Here's Your Sign
Micah knows a good many signs, but he doesn't use them as a primary means of communication. We don't push them a lot because in reality the majority of the populace doesn't know sign language so he wouldn't be able to effectively communicate with it anyway. Still, there are some things that are very good to know, like please and thank-you, and potty. When he potty trained (people, he's completely 100% out of diapers for ever and ever AMEN) we were sure that everyone in his circle of contacts knew the sign for potty so as to avoid accidents and embarrasments.
Being a rung or two above simple minded, I quickly saw that this would have benefits outside of Micah keeping his pants dry. Like the time Sam and I were at Lowe's. He was headed through the parking lot to the contractor's entrance and I was headed to the main entrance. He yelled across the lot to ask where I was heading, so I gave him the sign for potty. Here's how it went down.
Where are you going?
*me, signing potty*
What? I asked where you're going to be.
*me, signing potty*
What are you doing?
I'm going to the restroom. Thanks for making me yell that across the parking lot.
Oh. Yeh, you were. Sorry.
Being a rung or two above simple minded, I quickly saw that this would have benefits outside of Micah keeping his pants dry. Like the time Sam and I were at Lowe's. He was headed through the parking lot to the contractor's entrance and I was headed to the main entrance. He yelled across the lot to ask where I was heading, so I gave him the sign for potty. Here's how it went down.
Where are you going?
*me, signing potty*
What? I asked where you're going to be.
*me, signing potty*
What are you doing?
I'm going to the restroom. Thanks for making me yell that across the parking lot.
Oh. Yeh, you were. Sorry.
The Number of the Holidays
2 - the number of Thanksgiving dinners that I cooked and hosted this weekend.
90 - the number of minutes I stood in the checkout line at Walmart, clutching Micah's beloved toys in my greedy paws, waiting to pay a ridiculously low price for them.
9 - the number of new Woody dolls that we now own. Micah is clueless and he'll remain that way. His stash is depleted and he's on his last usable doll. This new stash is cheaper than anything we've scored on eBay, and should last a year or so.
5 - the number of brand new baby spaniel puppies gifted to us on Thanksgiving night.
3 - the number of hours of sleep that I got the next morning to compensate for being up all night.
0 - the number of gifts left to buy. And I took advantage of being up all night after Thanksgiving to wrap as well. I feel like an overachiever, and I'm loving it.
4 - the number of Christmas trees I have up so far. They're in various stages of decorated. Don't worry, I haven't achieved that much yet.
0 - Micah's new favorite number. It makes him laugh when he hears it. For real.
2 - the number of days that Josh will get to hunt this week because he got the All Clear from the doctor. He's beyond excited.
3 - the number of mornings that my MIL had Micah from the overnight and I got to sleep in this weekend. Glorious. Simply glorious.
90 - the number of minutes I stood in the checkout line at Walmart, clutching Micah's beloved toys in my greedy paws, waiting to pay a ridiculously low price for them.
9 - the number of new Woody dolls that we now own. Micah is clueless and he'll remain that way. His stash is depleted and he's on his last usable doll. This new stash is cheaper than anything we've scored on eBay, and should last a year or so.
5 - the number of brand new baby spaniel puppies gifted to us on Thanksgiving night.
3 - the number of hours of sleep that I got the next morning to compensate for being up all night.
0 - the number of gifts left to buy. And I took advantage of being up all night after Thanksgiving to wrap as well. I feel like an overachiever, and I'm loving it.
4 - the number of Christmas trees I have up so far. They're in various stages of decorated. Don't worry, I haven't achieved that much yet.
0 - Micah's new favorite number. It makes him laugh when he hears it. For real.
2 - the number of days that Josh will get to hunt this week because he got the All Clear from the doctor. He's beyond excited.
3 - the number of mornings that my MIL had Micah from the overnight and I got to sleep in this weekend. Glorious. Simply glorious.
1 - boy who can dress himself and pack to go to grandma's.
Also, 1 boy who was re-dressed by mom before he left the house looking like that in snowy weather.
Photography School 101
Remember this photo? The one that followed the Rule of Thirds?
I've got a confession to make about it. That day was not a planned "lets take portraits" day. What that means is that the boys dressed themselves in whatever the heck they thought was good that day (i.e., printed shirts). So I'll share a trick that I learned a few years back when inspiration struck.
Turn their shirts around.
The solid colored tees make a much better photo than shirts with distracting designs on the front. While I knew this worked to make the picture look better, I didn't know that it would tickle the boys' funny bones. I got some good smiles before the fun faded. Bonus. (This shot was post-hilarity. But still good.)
And the photo in my header? Same thing. It works wonders, this trick does.
I wonder how this would work in a large group setting, like the entire extended family at a holiday gathering? Heh.
I've got a confession to make about it. That day was not a planned "lets take portraits" day. What that means is that the boys dressed themselves in whatever the heck they thought was good that day (i.e., printed shirts). So I'll share a trick that I learned a few years back when inspiration struck.
Turn their shirts around.
The solid colored tees make a much better photo than shirts with distracting designs on the front. While I knew this worked to make the picture look better, I didn't know that it would tickle the boys' funny bones. I got some good smiles before the fun faded. Bonus. (This shot was post-hilarity. But still good.)
And the photo in my header? Same thing. It works wonders, this trick does.
I wonder how this would work in a large group setting, like the entire extended family at a holiday gathering? Heh.
Giving Thanks
At our church's Thanksgiving Eve service, the pastor asked what we were thankful for. He handed the microphone to the speaker so that everyone could hear and share in the blessings. The kids were in service with us, and Micah was busily entertained on his iPod Touch. Luke, however had something to be thankful for.
After Luke spoke, he handed the microphone back. Micah handed his Touch to daddy. Daddy gave me The Look, and we both knew that Micah just had a light bulb moment.
If you raise your hand, you get a crack at the microphone.
If he got that microphone, we were all in trouble. Micah has a voice big enough to fill the entire sanctuary without the aid of a PA system, so with that boost the windows were sure to rattle. I'm not even joking. I wish I were.
Micah clung onto the pew in front of him, eagerly awaiting his turn. Someone else spoke, the microphone was handed around, the pastor asked if anyone else had something to say and Micah's arm shot straight up in the air. We cringed inwardly. Becky cringed outwardly and braced herself in anticipation.
Micah grasped the microphone, held it right up to his mouth, and oh-so-quietly whispered, "I'm thankful for church."
I know that's what he said, and as I turned to Sam in amazement, I saw the tears in his eyes. Afterward, several people came up to us and said they heard the exact same thing.
God works in big ways and small. And what's small to you is absolutely huge to us. We're thankful for Micah.
After Luke spoke, he handed the microphone back. Micah handed his Touch to daddy. Daddy gave me The Look, and we both knew that Micah just had a light bulb moment.
If you raise your hand, you get a crack at the microphone.
If he got that microphone, we were all in trouble. Micah has a voice big enough to fill the entire sanctuary without the aid of a PA system, so with that boost the windows were sure to rattle. I'm not even joking. I wish I were.
Micah clung onto the pew in front of him, eagerly awaiting his turn. Someone else spoke, the microphone was handed around, the pastor asked if anyone else had something to say and Micah's arm shot straight up in the air. We cringed inwardly. Becky cringed outwardly and braced herself in anticipation.
Micah grasped the microphone, held it right up to his mouth, and oh-so-quietly whispered, "I'm thankful for church."
I know that's what he said, and as I turned to Sam in amazement, I saw the tears in his eyes. Afterward, several people came up to us and said they heard the exact same thing.
God works in big ways and small. And what's small to you is absolutely huge to us. We're thankful for Micah.
Some Thanksgivings Are Happier Than Others. It's All In The Way You Dress.
The kids had a half day of school before the holiday. It generally involves a party of sorts. To dress the part, I chose a shirt with a tie for Micah to wear. The boy loves ties, and that's one of his favorite shirts. But then I remembered that he had a turkey shirt, so I went in search of. Options are good for kids. Sometimes.
When I came back downstairs, Micah was putting on the shirt of his choice. A striped button-down. Being all spiffy and dressed up is how he rolls. Whatever. I buttoned it for him and he pointed to the dress-up box. A tie. Of course he'd want to wear a tie with his shirt. Except not. A bandanna is what one would wear to a Thanksgiving party. I didn't realize that cowboys were part of the Pilgrim and Indian festivities, but who am I to judge?
I put his shoes on and heard his bus coming. As I ushered him toward the door he beelined for the dress-up box again. Apparently his outfit just wasn't complete without a tie. Over the bandanna. Awesome. He grabbed the first hat he saw and clapped it on his head. It was a sombrero. It took a Hurculean effort to not laugh out loud from behind him, but you can trust that I was heartily laughing on the inside.
The sombrero is not his favorite hat in the world, and he just wasn't comfortable wearing it to school, so he tossed it off and rummaged in the box until he found The Perfect Hat. It was black and pointy. Because only a witch's hat would complete that outfit.
I seriously need to start using the camera before school.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
When I came back downstairs, Micah was putting on the shirt of his choice. A striped button-down. Being all spiffy and dressed up is how he rolls. Whatever. I buttoned it for him and he pointed to the dress-up box. A tie. Of course he'd want to wear a tie with his shirt. Except not. A bandanna is what one would wear to a Thanksgiving party. I didn't realize that cowboys were part of the Pilgrim and Indian festivities, but who am I to judge?
I put his shoes on and heard his bus coming. As I ushered him toward the door he beelined for the dress-up box again. Apparently his outfit just wasn't complete without a tie. Over the bandanna. Awesome. He grabbed the first hat he saw and clapped it on his head. It was a sombrero. It took a Hurculean effort to not laugh out loud from behind him, but you can trust that I was heartily laughing on the inside.
The sombrero is not his favorite hat in the world, and he just wasn't comfortable wearing it to school, so he tossed it off and rummaged in the box until he found The Perfect Hat. It was black and pointy. Because only a witch's hat would complete that outfit.
I seriously need to start using the camera before school.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
It Could Have Been a Normal Day If It Weren't For That Apron Episode
Today I was bitten by the Martha Stewart bug. It was kinda weird.
I baked bread. From scratch, even. Then I ate it. And people? It was good. I need to do this way more often. I used to bake bread on a fairly regular basis, and the kids absolutely loved to have their own pinch of bread to play with. Apparently Becky didn't remember any of this I'm Really A Good Mom bit because she poked the rising loaf only to declare, "I deflated your bread." She's lucky that it was ready to be punched down anyway.
I broke out the Christmas Crap. I lost track of the tree count sometime after 5. I would think things were a bit out of control if I didn't know deep down in my heart that one can't have too many trees. I have two plugged in already and one in the middle of the living room floor with the Toy Story gang helping to make it beautimas.
I cleaned. Because one can't start decorating when there is dog hair prevalent. And when one decorates for Christmas, dog hair must be removed from under couches and behind all furniture. The house was beautifully hairless for 15 seconds, and then a dog shed.
I salvaged my very favoritest clock ever thanks to my Twitter peeps. Said clock just won't keep time, and I changed batteries several times. I lurve clocks a whole lot, and couldn't bring myself to toss this one, so I craftified it because that's what Twitter said to do. I then had to rearrange some pictures to make room for it. But that wasn't enough, so I completely re-decorated the dining room walls.
I one-upped Martha though. As I was baking bread, Sam came in and said he needed my help outside. I stepped outside still wearing my apron (baking bread is messy) and was handed a gun. Apparently the rats have gotten to be so bad that they've even drawn the attention of the husband. He proposed flooding the hole and I would shoot whatever came out the other end. It was awesome. For the people driving up and down the road. Rest assured that no rats were harmed in the process. Unfortunately.
I'd love to see Martha Stewart wielding a gun while wearing an apron. I'd also love this apron:
Micah looked at all the boxes of Christmas Crap and chose the one he wanted. There are roughly 12,348,195 boxes and he didn't even look into any. But he knew. It's instinctive. I had to open it for him.
That's my boy.
I baked bread. From scratch, even. Then I ate it. And people? It was good. I need to do this way more often. I used to bake bread on a fairly regular basis, and the kids absolutely loved to have their own pinch of bread to play with. Apparently Becky didn't remember any of this I'm Really A Good Mom bit because she poked the rising loaf only to declare, "I deflated your bread." She's lucky that it was ready to be punched down anyway.
I broke out the Christmas Crap. I lost track of the tree count sometime after 5. I would think things were a bit out of control if I didn't know deep down in my heart that one can't have too many trees. I have two plugged in already and one in the middle of the living room floor with the Toy Story gang helping to make it beautimas.
I cleaned. Because one can't start decorating when there is dog hair prevalent. And when one decorates for Christmas, dog hair must be removed from under couches and behind all furniture. The house was beautifully hairless for 15 seconds, and then a dog shed.
I salvaged my very favoritest clock ever thanks to my Twitter peeps. Said clock just won't keep time, and I changed batteries several times. I lurve clocks a whole lot, and couldn't bring myself to toss this one, so I craftified it because that's what Twitter said to do. I then had to rearrange some pictures to make room for it. But that wasn't enough, so I completely re-decorated the dining room walls.
I one-upped Martha though. As I was baking bread, Sam came in and said he needed my help outside. I stepped outside still wearing my apron (baking bread is messy) and was handed a gun. Apparently the rats have gotten to be so bad that they've even drawn the attention of the husband. He proposed flooding the hole and I would shoot whatever came out the other end. It was awesome. For the people driving up and down the road. Rest assured that no rats were harmed in the process. Unfortunately.
I'd love to see Martha Stewart wielding a gun while wearing an apron. I'd also love this apron:
Micah looked at all the boxes of Christmas Crap and chose the one he wanted. There are roughly 12,348,195 boxes and he didn't even look into any. But he knew. It's instinctive. I had to open it for him.
That's my boy.
Era-Less Priorities
You know those days that look deceptively wide open, and then everything to happen and you don't get a thing done? That was today. I've come to realize that this is the normal for our family. I've also pretty much realized that it's the normal for everyone. Gone are the days when stay-at-home-moms cooked 3 meals from scratch, hand scrubbed the kitchen floor, ironed every piece of laundry, and wore heels and a dress while doing it. Some days I'm ever and ever so glad for that fact, and other days I almost lament it. That well dressed workhorse of a woman didn't spend hours editing photos, or shopping online for the best price for a holiday gift, or kill time at therapy and specialist appointments. The fact that therapy and specialists weren't yet invented, nor were computers, made life so much simpler.
Life is not simple. It's a fact.
But there are some things from that lost era that are the same, and should never, ever change.
Reading to my kids is a joy that I'll cherish for a lifetime. We spent hours every afternoon snuggled on the couch reading.
Playing board games with my kids now provides that same feeling. I love seeing the kids interact with each other as they learn and grow and play.
And family dinners around the table, talking about our day, and laughing. I love those, too.
Time. It's the best thing that we can ever give. Whether we're busy hand scrubbing floors or online shopping, I never want us to lose sight of the fact that spending time with family is priceless.
If You Turn Back The Time And Other Stories of Childhood
If the government issues a clock-altering mandate that says you must set your time back one hour in the fall, your children will not grasp the concept of sleeping in to compensate.
If your children fail to sleep in after the time change, they will be up at various early hours, depending on what time their tiny little spirits move. Their tiny little spirits are mostly driven by evil forces.
If one of your children is up at various early hours, at some point he will hit upon the 5 o'clock hour to be awake, and you will all rue the day. Or at least the next few hours.
At five o'clock in the morning, the first thing one has to do is use the restroom. Fair enough. Afterward, anyone with half a brain would go right back to bed at that hour if they didn't need to be up. Seven year old boys most definitely fall into the "don't need" category. But seven year old boys who follow a lot of the Rules of Toddlerhood make things up as they go, and going back to bed is never a viable option in their world. Once the eyes are open, they must remain open at all costs.
Knowing that one would be in Big Huge Trouble if one went downstairs and turned on the TV at 5 o'clock in the morning, a boy will go back to his bedroom and turn his light on. This, in turn, will alert his sleeping parents that he is not where he belongs. And also that he is up.
This is not a good way to wake up. Nor is it a good hour to be awakened.
The Mom will get out of bed, stumble down the hall, tell the boy that he needs to go back to bed, and tuck him in after pretty much tossing him under the covers because he procrastinated getting there himself. She will sigh as she looks at the clock, knowing that the day has just started off on the wrong foot.
Knowing that she shouldn't really go back to sleep because a certain boy down the hall won't, The Mom will lay in bed trying to doze with eyes and ears open. Just about time she achieves this parental feat, she will be rudely snapped from the brink of unconsciousness by the flute.
The flute, at 5:30 in the morning, is a most unpleasant intrusion. The Mom will be out of her bed and down the hall before she's even aware that she is vertical. Flutes are evil in the single digit hours of the dark. They must be stopped. Or broken in half and thrown out a window. Being awakened by a flute will efface any feelings of love and goodwill toward one's offspring, and The Mom will glare at The Boy, demanding that he go back to bed. Now. She will personally put him there herself. Again. He will know that if he dares get up again, his life will be in grave jeopardy.
The Mom will diligently try to achieve that eyes-open state of doze once again, and once again, just as she is drifting toward the elusive thing called Sleep, she will be awakened by the light. Again. And the bathroom door. Again. This time it would be the teenaged boy, heading out to check his trapline before school. While this can go unattended and even unnoticed by The Mom on a normal day, it's too late. She is now awake. Again.
That was 6:30. The alarm is set to go off at 7:00. It's funny how one's arthritis can decide to hurt at such an odd hour, preventing sleep. Again. As if one could actually fall asleep at 6:50 anyway.
Oh, wait, One did. Of course. Because being awakened by something other than my own free will for the fourth time in two hours is how everyone wants to begin their day.
Parenthood. It's what they don't tell you that you should be most concerned about.
If your children fail to sleep in after the time change, they will be up at various early hours, depending on what time their tiny little spirits move. Their tiny little spirits are mostly driven by evil forces.
If one of your children is up at various early hours, at some point he will hit upon the 5 o'clock hour to be awake, and you will all rue the day. Or at least the next few hours.
At five o'clock in the morning, the first thing one has to do is use the restroom. Fair enough. Afterward, anyone with half a brain would go right back to bed at that hour if they didn't need to be up. Seven year old boys most definitely fall into the "don't need" category. But seven year old boys who follow a lot of the Rules of Toddlerhood make things up as they go, and going back to bed is never a viable option in their world. Once the eyes are open, they must remain open at all costs.
Knowing that one would be in Big Huge Trouble if one went downstairs and turned on the TV at 5 o'clock in the morning, a boy will go back to his bedroom and turn his light on. This, in turn, will alert his sleeping parents that he is not where he belongs. And also that he is up.
This is not a good way to wake up. Nor is it a good hour to be awakened.
The Mom will get out of bed, stumble down the hall, tell the boy that he needs to go back to bed, and tuck him in after pretty much tossing him under the covers because he procrastinated getting there himself. She will sigh as she looks at the clock, knowing that the day has just started off on the wrong foot.
Knowing that she shouldn't really go back to sleep because a certain boy down the hall won't, The Mom will lay in bed trying to doze with eyes and ears open. Just about time she achieves this parental feat, she will be rudely snapped from the brink of unconsciousness by the flute.
The flute, at 5:30 in the morning, is a most unpleasant intrusion. The Mom will be out of her bed and down the hall before she's even aware that she is vertical. Flutes are evil in the single digit hours of the dark. They must be stopped. Or broken in half and thrown out a window. Being awakened by a flute will efface any feelings of love and goodwill toward one's offspring, and The Mom will glare at The Boy, demanding that he go back to bed. Now. She will personally put him there herself. Again. He will know that if he dares get up again, his life will be in grave jeopardy.
The Mom will diligently try to achieve that eyes-open state of doze once again, and once again, just as she is drifting toward the elusive thing called Sleep, she will be awakened by the light. Again. And the bathroom door. Again. This time it would be the teenaged boy, heading out to check his trapline before school. While this can go unattended and even unnoticed by The Mom on a normal day, it's too late. She is now awake. Again.
That was 6:30. The alarm is set to go off at 7:00. It's funny how one's arthritis can decide to hurt at such an odd hour, preventing sleep. Again. As if one could actually fall asleep at 6:50 anyway.
Oh, wait, One did. Of course. Because being awakened by something other than my own free will for the fourth time in two hours is how everyone wants to begin their day.
Parenthood. It's what they don't tell you that you should be most concerned about.
Photography School 101
Digital Photography School had an assignment using the Rule of Thirds. Here's what I learned:
You know what's awesome? Micah instinctively knows that Rule of Thirds, and he doesn't even know how to compose his subjects in the viewfinder. Behold, his photography skills. 
The boy rocks. I'll take lessons from him in future.
To follow this rule, simply take a photo and divide it up into three sections vertically and three sections horizontally. Now there are three boxes on the top, three in the middle, and three at the bottom. The box in the middle of all of them is the center. This compositional rules basically advises you not to take pictures in that middle box. When you put the object smack bang in the middle, not only will it look amateurish, but it is also boring.
I took this photo and broke it up into a few thirds. (Or something like that.) I have the fence going 2/3 up the photo instead of the top of the fence right in the center. I also have the tire swing in the left third instead of, well, you get it. I do like the composition. That Rule of Thirds is onto something.
I've also got this, that I took earlier this summer. I loved this photo enough to enlarge it and paste it on my living room wall (despite having a child missing in it, but hey, if I waited for all the kids to be together photos would never happen). No wonder I love it - it follows the rules!
You know what's awesome? Micah instinctively knows that Rule of Thirds, and he doesn't even know how to compose his subjects in the viewfinder. Behold, his photography skills.
The boy rocks. I'll take lessons from him in future.
Woodcocks and Rivalry
My dad took Luke hunting. It was debatable whether or not he could actually shoot straight as he's not really shown a whole lot of interest in guns. Pappy had Luke shoot at a fence post, aiming in the center - meaning halfway up the post. Luke hit center, meaning smack dab between right and left. The boy has aim.
Luke came back from his first hunting trip with a woodcock. It was dead. He shot it and was proud. I had to question what it was and what he intended to do with it. In a kind and compassionate way, of course. One can't hurt the feelings of a first time hunter who tends to be a Drama King when his feelings are trampled. (Who eats woodcocks? Why would someone shoot one?)
"Mom, Grandma has a picture of me with the woodcock, but can you take one on your camera, too?"
Sure, buddy, I'd be glad to.
"Mom, I'm going to write a thank-you card to Pap for taking me hunting."
That would be a good idea. He would probably really like that.
Luke came back from his first hunting trip with a woodcock. It was dead. He shot it and was proud. I had to question what it was and what he intended to do with it. In a kind and compassionate way, of course. One can't hurt the feelings of a first time hunter who tends to be a Drama King when his feelings are trampled. (Who eats woodcocks? Why would someone shoot one?)
"Mom, Grandma has a picture of me with the woodcock, but can you take one on your camera, too?"
Sure, buddy, I'd be glad to.
"Mom, I'm going to write a thank-you card to Pap for taking me hunting."
That would be a good idea. He would probably really like that.
Dear Pappy,And while you're ooohing and aaaahing over the sweetness of a letter over death and killing, just know that this is a 9 year old boy's way of getting a dig in at his 13 year old brother who has been trapping for several weeks and has yet to get anything other than his bait taken. If he could have, he would have just written Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner on the walls and walked away happy.
Thanks for taking me hunting for my very first time. I have been praying for a long time now that I could shoot something and kill it my very first time that I go and thanks to you, I did. Thank you very, very, very much.
Love, Luke
Saving Woody
Someone at Pixar is laughing right now for making me use that title. But the alternative (Reviving Woody ) was so much worse.
It's no secret that Micah loves his cowboy doll. Its like his security blankie, best friend, and favorite toy all in one convenient package. A package that just doesn't last as long as it should. We have been through so many Woodys here that we've lost track of the retiree count. (How about we just don't point and laugh every time it sounds awkward during the post, okay? I'll recap at the end and we'll all laugh at the Woody jokes together, mmkay? Otherwise we'd not get anywhere with this.)
We have problems with the boots breaking off. The way they break is completely unfixable. One of the never ending joys of Woody is that his hard plastic boots dance so noisily on hardwood floors. With Woody bootless, he's useless. And Micah goes into full freak mode. His fix is tape, and we've tried it, but it's not even a temporary fix. It's more like a mess.
One day, I became inspired. We had 2 one-booted Woodys in the house, so I cut and pasted. Or cut and stitched. If you remove the good leg of a dead Woody and sew it onto another Woody whose bad leg has been surgically removed, you've now got yourself one good and usable Woody again. I am now a collector of one-booted Woody dolls.
That Woody on the end? Yeh, he's in desperate need of retirement. Or the dump. But I have plans for him. I'm thinking he'll find his way to Burgh Baby's house for her Halloween decor. He's just so freaky that I can't bring myself to ditch him.
(I didn't forget about that Woody count, I'm just ignoring it. Feel free to count the awkward yourself, and then forward this on to Pixar so they can fully appreciate what they've forced middle aged moms to become.)
It's no secret that Micah loves his cowboy doll. Its like his security blankie, best friend, and favorite toy all in one convenient package. A package that just doesn't last as long as it should. We have been through so many Woodys here that we've lost track of the retiree count. (How about we just don't point and laugh every time it sounds awkward during the post, okay? I'll recap at the end and we'll all laugh at the Woody jokes together, mmkay? Otherwise we'd not get anywhere with this.)
We have problems with the boots breaking off. The way they break is completely unfixable. One of the never ending joys of Woody is that his hard plastic boots dance so noisily on hardwood floors. With Woody bootless, he's useless. And Micah goes into full freak mode. His fix is tape, and we've tried it, but it's not even a temporary fix. It's more like a mess.
One day, I became inspired. We had 2 one-booted Woodys in the house, so I cut and pasted. Or cut and stitched. If you remove the good leg of a dead Woody and sew it onto another Woody whose bad leg has been surgically removed, you've now got yourself one good and usable Woody again. I am now a collector of one-booted Woody dolls.
That Woody on the end? Yeh, he's in desperate need of retirement. Or the dump. But I have plans for him. I'm thinking he'll find his way to Burgh Baby's house for her Halloween decor. He's just so freaky that I can't bring myself to ditch him.
(I didn't forget about that Woody count, I'm just ignoring it. Feel free to count the awkward yourself, and then forward this on to Pixar so they can fully appreciate what they've forced middle aged moms to become.)
And The Results Are.... Not Final
Josh was at the orthopaedic doctor today for a final x-ray of the terribly broken collarbone. We waited and waited and WAITED and Josh was growing antsy.
Chill, son. It isn't like you have a life.
I do. I just haven't been using it for the past 13 years.
Good one.
So to while away the time, we were discussing the reading material in the office. (And the fact that I have arthritis in my knees. It was a shocker to the boy. Welcome to Aging, where your body slowly decays into immobility.) One of the things read was "injury from overuse."
"What's that?" Josh asked. "When you have an injury and just keep using it?"
Yep, that's pretty much it, I'd think. A lot of parents have their kids continue to play soccer or football on an injury because the coach won't play them if they miss too many games. It's not right on the coachs part or the parents part. It's just stupid to risk your kid's health for sports. (I told the boy.)
And then the doctor interrupted us as she came in to deliver the results of the x-ray. Oh, the healing power of the young. And yet, he's not cleared for hunting. The disappointment is keen. For two years now, he's been a licensed, card-carrying hunter. And yet, he hasn't been able to hunt. Last year we left for Disney bright and early the first morning of hunting season. And this year? It's all he's talked about. January, February, May, August, daily since September, it's all we've heard.
Dadgun that broken collarbone on the right side where he rests his gun.
So we questioned the doctor about recoil pads, and if it would be healed enough in 2 weeks when hunting season opens, and what the odds really are of re-injury. The poor boy - he just wants to go hunting.
And then the irony kicked in. I'm *that* parent. The one who plays their kid with an injury. The one who doesn't consider the child's health above the sport. The one that I have problems with.
We've rescheduled for another final x-ray in 3 weeks and are keeping our fingers crossed that Josh can at least hunt the last few days of the season since he'll be missing the first week or so.
(This was a re-creation of his accident. Except that the bike is missing and the dog is present. Big hole, no?)
Chill, son. It isn't like you have a life.
I do. I just haven't been using it for the past 13 years.
Good one.
So to while away the time, we were discussing the reading material in the office. (And the fact that I have arthritis in my knees. It was a shocker to the boy. Welcome to Aging, where your body slowly decays into immobility.) One of the things read was "injury from overuse."
"What's that?" Josh asked. "When you have an injury and just keep using it?"
Yep, that's pretty much it, I'd think. A lot of parents have their kids continue to play soccer or football on an injury because the coach won't play them if they miss too many games. It's not right on the coachs part or the parents part. It's just stupid to risk your kid's health for sports. (I told the boy.)
And then the doctor interrupted us as she came in to deliver the results of the x-ray. Oh, the healing power of the young. And yet, he's not cleared for hunting. The disappointment is keen. For two years now, he's been a licensed, card-carrying hunter. And yet, he hasn't been able to hunt. Last year we left for Disney bright and early the first morning of hunting season. And this year? It's all he's talked about. January, February, May, August, daily since September, it's all we've heard.
Dadgun that broken collarbone on the right side where he rests his gun.
So we questioned the doctor about recoil pads, and if it would be healed enough in 2 weeks when hunting season opens, and what the odds really are of re-injury. The poor boy - he just wants to go hunting.
And then the irony kicked in. I'm *that* parent. The one who plays their kid with an injury. The one who doesn't consider the child's health above the sport. The one that I have problems with.
We've rescheduled for another final x-ray in 3 weeks and are keeping our fingers crossed that Josh can at least hunt the last few days of the season since he'll be missing the first week or so.
Speaking the Truth. Not Necessarily in Love.
While spending family time together over the weekend, the kids were reminiscing over fun memories. This particular gem made us laugh.
Josh: Becky, remember when we used to run around at Grandma's and took our shirts off because we got hot?Most likely, the boy speaks the truth. Awesome.
Becky: No.
Josh: You do, you just wish you didn't.
Batteries: Recharged
My parents have this cabin even further up in the mountains than we live. Once you drive an hour from our place into More Of Nothing, you reach the base of a particular mountain and drive one mile up. There is no leveling out at places as you drive, it's just up. My mom walked this road home from school every day as a child. In snow. My great granddad rode a bicycle down this road once and lost completely control, nearly killing himself as he wrapped the bike around a tree. It's out of the way, this cabin. And not convenient to anything. But oh, the bliss of the place.
The restful quiet is exactly what one needs when life gets overwhelming.
Micah will insist that everyone take off their shoes and stay a while. He'll neatly line them up at the door.
The sunrise in the morning is inspiring.
The kids just naturally get along a little bit better there.
The lanes are begging to be explored.
The restful quiet is exactly what one needs when life gets overwhelming.
The Good and the Pride
Micah has been to the dentist every six months for years. And every six months for years, he is all fascinated by the work done in his siblings mouths while not wanting anything to do with work in his own. We've tried holding him down to get a quick look-see, and letting him sit in the chair all by himself while admiring his beautifully closed lips, and a few times we've actually been able to see teeth without having fingers bitten. It's been fun.
Today at the dentist my big boy helped the hygenist with the other kids' cleanings (we have the most patient staff ever), and when it was his turn to sit up in the chair, he did. All by himself. Without fussing. And then - and then! - he let the hygenist not only look at his teeth but clean them.
My boy. *sniff* He's growing up.
So as proud as I am about all this (and it's an incredible amount of pride, trust me), we're faced with the fact that the boy needs a tooth extracted and a cavity filled. This would be best done under anesthesia, but we just hate to do that for a whole lot of reasons. We're going to try Plan A, which is doing these things just like we would for any of the other kids. We're also willing to abort Plan A if we need to and formulate Plan B.
We've got the best dentist ever for being so reasonable and easy to work with. Lets just hope that Plan A goes so much better than I think it will. Because today? Today my boy rocked the dentist's chair. He made me proud.
Today at the dentist my big boy helped the hygenist with the other kids' cleanings (we have the most patient staff ever), and when it was his turn to sit up in the chair, he did. All by himself. Without fussing. And then - and then! - he let the hygenist not only look at his teeth but clean them.
My boy. *sniff* He's growing up.
So as proud as I am about all this (and it's an incredible amount of pride, trust me), we're faced with the fact that the boy needs a tooth extracted and a cavity filled. This would be best done under anesthesia, but we just hate to do that for a whole lot of reasons. We're going to try Plan A, which is doing these things just like we would for any of the other kids. We're also willing to abort Plan A if we need to and formulate Plan B.
We've got the best dentist ever for being so reasonable and easy to work with. Lets just hope that Plan A goes so much better than I think it will. Because today? Today my boy rocked the dentist's chair. He made me proud.
Innovation Never Looked So Good
Wednesday is my standing lunch date with Micah. I pick him up from school for speech therapy at Easter Seals, and we grab lunch while we're out since he misses it. Despite the fact that this happens right smack dab in the middle of my Wednesday so that I can neither get much done before nor after, I love it.
Today the therapist suggested that Micah hit a plateau and it might be beneficial to take a break for a while. I had to concur. I'm not sure that he hit a plateau - it would be more accurate to say that he's not progressed at all since he started there three years ago. I don't blame the therapist; it's more Micah. The boy just does what he wants to do. Partly because he's saddled with such handicaps that it's incredibly difficult for him to speak and he can't progress well, and partly because he's stubbornness personified. He'll do what he wants and nothing more, thankyouverymuch.
It was agreed that we'd take a break and assess what goes on. This wasn't without a struggle in the thought process though. I mean, on the one hand all that said in the previous paragraph is true. On the other, the boy is still nonverbal and I have a hard time justifying a lack of services to help him. What kind of a mom would I be?
But he does have his Voice. And he uses it more and more. Take today for instance. We ate lunch at Burger King (hey, we have mere minutes to snarf lunch, don't criticize) and Micah got a crown. That crown was his pride and joy. He insisted on wearing it back to school at drop off. He proudly carried his Voice, held up to his face, admiring his reflection in the black screen of the turned-off device.
That's my boy, being all smart and innovative.
Today the therapist suggested that Micah hit a plateau and it might be beneficial to take a break for a while. I had to concur. I'm not sure that he hit a plateau - it would be more accurate to say that he's not progressed at all since he started there three years ago. I don't blame the therapist; it's more Micah. The boy just does what he wants to do. Partly because he's saddled with such handicaps that it's incredibly difficult for him to speak and he can't progress well, and partly because he's stubbornness personified. He'll do what he wants and nothing more, thankyouverymuch.
It was agreed that we'd take a break and assess what goes on. This wasn't without a struggle in the thought process though. I mean, on the one hand all that said in the previous paragraph is true. On the other, the boy is still nonverbal and I have a hard time justifying a lack of services to help him. What kind of a mom would I be?
But he does have his Voice. And he uses it more and more. Take today for instance. We ate lunch at Burger King (hey, we have mere minutes to snarf lunch, don't criticize) and Micah got a crown. That crown was his pride and joy. He insisted on wearing it back to school at drop off. He proudly carried his Voice, held up to his face, admiring his reflection in the black screen of the turned-off device.
That's my boy, being all smart and innovative.
The Murder Brought Us Together
The noise of Woody dancing on the hardwood is deafening.
The dogs need out. Again.
Dinner is in the oven, and yet the kids are raiding the fridge. It takes a vigilant watch to keep them hungry enough to eat with the family.
The dog hair is covering all of Micah's toys, and I just vacuumed three hours ago.
The phone rings amidst the chaos.
The laundry, the dinner cleanup, the homework. Teenage stupidity, tween attitude on steriods, signing a teacher's verbal warning slip. (Oy vey.)
Playing a board game with the dishwasher and Micah as background noise is a game in patience and endurance.
Seeing the kids all play together and laugh with each other rather than at each other is priceless. There's something to be said for family game night. After the end of a long day of trials of various sorts, who would have thought that figuring out who killed whom and with what would be the uniting factor?
*This post is not sponsored in any way by Hasbro. However, Hasbro, if you'd like to sponsor it please contact me. I'll be glad to talk.
The dogs need out. Again.
Dinner is in the oven, and yet the kids are raiding the fridge. It takes a vigilant watch to keep them hungry enough to eat with the family.
The dog hair is covering all of Micah's toys, and I just vacuumed three hours ago.
The phone rings amidst the chaos.
The laundry, the dinner cleanup, the homework. Teenage stupidity, tween attitude on steriods, signing a teacher's verbal warning slip. (Oy vey.)
Playing a board game with the dishwasher and Micah as background noise is a game in patience and endurance.
Seeing the kids all play together and laugh with each other rather than at each other is priceless. There's something to be said for family game night. After the end of a long day of trials of various sorts, who would have thought that figuring out who killed whom and with what would be the uniting factor?
*This post is not sponsored in any way by Hasbro. However, Hasbro, if you'd like to sponsor it please contact me. I'll be glad to talk.
Interpreting I-Ya And Other Milestones
Micah has a lot of words, the problem is that mostly we don't understand them. Slowly, slowly, I'm learning to listen and hear. It's like learning a new language. So today I learned a new word in Micah-ese. He's been saying I-Ya forever. He'll use it when he wants a turn at doing something, or when he's pointing to the last piece of pizza. (Among other times.) I took it to mean "I will" or something along that line. But today as he was pointing to a picture of himself, he said "I-Ya." Duh. Micah. My light bulb finally clicked on. I learned a new word.
My light bulbs have been clicking more and more often. I am sure that Micah is thinking, "it's about time, mom." He's getting more and more confident in his speech, too. Probably because I'm finally understanding him. I love his confidence. What was once a few words here and there with a lot of yelling and grunting is now *words interspersed with the occasional yell and grunt. (*Micah words, not clear or understandable words.)
And tonight, for the first time ever, he asked to talk on the phone. He's been fascinated with the concept for a year or so now, but he just wouldn't talk when we gave him the phone. And that was an upgrade from running away when we asked him to talk. But tonight, as I was on the phone, he asked for a turn. He signed for me to hand the phone over. He impatiently held out his hand. If he could have, he would have snapped his fingers. When I still didn't comply, he pointed to his ear, then to the phone. And when I was able to tell my mom that Micah wanted to talk, I couldn't get it back. He walked around chatting and waving his free hand like a pro.
First phone conversation: Seven and a half years old.
My light bulbs have been clicking more and more often. I am sure that Micah is thinking, "it's about time, mom." He's getting more and more confident in his speech, too. Probably because I'm finally understanding him. I love his confidence. What was once a few words here and there with a lot of yelling and grunting is now *words interspersed with the occasional yell and grunt. (*Micah words, not clear or understandable words.)
And tonight, for the first time ever, he asked to talk on the phone. He's been fascinated with the concept for a year or so now, but he just wouldn't talk when we gave him the phone. And that was an upgrade from running away when we asked him to talk. But tonight, as I was on the phone, he asked for a turn. He signed for me to hand the phone over. He impatiently held out his hand. If he could have, he would have snapped his fingers. When I still didn't comply, he pointed to his ear, then to the phone. And when I was able to tell my mom that Micah wanted to talk, I couldn't get it back. He walked around chatting and waving his free hand like a pro.
First phone conversation: Seven and a half years old.
Photography Class 101
I'm naming every Sunday post Photography Class 101. I love it for it's lack of creativity, and for the fact that it reminds me that I'm learning as I go. You'll learn to hate it. Or have you already? Either way is fine with me.
The Pioneer Woman had a challenge this week called Four Legs. We've got a lot of 4 legged things around here, so it was a matter of choosing a photo of the many subjects available. I chose Lucy.
I love the lighting of this picture. Burgh Baby talked about this in her photo blog at one point. This was taken in the late evening, when the sun is the very best for photography. (Read all about it in Burgh Baby's post.)
Another reason that I love it is because Lucy is being natural. She's not posed. I like candid. There's nothing wrong with posed, mind you, but good candids are sometimes hard to get no matter the subject.
And last, I like the angle. Lucy is above me (obviously) and it's not a view I'd normally have of a dog. I like different. And being as corgis are short breeds, it's not often that I'm lower in stature than they are. Unusual is, well, unusual.
So there it is. Lighting is the learning curve this week. And viewpoint. That, too. Good lighting from a fun angle - it makes for a great photo. (Too bad it's so elusive.)
The Pioneer Woman had a challenge this week called Four Legs. We've got a lot of 4 legged things around here, so it was a matter of choosing a photo of the many subjects available. I chose Lucy.
I love the lighting of this picture. Burgh Baby talked about this in her photo blog at one point. This was taken in the late evening, when the sun is the very best for photography. (Read all about it in Burgh Baby's post.)
Another reason that I love it is because Lucy is being natural. She's not posed. I like candid. There's nothing wrong with posed, mind you, but good candids are sometimes hard to get no matter the subject.
And last, I like the angle. Lucy is above me (obviously) and it's not a view I'd normally have of a dog. I like different. And being as corgis are short breeds, it's not often that I'm lower in stature than they are. Unusual is, well, unusual.
So there it is. Lighting is the learning curve this week. And viewpoint. That, too. Good lighting from a fun angle - it makes for a great photo. (Too bad it's so elusive.)
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