The Pros and Cons

Pro: Getting a goat. She's darling, really. Bella follows us like a puppy and is the sweetest and gentlest thing ever. And? She thinks the briers in the hedge that have been the thorn in my flesh (literally) for many years are the best treats ever.

Con: Keeping a goat confined is like holding back the tide. It just doesn't happen. Darn goats and their climbing, escapist ways. She jumped over a 4' chain link kennel. From a stand-still, she leaped to the top of the fence, balanced briefly on the metal pipe, and leaped to the ground. She is also not too keen on staying in the pony pasture with the electric fence. While the ponies respect the fence, Bella was more like "meh, that's for mammals that care."



Pro: Getting a too-fun metal sculpture thingy at Salvation Armani today. It looks equally fab inside or out, and the price was $3.99.

Con: Losing the blue sticker tag off the metal sculpture thingy in the store and retracing every step I made while toting that thing around in my cart. The store won't sell anything that doesn't have a price on it, so I ended up hunting down a manager and asking them to re-sticker I while I entertained Micah and waited. The priceless part comes in when Micah pulled a weird blue sticker off my arm sometime after we got home. Yeh, it was.

Pro: In relation to that picture above, you'll notice the two-tone wall. Loving the colors. Just need to get the white trim up between them and it'll be quite snappy.

Con: In relation to the picture above, you'll notice the dark spots on the carpet in the front of the photo. It wasn't like that when it was installed. I loathe carpet. Really, I do. I cannot wait to replace it with anything BUT carpet.

Pro: Mocha Frappuccino. 'Nuff said.

Con: Paying for it. GAH!

Pro: Drive-in movies in the summertime. What better way to spend an evening of family togetherness than watching a movie on an outdoor big screen?

Con: The fact that Micah is still up at the butt-crack of dawn when he's kept up until midnight watching a movie.

Pro: The fish pond. Who knew I'd love it so much? I look forward to visiting Jeffrey and Denver ever morning and several times throughout the day just to check on them. (The kids named them, don't judge.)

Con: Pond maintenance. I suck at such things. The water is dirty, a tadpole mysteriously disappeared, the water testing will be the death of me, and the filter needs cleaned constantly. But the fish haven't died and it's been several weeks.

Pro: Summertime. If you listen closely you can probably hear me smiling.

Con: Flies. For the love of Pete, who keeps letting the door open?

Semi-Pro: Putting Luke in charge of fly duty. Hearing him say, "I waged a war on those flies" makes my heart proud.

Pro: The fact that summer still has two months between now and the start of school.

Con: Micah has Extended School Year starting next week. I am already not happy about that, and I know for a fact that he won't be. I'm thinking we'll get a week's worth before deciding we're both so over it.

Pro: Warm summer evenings on the patio, roasting s'mores and watching fireflies.

Con: Fifty-five degree evenings on the eve of July. What the heck?!

Postcard From the Brown Thumb Gardener

I am a lazy gardener. Sometimes this works in my favor and sometimes it doesn't so much. I buy plants through the year and lovingly place them in my garden at just the right spot, but it took me a few years to remember to mark their location in some way. Because of this unfortunate oversight, I would promptly weed them out of my garden the next spring when they started to come up. Goodbye, money!

I am also a cheap gardener. If I can get something for freap (free/cheap) I am all over it. After these many years, I have also learned that if I plant perennials in my large patio pots it saves me money each spring on annuals to fill them with. Last year my bright plan was to put hosta in a pot. That would look awesome, and it did. Unfortunately it froze over winter and failed to come back this spring. I had no idea that you could kill hosta. I do now. This year? I bought bamboo to put in a pot. I have doubts as to the wisdom of this, but it was cheap (hello, ebay) so it's not like it's much money wasted. Plus how fun would it be to watch something that grows up to four inches per day? The kids are gonna love that. Provided that it grows.

This year's gardening moment that will live in history is from my vegetable garden. Last year I failed clean it out after the growing season the way that I should have and just let all that plant stuff sit over winter. This included my row of unused onions. What I learned was that onions will not die off over a very cold and harsh Pennsylvania winter, but instead will grow from those already in the ground. This makes it look like I had a huge head start on onion planting and my neighbors were in awe of my on-the-ball gardening prowess. What a score! Not only did I have to buy onion sets this spring, but I finally got them to grow early for a change. Chalk one up to laziness. Go, me!

Now that my lettuce is big enough to eat, I've been pulling up an onion or two for salads. Turns out that leftover onions are tough and woody. Not so good in the eating department. So much for Go, Laziness! Next year I'll go to the store and buy onion sets like everyone else.

Live and learn.

(Can you believe that spellcheck doesn't like the word hosta? Hosta. Hosta is a plant that every gardener can recognize, and before this year I thought it was impossible to kill. Get with the program, spellcheck.)

Parenting Micah

I have recently discovered a book called Fasten Your Seatbelts. It's a crash course on Down syndrome for brothers and sisters. I figured that it was a must-buy because even if the kids didn't read it, I may gain insight on how to help the kids deal with Micah-related issues.

Oh. My. Word. The book is eerily all about Micah.

There is a section where kids wrote in and had their questions answered. Questions like:

Why is my 18 year old brother obsessed with watching the same movies over and over?

and

How can I get my 16 year old brother to understand the importance of modesty? He's always walking around in his underwear when company is over.

and

Why does my brother always have temper tantrums?

and

My brother is a perfectionist - everything has to be "just so." Why does he have to be so stubborn?

and

Sometimes I feel as though my brother pretends he doesn't understand in order to get out of doing things he doesn't want to do. How can I tell if he really doesn't understand or if he's trying to pull a fast one?


Okay, first of all, we are so hosed. Second, it's a bit reassuring to know that we are not the only ones dealing with issues like this. And third, we are so hosed. If sixteen and eighteen year olds are still exhibiting the behavior that Micah is, how on earth are we going to have the stamina to battle this for a lifetime?

God, give us the strength. You gave us the child, after all.

I take comfort in all of this though. We hear so often that Micah is so spoiled, that we treat him very much like the baby of the family, that he just needs disciplined. While I will be the first to concur that Micah is spoiled (and by spoiled I mean he gets away with things the other kids never did, not that he never has to listen to us), there are also many areas where that's not the case. Obviously, we are not first-time parents. We've parented three other kids before Micah happened along and we know that kids left to their own devices are out of control and cranky. We know that the parents must be the parents. We know that kids thrive on boundaries. And yet, Micah came with a different set of rules that changed everything that we knew. Unless you have a child with a disability, and maybe specifically one with a mental handicap, there is absolutely no understanding this. There is also no describing it, so I won't even try.

It's so reassuring to know that this is Downs. This is not us being the worst parents ever.

I remember clearly the time that we moved him out of his crib and into a toddler bed. I did this because he was climbing out of his crib, not because I thought it would be fun to have him grow up. We had mucho difficulty keeping him in his bed at naptime and bedtime. Someone who was very well meaning gave the advice that we just needed to discipline him every time he got out of his bed. This is exactly what I'd done with my other kids, who learned after the second time I returned them to their big kid beds that they needed to stay there. But I knew that Micah would be different, and was hesitant to try. And yet, I had guilt because Micah was not very obedient in so many areas, and this reflected badly on me as his mom.

Forty five minutes later I stopped returning him to his bed because I realized that he just wasn't understanding the concept. Either that or he was just more stubborn than I was. Either way, I was getting nowhere with it. Micah came with his own set of rules, and that day I realized that nobody else understands what it's like to parent him. After that I chose to feel no guilt when someone points out that my child is spoiled. I chose to ignore well meaning family and friends when they tell me that I just need to discipline him when he doesn't listen. I chose to be his parent, and do my job guilt-free.

If someone has a problem with my spoiled, undisciplined son, I have decided that it is clearly their problem and not mine. Parenting is not the easiest job in the world to begin with. Parenting a child with Down syndrome takes that difficult job of parenting and adds several new dimensions. We're simply doing the best that we can, just like every other parent out there.

Saturday Shots, Garden Edition

I Had Our Social Status Wrong All This Time

When we moved into our current location, we had grand plans to build a house. Turns out that putting in a septic system (hola, sand mound!), well and driveway cost a leetle bit more than we anticipated. Since we chose not to be up to our eyeballs in debt, we instead purchased a very (very, very, very) used single-wide trailer and put off plans of building for a few years. Long story short, those few years grew into nearly a decade before we proceeded with our grand plan of a "real" house.

In that decade, we had no end of fun making white trailer trash jokes about ourselves. We're not afraid to embrace reality.

After we built, I had strict rules about what Sam (the collector) could and could not leave lying about the property. (Which were promptly disregarded.) I figured since the trailer was gone, our trashy image should be hauled off right along with it. Turns out, that wasn't the case. Being sans trailer, we figure we have simply upgraded to redneck status. I'm just calling it like I see it.

The whole potty training of the smallest son is still not coming along that well, but I'm still not too discouraged. He is, after all, only 6. One can't expect miracles. (Ahem.) The whole "keep clothing on at all costs" scheme has gone right down the tubes since potty training is so much easier when the boy is unhindered.

See how that redneck status fits us well? The boy runs around nekkid all day long. And we allow it. He's very tan and I'm a bit envious.

A few times he's managed to do a Big Push outside and I am not so deluded to think that I'll be able to get him to a toilet in time, so instead I stand over him (or yell across the yard) "you should really poop in the potty." It's effective, let me tell you.

NOT.

After such incidents, we take full advantage of the fact that he's outdoors and we're secluded here (mostly) and I simply hose his nethers out and send him on his way, with yet another admonishment to get to the potty next time he has to go.

We are SO rednecks. It's just who we are.

But then it occurred to me while hosing him down with so-warm water that it must be almost pleasant to have a bidet right there in the great outdoors to follow you around and clean you off at your beck and call. And the word bidet got me thinking about the French, who all but invented the nude beaches. And that's when it hit me. We're not rednecks, we're classy.

Micah, the nudist with a personal outdoor bidet, has singlehandedly elevated our status from American redneck to classy French.

Little Boy Bliss

Micah discovered the nearest thing to nirvana this week. He combined his golf ball obsession with his jumping obsession, and the result can best be described in pictures. Unfortunately, the pictures don't adequately show the sheer bliss on his face. I wish I could have captured that forever.

Bible Lessons From the Land of Ur

In Sunday School we were learning about Abraham, way back when his name was just plain Abram. We learned that God told him to leave the Land of Ur and move his family and belongings to a new place. A strange, foreign place that was as yet unnamed by God.

The kids were fascinated that God would move him out of Ur. Being the Land of Pirates, it must be uber fun. (After all, it's not that far a stretch in a first grader's mind to jump from 'Urrrr, me Mateys' to 'Arrrrrr, me Mateys.') The kids spent the rest of class with their pointer finger crooked into a hook.

So there you have it. The first and only Biblical account of Pirates.

The Bella Goat

Today Josh turned 12 years old. (The kids, they're growing up. *sniff*) In honor of the occasion, we presented him with a gift of the four legged variety.

He was thrilled. Everyone was thrilled, except for possibly the mama who forgot to charge her camera battery and didn't get any pictures of the kids playing with the goat once she was let out of her crate.





Her name is Isabella, Bella for short. When thinking of names, we thought this was very cute. (And it is, for a goat.) We know a little girl in the neighborhood by that name, and she has goats, so it was even more fitting. It wasn't until just right now, writing this post, that I realized that I know another Isabella who goes by Bella. We'll pretend that she doesn't really exist, because she doesn't. But we at least know that the goat wasn't named after HER.

Oh, and Bella is covered in ticks that have happily jumped ship onto our clothing. She's really a gift that likes to give.

How did we get so far from the birthday boy?

Anyhoo... Happy birthday, Josh. We love you, man.

Celebrating Father's Day, Micah Style

While I was sitting in church on Sunday morning, Becky came to tell me that Micah needed a new diaper. I figured that he was dirty, but then she said that his *tab broke and his diaper fell off. He was having difficulty keeping his shorts up with nothing underneath. The poor skinny kid has problems like that on occasion. I was grinning as I walked out of the auditorium to get him a diaper. I found it rather amusing that he was walking around with his drawers slipping.

(*The last shipment of diapers we received are obviously defective. The velcro tabs tear off after they're on him, leaving him hanging on one side. Since this is obviously uncomfortable, he reaches inside his pants and rips that thing off. It's a nice effect, especially when we're in public. I've tried calling Pampers to report this case of rejects, but all I ever get is a message saying that they're very busy and could I please call back another time? And then they hang up on me. Nice customer service, that, Pampers.)

After church we went out to eat with Sam's parents. Being Father's Day, a lot of other people went out to eat as well; the restaurant was more crowded than usual. This made it all the more fun when the tab broke on Micah's diaper (again, welcome to our life - and we have a whole defective case) so he dropped his shorts to better rid himself of that diaper. He did this while standing in the aisle with his back turned to the entire restaruant.

Our boy, mastering the fine art of mooning at the tender age of 6. An entire restaurant at a clip; there's a record.

Happy Father's Day

These kids are the reason we celebrate Father's Day.

They are so much like you, I have to wonder how much I have in them other than carrying them for nine months.

Their personalities are all their own, though.

And each one loves you very, very much.

Happy Father's Day.

Pigs & Co.

The 4-H club that we belong to hosts a mid-summer livestock show. This means that it's mandatory that we help set up, clean up, and be there all day to help with the show. Good thing that we're livestock kind of people and I don't mind. Let me tell you, it was a loooooooong day last Saturday. I am so glad that my in-laws watched Luke and Micah for us because that would have made the day even longer. And not very fun, either.

So last weekend we roused these two from their slumber and took them to the show. If we're going to be there all day anyway, we may as well have the kids show the pigs.

The kids didn't do as well as they could have,


but the vet (who got the pigs for us) declared that they would do much better in August at the fair. (I have to trust that he knows what he's talking about.) He claims that it's all feed that makes the difference and two weeks before the fair we'll switch over to the stuff that'll make them winners. If we switch over too soon they won't be prime for the fair. I am beginning to wonder if he really does know what he's talking about. Then again, if I'd start eating salads daily I'd probably change my physique as well.

The pigs DID good in the ring, despite the fact that they didn't LOOK good in the ring. If you'll notice, there is no restraining device on the pigs at all. You show a pig by walking along beside it. The stick is to gently guide them where you want them to go. Most of the time, there is at least one pig running wildly back and forth and in circles just because it can. Our pigs were not THOSE pigs last weekend.



Next year I think Micah might need to tag along with us and venture into the show ring himself. The PeeWee division is The Cutest. And considering that they are expected to have older, competent helpers with them, it'll all be good. (Yes, that little girl in the red is an older, competent helper. You'd be shocked at the kids that can handle livestock like pros.) (And incidentally, that is not a good looking lamb. GAH!)


Being originally from the livestock show world, I know all the weirdness that goes on. People showing cows, horses, sheep, goats and pigs have a penchant for wearing gaudy amounts of silver jewelry and belt bling. It's natural to see in a showring, shockingly enough. What one doesn't see are pearls. This girl raided the wrong jewelry box. THAT is weird. (THAT is also a very good looking lamb. It placed very well. It has nothing to do with color either.)



This will be our next purchase. We are seriously contemplating a goat to keep the weeds eaten off in the pony pasture. From there it'll be just a teeny, tiny step to get one for the kids to show next year.

Cute, isn't he? According to his owner's sister, he's also The Devil Himself. We're hoping to get one that's not so devilish, but I hear devilish is a good description for goats. I'll let you know after we get ours.

This happened to be the Grand Champion goat of the day. He belongs to our vet's daughter, but was shown by a complete stranger because said daughter was away for the weekend and her sisters wanted nothing to do with Devil Goat. He's THAT bad. Looking at his innocent and adorable little face, I just find that so hard to believe.

Because I have a very large mouth and tend to open it on occasion, I was drafted as official photographer for the show. This meant that even after our kids were done showing, I still had to stick around waiting for the champions to be named. Mostly because while I was taking pictures for our club, the newspaper reporter spotted me and The Rebel and asked if I could forward her pictures of the champion pigs. She couldn't stay that long and would really appreciate it. One of these days, I'll learn to keep my big mouth shut and The Rebel hidden.

I Blame the Faux Finish

Because of my so-fun painting project, I had to make an unscheduled trip to Lowe's today. While looking at paint chips, Micah decided to run up and down the aisles, round some corners and generally do everything in his boy powers to not stay at my side. I rounded him up, herded him back, and scolded and admonished him until I thought my head would explode. When I walked around the paint counter to see the other paint displays, he chose to lag behind, dawdle and piddle. I figured he needed a lesson in Instant Willing Obedience so I simply walked away from him when he refused to come. I kept the eyes in the back of my head on high alert for him, and watched as he walked around the counter, didn't see us, and silently wet his diaper in fear.

He lost his mom.

Being the stellar mom that I am, I chose to let him stand there freaking for a few seconds before I quietly called his name and made him realize that I was right in front of him. He was visibly relieved. Lesson learned, harmlessly.

I had taken Luke along with me, and he had spotted the Kid Workshop poster at the front of the store. He was very excited about the possibility of making a pirate ship and a pirate treasure box. Can you even imagine? How fun would that be?! Can I go? Huh? Huh? When is it? Who's bringing me? Where do they do it in the store? Will I get to keep the things that I make? And while I was answering the thousand and six questions on the Kid Workshops, Micah rounded a corner. I saw him walk away and realized that his lesson had not been learned. By the time I walked to the end of the aisle (which was all of about four steps) Micah was nowhere in sight. He couldn't have gone far in that small space of time, so Luke and I walked up and down the center aisle, looking down side aisles. Nada. Luke thought he saw Micah's crocs walking toward the restrooms so we headed there. Zip. Seeing as how the restrooms are right at the front of the store (where the paint section is) I sent Luke out into the parking lot to check. Zilch. We walked up and down the main aisle once more before I realized that by this time Micah could be anywhere in the store.

I lost my son.

I informed the closest employee and a Code Adam was called. For my son. Because I let him walk off. They asked what he was wearing and I told them. They asked how old he was, and in an effort to be as helpful as possible so that he could be found quickly, I said "six, but he looks more like four. He can't talk."

It was only a minute before he was found. We were both very much relieved, my lost son and I.

And after it was all over, the thought that lingered in my mind was that, while giving his description, I failed to mention that he has Down syndrome. Funny how we just don't define him by that.

You Can't Even Blame HGTV

While I love my dogs, there are pitfalls to owning and raising them.

Pretend that you're shocked.

My vet bill is one of those pitfalls. Actually, the vet's office itself is a pit that I randomly throw money into. Or maybe it's the vet that takes my money. We're now buying pig feed directly from him instead of the feed mill, and the last time he brought two bags out he was rather clueless on how much to charge us. He said he'd bill us, but that's been two weeks and we're in need of more again. I prefer forking over Hamiltons rather than Grants. And we're nearing Grant status, I'm sure.

Another pitfall of having dogs is the mess they make. I am not Martha Stewart, nor have I ever been. Couple that with the fact that we have four kids, eight dogs, and live in the country with four acres of grass clippings and a perpetual landscape project going on complete with tons of dirt and/or mud, the house that is four years old looks like the homeless have taken it over. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.

I have invested in this handy little invention called the steam mop, courtesy of Haan, and have fallen in love with that thing. My floors are sanitized frequently with little effort. Sanitized, mind you, not just cleaned. And as I'm steaming my floors clean, the dogs are walking behind me enjoying the warmth on their wee paw pads, leaving their paths of destruction drying in their wake. I just can't win. I may as well paint paw prints on the floor and join them.

Come to think of it, that might not be a bad idea.

And then I had that brilliant idea last fall to put the puppies in the wire crates instead of the plastic travel type. Hoo-boy did that backfire on me. We keep dog crates in the dining room because while it's very much front and center where we can keep an eye on puppies at all times, it's also very much in a private little corner so that the mom-dog doesn't feel overwhelmed with the busy house living around her newborns.

Those wire crates allowed more light and life in for the puppies, and it also allowed them to reach right through the wire and claw holes in our drywall. Big holes. Holes that are glaringly plaster white against yellow paint. Dumb dogs. I fear fixing those holes because even if I have paint left over to match that yellow, what are the odds of it still matching? Four years of no window treatments (hey, I like light, okay?) have most likely faded those walls a tad.

I have a plan. It's called chair rail, and I'll paint the dining room walls red underneath that. I am genius. Sam has a plan to make classy raised panel squares under the chair rail. He, too, is genius.

And inspired by our strokes of genius (or was it simply that we had strokes?) we are also attempting to paint the living room walls in a funky faux leather affect. It'll either look chic and classy, or like the dogs rolled in feces and rubbed along the walls. While one is very much desirable, the other most certainly is not.

Wish us luck. We love our dogs, but we don't want our home decorated in Shades of Poo.

Summer is Time for Adventure

Today as I was walking by the stream I noticed something moving. Turns out that we have a crayfish living in our waterway, and he was rather large. It also turns out that he was very much stuck in a length of string that he wrapped around himself. Crayfish aren't the brightest like that. Kind of like the dimwit that would put string into a stream to begin with. This facilitated a rescue but instead of calling the Wonder Pets I called Josh, because every 11 year old boy would love to be in on the danger end of a wild animal rescue. We cut string and more string and were finally able to lift him out of the water to carefully unwind him. For pay, that one-armed bugger pinched me. I learned today that the claw of a crayfish has teeth-like things in the ends to slice into their prey and hold on. Darn, that thing hurt. It drew blood. With just one pincher.

My finger still hurts. It's probably infected from the thing that lives in dirty water and created an open wound.

The big kids went to the farm to unload hay for Pappy. Funny how they find that job to be a privilege when I would have seriously contemplated cutting off my own right arm to get out of it as a kid. Micah wanted to go along with them, so Daddy humored him with a walk across the road. When I went to join them, I found Micah in Pappy's office. Pappy used to milk dairy cows back in the day. That day ended fourteen years ago when he had a hip replacement. His office has sat untouched in the front corner of the barn for the past decade and a half. Cobwebs and dust have settled on everything, making it look very much like a scene Indiana Jones would stumble upon in an underground passageway. Micah was pretending to be Indy himself. He found a framed certificate of recognition sitting on the desk, and scraped away at the grime until he saw letters. You would think he had found the Holy Grail the way his face lit up. He sat and scraped at that framed treasure for the longest time, marveling at each new letter that he was able to expose. I sat and watched him scrape in fascination, marveling at how kids find the greatest treasures in the simplest things.

We loaded into the truck - Micah, Sam and I - and drove to the quarry for several tons of limestone dust. Micah was not a happy camper, being pulled away from his treasure the way he was, but one look at the super sized loader coming at our truck was enough to flip his attitude switch. That loader was the stuff that little boys' dreams are made of, and it was right there, right beside us, dumping dirty stuff into our truck. Wow. Just wow. If he could talk, he would have been saying, "did you SEE that?!"

We did. We saw our boy being a very normal little boy today. There are so many days that an extra chromosome makes zero difference whatsoever. Today was one of them.

Fear Factor, Parenting Style

Do you remember way back before you had kids, and watched other people's kids do things that would freak you out? Things like pick their noses and eat it, or spit some chewed up nastiness into their mother's hand, or share their ice cream cone back and forth with the dog? And remember how you vowed that if you ever had kids that stuff would never happen in your family because you would be more on top of things as a mother?

Yeh.

Today we had the awesome summer lunch of grilled hot dogs and hamburgers. We ate at the picnic table because why have outdoor dining facilities if you don't use them in warm weather? Heaven knows that warm weather in the mountains is short enough as it is and you've got to take advantage of the forty days available to you.

So we're at the table and Micah sees an onion slice on my hot dog. The boy loves raw onions. Weird. He eats them, slice after slice, usually interspersed with things like cinnamon rolls at CiCi's. Even more weird. But hey, each to his own.

Micah snagged that onion slice right off my hot dog and popped it into his mouth like it belonged to him. Sam and I kinda looked at each other and grinned. Kids. There's no privacy or ownership in parenthood. Everything you have, including time, belongs to everyone else once you birth a child.

Micah chewed up that onion, and then decided that he wasn't in the mood for onions that day. He promptly spit it back out on my hot dog and continued eating his own lunch like nothing happened. I thought Sam was going to die laughing.

I just finished eating the hot dog because I'm a mom. That's what we do.

Colorful Voices Are The Best

Potty training The Boy is coming along rather, um, well, okay it's not really. But we're trying, so that has to count for something. He's had a few wins and we're grateful for those, but he's had a lot more losses. I won't be discouraged though, because every potty training newbie starts this way.

I took the kids to Burger King for lunch the other day and was brave (or stupid) enough to take Micah in underpants. He did very well while we were there and stayed dry the whole time. We even stayed long enough to have dessert, so it isn't like we rushed out of there in an effort to keep him from having an accident all over the restaurant. But one's luck can't hold out indefinitely so I thought it might behoove me to try to get him to go potty before we loaded into the van. Everything around here is rural, and Burger King is on the most rural end of town - adjacent to a farmer's hay field - so I figured just opening van doors to shield him from the public would be sufficient. Not that The Nudist would mind, but we need to protect the other kids from embarrassment, you know. Micah didn't have to go, but he did try and that was good.

On the way home we stopped at the farmer's market to buy strawberries and lettuce. As we were getting in the van to come home Micah grabbed the front of his pants and gave me a knowing look. Bingo! He needs to go potty! By all means, drop your drawers and go. It was just us there and the Mennonite family were all inside the shed, so nobody saw us

Only he didn't have to go. He was just taught a few minutes before at Burger King that if you're wearing underpants, you have to drop your pants and grab yourself before you can get into the van. Oh, the joys.

And then I had the revelation that he can't tell me when he has to go potty. Taking him into public will be difficult to say the least. At home he's independent enough to just go when he needs to (someday...) but what if we're driving? We've all had that moment when we're on the toll road and the newly trained toddler suddenly has to pee Right. Now. and you're forced to make him hold it until there's a pulloff, praying all the while that there won't be a puddle in the carseat in the meantime. Or maybe that's just our family?

But anyhoo... Micah can't just tell us that he needs to go potty, so Becky suggested that we get an RV just for the purpose of potty training Micah. Yeh, we would be That Family that travels to the grocery store in an RV just to allow their child the independence of going potty when he needs to without having to inform us of the need beforehand.

I thought of an even more practical route: The Green Voice. I'll have to program the front page to say "I have to go potty" to save us all some headaches. Go, Prentke-Romich, making potty training that much easier for nonverbal kids.

Saturday Shots, The Fish Chronicles

We got fish for the outdoor pond.

Guess who finds them to be fascinating?



By the time this is done and they get to move out,




most likely their life will be ended.

Put the phone down, it's an airsoft gun.

Mythical Creatures and Other Parenting Fine Print

Luke lost a tooth this week when his knee connected with his mouth while coming down the slide. He was just fortunate enough to catch it in his hand rather than have it roll to the bottom of the slide and fall off the edge into the gravel, never to be found again.

He came home from the playground, asked for his tooth, and jumped with both feet into full Tooth Fairy Mode. He asked if he should place the tooth under his pillow, but remembering that once (or three times) the Tooth Fairy actually forgot to visit so we resorted to putting the tooth in an envelope on the door, I suggested that we try that again.

That darn Tooth Fairy can't be relied upon to do even the simplest tasks. Like her job.

Luke is an overachieving little guy, and simply putting the tooth in an envelope wasn't enough for him. Noooo, he decided to take full advantage of his contact with the Magical Side. He wrote a note to the Tooth Fairy, complete with questions. These questions were things like

I heard you're about 1 1/2 inches tall. What is the truth?

and

How do you get under the pillows?

and

Do you have wings?

and

How do you know which person lost a tooth?

Yeh, those questions. And then he gave me the letter and the pencil and said that if I had any unanswered Tooth Fairy questions that I could feel free to write them down and finally get some answers. Except, if I came up with a stellar question then I'd have to come up with an even more stellar answer, so I said that I thought that his questions were stellar and I couldn't think of any to top them.

He thanked me.

If only answering those things was going to be that easy. It's the fine print of parenthood that one just doesn't give much thought to until the time that the fine print comes around to bite you in the ever-expanding derriere.

If Only The Kids Were Home for Summer

Sometimes I wonder when life will slow down and let me off. Most times, though, I realize that this roller coaster is my life and it's not going to stop.

Despite being so exhausted that I had a debilitating migraine yesterday, I chose to attend Ladies Night Out and joined a fewteen other ladies for an overindulgence in chocolate and ice cream. Life doesn't get much better. Unless, of course, you're so tired that you have a debilitating migraine and then you get sick from the overindulgence in chocolate.

I came home, exhausted, and went right to bed. I then proceeded to lay there wishing that my stomach contents weren't turning into a lake of hot lava and threatening to erupt like a volcano. If only one could sleep when they're exhausted, they wouldn't be so exhausted.

Just as I was drifting into slumber, I heard a distinct knock at the door at 12:30 o'darkness. I woke Sam who said, "I don't hear anything" while simultaneously snoring. I roused him sufficiently on the second knock and he ran downstairs (after getting dressed) to be informed by a kindly neighbor that our ponies were out. Gotta love that. It's a wonder they weren't hit on the road because black horses, 12:30 o'darkness, and a very foggy night aren't a good combination.

Josh had to be at Career Camp at 8:45 this morning, Micah had meltdown in McDonald's because I had the nerve to ask him to eat before playing, Luke knocked a tooth out at the playground, my stomach lava is still bubbling viciously, Becky's friend has to be picked up and they both have to be dropped off for play practice, Luke's friend needs returned home and Luke is living in permanent meltdown mode from being overtired himself, Micah's hand is black from picking up a freshly painted airsoft gun (a play prop, people, don't spaz), the newly acquired goldfish are traumatized from floating ducks and protruding hands constantly being inserted into the bowl, and there's a lake of wet on my bathroom floor because HOLY COW I had no idea that little boys COULD pee that much while actively trying not to potty train.

And yet, I'm soooo glad that it's summertime. Despite a crazy (yet normal) day, and maybe just to buck the scary trend that I've been witnessing among moms, I'm going to go out on a limb here and reveal the fact that I missed my kids while they were in school.

My kids are home for summer. Life truly is good.

Useless Trivia

Girls, don't you just absolutely want to blow a gasket when your undergarments misbehave? Your underpants should stay under things. (Low rise jeans aren't always your best friend. I'm just saying.) Your bra should faithfully hold and support with nary a complaint, pinch or poke. And we won't even get into the horrors of pantyhose and girdles. (Does anyone even still wear those things?) (Okay, I'll admit to the girdle, but the kids drove me to it. Those darn fat rolls and stomach flab refuse to go away after childbirth - what's a mom expected to do?!)

Here are some Important Pieces of Information that I have found helpful and feel I should pass on. Cringe if you must but then be honest and tell me that you've done at least one of these yourself.

1. Underpants. Wear them. I know going Commando would eliminate riding up, riding down, wedgie-world and other unspeakable things but no-panties is a definite no-go. And here's the part where you'll want to reach through your screen and smack me upside the head. Granny panties are a woman's best friend. There is enough material in them to cover things that need covered. (There's enough material in mine to make a small tent, but we'll discuss that another day.) Nothing is worse than having a cheek fall out from the bottom, or a crack attack above the waist band of your jeans. And if you've got the belly flab from pregnancy, welcome to the club. Low rise panties let all this hang over and out and it ain't pretty. Those Grannies may not have not have purdy panties but they know how to keep things hidden that shouldn't be seen. Take a tip from the older and wiser generation and ditch the things with less coverage.

2. Bras. Again, wear them. For the love of all that is modest and decent (and the souls of teenage boys everywhere) keep those girls in confinement. The last thing you want to be known as is The Mom Who Lets It All Hang Out. Not anyone's best image, let me tell you. Getting a good fit in a bra is a hard thing to do. Trust me, I know. Aside from getting the numbers and letters to fit in all the right places, you've got cup coverage to deal with, number of hooks needed to hold things together, seam lines right across the boobage, underwires that poke and so many other problems that my head spins thinking about them.

Here's what to do. Find a bra that works for you (good luck with that, by the way) and then go buy a dozen. Do not wear them all at once, you've gotta space those babies out and hope that your boob shape and/or size does not change in the meantime. Not reasonable? Well at least I tried.

Here is one little tidbit of information that I've learned that is pass-along-able though. Those underwires can be a girl's best friend. Seriously. But when they turn on you and start poking fun, it's not so much a good time anymore. In the past I have removed the offender with great success. (No, I don't take my bra off.) If you make a tiny slit in the seam that holds that wire in place you can slide that U-shaped piece of torture right out of there. Of course this means that you've got Perky and her sister Droopy unless you do a double dissection. But there are some days that it's preferable to walk around saggy than to be poked. You'll have to make that call. Of course this means that your bra has officially died and you won't be wearing that one in public anymore, but it's a sacrifice that must be made.

If only all our days could be free of undergarment woes, but alas we are women and apparently it's our cross to bear.

Pool is Spelled With a "P"

Luke had a friend over to play, because when school is out it's all about seeing who can go and who can come. Micah was in his glory because he loves nothing more than to hang with his siblings peeps. Thankfully, said peeps are cool with him hanging with them.

Being a very beautiful summer day, the boys played outside all day. The entire morning was spent organizing rocks. Not special rocks, just plain old rocks. While I'd love to laugh at them for that, I have an affinity for rocks myself so I can't. After the rocks, and after lunch, they deemed it so hot that it was definitely swimming weather. So they swam.

While I was weeding my garden, I overheard the conversation go like this.

Luke's friend: Micah is peeing!

Luke: Ewwww. He peed in the pool.

Luke's friend: Don't swim in it the rest of the day. And this time I mean it.

I wonder how long they deem it necessary to wait before re-entering the water?

Bible Lessons

In Sunday School we're learning about the missionary Paul and his trusty sidekick, Silas. I was telling the kids how Paul was arrested for preaching and how people didn't want him in their cities. According to the account in Acts, there was an angry mob after him at one point.

Luke said, "what was after him?"

An angry mob. A mob is a lot of people.

"Oh, I thought it was an angry mom."

Yeh, well, that would have been way worse, trust me.


Kids. Where on earth do they come up with these things? And what kind of a testament is that to my parenting skills? Geez.

Saturday Shots

Jump

Smile

Empty

Pouty

Caught

It's Rather Random

Have I mentioned that we are morons? We are. And apparently morons that simply can't be taught. We started out innocently with an acoustic guitar because every family should own one. I'm not sure why, but it's an unwritten rule. We graduated up to drums because it's the height of stupidity as parents of four children. All I can say is thank goodness for a basement, and the fact that I like to hear the sound of drums. Tonight we've added a bass guitar to the mix. Maybe we're subconsciously trying to get the kids to start a rock band. There are those who would call us the cool parents, but I know better. We're simply deranged. I'm not afraid to call it as I see it.

In other news, Micah finished kindergarten today. His class had a clothespin auction to win the leftover classroom snacks. He came home with goldfish crackers, Cookie Crisp cereal, potato chips and animal crackers. He was a happy boy. He also gave his aide a parting gift as he peed on her while she tried to take him potty. What a fun last memory that is.

The aide gave me an inside tip that I would want A Certain Homeroom Teacher for Micah next year and that I should call in to the school to request her. I did. The school assigns all Life Skills students to one teacher, and it turns out that it's A Certain Teacher's turn for them next year, so it looks like we'll get a gem. At least he won't be excluded from events.

It's been cold and rainy. That's a fun way to start summer vacation for the kids. (The other three kids are out tomorrow.) Turns out, it's just cold and rainy right where we live. We drove to Pittsburgh for the guitar tonight and it's 15 degrees warmer and sunny there. Aren't we the lucky ones? I'm just glad that I got my garden planted last week because there is no way I'd get into it with all the mud. Plus, who wants to garden in a parka and winter gloves? Stupid weather in the mountains.



And yes, I know that the boys need haircuts.