Now You'll All Go Rent Brother Bear, Just to See What Our Life is Like

Family dinners are interesting in our house. With 6 of us around the table, there's never any lack of topics to discuss, and most of the time at least half of us want to contribute to the discussion at the same time. Becky described us as Italian Wannabes, and I think she's absolutely right. It seems that every time we get together, there's food involved and we're very loud.

We generally try to make an effort to include everyone in the dinnertime conversations. But poor Micah was feeling left out because it seems that everyone had something to say, and he couldn't contribute. But leave it to my boy to find a way to fit in. As we're deep in a discussion, Micah raises his hand. He waits patiently to be called on, and if you don't call on him in exactly .0000037 seconds he'll start with the OOOH! OOOH! OOOOH!s. It cracks us up every time.

Once Micah is called on, he'll launch into a story that resembles a scene from the Disney movie, Brother Bear. There are bears gathered in the river, tossing a salmon around. Whoever catches the fish has to share something interesting. One of the bears starts talking in a gruff and loud voice, while speaking what resembles muttering in a foreign language. When he's done talking, he breaks into laughter. The other bears are completely clueless about what he said. That is Micah at dinnertime. Exactly. The gruff voice, the unintelligible mumbling, the laughing at the end - exactly. We just can't decide whether we love the OOH! OOH! OOH! or the story telling better.

There's a Lot to Show For All That Growth

Micah was so thin for so long - as in years and years - that when he started filling out it was quite a shock to us. The fact that he just kept growing (both up and out) has been a lot to get used to. Our wallet just isn't keeping up very well. Micah's clothing size was about 2 numbers below his age, and now his shirt is pushing 2 numbers above it. This happened in just 18 months.

The irony of all this is the fact that we have older boys, and the jeans can't be handed down. Luke is a Slim, preferably with an adjustable waist to pull it even tighter. This was perfect for the Before Micah. The After Micah now needs Husky, a size larger than he normally wears, with adjustable waist so that we can let them out. We also now need to roll his jeans up halfway to his knees because his waist is considerably bigger than his leg length. It's probably easy to understand why we love elastic waist pants for the boy. A whole lot of stretch to fit around his middle, or it can suck in to hug him if you buy them large.

But one thing that has irked us more than anything about this growth spurt is his back crack. It seems that whether he's wearing jeans or sweats, shorts or pants, boxers or briefs, he has a crack showing that probably shouldn't be. We've tried bigger pants, smaller pants, belts, pulling pants up higher, and lots of combinations of the above. The results are still Too Much Crack. It's been determined that his big belly sits low enough to make his pants ride low. If they're low in front, they're also low in back. This results in back crack. (My boy is not a plumber, thankyouverymuch.)

So we're just declaring to the entire world, right here and right now, that we're not happy about the boy's back crack. We pull up his pants fifteen bajillion seventeen times a day (or is it an hour?) and we hope that the pants will hide what they're meant to for more than 2.3 minutes before slipping below the crack line again. We're sorry if you find it offensive, and we want you to know that we do, too. But please understand that there is absolutely zero that we can do about this. Trust us, we've tried, and we wish things were different in that aspect. Thank you for your understanding and lack of judgement in this area. We appreciate it.

My Shining Star

It's Amazing What a Syllable Will Do

I kept a puppy from our last litter, and she's now being assimilated into our chaotic household. I knew I was keeping her from the day she was born, and we spent a lot of time choosing a name. In the end, she was christened Claire. I love that name a lot, obviously. I find it to be hip and retro at the same time, which is fun.

And it was fun, right up until Luke called her Clara. That is not a hip and cool name, partly because of the very old fashioned girl in Heidi and partly because of my dear Aunt Clara. Aunt Clara is a trip, and the sender of the annual August Christmas card. Plus, who names a dog after a family member? I generally don't get all freaky on the kids, but on this point I correct Luke every time he slips up. Dear Aunt Clara, I really didn't name a dog after you. Even if you are a dog lover, it's not always perceived as a compliment. We're working on saying her name correctly all the time. You're welcome.

He Hears! Listening is Another Story.

For the first time in Micah's nearly 8 years of life, he passed a hearing test today.

He passed a hearing test for the very first time way back when he was just 4 years, 6 months and a few days - it was a big deal, and a long 4.5 years of testing and wondering up to that point. But that passing just put him *mostly* in the normal range. There were some ranges that he simply didn't hear, or didn't hear well. In the three and a half years following that first passed test, he's had a myriad of tests that ranged from "huh, we just weren't able to get a reading at all based on his lack of cooperation" to "he's pretty good today, but can't hear the highest and lowest frequencies."

But today, Micah passed, hearing all ranges. Today is a day for celebration.

I Am Abused at Night

I frequently find bruises or scratches on myself that I don't remember incurring. I blamed my faulty memory (that's getting faultier all the time), but last night I learned differently.

Micah is a night roamer. He falls asleep in our bed, is carried to his own bed shortly thereafter, and we get a few hours of good sleep before he joins us again. Sometimes we carry him right back to where he belongs, and sometimes it's a half hour before the alarm goes off and I'm selfish enough to make him lay down so that I can get a few minutes of very interrupted horizontal time. And then other times I'm just way too tired to even wake up long enough to move the boy.

Like last night.

I was coherent enough to know that he was in bed with us, but not enough to actually look at the clock and make a determination on the time. Much less move him. You have to know that Micah needs to touch people when he sleeps. And it's not enough for him to simply lay a hand on my arm. No, he's an overachiever, that boy is. He's not happy if he's not kneeing Sam in the kidneys and using my arm as a pillow. And that's a good night. Last night, the boy was determined to wedge his foot between my legs, thereby scratching me with his toenails. Repeatedly. I became coherent enough to shove him to daddy's side of the bed after about the 18th time.

It's shocking, really, how Micah gets enough rest to actually function through a day. I know that I don't.

Those are Some Yugly Feets

My feet have never been pretty. I know everyone says that about their feet, but mine are truly heinous. Just ask my husband. The heels are thickly calloused and sometimes they get huge cracks in them. The toes are the same, but only the second one on each foot. The other toes are as normal as toes can get. I did not wear sandals for years because of my feet, but when the flip flop craze became so big a few years ago I finally said, "the heck with this. If someone has a problem with my feet, they can just avert their eyes." And I bought myself 2 pair of flips and now expose my feet to the general public.

Way back in college, I would slather Vaseline on my feet, encase them in socks, and sleep that way overnight. This resulted in softer ugly. Over the years I've tried this lotion and that cream, corn and callous salves, and even medication guaranteed to help the feet of the worst diabetic. Still, softer ugly and nothing more. Bath & Body Works Toe the Line paired with their Heel of Approval has been my best experiment so far, and I use them religiously. I also use something that looks like a cheese grater to file off the thickness.

Maybe I should have given you a heads' up on the nasty. I hope you weren't eating. Or drinking.

So I finally made an appointment to see a dermatologist about the feet. I tried this a few years ago when referrals were still needed, and the physician said, "why don't you try putting some cream on them for a few weeks and get back with me." Yeh, like I wasn't smart enough to try that all on my own in the past 20 years.

So I was at the dermatologist's office for all of 5 minutes before hearing the verdict. He called it a hereditary thickening of the skin, but Dr. Google told me that the medical name would be more like hyperkeratosis. I learned a lot from both doctors. The IRL doc said that it would never be cured, just made prettier on occasion. He gave me a prescription to do just that. Dr. Google told me that my feet are actually in the running for Beautiful Feet of the Year in comparison to others with this condition. Whatever you do, don't  google hyperkeratosis of the feet. Yoi.

So I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up the prescription, only to find out that there was a $75 co-pay on the $369 cream. Dude, I could buy a whole lot of Bath & Body Works for that price. I didn't pick up the prescription, based on the fact that the IRL doc said it wouldn't even take care of the nasty anyway.

So I will go on filing my feet with a cheese grater, and the world will always be subject to seeing the nasty. But at least I know what I'm dealing with. And I'm out the $40 co-pay, too.

Caring for Those We Love

Fitting In

Micah has been a walking billboard for my shirts for the past 4 years now. The funny thing about this is that he prefers any other shirt to wear. His screen printed Toy Story one, the one with Spiderman on the chest - you know, store bought things. Things that other kids wear.

For the class Christmas party, Micah's teacher ordered matching shirts for the students. I stitched a snowman on red shirts, and personalized each with the kid's initial. They were the same, but unique. And they were a huge hit. Because of the snowman design, it's perfectly acceptable to wear them after Christmas, and the kids do.

When Micah's snowman shirt came out of the laundry the other week, he insisted on wearing it right away. And again when it was rewashed. And if he has a choice of whatever he can wear on a particular day, he'll choose that red snowman shirt if it's in his drawer.

Suddenly mama's shirts are cool, because everyone is wearing them. It's not that Micah doesn't like them, it's that he wants to be like everyone else. Fitting in is so important when you're very different.

Mattie, De-Matted. Spoiler: It Ain't Purty.

I am not as diligent in grooming the dogs as I should be. If I had another few hours in each day I probably still wouldn't be diligent in grooming the dogs. Sadly, brushing their hair ranks far below vacuuming up their hair every 4 hours and cleaning up messes from two puppies who refuse to housebreak in a week. (The nerve, I know.) Even when I don't have puppies that need housebroken, I find other ways to entertain myself. Loading the dishwasher, folding laundry, paying bills - you know, all the stuff people can't wait to do on a regular basis.

And the dog goes unbrushed yet another day.

So after a year of "shoot, I forgot to brush the dog again," she's quite snarled and tangled.

Today I took her to the groomer for a trim. I should have known I was in trouble when she said, "Oh, I've never seen a Cavalier before! I'm so excited. They're such pretty dogs." I gave instructions to trim her short, and she'd probably have to just shave the ears close to get the matting out. I then walked out in full confidence that the dog would look something like this:


 (Not my dog. Photo courtesy of Flickr.)

Nice short trim, right? For those not in the know, a Cavalier looks like this in all it's hairy glory:


(Also not my dog. Also courtesy of Flickr. Beautiful though, no?)

So after dropping the dog off I went about my day and promptly forgot about her. When I did think of Mattie, I was a little bit excited to see my neglected little dear a whole lot prettier. Imagine, then, my surprise when I saw this instead:


(Still, not my dog. But I'll be darned it looks just like her. Only better. I swear. I refuse to take a picture of her in all her humiliation.)

On the bright side, Micah thinks we got a new dog. Again. He spent half the night chasing her down trying to welcome her with open arms. She just wanted to go hide somewhere and pretend that her hair was growing really, really fast.

Happy Valentine's Day

So I post at night and it's a day late by the time you read. Enjoy anyway.

And That's Why the Baby is Spoiled

Every family complains that the baby is spoiled. It's true, too. I know in our family it's because we're too tired to fight every battle, and have wizened up enough to know that not every battle is worth fighting. It has little to do with the fact that our baby is the baby. Even if he is almost 8. My own children are too embroiled in their battle cry of "he's so spoiled" to see my side of the story, but Becky had a lightbult moment the other day.

Micah goes to bed with a cup. I know; the height of babying him.  And also, what the heck? But it's true, and it's habit. We could easily break this habit, but in reality it's not hurting a thing. In fact, about half the nights he doesn't even drink anything. He just needs to carry that cup upstairs because it's a bedtime ritual. But because Becky saw the fact that Micah is totally spoiled and babied, she questioned this. I told her the honest answer.

If we don't give him the cup, he'll be mad, and then it'll be unpleasant for everyone involved. I'm just too tired to deal with it this late at night.

So there you have it. Sometimes the truth is unpleasant, but I'm honest enough to admit it. But Becky was quick to agree. "Oh, yeh. I made him mad the other night and he wouldn't go to sleep for over an hour. He purposely kicked and wiggled to keep himself awake, and cried the whole time."

So there you have it. Families spoil the baby because they're too tired to deal with the trivial things. It's easier to give a cup than to battle an hour long fight at bedtime. And other such stories.

Reading in Your Underwear

Isn't there a Like button on Facebook for this?

If You Want the Perfect Valentine's Day Gift, Just Buy It Yourself. Or Something Akin to That.

Sam and I aren't the romantic type. We don't celebrate Valentine's Day or our anniversary. We'll buy each other cards (if we remember) and we try to go out to eat, just the two of us (at the uber upscale Ruby Tuesday). But really, that's the extent of things. This drives our daughter cRAzY.  She, the victim of teenage hormones, cannot fathom being mushy-less and unromantic.

Of course we love to bring up our total lack of romance when around her. It's just too funny to see her eyes rolls and her brain short circuit.

While shopping today, the super discount grocery store had roses for $4. They were not only alive, but beautiful. I got myself two bunches of them. Becky arranged them for me while I put groceries away.

Sam came home from getting coal just after this, and I thought I'd better bring up the $8 arrangement before he assumed I spent way more money than I should have. "The roses were $4 at the grocery store, and my dear husband got me some for Valentine's Day," I said.

"I hear he's a great guy that way," he replied. "I blew a tire out getting coal. The bad thing is that I borrowed a friend's trailer. My wife bought him a new tire for me for Valentine's."

"Well aren't we just the epitome of romance?"

And the daughter rolled her eyes.

They Tell Me I'll Miss It Someday

When we were first married, I was a good wife. I cooked every meal, packed my husband's lunch (getting up with him in the morning to do it instead of packing it the night before), I cleaned everything in every room of the house on a weekly basis, kept up with laundry and even put my husband's laundry away for him, and I even cleaned the refrigerator out on a regular basis. I rocked.

I also didn't have kids.

Or dogs.

Life was so easy then.

I remember sometime during Becky's first year, after she was mobile, I lost a necklace. It was the very first thing that I lost and never found again. It wasn't even found when we moved and the house was emptied. I am convinced that Becky flushed it down the crapper. That is memorable to me because up until that point I merely misplaced things temporarily. And THAT was something that only started happening when I became pregnant. (Hey, phones in the bread drawer are found quickly. Bread is a staple of life.) (And pregnancy messed with my mind, yo.) (No, I haven't fully recovered from pregnancy. Why would you ask?)

Since that time, I've had a few more kids and added a whole lot of chaos to the mix. My days degraded from deep cleaning to quick swipes with the burp cloth I had in my hand before I tossed it into the washer. (Those things are awesome. They dust, and mop messes, and even polish glass rather well.) And now, I no longer have burp cloths or even wipies to help with the housecleaning. (THE BOY IS POTTY TRAINED! ::sigh:: I'll never quite get over the excitement of that.) In the event that I make time in the schedule (yes, MAKE) to actually dust and mop the right way, it looks like I did nada a mere few hours later. I blame the dogs, mostly. But the kids contribute their fair share.

Currently, we've got 6 dogs in the house. Please, don't ask why because I have no answer for that. Just know that it's so. Simple math tells me that 6 dogs with 4 feet each equals 24 paw prints all over the floor. And the dogs have a perverse joy in following me as I mop, knowing full well that they are letting their prints in the freshly mopped floor before it's even dry. Add to that another set of 24 every single time I let the out in the snow to go potty. And you can't even imagine how much hair 6 dogs leave behind. (No, trust me. You can't.) If I vacuum at 9 AM, there are hair balls rolling like tumbleweeds across the hardwood by noon. (I only wish I were exaggerating.)

Lather, rinse, repeat with dishes and dusting and general picking up. A family of 6 eats a lot, and teens never really stop eating. We've got 2 of those. Micah has been a teen in training for years now, so consider him a 3rd teen. Breakfast bowls, cups, snack bowls, lunch dishes, popcorn bags - you name it, it's found somewhere. Upstairs where kids aren't allowed eating, on the coffee table, on the kitchen counter, overflowing the sink...

I'm getting tired just talking about this. I'm sure you know the scenario by heart, too.

And yet, I'm intimidated by those with clean homes. I want my house to be clean, but it's just not a reality. I do the best that I can (most days) and we're happy. It's the best we can wish for. I've decided that right now I'd rather enjoy the kids and the chaos while it's here, because some day when the house is clean, I'll miss it. For those days, there's this.





If my house just made you feel a little better about your house, you're welcome. Know that this mess was mastered in just an hour. That boy of mine is talented.

Packed and Ready to Go

Micah was up at 4:30 this morning. Normally the big question would be Why, but I think it was effectively answered by the question of What. He was carrying a backpack, and inside said pack were his essentials. When I told this to the family, Josh said that Micah has these things packed every morning. And every morning Josh puts them away after unpacking the bag. Micah's essentials include:

1 black lightbulb (a light bulb comes in quite handy, and if it's a black bulb your parents won't notice you as quickly since it doesn't shine brightly)

1 battery (for energy, duh)

A pack of playing cards (to relieve boredom)

A trapping book (one never knows when this might come in handy)

Josh's bank (money is always good)

Deodorant (one can't smell)

I don't know about you, but it looks suspiciously to me like the boy is trying to run away from home. One of these days, he'll actually accomplish it. Can we Duck Tape him to the bed?

Date Night With a 10 Year Old

Mom! It's Family Reading Night! Can we go?

And then I cringed.

Seriously? Family Reading Night? Couldn't we stay home and read? I know, we can lock ourselves in your bedroom and have Mommy and Me night all by ourselves without having to go out! (I said in my thoughts.)


I am happy to be a homebody. Don't get me wrong - I love a shopping trip. Or even a simple Starbucks run. But those are things that happen in the light of day. Once the kids are home from school and evening sets in, I loathe the idea of breaking up a quiet family night at home. But Luke really wanted to go, and I hated to disappoint him. As we were driving down the the school, just Luke and I, I was reminding myself not to be cricical out loud. This was a special time for Luke, even if it wasn't so much for me.

I hope it's fun. They said there's going to be a special project and snacks in the cafeteria.

There are snacks at Starbucks.

What if it's not fun? Maybe we can just go home and read together.

Oh, sure, NOW you give that as an option.

Or maybe we could run to Starbucks and have fun there, I offered.

Well, only if I could get something!

But he wants to go to Family Reading Night even more. Don't spoil it for him.

And we walked into the school together.



We chose Riding the Tiger and How The Cat Swallowed Thunder. I listened to Luke read, and marveled at how far he'd come since he read to me last. I read to him, and remembered how much I loved this when the kids were little. I missed it. A lot. We had a snack, and made a craft together. It was a necklace. He gifted to me when we were finished.

"Well that was a fun night, wasn't it?" Luke asked as we were leaving.

"It sure was. Much better than Starbucks would have been."

Balloons. The Best Entertainment Ever.

This might not be the best time to tell you that I got that snappy new lens that I'd been lusting after. But then again, maybe it is. Those horrid photos above, complete with blur and fuzz, look like something Micah would have taken. In reality, however, those pictures only happened because I have my new lens. The lighting in that room was subpar to say it nicely. Think cavern, lighted with a few candles, and you're about there.

Yes, I am very happy with my new lens. It allows me to preserve memories that happen in the dark.

Here We Go, Steelers!

How Would You Caption This?

What the Kids Taught Me About Parenting

When Becky was 5, she tried to run away from home. Her plan was thwarted by Josh, but it wasn't the best plan anyway. She was going to live in a corner of our yard behind a hill, sneaking into her open bedroom window at night for food. It's very likely we would have found her before the week was out, had she gotten away with it.

So we were discussing this incident from the past, and Becky asked what I would do if this happened today. You know, after Micah, because we're all aware that parenting Micah has changed me in more ways than I'll ever change him. Way back when Becky was 5, I would have freaked out on the poor child had she really snuck away. She'd have been in Big Trouble, and probably would have had to clean her room as a punishment. (Think cruel and unusual, because it would have been.)

But now, I probably would have just let her alone, had a sibling confirmed that she ran off. Especially knowing that she was still in our yard and planned to stay there. I'd just let her work through her anger all by herself and decide on her own that life isn't so bad here at the Rocking Pony house. (Naps are the worst thing in the world when you're 5 - and yes, my 5 year olds napped. My kids were sleepers.)

I have learned, parenting Micah, that very little is worth getting your panties in a wad over. Kids playing on the road is worth it, and kids who intentionally hurt others - whether by words or actions - is worth it. Pretty much everything else isn't. Sometimes I'll sit back and allow kids to make mistakes on purpose to let them learn about life, and sometimes I'll even say "I told you so." But I have learned to think before acting, and in my world that's huge.

This is especially true with teens. Reacting to what teens do or say is so natural for a parent. This is partly because the things teens do are incredibly stupid, and partly because we see the mistakes they're making and want so much better for them. We know how to prevent this; we have the answers. But teens are like toddlers, and they have to find their own way sometimes. This means that I have to think about why the kids are doing things before I react about what it is they're doing. This means that I have to think before engage my mouth, whether asking a kid why they did something that stupid, or giving a hasty NO answer to something I'm simply not comfortable with. This means that I'm a better mom for my 16 years of experience.

Too bad I'm a slow learner. Things could have been much different a decade ago.

We Are Not a Family of Signers

We fought long and hard to get Micah a Voice. I documented it here. Before we secured this device, we had hoped that it was a stepping stone for Micah between the lands of No Speech and Speech. We've since come to learn that he'll most likely not ever be a resident in full standing in the land of Speech. This makes us so much more grateful for his Voice. We've also changed the way we think about the device. At first we were happy with it stating one word requests and having just the bare essentials listed on it. Now we're trying to encourage full sentences as requests, and adding everything that the kid could possibly need to say on it. Except that it's hard to predict, so we're still at a loss.

Needless to say, we're eternally grateful to companies like Prentke-Romich and Dynavox that make such technological wonders for kids like ours. Micah is incredibly adept at getting his point across, but it's good to be able to say something on occasion when he's around people who are unfamiliar with him. I'm asked so very often if we're not teaching him sign language, or any other form of communication. And because it's Micah we're talking about, the answer isn't a simple yes or no.

We started with sign language years ago, under the tutelage of a speech therapist. I purchased books that taught me how to teach, and we've taught all the kids signs for basic things so that they can encourage Micah as well. But Micah's lack of speech does not indicate a lack of reasoning skills. That boy adds 2 and 2 pretty darn quick, and he's aware that our family does not use sign language to communicate with each other. He's also observant enough to know that nobody else in his life uses signing either. The boy only wants to conform, after all, just like everyone else in the world. Nobody wants to be the freak. Micah chooses not to sign, because it makes him different. He knows sign language for a lot of things, but uses it sparingly. If at all.

So why do we not push this? Isn't this a viable form of communication, you say? And the answers are "we should" and "yes, it is." Many, many people use sign language to talk, and it works well. But we've decided in our world that it really isn't feasible. There are so few people that can understand sign language here, that teaching Micah to use it would be as effective as teaching him Russian. People would definitely know that he's talking to them, but they'd be clueless what he's saying. We'd be setting him up for frustration, and no parent wants that for their kid.

This puts us back at Square One, where we rely on a speaking device to say for our son what he cannot say for himself. And in the meantime, we encourage him to talk. And we listen so very closely to what he's saying to try to decipher words and meanings. And mostly we marvel greatly at what the boy overcomes to say simple words like Mom and Dad while pretending outwardly that he's just a normal little boy talking to his family. Because that's just what he wants to be.

Remembering

When you're stuck at home, snowed in and iced over, it's always nice to dig through the memory chest.