Running Away

When Becky was but a wee little thing, and the only brother she had to boss around was Josh, she decided that Mama was the Meanest Mom Ever and that naps were overrated. She chose to run away from home. She thought it all out in advance, and her grand plan involved taking her favorite stuffed animal, a blanket and a pillow and living on the other side of the sand mound. She dreams big, that one. The sand mound sits in the corner of our yard.

The major flaw in her plan (besides all the obvious ones) was that she forgot her pillow. After climbing out her bedroom window (first floor at the time) she realized the error of her ways and called for her brother to assist. Being the intelligent one that he is, he grabbed the pillow and marched himself through the living room toward the back door. He was forced to squeal on his sister when Mama asked him where he was going with a pillow at naptime. Becky was not happy with either one of us that day. In fact, she still blames her brother for a failed Running Away From Home attempt.

***************************

Over the weekend, we spent our time outdoors because it was gloriously hot and sunny. Oh, the things we got done, and the happy that it made me. At one point, Josh came to hand me the van keys. Apparently Micah decided to drive himself somewhere because not only did he get the key in the ignition but he started the van. We will now have to hide keys for the safety of everyone involved.

I told Becky that her brother totally showed her up with the whole Running Away From Home thing. If you're going to leave, you should at least get off the property. Driving oneself to a far away destination (at the tender age of 7) is preferrable to living behind the hill in the yard.

Becky still stands by the opinion that her plan was foolproof if only Josh would have handed her pillow out the window. I think it's clear who the smarter kid is.

Happy Memorial Day

God Lives Under the Bed

Sundays are turning into my days to advocate, but there's nothing wrong with that. I love my boy immensely, and if I can share just a bit about what our world is like, I will. The following essay was written by Kelly Adkins. And yes, this is exactly what life is like here. Or will be someday. We're so blessed.

I envy Kevin.

My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night. He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, 'Are you there, God?' he said. 'Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed...'

I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.

He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?

Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.

The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied.

He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.

He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.

And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside. 'That one's goin' to Chi-car-go! ' Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.

His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.

He doesn't know what it means to be discontented.

His life is simple.

He will never know the entanglements of wealth or power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.

His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.

He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.

He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others His heart is pure.

He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.

Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God.

Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an 'educated' person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.

It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.

It is then that I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap, I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God.  And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.

Kevin won't be surprised at all!

Saturday Shots

Sleepy

The Focal Point

Day's End

The Birthday Boy

Happy birthday, Sam.

Going Gaga

Micah has his own sense of style, and makes no apologies for it. This past Sunday he chose to go to church in his pajamas (we dress him in sweats and a tee for bed). He matched, and was clean, so I was happy.

He insisted on wearing his blue plaid shoes with socks. The sweats he was wearing were shorts. I slouched his socks as best I could and sent him on his way. He was happy, therefore I was, too.

In the van, he reached under the seat and pulled out a castoff purse of Becky's. It's hot pink patent leather with a great big R on the side of it. When he got to church he proudly carried his Bible in one hand and his purse in the other and walked into class. Despite the few odd glances and chuckles, I held my head high and proudly walked behind him, just like I always do.

The burning question still remains though. If it's clearly his sister's pink castoff, is it a purse? Or could it be a murse if he's claimed it as his own? His grandma called it a Eurpoean manbag. Whatever it is, he's confident in his accessory choices.

Maybe we should all go the Gaga route and just shake the world up. The key is being confident in our freak. Micah has that down.

The Letter of the Law

Micah has been doing very well potty training. (Yes, I'm talking about THIS again.) But he's still not doing what needs to be done when he has to sit. The problem is that he just won't sit. He will stand in front of the toilet and do his business, then have a mess on the floor. He will go in his underpants and wear it around with him like it's a diaper. He just won't sit. And we're not complaining, mind you. We're thrilled with the success that we do have.

We do, however, remind him Every.Single.Time. that he shouldn't poop in his underpants. Apparently, he listened.

Tonight as we were driving to church for youth group, Becky said, "Micah pooped in my underwear. True story."

It seems that while she was in the shower, Micah helped himself to a pair of her underwear, put them on, and soiled them.

Awesome.

Becky is really glad that they were an old pair. She just tossed them. But he didn't poop in his underwear, so we're making progress.

His Time In the Spotlight

The end-of-the-year first grade program.

We've sat through our fair share of them. Some are cute, some are funny, some are even good. This one was our last. Our baby's own debut.

Just before the curtain opened, the kids on stage started singing an introductory song. And even before we saw any kids, we heard our boy sing. We were sitting in the clear last row of the large auditorium, and heard Micah over six classes of students. That boy might not have the best singing skills, but he's got a good set of lungs.

The program consisted of a dozen kids taking turns at making a cutesy rhyming speech, followed by a song. Each kid had a chance at the microphone with his or her own line to say by the time the night was done. The very last line was reserved for Micah. According to the program, he was to bid the audience Good-Bye.

Two little girls held his hand and led him to the microphone. The boy has been eyeballing the mikes at the church forever and has just been itching to get his little mitts on one. He was not going to blow this opportunity. Eagerly, he stepped up the the microphone stand, lined himself up with it just right, and said in his great big loud outdoor voice, "WOA WOA."

You know that moment when a kid steps up to the mike and the audience hushes in anticipation of what will be said? The complete opposite happened. By the time Micah meandered his way to the front of the stage, people were already twittering about how cute the program was, and reaching for their jackets and bags, and making plans to meet for ice cream afterwards. When our boy wowed everyone with his completely unconventional parting words, a hush fell over the audience that was reminiscent of shock. Nobody clapped. Nobody oohed and aahed. Nobody knew what to do.

Except for us, of course. We popped a few buttons right off our shirts.

I Could Have Lived Forever Without This Day and Been Happy

Because of that fun "I smell ammonia" thing that I have going on, I needed to have bloodwork drawn. When the tech said, "just choose any empty chair," I chose a winner. I got the student trainee. I knew that I was in trouble when she strapped the tourniquette on, poked at my elbow, and said, "hey, could you come over here to see if this is the vein before I stick her?" That does nothing to inspire confidence, let me tell you. And it went downhill from there. She blew through that particular vein, couldn't even find one in the other arm, and ended up getting her supervisor to draw from my hand. I do not do well with blood draws to begin with, but that was by far the worst experience I've ever had. And I've had 4 kids; I've given my fair share of blood.

Today, Micah had to have bloodwork drawn. When we got into the lab and I saw the same Bump-It wearing student lead us to a chair, I frantically clawed at Sam's back and shook my head NO NO NO! Micah is not a cooperative patient, and requires three people to hold him down while one phlebotomist gets one chance to hit a vein. If that tech is not the hospital's A #1 best phlebotomist, we are all in trouble. We decided to wait until that employee came back from lunch.

She was good, but it just wasn't happening. Micah has grown considerably since last year when he had blood drawn, and he's not easy to hold. Coupled with the fact that he's freakishly strong (yep, they commented on that again today) and there's just no holding him still. Reasoning is not something that works with him anyway, so that's out the window. Bribes are in the reasoning family. Sheer brute force is all that works, and today it wasn't enough.

I've held down my son for bloodwork many, many times over the years. I've nearly bruised his arm with my death grip. I've physically sat on him. I've put him in a headlock. It's not fun, nor is it easy, but it's something that has to happen and I bear it with a grain of salt because it's for his own good. Today was different. Today I couldn't keep a tear from sliding down my cheek as I struggled to hold my son down. His screams, his thrashing, his fear of the needle were nothing.

Today we were testing our son for leukemia.

I learned today that there are words that will stop your heart cold. I learned today that people who live with cancer are the bravest and strongest people in the world. I learned today that I'm not strong enough to live that life without completely breaking down.

The phlebotomist was good, but she blew through two veins and a hand and still didn't get blood. I know what my son was going through - I was just there. I just did that. And I couldn't make him go through more. We walked away today not knowing what the future holds, but a second visit to the pediatrician in the same day reassured us that his chances of cancer are very slim.

Still, he has that limp that's been persistent for a week. He's had no trauma or injuries to it, and there are no physical bruises. Even the untrained eye can see that the problem is internal, not superficial. I am not one to panic over things and jump to worst case scenarios, but if there's one thing I've learned in my 7 years in Holland, it's the fact that sometimes you are forced to think the worst and work backwards from there. These dear and precious kids have so many more health problems than normal kids do. And leukemia is not uncommon.

Today I realized that life is very, very good. Today I realized that one never knows what tomorrow will bring.

Today, I realized just how much I love my son.

Today, I realized that without God, I couldn't make it through anything.

Oh, Snap!

Micah is an independent sort of little guy. (Shocker, I know.) This is both a plus and a minus. Every new skill that he learns, ever new social development that he displays, every new life lesson that he absorbs is one less that we have to worry about. And yet, independence is always won at a great cost. It's like a war that way.

We rejoice every time he runs to the potty just because he needs to. (Yes, I'm still beating on that drum, and I'll continue to do so for quite some time. Just thought I'd give you the heads' up.) We rejoice when he comes out of a public restroom holding his pants on because he can't snap them himself. I even rejoice when he shoves me out the bathroom door, closes it in my face, and insists on doing everything himself, leaving me to wonder if he's really going potty or if he'll pee himself in the carseat on the way home. (Which he hasn't done yet, by the way. Big smile going on here for mama.)

What is not so cool is when he locks himself in the mens' room stall and stands in there crying because when he dropped his pants, he remembered that his knee got scraped fifteen minutes ago when he fell in the parking lot, and Sam has to get a screwdriver to unlock the door to get him out. Not cool. (And thank goodness this happened at church and not, say, Macy's.) (If we had a Macy's anywhere near.) (Which we don't.)

Or when, the same night, he's told to go upstairs for bed and promptly goes into our bedroom (where his pajamas are kept) and locks us out so that we can't get him ready for bed nor can we make him go to bed, thereby making us retrieve a key to get the door open. That's not so cool either.

Nor is the whole "hey, I can boss people, so I will" thing he has going on. As he's to be in bed, and I'm out back on the patio enjoying a particularly beautiful evening, he looks out his bedroom window and says, "Drink. Josh." Which is fine, mind you, because with his incredibly limited vocabulary he lacks the whole "will you" and "may I" and other niceties. What's not so cool is that he also felt the need to hold his hand up so that it's framed in the window and attempt to snap his fingers to get Josh to move a little faster with that drink.

What child snaps their fingers at an elder and expects to live?! And where would he even learn something like that?

Independence. Sometimes it's so overrated.

What Would You Do?

As the mother of a child with a disability that clearly sets him apart from his peers (and will only get worse as he gets older) I dread the future. How will he be received? How will people treat him when I'm not there to hold his hand and draw my sword to ward off the evil? I have to say that I've been amazed at the love and kindness that's followed Micah everywhere that he's been. I'm astounded at how well received he is, at how accepted he is. But what about his future? Weirdly, that depends more on you than it does on me. Watch this video, and think about what your reaction would be. Or maybe what it should be.

Saturday Shots

You Don't Smell That?

It's been driving me crazy, this smell.

I first smelled it Saturday evening, after helping a friend clean a house. She's moving into this beautiful old farmhouse, but the previous tenents had cats that forgot where the litter box was. Or maybe they never had one. After tearing up carpets and scrubbing everything with bleach, we've realized that the smell is in the wood floor which will now have to be sealed with Kilz. (God bless Kilz.) When I came home I showered and laundered everything that I was wearing.

Oh, the smell.

When we went out that evening I smelled a faint ammonia/cat urine scent that I was sure was on me somewhere. I was mortified. People could smell me, and I smelled like pee.

But after yet another shower I could still smell it. And the smell got stronger. Did my hair smell? My fingernails? Me? Was something in the house so bad that it drew into my nose and permanently lodged there? And it wasn't localized to just the house. It followed me in the car, while I walked through the grocery store, while I sat through an IEP meeting, while I tried to sleep at night. At times it was so bad that my eyes would water. And always my nose burned with ammonia.

"You don't smell that?!" I'd ask Becky as she sat in the kitchen doing school. I mean, if my eyes were watering from the stench, she HAD to smell it. Except she didn't. Nobody smelled anything. Ever. So it was determined that nobody smelled anything except for me, and I didn't smell. I just smelled something.

The doctor recommended a Neti Pot. While that cleaned me out in an uber gross kind of way, it did nothing for the smell. Well, that's incorrect. It made the smell worse as there was nothing else in my nose to help mask the ammonia. And still, the smell goes on. A bit of Vicks helps mask the smell, and shockingly mixing my chemicals like that hasn't made my brain explode. I have, however, developed a headache from the non-stop ammonia sniffing. It's something that I don't recommend.

The ENT suggested an overactive olfactory nerve, and has me on steriods to calm it down. People, the sheer number of 'roids that I'm on will have me buff and growing hair on my boobs in 24 hours. I'd be happy with the buff part, and if hairy boobs is the price to pay so be it. I have a good razor. I'm just hoping that it works, because the smell. It's driving me crazy.

This is the weirdest thing that I've ever encountered. Please tell me that you've had medical weirdness at some point too, just to make me feel better.

Undoing What's Been Done

Once you allow a boy to become a redneck, there is no turning back. It's a sad, sad thing.

That whole peeing on the front porch thing? Yeh. The boy is still doing it. It's not that we just sit back and allow it. Nor do we encourage it with giggles and head wags. Much to the contrary, we'll tell him that he needs to get to a potty. We don't pee on the porch. We say this every single time that we catch him. Mind you, he started this because of my allowing him to relieve himself out the back door, but it didn't help that the downstairs toilet was out of commission.

But last week, Sam installed the toilet. We have a fully functioning powder room downstairs again. Right by the front door, too. So now it's even worse than bad when Micah opens the front door to flash the world.

Sam came downstairs to find Micah standing at the front door with his pants down around his ankles the other day, so he did what any caring parent would do. He told Micah to get himself into the restroom. The boy did. He shuffled away from the door, across the hall, and into the bathroom with his pants around his ankles.

We're very thrilled that the boy is keeping his underpants dry (5 weeks!) but maybe he can work at keeping the front porch that way as well. Small steps. Small steps.

I'm also thrilled that he didn't pull a Diary of a Wimpy Kid move and hose down the front hall. That could have been ugly in many ways.

(And also? FIVE WEEKS. This is it, people. THIS IS IT. He refuses to wear a diaper through the daytime even for all-day field trips that involve long bus rides and unknown restrooms locations. You can probably hear me grinning. Peeing on the front porch is a very small price to pay for that huge step of independence. I'm gladly accepting it.)

We Are Steelers Nation

We've raised the kids right, here in Western PA. Despite the fact that I am not a sports fan, even I have gone as far as training the young 'uns that We Are Steelers Nation. The husband taught me the importance of taking pride in a team (even if you don't follow their games), and I am helping to instill that into the kids. The kids are learning well, and are black and gold all the way. We're raising up the next generation here.

Certain events as of late have made us very disappointed with our team. A certain he-who-will-remain-nameless-Roethlisberger has put a dark spot on the Steelers name, but he's certainly not the only one. There are others, as we all know. Our pastor is a die-hard Browns fan (I know, right?) and has made it a point to be telling our boys that the Steelers are going down the crapper in a hurry. In fact, he says, they will never make it to a playoff again. They'll be lucky to have a starting lineup this fall. And further, he states, you'd be an idiot to even be a fan of them any longer. (This, from a Browns fan.)

My kids are just as impressionable as any other kids. They can also reason, and it stands to reason that what Pastor is saying is true. (Forgive them, they are young.) While there are some black, black marks on the team, they are still the Steelers. Either one is a fan of a team, or one needs to assess where their loyalties lie. It was after Luke uttered the following statement that I had need to remind the boys of this.

"I don't know what I'll do with my Steelers stuff this fall. I have a lot of it, and I probably won't be rooting for the Steelers team."

To which I replied, "why not?!"

"Because their team is not going to be good this year. All the players are leaving or are bad."

So I said, "Dude. They're still the Steelers. If you're a fan, you support them through the good and the bad. Nobody likes a fan that is around only in the good times. You've gotta decide if they're your team or not, and if they are you don't worry about the bad stuff. They're your team! They need you to stand behind them. And we support the Steelers."

To which his faithful little heart said, "yeh, you're right. I love the Steelers."

That's my boy.

That being said, one can be worried about a team that they support. I'm just saying. I have faith though. If I can redo that  horrific passport photo to make it into something human, the Steelers can remake their team again into something wonderful.

I will no longer be detained at borders merely for laughs. Go, me. Let's hope he-who-shall-remain-nameless-Roethlisberger can be this good looking by the end of the year. And really, it's not asking much.

And Then There's That

Josh has been medically needy recently, but you'll have that on occasion. In a family this large, it's somebody or other all the time. It's just nice that it's not Micah for a change.

Josh has a beautiful smile. It looks as though he's had a go-round with braces already, but it's just good genetics. The bad genetics are in the back of his mouth where you can't see the fun going on. Apparently his mouth is such a cool place to be that he's just not losing any baby teeth, therefore the big teeth are coming in on his gumline. The boy resembles a shark. The dentist recommended pulling 4 teeth in a sitting so as to facilitate the shift of big teeth into their permanent positions. We figured we'd consult with an orthodontist before doing this to be sure that braces wouldn't be needed to pull those down into place. We were lucky, he doesn't. He'll just be gumming his food for a while, but hey, it's in the back of his mouth where nobody can see. To a 13 year old boy, that's what matters.

The boy has also been fighting psoriasis for years, and losing. We've tried this shampoo and that, and back to this, then back to that, and tried this shampoo with that topical and that shampoo with this topical, but no matter what algebraic equation we tried it just didn't kick the problem completely. We finally paid a visit to a dermatologist and Josh has had XTRAC laser treatment on his scalp. (It's been localized there, which is part of the reason he keeps his hair long. The other part is the fact that it's hip and he's cool.) After a record-setting 4 treatments, he's free and clear of psoriasis. The dermatologist has never seen such a response. We're all thrilled.

And then there are the passport photos we've had taken today. Because of an upcoming trip we're taking to Mexico this summer, Josh and I need passports. (Thanks, government, for making that mandatory now. Luv ya for it. NOT.) For those not in the know about the subtleties of passport photos, you cannot smile nor show teeth. I now know why Erma Bombeck once famously said, "when you look like your passport photo, it's time to go home." People, this photo will be with me for the next 10 years. I'll be detained at the border just for laughs. Hideous is not even close. Bear in mind, of course, that it's a very rainy day and what was once beautifully full hair was flat and mussed by the time I got to where I was going. And I couldn't smile, or show teeth. So pretty much, when I look like my passport photo, it'll be time for me to come home from Mexico. I expect to have the Black Death Bubonic Plague if I look that bad.

Sometimes Goodbyes Aren't Sad

I haven't kept a baby book of Micah's developments. I started out with grand intentions - after all, I'd kept a record of all the other kids. At least for a while. I think Luke's bottomed out somewhere around his fourth tooth. But hey, it was a start. And I started with Micah as well. I dutifully wrote in his birthdate, complete with time of day down to the minute. I recorded his weight and length (because kids aren't measured in height until they can remain vertical on their own) and I filled in his family tree. After that, things kinda came to a screeching halt. I wanted to fill it out, I really did. But when your kid has major delays in most areas of his life, it gets discouraging. In fact, we're still waiting for things like his first lost tooth, potty training (we're so close!) and that whole vaguely gray area of his first word. Was it Shrek, when he used that deeply gutteral sound for a K so many years ago? Or are we still waiting for a crystal clear "daddy" to come out of his mouth?

And then there are milestones that aren't recorded in baby books. We've rejoiced over things like Micah being able to climb the steps of the sliding board all by himself. We're still thrilled when he makes whole sentences on his Voice. (There are no baby books that have a section for an artificial Voice. Trust me.) And how about the day he learned to dress himself, or put his shoes on, or even wash himself in the bathtub? For Micah, those are reasons to celebrate one more step to independence. That is one more thing that I won't have to do for my son when he is an adult. It's one more reason to be incredibly proud of him and how hard he works at everyday life.

One of the milestones that he may never reach, that don't have a place in baby books, is drinking from a cup. We've been in Sippy Cup Land for 15 years now, and there will likely never be an end to it. (Do you KNOW how much money we've spent on sippy cups over the years?!) Except today, I realized that there will be an end. Sometimes Smart hits me over the head and knocks some sense into me.

Today, I realized that I can give the boy a straw in a cup. He's responsible enough to not spill it (for the most part) and we don't have to worry about matching lids with bottoms. He can now graduate to being a big boy, drinking from a straw. Go, me, for allowing Smart to smack some sense into me. And go, Micah, for being patient with me all these years in not figuring that out a long time ago.

And this is exactly why I blog. Micah doesn't have a baby book. It's just not accurate, nor does it have the appropriate reasons for rejoicing. Instead, I can write about each of his milestones here and have them remembered for all time.

Today marks the end of the Sippy Cup Era. Let the world rejoice.

Saturday Shots

Silly Goat

Family Portrait

The Daughter

The Son

Wile E. Coyotes

Swag to the Future!

Who doesn't love a good bargain? If I can get something for free, I'm all over it like white on rice. There are some things that just aren't worth free though, and I hate when I find that out after the fact. I also hate when free is more like "free." Attached strings or hidden fees make me stabby. (If you deal with them better than I do, I have $300 waiting for you. For real. Contact me for info. But beware, there are strings attached.)

Every now and then I get a deal too good not to share. (I can't share the awesome deal that I got at Starbucks the other day, or I would. Dude. As if half price frappuccinos aren't enough, there was a snafu with my card payment so they ended up giving us 2 free drinks plus an extra $4 on the card that we didn't have when we stopped there. It was the Best Day Ever.)

So anyhoo, this deal. It's called Swagbucks. Swagbucks is absolutely free, with no strings or hidden fees. You sign up for an account, download a search toolbar, and use that every time you need to Google something. You get points randomly awarded for searching. You get points randomly awarded just for using the toolbar or taking a daily poll. And every now and then they give you a secret code that gives you additional points. These points add up quickly.

What do you do with the points? You redeem them for real things. You can get gift cards to Amazon, or for PayPal, or to Starbucks, or even Southwest Airlines. I'm saving mine for Disney gift cards. I'm hoping that our family can head back to the Magic Kingdom in a year or so, and I'd like to have at least a hundred dollars in gift cards saved up that cost me nada. NADA.  How nice is that? I've been a member of the Swagbucks community for a month and have enough points for a $25 Disney card already. I'm smiling large.

And you can , too. See that Swagbucks advertisement on the right side of my blog? The one that says EARN FREE PRIZES? Click on it, sign up, and start earning. Or you can just click here. You'll not regret it. Honest.

*This is in no way a paid advertisement for Swagbucks. I am endorsing them all on my very own with no compensation whatsoever. However, if they wish to compensate me with swagbucks points, a Disney gift card, a free Starbucks drink or anything else that ranks as awesome, I would gratefully accept.

It's A Field Trip!

The first grade went on a field trip to The Mountain Playhouse today. I volunteered to chaperone for the first time that Micah has been in school. I know what you're thinking - he's been in school for 2 years now and I'm a slacker. That's not entirely true, though. I'd have loved to have been that overinvolved parent that pokes her nose into every event that Micah participates in (and some that he doesn't) but Micah simply wouldn't allow it. The Boy At School and The Boy At Home are two very different individuals and I can't cross that line without incurring The Boy At School's wrath. On the rare occasion that I stop into his classroom and actually catch him working at learning something, he will get up from his seat and escort me out of the room, all the while grumbling that I had some nerve stopping in just to embarrass him in front of his peers. No, I'm not kidding. The boy does not want his mama to be seen with him.

In fact, when I drop him off at the school he now insists that I stay in the vehicle while he walks himself into the building and marches himself down the hallway to his classroom. He is not a baby, mom. He'll do it without my help, thankyouverymuch. And while I'd love to oblige him on this, standing back and watching him push the button to be buzzed in and entering the world of school all by his big little self, I can't. I have to sign him in at the front desk. This does not make him happy at all.

So I've waited almost two entire years before volunteering to chaperone an event. And I was quite curious to know exactly how he'd react once he realized that I was there whether he liked it or not. Turns out, he was thrilled to have Mama tag along for the day. There is no rhyme or reason with that boy.

At the Playhouse, we saw an hour long production based on seven different children's books, including If You Give a Pig a Pancake, How I Became a Pirate and Lilly's Big Day among others. Micah was amazed. A-mazed. He stood at his theater seat, wide-eyed, oohing and aaahing, pointing and clapping. And just when he thought they were done, they started on another book. It was the shortest hour ever. He could have stood there in wonderment for three more, dancing to the music, watching the actors play out the fun stories, marveling at the props.

But while it was the Best Day Ever for Micah, one little boy on the bus was quite disappointed. "I thought we were going to a playhouse" I heard him say. "We weren't allowed to play with anything."

I Should Have Thought That Through a Little Beforehand

Micah has a personal goal to be up BEFORE the sun. Sleep is for the weak, and he will never be accused of being the weak link in this family. (I'd love to hold that title, but my title of Mom does not allow weakness in any form. We really are expected to be superheroes.) But as fate would have it, Micah slept in one day last week. I had to wake him for the bus. That was a pain that was almost physical.

If you know anything about parenting, you know to let sleeping toddlers lie. The whole adage about sleeping dogs has nothing on a sleeping toddler. I waited until the very last second to get him up. I gathered his school clothes ahead of time so as to interact with Mr. Grumpypants as little as possible. My goal was to get him dressed and out the door before he was fully awake. One cannot risk the Screaming Thrashing Toddler Syndrome that early in the morning.

I sat him on the couch and gave him an underwear choice. Bad move; let the grumping begin. Those, he chose. NOT THOSE, WUMMAN, ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL MY NETHERS? Yes, those. NOPE, CHANGED MY MIND AGAIN. KEEP UP HERE, WOULD YA? There is no winning with a toddler. There were only 2 choices. I'm not entirely dim witted.

I took his overnight diaper off and discovered it to be dry. (Four weeks in underpants and now a dry overnight diaper. People, the world as we know it is coming to an end. I'm grateful. Huggies will be sorry to have lost our 15 year patronage.) Since our downstairs bath is being renovated and the toilet is sitting outside, I figured the best thing to do would be to have Micah relieve himself outside as well. There is nothing like peeing off the back steps to bring a smile to a boy's face. It's amazing how the day took a turn for the better after that. The giggling, the hugs, the games we played between the two of us as he got dressed. And then he was off to school.

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We were sitting in the living room when Micah walked over to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped outside. Being as we never use the front door unless we have company, I was baffled. Did he hear someone knock? Was he checking the status of the neighbors? Was he looking for UFOs?

It wasn't until he did this a second time that day that we realized what was going on. Mama taught the boy that it was acceptable to pee outside. Front porch facing the road, back door where nobody can see, it's all the same when you're a little boy. And the front door is his door of choice. He prefers to flash the neighbors and attempt to cause accidents from innocent passersby.

We have GOT to get that downstairs toilet put back in.

Mother's Day Weekend Recap

Pro: Sam had off over the weekend. This is the second Mother's Day weekend he's had off since starting in this career field 8 years ago.

Pro: We took advantage of our freedom and went away.

Pro: We spent the day at my parent's cabin in the next county. Not only was it very nice, but it was a wonderfully inexpensive get-away.

Pro: Being unplugged from the telephone, internet and everything that reminds us that we have work to do. We even skipped out on our church duties and spent the WHOLE day there. PURE BLISS.

Con: Micah was bored out of his skull and in 2.3 minutes when our backs were turned, he took the plexiglass covering off the 1,000 piece puzzle that  was the centerpiece on the coffee table and slid the whole thing off onto the floor. Piece by itty bitty piece.

I cried.

I hope your Mother's Day was all about the pros.

Warning: Lots of Photos

Waaaaaay back in February when we were getting several feet of snow daily, a kid from the youth group at church asked Becky to be his date for prom. Under the premise of friendship, she said yes. Soon afterward, she started scouring the internet for the perfect prom dress. Being that we were in the midst of the coldest and snowiest month in my 39 year history, I thought how nice it would be to actually wear something strapless and shoulder-baring in May. She found the gown she wanted, we headed to the fabric store, and I made it happen. (Buying a $300 dress for prom is ludicrous. It's more than I paid for my wedding gown. I can bargain shop, people. Never underestimate me.)

This past weekend was not only Mother's Day, but prom. After a gorgeous week of near-perfect weather and much sunshine, the temperatures dropped to low 40's. Suddenly that strapless and shoulder-baring dress was very, very cold. And on the way home from her date's house, as the temperatures continued to drop, we saw snow.

SNOW.

IN MAY.

FOR PROM.

Mother Nature has officially lost her shiz.

It only looks warm and sunny in the pictures.

My daughter. She wears flip flops for every occasion. Year 'round. These were silver.

The date's 'dirty' truck. He was mortified that he didn't have time to wash it. I reminded him that girls are way more concerned with their gown than they are the state of a truck. He was skeptical. He's all boy.

Micah approves of Alex. This is very out of character for the boy. And it was completely spontaneous.

We all loved it. Micah brings a smile to everyone's face.

The wind. OH, the wind. And the cold. AND THE SNOW. That's 9 yards of netting flying around there. You should have seen her in the truck. It was like a vision impairing snow storm.

Becky insisted on this shot. She lurves her baby bro.

The date's sister, and one of Becky's best friends.

And that's the end of prom, 2010. Unfortunately, it's not the end of the snow. In May.

Saturday Shots

Vertical and Horizontal

 

Sharing with Mom

Zoom, Zoom

Tranquility and Textures

A Bigfoot Sighting!

Luke is a fun kid. I love that it doesn't take much to make him happy. If you tell him I Love You, you've just made his day. If you get him a stone, it's like giving him gold. (No, seriously. He has a stone collection. We went to the Grand Canyon the other year and his very favoritest souvenir ever was a stone. I'm sure I don't know where he gets that unhealthy love of rocks. Ahem.) But the boy is just a great kid to have around.

So we're driving in the car the other day and he's talking a mile a minute, as usual. I've had experience in the adolescent girl department and have learned to tune out 63% of all words spoken. Things like conjunctions, prepositions and even adverbs and adjectives do not need to be heard to know what's going on. If I listened to every single word spoken by my daughter or the Drama King, my ears would bleed. (My condolences to families with many girls.)

Just as I was tuning back in to the conversation, I hear Luke exclaim, "Hey! I've got hair on my toes!" The excitement in his voice was akin to winning a cool 22 million in the lottery. I have already discovered that boys love hair in places that women would rather not have it grow. I find this weird, but then again I'm not a guy. I guess armpit hair is all the rage if you're a tween boy without it. But toe hair? Who knew?

And apparently it wasn't enough to just have toe hair. He needed us all to know that he excels in the hair growing department. "I have the hairiest arms in my class, too" he beamed with pride.

Boys are really, really strange.

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Sorting and Grouping

Sometimes I really wish that I knew what kids were thinking. It would be so interesting.