He Made a Funny

Micah is a typical kid. He will not listen to a word that his parents tell him when they are trying to teach him something monumental and life changing, but he will imitate every tiny little thing that they do if it is even slightly inappropriate.

He will also not hesitate to learn something that is taught to him if it benefits him in any way. Like giving the sign of the Loser.

Tonight at dinner, Becky was trying to teach something new and fun to our boy. She was dancing in her chair, waving her arms around, wagging her head back and forth. These are all things that Micah would love to mimic if given half a chance, and yet, he didn't.

Instead, Micah called her a loser.

And he laughed.

We all laughed.

I love a kid with a sense of humor. And I love that Micah is developing his, even at the expense of his siblings.

It Spranged

We're pretending that spring is here. Officially it happened on the calendar on March 20th, but here in the hills anything goes. Mother Nature seems to make her own rules and relishes in changing them. I understand completely that Spring is a season of change. A change from flurries to rain, a change from brown to green, a change from frozen to mud. What I don't care for is a change from rain back to flurries. That happens more often than I care to admit.

But this year Spring has taken on all new avenues of random insanity. We had snow last week, and 90 degrees over the weekend. I just want to know what happened to Spring? Can we not have something resembling normal? How about mildly cool temperatures where one can flirt with wearing flip flops while still sporting sweatshirts? Can we have t-shirt and jeans weather at some point?

It makes for wardrobe hangover. You don't know how badly I want to put away the bulky sweaters and break out the tees, but nooooo. I've got to have them both out this time of year. I cannot pack up the winter duds because we may need hats and gloves tomorrow. (Seriously.) And the day after that? Swim gear. (Not really. That was last weekend.) This is ridiculous. I have vowed to not wear jeans again this season. I've been living in capris for weeks now and if my ankles get frostbite I guess it'll be my own dumb fault.

Micah is with me on this. In the tropical temperatures we'd had over the weekend, the boy was wearing terry knit shorts to try to stay cool. I broke out the "good" denim shorts to wear to church Sunday morning. He took one look at that denim and nearly had a coronary. There was no way, no how he was going to put jeans on.

Being the mom, I put his wee skinny legs into his jeans amidst his protests and pulled them up to snap them. As I got them up around his waist, his waterworks shut off, he looked down, realized that his tanned knees were sufficiently showing and patted them approvingly.

The boy is all about wearing shorts. He's ready for spring, too.

When Life Gives You Lemons

We had a Mother/Daughter get-together at church this evening. These events always prove to be entertaining on some level, but maybe that's because I always find something to laugh at no matter where I go. We've been known to laugh as our son is hauled off into surgery. Never fear, I'm the bad parent that makes you look good.

The games they play at these church events are things that you don't really want to volunteer for. Any idiot knows that. There are a few idiots that didn't know until after the first game tonight though. After 3 unlucky people had to fish olives out of a tub of ice water with their bare feet, they asked for volunteers for the second game. I turned my back on the speaker and pretended to drink from my empty cup, but my obviously none too subtle plot failed because I was drafted. I had the fun game of making lemonade. In my stomach. Eating one ingredient at a time.

The sugar gob I ate was so sweet that I sucked down two lemon wedges before the sour even registered. Sometime during the sucking of the third wedge the nausea hit and I seriously thought I'd hurl into my empty water cup. The good news is that I was able to choke back the nasty and continue on. The bad news is that I lost the game. (Hey, if you're drafted to play the least you can do is give it your best shot.) I did win a door prize and that gift was so much better than the prize for making lemonade in your innards, so I guess it all worked out. I got myself a gorgeous fuchsia hanging basket. I'll suck down a few lemons and eat sugar to save $20. I'm just that kind of cheap.

After the so-fun event I headed to Starbucks to hang with a friend. You know how you find a parking spot just as you're driving by and then realize that you can't really pull into it because you're too far past? That happened. And instead of just putting the car into reverse and pulling in like any normal person would do I had the bright idea to just keep driving, turn around at the end of the parking lot, and then come back and maneuver my way into the space. I probably should have hit reverse and gone the easy route.

As I was creeping through the lot coming up on my still open space, a car backed out into me. Literally. The whole slo-mo speed thing happened and I had time to think "he'll see me and stop, he's not stopping, wow he didn't stop" while simultaneously thinking "if I keep driving he'll hit the gas tank and that might not be so good. If I stop dead he'll hit a door. He's going fast enough to cause damage but not so fast as to injure the girls in the back seat." So I stopped and waited as I watched him slam into us.

It's really amazing how you can be so calm when you did not cause the accident. It helps when nobody is injured. And it's actually funny that it was the car that cost $300. Mind you, if it had been my van I'd have been livid. And a little sick. The poor kid that hit me was all kinds of shook up. I felt bad for him. He apologized profusely while the girls whispered and twittered about how they go to school with him and how it would be awkward to see him in the halls tomorrow.

I've been researching the internet and it's rather difficult to find a replacement door for an 18 year old vehicle. Go figure.

I think I earned my Starbucks tonight.

The Swine Flu Epidemic of '09

The news on the street is all about the swine flu. I've heard radio broadcasts warning that you should stay in the country, see a doctor immediately if you have any flu like symptoms, and to basically not breathe in the air around you for fear of contracting the deadly disease. We are one step away from declaring Code Red Swine for the epidemic that is sweeping the nation.

This is also what I've heard so far on the news: about 100 people have died from the dreaded swine flu in Mexico, it is invading our country in mass numbers and at least 20 cases have been reported nationwide.

I may be adopting a head in the sand attitude toward all this, but I'm not thinking that 20 cases nationwide constitutes an epidemic by any standards. And although 100 deaths in Mexico is frightening, how many people in Mexico (or America for that fact) died with the regular flu last winter? And that was not top billing in the news, nor was it called a widespread epidemic.

I researched Swine Flu because I wanted to see what the hype was about and how deadly it really is. On the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention website, the swine flu is generally contracted by those in direct contact with swine. (That's pigs.) And it's not even that common for it to happen. It can also be spread by direct contact with somebody that has the swine flu. In fact, there was a breakout of the dreaded disease in Wisconsin back in 1998 and not one person died. They got the flu, they got better. Just like any regular version of the flu.

Since when did having the flu become the worst thing that could happen to you? Is there no other news in the world big enough to report that we have to scare a whole nation into immobility because of impending stomach cramps and vomiting?

Go, live life, get diarrhea, and tell your grandkids that you survived the Swine Flu Epidemic of '09. They'll stare wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the story. It may be because of the new reverence they'll see you with, or because you freaked the heck out over the flu.

*Disclaimer - because it always has to happen. The flu kills, but so do colds. I have utmost sympathy for families who lose loved ones to anything so trivial and senseless. My heart especially goes out to the family of Maddie, a sweet and innocent 18 month old girl who died from complications due to a mere cold. I've been raising funds through March of Dimes to prevent such things happening in the future. If you have an extra dollar in your pocket I would appreciate the donation.

Random, Unleashed

It's been a while since I've gone all random on the readers, so I figure it's time that I let it out. Here's what's going on in our teeny tiny world.

* We caught the mouse in the van. It's only been 4 months since we've first seen it. Boy howdy did that thing smell. I guess that's reason right there to go into town daily for Starbucks - I would have known the mouse was trapped before decay set in.

I'm sorry. I hope you weren't eating. If you are, you'll most likely want to just stop now because there is more to come.

* We caught two mice in the basement. I am 97.6% sure they came in with the marvy new (used) treadmill. They were the pretty brown variety and all we've ever had here in the 11 years of residence are the drab gray field variety. Lucky us; we now have a new strain on the loose.

* With spring comes evidence of heavy rat infestation at the kennel. I used a bulk pack of rat rid, and have yet to see evidence of it's effectiveness. I won't count the one we found drowned in Micah's personal pool.

* I worked at leveling that personal pool over the weekend as the next step in the making of it. Micah found that filling it with water is an excellent way to check it's levelness. (Fun new word alert.) Thankfully it was within an eighth inch of perfection, and I can live with that.

* The boys spent the weekend swimming. You have to understand that April in the mountains means cold and rain. I cannot ever remember swimming in April. Not last year, not five years ago, not ever. While this is whacked for our neck of the woods in it's own right, the fact that we had snow last Tuesday makes it even more so. It makes bizarre look downright normal.

* Micah spent the weekend working on his full body tan. The kid browns instantly. He's already more tan than I'll be after an entire summer spent outdoors. I wish this chalky vampire whiteness on nobody, and yet my poor daughter is cursed with the same genes.

* We're doing a remodel of the breakfast nook. It used to be that, now it's a mess. In the near future I hope it will be kid central for their computer and TV area. This facilitated a trip to the local Salvation Armani, and duuuude, the things I saw there made my wallet do a back flip in my purse. I walked away with a cherry headboard and foot board to make into shelving for $10. (I know! Can you even believe it?) Of course, they wouldn't fit in the car and as we were trying to break the legs off without actually breaking the piece we wanted to use (and the guy in the truck in front of us tried not to visibly laugh because then he would be forced to come help) our neighbor walked up and offered to haul it home in the back of his truck. And that's why Salvation Army is located right next to Tractor Supply. You just never know when you'll need your neighboring farmer with a truck to haul something home for you, and Tractor Supply is the best place to find a farmer in town.

* I called twice to make an appointment for Micah to get into that fun new place that evaluates his lack of speech. I left messages each time and was reassured that someone would call me back. You know as well as I do that it's a lie, and it was. On the third try I got through to someone who immediately recognized who I was when I said I was referred from the Downs Clinic (because I said so on both messages) and they were instantly "oh, did someone try to call you?" and "I'll bet she put you in the system but just hasn't made your appointment yet." And I was all "yeh, you say that because you know you're busted." But the good news is that we're going next week. I have no expectations for this appointment, but I feel as though I have to try. It's my son, and his lack of speech that we're talking about.

* This week promises to continue with the good weather. I'm glad. I really am. I just wish that we'd have had some sort of acclimation to summer. My blood is way too thick for this kind of heat and I've been suffering with sunshine hangover the last few days. I'm not complaining, mind you, just wishing that spring would have happened before summer hit with it's heat wave. The good news is that I haven't burned yet, so there's that.

* My goal for summer has been shifted from possibly attempting to potty train Micah to getting Micah to keep shorts on while swimming. This may or may not go well. Nakey Boy is quite fond of his nakey ways, but one can always make the attempt. Rest assured though that this will not be a case of "if you can't beat them, join them."

Saturday Shots

The Teenager

Life's Path

Lace

Coming and Going

Trucking

Ponytail

**NEW** Chat Video!

Ah, technology. Where would we be without it? I have a whole love/hate thing going with it. While I lurve things like my microwave, radio and DVD player, I have no idea how to use all the functions on my cell phone, I couldn't work an iPod to save my life and I have no desire to Wii.

I am not a techie. I know, I've hid that well, haven't I?

So you can imagine my range of emotions when I saw that Gmail is now offering the new video chat. Or would that be:

**NEW**

Be the first to use the (da dun da) Video Chat! You'll be the coolest kids on the web, we promise.

I'm sure you'll understand why I didn't wet my pants in excitement over this. Technology kinda scares me, especially when it's new. I'm still learning how to use the remote to work the TV for crying out loud. (And you all wonder why I watch videos in the wee smalls of the night when I'm up with puppies.)

There is a reason that I love working from home. Dressing up is never an option. I wipe snot and clean dog kennels for a living. If I changed into clean clothes every time I got something on me, I'd run out of things to wear by lunchtime.

And since I'm not wearing cashmere (that's dog hair, I know you were confused for a moment) I see no need to wear pearls either. Or earrings. I do brush my hair, but that's when I get up in the morning. If it gets wind-blown while I'm out feeding the zoo, it stays wind-blown the rest of the day. I do not apply make-up while at home because painting the barn door when the rest of the barn is in obvious disrepair is only accentuating the problem.

But getting back to the topic at hand, there is no way that I'll be using the **NEW** video chat option. Potential puppy owners would run screaming, Rocking Pony customers would take their business to Baby Gap, and I would lose all my bloggy friends. In addition to the face filling the camera, there would be the kids and the house in the background. While this would effectively distract from my unpainted au naturelle goodness, I may also have my kids taken from me when random strangers see Micah share his wholesome dinner of funnel cakes and pepperoni slices with the dogs.

I do not see this as being the best new feature ever. But that's just my humble opinion.

A Side of Moral Support

Micah had his ear tubes placed today and it was a very good thing. Hearing always is. Impairment begins when tubes come out, which is an average of 6 months with Micah. Fun times.

So anyhoo, I was at the ENT on Tuesday when they scheduled for him to have the minor surgical procedure on Wednesday. The doctor had a cancellation; that's why I was able to get in so quickly. I jumped all over it like a kid on a trampoline. I did, however, need to make some phone calls to rearrange the schedule. Cancel the bus driver, tell the aide to stay home, let the ST know that Micah won't make therapy, and call Sam to have him get off work for the day.

Yeh, even though we've been there and done that half a dozen times with the kid, I still won't sit through a very minor surgical procedure alone. And there's a reason for that.

I was alone with my one day old newborn when the doctor told me they were testing him for Down syndrome. I had no moral support, no shoulder to cry on, and nobody to share the burden of shock and confusion with.

I was alone, with 4 kids, when the pediatrician told me Micah's test results came back. They were positive. I had no moral support, no hand to hold, and had to distract the kids from hearing words and phrases that would clue them in to the fact that the world just turned upside down. I also had to conceal the hurt that I felt inside. We hadn't told the kids yet, and that wasn't the time or place.

I was alone, with my sister who's prone to panic attacks, when Micah was 4 months old and getting his ears cleaned at the pediatric ENT. The doctor told me he scheduled my son for an exploratory scope (under anesthesia) the next week to see why he was laboring so hard to breathe. Worst case scenario: Micah would need a tracheotomy. I couldn't get my freak on because my sister needed me to be calm and in control. I couldn't deal with a panic attack on top of this new and disturbing news. I had to pretend that the world wasn't shaken yet again.

I've learned the hard way that nothing is easy or simple where Micah is involved, and I don't like to be broadsided any more than anyone else does. Just last year, we were at Children's for a tonsillectomy (and Tube Set #5) when the doctor refused to do the procedure until Micah's c-spine films were done. All I could think of was dear little Kennedy, and the news her mom got when she had her x-rays. And I was incredibly grateful that Sam was there with me to hold my hand, to carry Micah, and to share the burden of having a special needs child. And even more grateful that Micah's films were perfect.

But you just never know when life will throw a curve ball your way, and it's best to be prepared. That's why I won't sit alone through a minor procedure that barely counts as surgery. I prefer to have moral support on standby.

Say What?

Micah had an ENT appointment today. To say that he hates these is a gross understatement. Generally it takes me and two trained nurses to hold him down just to look into his ears. The boy failed the newborn hearing screening, and has been tested roughly twice a year since then in hopes of passing one. He did, once, when he was 4. We were relieved that it was over, but I knew he could hear so the stress wasn't a biggie. What was stressful was enduring the testing. The boy hated those, too. He would wiggle, fight, kick, yell, cry, and in the end he figured out how to sit quietly and purposely fail the test just to show everyone who was really in control.

And there are those people who think that kids with Down syndrome are stupid.

Today I couldn't have been more proud of my boy. He lifted his shirt for the doctor to listen to his heart (this has been met with much wailing and gnashing of teeth in the past), he allowed his ears to be looked into, he opened his mouth for a visual of his non-existent tonsils, and he sat quietly for the doctor to peer into his snot-filled nose.

It made this mama 64 different levels of proud.

Because she couldn't see past the waxy build-up in his ears, the Doc sent him for a tympanogram. (A test that measures the sound waves bouncing off the ear drum. See above for a description of how cooperative he is for the procedure.) These involve putting plugs into his ears, much like weird shaped headphones. Non-invasive, and yet enough to send Micah into a tailspin.

The boy sat like a statue and watched Barney on television while the test was conducted. He got a perfect reading for the first time in 6 years of testing.

Skip the 64 levels of proud. We've reached miracle status.

The news is that he's not hearing all that well, which is a surprise to nobody. I have a whole lot of respect for those parents with deaf children. We've been using sign language a lot more recently, which is why I made today's appointment.

And because it's a day for miracles, the doctor had a cancellation for tomorrow. The boy will hear again by tomorrow afternoon after his 6th set of tubes are placed. Thank goodness that no wait is involved. The yelling that we do is getting old.

It's Who I Am

I have issues with PETA. You know, the organization that is there solely to help animals? Yeh, them. Hate me if you must.

I know they started out with good intentions. They still have good intentions, in fact. I like that about them. Sadly, they seem to have crossed a line somewhere that now puts them firmly in the fanatical camp. Fanatics tend to rub me the wrong way because they don't hesitate to tell you that you're 23 different kinds of wrong.

Here's my problem: I own a kennel. PETA has taken an active stance against puppy mills (and I applaud them), but as a direct result of this they've made phrases like backyard breeder, hobby breeder, and even dog breeder to be bad things. I have a hard time describing my little operation here to potential customers. If I use any of the above terms, negative images come to their mind and suddenly what I do is distasteful to them. I assure them that my puppies are born and raised in the house, and now that makes me one of those freaks that have 104 cats inside and the smell of urine greets you at the door. Only with dogs. I've contemplated becoming licensed, and have a friend who is, and she gets people who hate her for that because everyone knows that licensed kennels are huge operations that don't care about the welfare of their dogs.


So you tell me - what do I call myself? What do I say to make myself sound reputable? Why is it that I'm being made to feel ashamed of what I am?

My dogs are part of my family and I cry when bad things happen. And yet, they're a business. I know that when they retire from the breeding program they'll need to be placed in good homes. This does not make me a bad person, it makes me responsible. And yet PETA has made me ashamed to say that. They make people think that I'm callous, uncaring, and heartless.

I am incredibly proud of my dogs. I've carefully chosen and raised them over the years so that not only are my dogs of exceptional temperament that I trust Micah with, but they're absolutely beautiful to look at. And my puppies are a result of that careful selection and planned breeding. I'm thrilled to know that those puppies will leave my place and bear my name as their breeder. They are here because of me. I have provided families with exceptional pets that are smart, healthy, loving, and of correct conformation. It takes a lot of work, and I'm taking pride in my efforts. There's nothing wrong with that; in fact there's everything right with it.

I will no longer allow PETA to make me feel as though I'm doing something wrong.


I am a kennel owner.

I raise puppies for a living.

And I love what I do.

The Truth Hurts

Teaching kids is entertaining. I think school teachers would have blog fodder to no end. It all falls under the "kids say the darndest things" category.

Today in Sunday School we were talking about, um, something. I can't really remember. The lesson was about how Jesus was on earth for 40 days after the resurrection before ascending to heaven. (See? I listen to myself when I'm teaching.) But we got off on a rabbit trail of some sort and for whatever odd reason were discussing how much people know.

One of the kids said he thought younger people were smarter than older people. I said that I thought older people were smarter because they had more years to learn things. He said, "yeh, they do know more, but they forget what they know."

Ouch. The boy speaks the truth. Obviously. I can't even remember what happened this morning in Sunday School.

Oh, and that kid? Was my son, Luke. *sigh*

Saturday Shots

Puppy Eyes

Warming

Blown Away

The Easter Bunny Corgi

Signs of Spring

Schooled by Your Mama

Josh had 10 weeks of basketball practice this past winter in school. Every Saturday at 8:00 AM. (I have no idea why it needed to start so early on a weekend, but there it was.) He loved it. He not only learned to play, but honed some skills for an 11 year old boy.

When we got our own hoop this spring, he challenged me to play Around the World. I lost big time. The boy was proud of himself. I was proud of his mad shooting skills, but in reality I'll bet Micah could beat me if he could shoot that far.

There was a day when I could play the game. In high school we played boys vs. girls every day at recess, and the girls sucked. They really did. I started on their team but got so frustrated that I'd end up switching to the boys team halfway through the game. I couldn't take a whole team of boys on myself, so I figured I'd at least have fun playing instead of getting frustrated with the dropped balls, the cloud watchers, the broken nail screamers and those who aren't sure what to do with the ball if it ever falls into their hands.

Wow, I was competitive. I had no idea.

But that was 20 years ago. Literally. And in the meantime I've had kids, and filled my days with diapers and dishes. Whatever basketball skills I once had are nonexistent.

Tonight Josh challenged me to a game of P-I-G. For whatever reason, my shoulder stiffened up on me today and I'm having a hard time moving my neck or rotating that arm. We'll pretend that it has nothing to do with my age. I knew that my game would be less than my usual sub par standard. But what the heck, if you can't play with your kids every now and then, why have them?

Go figure, I whooped that boy good. I greatly enjoyed it, too. He was mortified, I'm sure, but he's a gracious loser. The best part is that I made him do a granny dunk. Not only did he miss, his form leaves a lot to be desired.

Oh, yeh. I'm the hottest granny dunker on the block. I'd pat myself on the back if I wasn't so stiff and sore. And I'll relish the moment because I'm sure it won't happen often.

Making Friends in Unexpected Places

Three of the four kids had school on Monday, and that left me at home with my baby. It was nice. Very nice. So I thought I should go somewhere and do something to celebrate the fact that I got a day of one-on-one with my boy. I decided to take him to see Monsters vs. Aliens.

After the film, we stopped at the potty on the way out. I learned that Mr. Flushes a Lot should not be trusted to stand behind you while you're sitting on the loo. Bidets are not pleasant when they're unexpected.

And then I changed Micah's diaper. Getting him changed on one of those fold-down wall-mounted thingies is a struggle. They are not designed for 6 year olds is all I'm saying. And when the diaper is the messy variety things get even more tricky because you can't just lay the boy's bottom down while you find somewhere to put the used diaper or grab an extra wipe. (Besides the fact that poop will get everywhere, his bottom tends to hang off the end of the table. He's just too big for the thing.) It's obvious to everyone around that the boy is too big to be wearing diapers. Painfully obvious. And inevitably, someone always feels the need to ask how old he is.

I always feel there is some explanation needed when I reveal the fact that he should have been potty trained years ago. I struggle with this because it sounds like I'm apologizing for the hand that life dealt me. But recently I realized that if someone has a problem with my 6 year old not being potty trained they can do one of several things.

1. Lump it.

2. Potty train Micah for me.

3. Assume there is a good reason for his current lack of toileting skills, and perhaps even ask.

4. Realize that the boy has Down syndrome and understand that sometimes things like potty training take longer. Like 6 years of longer and counting.

I decided that Monday would be the perfect day to test my newfound backbone and see how straight it helped me to stand. When asked the inevitable question, I simply said, "he's 6." And I smiled. Because he's my boy and I'm very proud of him, and I won't make excuses for who he is any longer.

It was the sweetest 5 minutes of my day. While I stood there trying to balance my boy's bottom above a too-short board suspended several feet in the air, I made a friend. As I wiped poo that smeared into cracks and crevices heretofore unknown to man, I heard about my friend's grown son with Down syndrome. As I struggled to find a place to put a messy diaper and get another wipe to finish the job at hand, I was reassured that our kids are the best blessings that we'll ever have in this lifetime. And we both knew that she meant our kids with Down syndrome. We each had 3 other kids besides, but agreed that there was something special about our kids with special needs. Something magical. Something angelic. And we wouldn't ever change our boys even if we could.

We knew that of all the parents in the world, we were the lucky ones. We got the kids with disabilities.

Oh, the People You'll Meet

Today Micah had his annual appointment at the Down Syndrome Clinic. These are always all sorts of interesting. He got to play with a dollhouse and more naked dolls than any one person has ever seen in a lifetime. I was a bit disturbed by that fact. The only one clothed was the man carrying a Bible. I think he was the evangelist trying to convert the nudist colony. We found it highly amusing.

Someone finally got serious about Micah's lack of speech, and we were referred to a specialist. I have no idea if we'll find anything new out or not, but it's nice that someone besides myself is finally saying, "yeh, the boy is 6 and he should really be vocalizing something at this point."

Somewhere during the 90 minute appointment, Micah decided that he was done with the whole Being There part. He turned on full Fuss Mode and played it well. I was the stupid one who dressed him in jeans that had a broken snap and it drove him iNsAnE. It's what he chose to focus on. There was no getting around the fact that we couldn't fix his pants, and he wasn't going to let it rest. It was not fun.

We decided that since the snap broke on those jeans, and he has one pair with a broken zipper, and 3 pairs that are now considered full fledged capris, and 2 pairs with holes in the knees big enough to put two feet through (ask how I know), he was in desperate need of new pants. We stopped by Old Navy on the way home.

Old Navy has these new commercials featuring mannequins as the spokespersons. They also have said mannequins in their stores to greet you upon entering.

Micah. Was. Fascinated.

He walked up to one of the girls and gently reached out to touch her hand. He walked from mannequin to mannequin, looking each in the eye as he went. He walked around again, touching an article of clothing on each one. He walked around a third time trying to make small talk with them. And then he just stood and stared. In fascination. Or wonder. Or bewilderment. Or awe.

And then I realized that the poor kid has probably never seen a mannequin. Stores nowadays have headless bodies or clothing on hangers. Mannequins are a thing of the past. Way to go retro, Old Navy. My boy approves.

Motivation

There was a day when I was self-motivated. I would do things simply because they needed done. I had a list of things that needed done daily, and checking things off my list was one of my greatest accomplishments. If I did something that wasn't on the list, I would add it so that I could check it off. This kind of organizational guruism lasted through at least 2 kids. But somewhere along the line, things deteriorated.

There was one day, or maybe three, when I didn't get everything done on my list. I prioritize, of course, and sometimes mundane things like doing the dishes got pushed off onto the next day because there are only 24 hours to work with. But big things, like looming deadlines, were eventually put off. I went to bed with a heavy weight surrounding me, wondering what the world would be like in the morning because I didn't get a Big Thing accomplished that was on my list.

When I woke up, the world was just the same. I was shocked. Gravity still worked, the Earth was rotating on it's axis, and the universe didn't explode. In fact, I had more energy to accomplish the Big Thing and it got done first thing in the morning. But I felt as though I narrowly escaped a disaster. That wouldn't happen again, it was just too risky.

But it did. And soon The Big Thing wasn't getting done first thing in the morning, it was done in the afternoon. And then it was getting done late at night when I was really too tired to do it right. And then the inevitable happened. I put it off for two days, and I realized that the world still turned on it's axis just like it did when I put Big Things off for one day.

That started the avalanche of procrastination. I am now Master of Procrastination. I will put things off indefinitely, maybe just to see how long a thing can be put off. Will the world ever explode? I haven't reached that point yet.

But sometimes this isn't a good thing. Some Big Things can be put off with nothing happening at all, but other Big Things just can't. These Big Things have definite deadlines. I'm good with deadlines. I really am. Give me a deadline and I'll meet it. On the very second that you need it, it'll be done. It's risky, I know.

I think I've found the solution to my procrastinating ways. I need to prioritize again, but turn the list upside down. I have learned that I will do any manner of hard work in order to get out of doing something that needs to be done. I will clean out the refrigerator to get out of paying bills. I will exercise to get out of laundry. I will scrub bathtubs to get out of sewing. (Let's not psychoanalyze me here. I am well aware that I'm messed up.) So here's the plan. I will make a list again, and put things like dishes and vacuuming at the top of the list. Big Things will most certainly go at the bottom, and I will put off doing what is at the top of my list because it's got top billing. Big Things are bound to get done with this new strategy.

Wanna take bets on how long it is until I'm onto myself?

Easter is a Time for Miracles

We had a great Easter weekend with friends and family, but my favorite part was a gift from Micah.

The Boy has been stripping out of his diapers more and more frequently. I really think he's gearing up for the Summer Streaking that goes on around here. One has to practice, you know. But sometimes it's just frustrating. If his diaper needed changed anyway it's not a biggie (unless it was more than just wet, then it kinda is), but if I just changed him, and he strips it off and tosses it aside as he streaks past, I get irked.

He did that Saturday night. A fresh diaper. It hadn't even been peed in. I gathered that thing up and tracked him down. He was just coming down the stairs, and as it was nearing bedtime and he was mostly naked anyway, I herded him right back up for a bath.

When I got him in the tub, I turned to get his shirt from the floor when I noticed the puddle. It was in front of the toilet. While trying to rationalize why on earth anyone would have a drink in the bathroom, and spill a bit right in front of the john, it occurred to me that Micah attempted to pee in the potty.

Let's take a moment of silence to fully appreciate this moment, shall we? I've changed diapers non-stop for 14 years, people. Every. Single. Day. for 14 years. I need to think about what life could be like with that element of my day completely cut out.

Wow, life could be sweet.

So anyhoo... Easter morning, Micah woke up and came to our door as usual. I needed to head him off so that he didn't let the dogs out (he just likes to help) but was leaked on when I picked him up. I carried him to our bed so that I could change his diaper and get him ready for church. He was not happy with the diaper that I chose. He clearly saw the training underwear that I pulled from the far reaches of his drawers. He wanted to wear them.

What the heck? I put them on him. He stood up, ran from the room, down the hall to Josh's room and yelled, "AAAUUUUHHH" (Josh) He patted the front of his underpants, turned around to pat the back of his underpants, and then realized that Josh was still asleep.

The boy was that proud of his underwear.

I put old clothes on him (I may be beside myself with excitement, but I'm not stupid) and sent him on his way. An hour later he was naked, and I found his wet clothes discarded in the living room. While others would think this would be discouraging, I am doing the Happy Happy Dance. The Boy is showing signs of potty training. Big signs. He just might (maybe, hopefully) potty train this year.

Easter is truly a time of miracles.

Saturday Shots

Yellow

Speed

Looking at You

Coloring and Dipping

Hurry

Colorful Characters

Dyed

The Joys of Others Messed Up Minds

Those Google searches are no end of entertainment. Especially the ones that bring people to my blog. While I've edited them for readers viewing pleasure, I just want to say that there are a whole lot of freaks out there. You tell a story about underwear and suddenly every messed up citizen of Planet Earth will be knocking on your blog's door asking if you're into this, or into that, or if you have advice on... Sometimes I have to go scrub my eyes out after reading some of the searches. I worry about the world my kids are growing up in. But in a lighter vein, here are some amusing ones.

In the pony-related category, we've got:

big wife on pony - I have no photos. Sorry.

pony potty chair - I have a hard enough time housebreaking dogs. There is no way I'm going to attempt the ponies yet.

free stories pony play - Um, huh?

pony whisper - Are you asking if ponies whisper, or if I'm the Pony Whisperer? Because the answer to both is Try Again.

get a pony that only needs a viset once a year - While this would be the ultimate low-care pet, the bigger question is why do you even want one then? (And BTW, learn to spell.)


The Underwear Chronicles go on.

borrow my friend's panties - I don't recommend this.

panties in church - I'd consider it appropriate attire, so therefore YES, panties are in church.

whole blood panties picture - The gross factor aside, I'm clueless. Whole blood? Versus partial blood?

forced to wear panties forever - Now there's a punishment. I sentence you to wear panties. I think you have bigger issues.

humiliating stories of caught in underwear - Everyone's got them. But just be glad the underwear are on. It would be even more humiliating if not.

panties embarrassed - I wasn't aware that panties had feelings. That gives all new meaning to the Holy Public Panties post.




And in other weirdness...

kill forsythia - You can't. Trust me.

how to kill shrubbery - Plant it in my garden. Unless it's forsythia. If I can't kill it, nobody can.

16 year old girls arm pit hair - Gross. And completely natural. Rest assured.

great grandma p*rn - (I added the editing. This was spelled correctly.) I won't even go there. Instead I'll go to the bathroom and barf.

what is acceptable to wear to a wedding - Shockingly, just about anything nowadays.

is it really that bad to wear red at a wedding? - See above. I'm guessing not.

laughing lady childrens boutique - There's a strange name. Even worse than The Rocking Pony. But happiness is always good, so I deem it acceptable.

picture of grandma rocking a baby - I'm kinda disappointed that Google directed people to my blog for a picture of this. I'm not that old, people!

tailoring for short-waisted - When you find one, let me know. Short-waisted makes for interesting dressing sometimes.

how did jesus cut his toenails - Of all the things I've pondered, this has never been one of them. Would it really matter to your faith? Will someone really say, I can't believe the teachings of Jesus because he didn't use nail clippers. That's just not right.

squatty body skit - Hey now. I know I'm squatty, and I know that my life is humorous, but there's no need to be calling names.

lamaze - Never tried it. Never took a class. I think you've come to the wrong place for your needs.

how to trim a horse's bangs - First of all, it's forelock. And second, I'd probably leave it up to the professionals. It's not difficult, but apparently you're not all that bright and you might run with the scissors.



So what are some of your most fun ones? Inquiring minds want to know.

The World is Messed Up

You know what's totally messed up? The Cialis ads. Every time I see one I just crack up. There is no way that anyone in their right mind could take one seriously, much less think about what Cialis could do for them, after seeing one of those ads. I mean, come on. Who sits in a bath tub outside? With your dearly beloved beside you in his own tub?

I can see it now. You and your spouse are deciding where to go on vacation this year. You're getting a sitter for the kids and just taking a weekend away for the two of you. Something romantic and special. And then you see it. The brochure of a lifetime.

Honey! Look! We could have our own bathtubs! And they're outside! In public! And we can hold hands and turn to prunes together while we watch the sunset! Yep, that's exactly what we're looking for. Life just couldn't be any sweeter. We'll never want to come home again.

Who comes up with these ads anyway?

Probably the same person who orders snow in April.

Rest for the Weary

Ever have one of those days when you just feel lost in the forest, with a heavy load to push, and you know it's a long way home?



Maybe if I slept at night I wouldn't feel that way so often. The good news is that I think the puppy will live. It's been a long, long two week life for the little thing. Apparently his mom scratched his back (accidentally) and the carnage was great. I have a photo, but you'll thank me for not showing it. Trust me. He's on the mend, and I'll be sleeping tonight.

Hallelujah.

No Flatulence Zone

The pastor had just stood up to begin the sermon when it happened. The unthinkable in church.

You know how there are some people who just don't think about the things they do before they do them? And who don't have the couth to, say, cover their mouth when they cough? Much less do more, um, delicate things in private?

Yeh, there was nothing delicate about this. Trust me.

The Offender felt it coming on. He leaned up to grasp the back of the pew in front of him, and slightly elevated himself as if he was going to get up. The pastor's wife was close by and wondered if he needed assistance in standing. She was about to go ask when she heard his shoe squeak.

Only it wasn't a shoe squeak. And it just went on. Loudly. Loudly enough that I heard it quite clearly the whole way across the church. As did everyone else.

Miracles do happen. How on earth the pastor was able to do more than stare blank-faced for a second before beginning the sermon, I'll never know. How on earth the entire church kept hysterical guffaws silent, I'll never know. How on earth I managed to not wet myself in my silent fit of laughter, I'll never know.

But here's what I do know. The pew behind The Offender was literally shaking with silent laughter. The two front pews filled with teens looked like rows of jumping beans trying to be subdued what with all the ducked heads and heaving shoulders. Nobody in the church made eye contact with anybody else. And not one person heard a word that the pastor said.

That's when he decided to try to regain control by praying.

"Lord, help us to not be distracted by the pressures around us, and to lay aside those things that we may have brought in with us so that we are better able to hear what You have to say. Amen."

But it only made matters worse. Here's what most of us heard:

"Lord, help us to not be distracted by the pressure of someone's bowels, and please don't let him bring this into church with him again. Amen."

One of the men in church often uses the phrase, "that went over like a fart in church." It's going to take on all new meaning now. It's his wife that, in all seriousness, thinks we should tell this man that church is really a No Flatulating Zone.

I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't make any difference. It would probably go over like a fart in church.

It's Better Than a Drive

Today I took the kids up to the state park to hike through the woods. It was an incredibly beautiful spring day, and I figured I'd better take advantage of the weather before the snow comes back around.



We hit one of our favorite trails, but this time I decided to take a detour. There's a trail that veers off the main path, and I'm always one for an adventure.



We hiked down to the creek, where the kids played at the bridge. We saw new things growing, and curious tree formations, and intriguing rocks, and watched sticks float down the tiny waterfalls.



We saw some of the most beautiful scenery in Western Pennsylvania, made even more beautiful by the fact that it was a perfect spring day. And we saw it because the batteries died in my camera.



We had a fabulous Sunday afternoon, but in hindsight I should not have hiked for 2 hours when Micah wasn't feeling his best. Carrying him that last half hour has turned my arms to Jell-O. Maybe permanently.

Saturday Shots

The Big Ball



Room to Play



Shadow Shooter




The Gang Moves



Little Drummer Boy




Concentration


Rainy Day



Always at Hand

I Talk to the Animals

I talk to the the dogs. I always have. When we were newlyweds, before we even had kids, I talked to the dog. And most people do, of course. But Sam is highly amused that I lecture the dogs. For crying out loud, they know better than to do the things that they're doing and yet they're doing them anyway. What are they thinking?

Sam laughs. As if they can understand, he says. But it makes me feel better, so I've continued on.

The other day, after vacuuming for the bazilliontieth time, I found several clumps of hair on the floor. I pointed to the offending hair, turned around to face down the dogs, and demanded to know who on earth had the nerve to hair up the floor again after I JUST swept?

Sam said, "You know they won't 'fess up. They'll blame it on each other."

He's joined me on the dark side. He knows that they know. And it's only a matter of time before he starts lecturing them as well.