right hand, you say? Sure, why not? Sign, sign, sign.

The CAT scan was a little weird. I was supposed to listen to a voice that told me when to breathe in and when to breathe out and when to hold my breath. It wasn't loud enough. And I'm trying to sleep. Did he say breathe in? No, I'm supposed to hold now. Hmm, I must have passed the test because they took me back to my new little dark room.

3:00 a.m., December 28, 2006 - The doctor enters in a flurry. She's excited. They've figured it out. I didn't read the book, she says. I've got appendicitis. They are positive. Look at the CAT scan; look at my white blood cell count. And I've got a low grade fever. And where do you feel the most pain? She asks. I point to my right lower abdomen now. See, the pain wasn't localized, she says. Once we took care of the heartburn pain, now it's more obvious. I will have surgery, she says. When? I ask. At 7:00 a.m., in four hours. Ok, I'll think about that when I wake up.

Separated of the Family

This was a card brought home recently from Jonathan that he made in preschool.

On the other side is the following:

Who do you love?

J: "I love my daddy and mommy and brother and dog. I also love E-- because she's in my family. I love J-- and P-- and A-- and their fish."

What do you do with the people you love?

J: "Sometimes we play together like football and we always do stuff we like to do. They love me because I heard they were in my family and they're gonna have a new house. We just got separated of the family. We're families still but in different houses."

Black Beauty In, Toxins Out

Just watched Black Beauty with Jonathan (5) for my first time ever. Bawled my eyes out. If any nasty toxins were in my body before, they’re gone now.

Cowboy at Heart

Jonathan (5) has been claiming for a couple of years now that when he grows up he wants to live at the lodge (a dude ranch where we vacation each summer) and be a wrangler. He loves to dress in the whole cowboy outfit and even has spurs for his boots. In addition to being a wrangler, he also wants to be a “rock star” (like our pastor/praise team leader) and play the guitar and sing. He often considers his guitar part of his outfit.

We have a friend who wrote the official state ballad of our state and has also written and recorded many other country and western songs about our state, cowboys, etc.

The other day our family was listening to one of his borrowed CDs in the kitchen. As usual Jonathan was trying to sing along even though he had never heard the songs before. In the middle of one of the songs, he exclaims: “Mommy, we need to buy this one!”

I said, “Does it speak to your soul?”

Jonathan (with one hand over his heart), “It makes my heart sing!”

I Stand Corrected

The other day Michael insulted my southern roots when he said: “Mom, we don’t say ya’ll in Montana.”

The Khakis

Being the only girl in a house full of boys (including my husband) has its challenges especially when it comes to bodily noises and gaseous emissions. Both my boys are following in their father’s footsteps (and maybe their mother's) and becoming experts in this area.

With that said, I was totally unprepared for the incident that took place the other day.

Both my husband and 5 year old were already in the kitchen having breakfast when my 7 year old finally came downstairs fully dressed for school in his brand new khakis.

He looked so handsome.

The only problem was that the khakis were a little too long. I quickly stopped and bent down behind him to roll them up. What I didn’t realize was that I had placed my face precariously close to his backside.

The next thing I heard was an exclamation of “Fire in the hole!” followed by an explosion close to my ear and raucous laughter.

Needless to say I quickly jumped away while the males in my house high-fived each other. I dare say they got me.

Now those of you who really know me, know that I am not a snob in this area of body humor. I will readily admit to releasing toxic fumes myself for the sake of a good practical joke. However, this episode took me totally by surprise due to my seven year old’s amazing sense of timing and control.

I will forever be on my guard from here on out…as should they.

I'm So Proud

Today my husband came home at noon and was busy making himself lunch. He was cooking bacon and eggs. To cook the bacon, he lines two cookie sheets with foil and then lays every strip of the one pound package of bacon side by side in neat order. (He then cooks it for 20 minutes at 400 degrees in case you are wondering).

Since I had sort of a captive audience with him, I thought it would be a great time to tell him about mine and Jonathan's adventures for the morning which entailed getting the 5 year old a check-up at the doctor’s office.

I was so proud of him; he was so tough getting three shots and blood drawn without crying (I didn’t say without wincing or without making a terrible face!). I was bragging about what the doctor said about him…one of the things being that he is “perfectly proportioned”.

At this my husband gives the first indication that he is listening, looks up at me and says “I know!” with a proud and excited glimmer in his eye. Seeing that this conversation was making him happy, I proceeded to add more tidbits to the story.

However, when he got a confused look on his face, I realized, to my dismay, he thought I had been talking about the bacon.

Seriously? Seriously.

The See-Saw Incident

It’s funny how the mind works when it comes to memories. Yesterday, we were at a school playground with the latest types of equipment - smooth brightly colored molded plastics and poly-coated steels on top of a thick matt of mulch - all there to provide my child with the greatest amount of enjoyment with the least amount of risk.

As I watched my youngest son (on the verge of turning 5 now) and another kid figure out the see-saw (after trial and error, they found that holding the see-saw level and both swinging a leg over at the same time got the ride started), my thoughts turned back to my days playing on the see-saw during school recesses. I loved the rides that really moved - the swings, the merry-go-round, and of course, the see-saw.

So in my minds eye, I’m reliving the feeling of flying up and down in a fairly controlled environment, feeling the breeze, smiling and laughing with a good friend. Then my mind takes a slight turn in the memory, and I remember the feeling of being at the top of the ride and slamming down hard onto the ground when that fickle friend decides to get off while they are at the bottom. Ah…, and then I remember the better friends that would faithfully stay seated while the person at the top slid down to where they were so both could get off at the same time.

And this is where my mind really honed in to one specific incident. You see, I grew up in the seventies. A reckless time when slides were slick hot metal that faced the sun and burned your thighs as you squeaked slowly down, monkey bars were tall metal structures built on top of hard compacted concrete-like earth, and swings pinched your fingers if you got high enough to get some slack in the chain. And, oh, the good ole’ days of wooden structures like see-saws that had paint chipping off and exposed splintery wood beneath.

So back to the incident. The bell had rung for recess to be over. We needed to leave the school equipment behind and line up at the door as quickly as possible. Fortunately that day, I had one of those faithful friends at the other end of the see-saw who allowed me to slide down in order to get off. And slide I did. On the way down a sharp pain stabbed me right in one of my cheeks that I sit on. I got off the see-saw and reached back (we wore skirts with shorts underneath). Yes, something was not right…there was definitely something in my cheek that was not there before. So I got to go to the school office.

While somewhat humiliating, I braced myself for what needed to be done. The woman proceeded to lift my skirt and pull down my shorts to expose my little white cheeks. She then proceeded to extract something and it was all over.

Until she showed it to me - an inch long piece of timber, half dull green paint and exposed wood, and half blood.

The end.

My Son, The Mop

My boys like to “celebrate” at a restaurant whenever their dad comes back from being out of town. So last night we went to Applebee’s.

Everything was fine until the inevitable declaration by our 4 year old halfway through the meal that he needed to go to the restroom. Neither my husband nor I are ever thrilled to visit restaurant bathrooms during dinner, but he was squirming enough to make it necessary. Fortunately, our 7 year old son was squirming also and was willing to take his little brother. So off they went. Being a responsible father, my husband feels he can only allow them a few moments of independence so he got up to check on them.

As competitive boys, they often go into the same stall and, umm…, pee at the same time. Maybe to see who can go the fastest, the longest…who knows, I’m a girl and girls pee alone. So as my husband enters the bathroom, he finds splashes and puddles on the floor around the toilet…the general filth he usually describes to me after going into some men’s restrooms. He also finds Michael (7) already finished and standing outside of the stall. Apparently they had finished the competition, but his brother was still in the stall doing the other thing. So my husband immediately tries the stall door to see if Jonathan needs any help. It’s locked.

The conversation then goes something like this:

Dad: “Why is the door locked?”
Michael: “Because I locked it for him.”
Dad: “How did you lock the door and still be on this side?”
M: “I locked it from the inside and then I crawled out underneath the door.”
Dad (astonished and grossed out): “You crawled on your hands and knees out from under the door!!”
M (proudly): “No way dad! I slid out on my back!”