WORK ETHIC

I suppose it is safe to tell you that while Kayla is away at camp, we are redecorating her room for her.

It's a surprise. But don't worry. She picked out her comforter months ago and told me what color she wanted her walls.

So today I started painting the two walls that are going to be something other than white (pictures upon completion), after Paul had spent two nights priming all the walls and painting the two white ones.

Having spent twenty minutes painting this morning, I decided my time would be better used elsewhere. After all there were two teenage boys in the next bedroom that were doing nothing but playing a video game.

So I knocked on Blake's door.

*knock, knock, knock*

WHAAAAAT?!?

Hey. You guys wanna paint for me?

Uh, NO!

I'll pay you.

Oh, allllll right.

So the boys exit their cave and enter Kayla's room for their instructions.

It is important to note that Blake made it very clear that pictures would not be allowed, which absolutely broke my heart because I really wanted to commemorate Dumb and Dumber painting a teenage girl's bedroom.

*sigh*

After listening raptly to my instructions Blake starts telling me in no uncertain terms that he's a lousy painter and he hates the idea of doing this.

You do know this is going to look terrible, right? I'm terrible at painting so it's going to be a lousy job.

Well, son, that certainly isn't the way to start negotiations. You should be saying 'I won't let you down, Ma'am. You can count on me to give you the best service ever.' Right Cody?

Um...yeah.

And then, Blake uttered words that, in 22 years of marriage, his father has NEVER uttered to me: Well, what are YOU going to be doing all day?

Funny, I don't know how it happened; but suddenly Blake had a whole gallon of paint dripping from his head and face....

Cody attacked the job with as much enthusiasm as Cody shows for anything, but he certainly didn't complain. In fact, he actually told me about four times that he would do it for free. That was when Blake said "Dude!! Don't be stupid. Take the money." Which made me prouder than you can imagine.

No, I'm going to pay you. And you, Cody, will get a "NO WHINING BONUS" because you have such a good attitude. Blake on the other hand...well...obviously I've failed. Oh, and Cody? You're in charge of this operation.

I obviously failed to instill any work ethic into my son, as I lost count of how many times he complained about the painting and said "Man, I hate work!"

Dear Uncle Sam,
That new Marine recruit you got last weekend? Well, the drill instructors might need to know that he hates work. Perhaps he will do better in your Low Impact Boot Camp. Could you see to it that he is enrolled in that one?
M'kay, thanks.

One thing that Blake DID have going for him was that he wore appropriate paint attire - sweat pants and a stocking cap.

That's all.

No shirt.

No shoes.

No socks.

I don't even know what to say about that.

Then, in what I guess was an attempt to get me to fire them, they turned on Kayla's antique stereo (circa 2005) and turned the music up really loud so I'd have to listen to all this horrible music - Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me....?

I showed them. I left for the mall.

To make this "Dumb and Dumber" episode even more exciting - I had actually thought about keeping it a secret from Paul that the boys did the painting.

See, well, Paul has issues about painting. He hates to paint but he doesn't want anybody else to paint either.

I know. It puts me in quite a bind when I want to redecorate.

So then.

I thought I had 8 or so hours before Paul got home and I could work up to telling him that I had let two teenage boys loose with the paint; but then Paul called me on the phone.

And I immediately started giggling when I answered his call.

Because I can't keep a secret (especially when I know it's going to get Paul all worked up)

Which is probably why I'll never be a gambler or a spy.

Of course when he heard me giggling he assumed I was visiting with Blake.

Well, sort of....

So, what's up?

Well, don't be mad...but I'm letting Blake and Cody paint Kayla's room.

*silence*

They better keep that floor covered! Do they know how to move the tarp to protect the rug?

And then I said something to my husband that I never imagined I'd hear myself say:

OH! DON'T BE SUCH AN OLD LADY!! Really, I said that. Can you believe I said that?
Do you really think a little paint is going to make that carpet look worse than the nail polish and marker stains that are already on it? We can cover things with throw rugs. Stop worrying, for Pete's sake.

The good news is the painting is done - except for a little touching up - and it looks fantastic. The boys did a great job.

The bad news is that not only does my son hate manual labor, but apparently I'm married to a persnickety eighty-year-old woman.

EMERGENCY....

When we went shopping for Kayla's camp stuff, I was surprised when she picked out only one snack item for the cabin - a BIG bag of Skittles. She usually takes more goodies than that.

My misgivings have proven to be spot on. Kayla texted Paul today regarding the snack emergency in which she has found herself:


When you come on Wednesday can you bring some food for the cabin?

Perhaps. What would you like?

Nacho Doritos, Gold fish.

Since we usually attend the church services at camp on Wednesday night, Kayla decided to see if she could convince her daddy to step in and rescue her from these dire food conditions.

Naturally Daddy will take care of this.

Because it is no secret that girl has him wrapped around her little finger.

Surely, though, she meant to ask for Oreos and just forgot to put that on her list. Just to be safe I will buy a bag and eat a few before we deliver them to Cabin Eleven.

I think it is the Godly thing to do.

WHAT REMAINS...

See this beautiful stone fireplace?

There is supposed to be a building around it.

Last winter we sadly watched the local news while listening to the story of how this building was burned to the ground. It was determined to be an act of arson. While I wish no SERIOUS harm to come to the arsonist, in the words of one of my college professors "may the fleas of a thousand camels infest his armpits..."

Is that bad of me?

Because, this building was the mess hall for our church camp.

The camp ground is actually owned by another church and for years our church has rented it for two or three weeks in the summer so that kids like Kayla could grow up with the memories and tradition that adults like Paul have. See, Paul grew up going to this camp too.

Being the heathen child that I was, I never got to go to church camp.

But I sure heard a lot about it from Paul. Mainly, I heard about the church camp romances, but we won't get into that.

And now I get to watch my sweet daughter thoroughly enjoy this phase of her life.

Except she has to finish her church camp career without the original mess hall.

A lot goes on in the mess hall. Most importantly, that's where the kids get fed. And I've never heard a complaint about camp food. In fact our kids have always come home asking me to learn to cook pulled pork barbecue like the camp cooks, or try to find the sausage that the camp cooks serve.

Camp food, camp food, camp food.

The mess hall is where the kids work on their crafts. Or at least the younger kids. I don't know if high schoolers do crafts. Probably not. It's also where the kids hang out when the weather turns stormy.

It's where we parents would deposit our children at the beginning of the camp session, write our check and turn in the kids' medication to the camp nurse. It's where we negotiate with our kids on how much money they need for the canteen.

Because, really, how many Mountain Dews does a child need in six days? How many Skittles is too many?

It's where mail is distributed. And if you get three or more letters in a day you have to sing for your mail.

Whatever you do, DON'T write to me! Was always the instruction we received from our kids.


Thankfully, the campground has a Retreat Center that they have opened for our use. It has a kitchen facility and a big room in which to hold services and the talent show. Actually, the retreat center is probably nicer than the mess hall. It's definitely nicer than the pavilion where most of the activities had been held - the pavilion that has now been torn down because it's been decided that it will be replaced with a large multi-purpose building that will hold the new mess hall and other rooms for the campers' activities.


But I am sad. I am sad that somebody decided it was okay to enter a clearly marked church property and set fire to one of its buildings. I am sad that somebody decided it was okay to not only destroy this property but also to take away a place that is full of memories and tradition - a place that has spanned generations in the impact it will have on young lives.

In the grand scheme of things, losing the mess hall is really no big deal, I guess. Thankfully, nobody was injured. The kids will still obviously have a great time, though I'm sure they've needed to retrain their feet on which path to take when the meal time bell rings. Memories will still be made. New traditions will be born.

Memories and traditions. As long as these are present, I guess we can do without a building.

LET'S GO CAMPING...

When Kayla entered the second grade she was over the moon with excitement because she knew the upcoming summer would be her first opportunity to go to church camp.

She had seen how much fun her brother had at the little mini camp for elementary students (three nights) and she was excited to have her turn.

Plus, she thought it would be totally awesome to go four days without brushing her teeth. After all, that's what Blake had done and he looked quite happy (albeit a little green in the mouth)when we picked him up.

Church camp was scheduled for June. About April of that year, we got the news that they had moved the starting age back a year. Now, instead of entering the third grade to be a beginning camper, kids had to be entering the fourth grade.

THAT'S NOT FAIR!! There was crying. There was grumbling. There was a slight temper tantrum.

Then Paul told me I had to pull myself together because I was frightening the children.

Kayla had really been looking forward to church camp. REALLY. LOOKING. FORWARD. TO. IT.

And because I'm the terrible mother that I am, I had really been looking forward to both of my kids going to church camp for the same few days.

Only because I wanted them to grow in their faith and learn lots of Bible verses, of course.

Yeah, that's it.

Well another mom and I approached the director and asked if there was any way...any way AT ALL... that they would let the little kids come. After all, they had been planning for this and looking forward to "going into the third grade so we can go to church camp!!!"

Being the wise man that he was, the director said, Yes, send the little ones.

*cue hallelujah chorus now*

That was the beginning of Kayla's absolute passion for church camp. For the last three weeks, she has counted down the days by writing on the mirror in her bedroom.

Yesterday, she and Amanda got to load up and head out to camp.

Ahhh! Look how happy they look.

Hey girls! Are you going to read your Bibles every day and stay away from the boys?

Um...yeah...of course we are silly mother!

Aside from their enthusiasm, what impressed me the most was Amanda's collection of shoes. She managed to out-shoe even Kayla:

This does not show her other pair of Converse (plaid) the Vans she was wearing (are they called Vans?) or the ridiculously cute canvas ballet flats under all the flip flops.

*note to self: take shopping trip to Shoe Carnival

Amanda, you are a girl after my own heart.

FIRST STEPS

Today at 11:21 a.m. we received this text from Blake, who was in St. Louis:

I'm enlisted and sworn in to the Marine Corps.

Being the pushy parents that we are, we had asked his recruiter to meet us at the office when Blake returned to town so that we could get a couple of pictures. This is, after all, the beginning of quite a journey for our boy.

Judging by the look on Blake's face, I'm guessing he knew these photos would immediately end up on this blog. Sorry Son.

Sergeant Gibson was obviously blissfully unaware of that fact.

But look at that uniform. This nice young sergeant donned his dress blues on a Saturday evening and opened his office so he could indulge a mother who was at risk of dissolving into a puddle of tears right there in the Marine Recruiting Center. Not only that, but he brought his pretty young wife, who is expecting their first child, with him.

Blake's scheduled ship date: June 14, 2010.

Suddenly a year seems very very short.

I WANT YOU!

Dear Uncle Sam,

I WANT YOU!

I've always liked that sign of yours.

Well, you aren't getting me, but you're getting something better. You're getting my son.

If all goes as planned he will be enlisting in the Marines this weekend, which I suppose will make me, from here on out, a little partial to the United States Marine Corps.

But, truth be told, it really doesn't matter to me. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines - all of the men and women who choose one of these careers is choosing an honorable, selfless, dangerous, and sacrificial path for their future.

Each uniform gives me goose bumps. Each uniform is a sign of sacrifice.

But do you know? Do you know the gift you are receiving when a mother signs those papers? Do you know that when a mother signs those papers she gets a lump in her throat and her chest feels so tight she fears she will stop breathing? Do you know that when a mother signs those papers, she would rather walk through a war unarmed than send her child away to be trained to fight? Do you know that when a mother signs those papers, you might as well wrap her heart in body armor and drop it into the middle of a mine field?

Or forget the body armor. It doesn't matter.

Do you know that when a mother signs those papers she might actually, for a split second, forget how to spell her name? For a split second the lines on the paper become a little blurry.

I know that what you see in my son is a young, healthy teenager who is eager to serve. You see a kid who is ready to be shaped and molded; broken down and rebuilt into a member of the mightiest military force in the world.

But do you know what I see when I sign him over to you? I see the tiny baby boy who stole my heart nearly eighteen years. I see the chubby five year old who used to PLAY at fighting battles, not a young man who will be TRAINED to fight them.

So why do we do it? Why do we mothers sign those papers? We do it because, for nearly eighteen years, we have prayed over our children. We have worried over them. We have shaped and molded and wondered if we are doing any of it right. But mostly, we have watched and listened. We have learned about our children. We have learned to read the signs - the signs that tell us that this is indeed what he wants to do, what he needs to do. We watch him and we see that he is more enthusiastic about this military choice than he's been about anything. We watch him and see that he is content. We see a peace about him that wasn't there before.

And so we sign those papers because we know that he will go with or without our signature, with or without our blessing. And we so desperately want our sons and daughters to leave our homes with a sense of peace, knowing that their parents are backing them a thousand percent. We sign them because there is no way in this world we want to alienate our child by not accepting his career choice.

So, in less than a year, my son will be heeding your call, Uncle Sam. Less than a year. Every parent in the world can tell you how quickly a year passes when it comes to our children. I will blink my eyes and he will be starting a new chapter in his life - a chapter that he will author himself, as it should be.

I just wanted to remind you, Uncle Sam, that our sons and daughters are our most priceless treasures; and when you receive them for your service I hope you treat them as such.

And speaking of daughters...I have one. And history has not yet recorded a battle as vicious as the one you will see if you dare to set your sights on her.

I'm just sayin'.

Sincerely,
Almost a Marine Mom,
HW

DOG DAYS

It is not uncommon for Paul to come home from work and say something like "So-and-So had a baby and I said you'd bring a meal. What day is good for you?"

The kids like this arrangement because it means mom is going to cook. I like this arrangement because it means I get to shop for baby clothes (one cannot arrive without a gift, CAN ONE?) It also means I get to cuddle a new baby when we take the meal.

It's a win-win situation.

It is also not uncommon for Paul to come home from work and say "Since S0-and-So is from Zimbabwe (or Belize, or Columbia, or England) and they have no family in town, I said we'd watch their baby (or kids) for the night so they could go out."

This also is a win-win situation because it means I get to cuddle a baby (or play with a REALLY cute 6 year old or chase a REALLY busy 2-year-old) all evening, and our international friends get a night away from the kids.

This international babysitting experience has taught me a few things:

1) Newborn baby love is international. It is painfully sweet across the globe.

2) Roly Poly baby thighs are ridiculously cute in any language.

3) The Terrible Twos are not exclusive to these great United States.

This morning Paul volunteered my babysitting services yet again:

SIT! STAY! WHERE ARE YOU GOING? PAAAAUUUULLLLL!

Meet Cert - pronounced CHAYERT. Cert's "mom" is from the Czech Republic (in keeping with our international theme) and in Czech, his name means "Little devil; or imp."

Cert's name really does not suit him. Number one, he's not little. Number two, he really isn't a devil. He's actually quite sweet. He's a little Scooby Doo-ish.

RUH-ROH!

Cert's "Dad" works with Paul and since he is being transferred to Europe, they are having a Realtors' tea at their house this morning and needed a place for Cert to hang out.

"Heidi and Kayla can watch him. They won't mind a bit."

Um....well, okaaaaay. But since Kayla was playing softball until ten last night, Heidi is the only one up and around for this babysitting gig.

I actually got Cert to sit still for 4 minutes when he found one of Cookie's raw hide chewies. It was not at all pleasant to watch him eat this thing. Plus he was a little rude about it. He didn't even ask "uh...does this chewie belong to anybody?" He just grabbed it and started chomping. I'd like to think my dog had better manners than that when she was a guest in someone's home.

Then I insisted that I get a picture of the two dogs together before Paul left for work.

Okay, but you're not leaving for work until I get a picture of the two dogs. This is blog-worthy you know.

As you can see, the photo session went quite well:

Eboneee and IIIIIIvory live together in perfect haaar-mony. Side by side on my piano keyboard. Oooh-Oooh!! Why can't we.....

Cookie and Cert are old friends. Every time Cert walks by our house he makes an automatic turn up our drive so that he and Cookie can sniff each other's....well... you know what dogs do to greet each other.

But there's something about inviting him into the house that just hasn't sat right with Cookie. It's like inviting a new dog into the pack.

Oh, wait. That's exactly what we've done.

I think she's planning to file a complaint with PETA.

For the time being, though, it seems the two dogs have reached an understanding.

Cookie will guard the front door. And pout.




And Cert will keep watch at the back window.

And Paul will most certainly be bringing dinner home tonight.

FAMINE, PLAGUE AND PESTILENCE

See my Tickled Pink Super Bells? The ones on the left of the purple...the um...purple...um, well I don't know what the purple ones are, but OF COURSE you can't see my Tickled Pink Super Bells:



Because the bunnies ate them.



See my orange Impatiens?

Of course you can't see them because, well I don't know if the bunnies ate them or not but they are gone too. My neighbor has confirmed, however, that the bunnies have eaten my white clematis blooms:

See? No white clematis blooms. See that empty barren flower bed next to the clematis vines? Well we decided we needed to dig up everything in this flower bed and start over. And when I say WE, I really mean *I* decided we needed to dig up everything in this flower bed and start over. So last Sunday evening we cleared out the whole bloomin' mess.

And when I saw WE cleared out the whole bloomin' mess, I mean PAUL cleared out the whole bloomin' mess, so we can start over.

While I took Kayla out to practice driving.

So the neighbors to the south of us, who happen to be VERY diligent lawn care people get to look at our dried up barren flower bed until we get busy and replace the old stuff. We have no idea what we're going to put in there.

I'm thinking something in a nice elegant plastic.

This poor neglected flower bed truly adds insult to injury for our very lawn-minded neighbors, because all winter and spring, they got to look at this, our side garage door:

Yes, we have become THOSE neighbors. We are determined to bring down the property values on our cul-de-sac if it's the last thing we do.

When I was telling our neighbor how our freshly painted door began peeling almost immediately after the painter left, he said "Well, earlier in the spring I saw the Virgin Mary in it."

UH! If he had told us that sooner we could have taken our door on tour and made some quick cash.

But, now that I have accepted that there is no money to be made off my door, and now that the weather is fit for painting again, the door guy is here today to make good on his work. Unless, of course, any of you can see an image in that peeling paint that might prove valuable.

Anybody?

As for the dead flowers surrounding my house? While last year I was aghast at all threats to kill the rabbits who were eating all the blooms in the neighborhood - after all they weren't eating MY flowers - this year I'm searching for a big can of BUNNY-BE-GONE.

In the mean time we have lots of work to do - new bushes, new flowers, new mulch, new door.

And if we don't get all this beautifying done soon....new neighbors.

TEAM LEADERS

Kayla's Summer Youth League Softball team (which is part of the Country Girls Softball League) consists of girls who are entering grades 8,9 and 10 in the next school year. This makes Kayla and her friends the senior members of the team. As is appropriate with that status, they decided to approach their first game last night with all seriousness and maturity:





*note the regulation socks....Kayla - pitcher; Maggie - catcher; Becky - first base.

As the younger members started arriving, I decided to find the "older" girls and encourage them to introduce themselves and make the younger girls feel welcome.

In every high school sport my kids have participated in, I've been very impressed with how the upperclassmen take the new kids under their wings and make them feel instantly like part of the team. This was true for football when Blake was a freshman and in both of the sports Kayla was involved in this year The juniors and seniors take the younger ones to dinner, they invite them to movies and cookouts, they offer them rides. It's always been a very inclusive group no matter what the program. I wanted to encourage our girls to pay it forward with this kind of attitude.

I was a little concerned however, when this is where I found the older girls:

*Kayla, Shannon, Maggie, Becky

Hey new girls! Meet your team leaders...um...yeah...don't listen to a thing they tell you.

No need to worry, though. While we were in line for shaved ice after the game (because it's not summer until you've had a shaved ice) the mom of one of the younger girls told me how sweet it was that the older girls went up and down the bench and introduced themselves to the new ones and spoke to each younger player. She said she had been a little concerned that her daughter would be playing with high school students.

Had she seen them on the playground earlier she might have packed her daughter up and driven away for good....

FLIP FLOP

We have a flip flop lover in the house.

She loves her flip flops so much she'll actually take a new pair and rub them against her face and make little purring noises.

Then when she's done totally embracing the flip flop she'll try them on and ask "Isn't this, like, the BEST. COLOR. EV. VER?"

P.S. Kayla loves flip flops too.

A BEGINNING AND AN END

Kayla has finished her first year of high school softball.

This week she will begin her final season of Summer Youth League softball.

This...
...is just beginning.


While this:

...is coming to an end. Seriously, how cute is she?

While the high school games are exciting and fast paced, there was something so sweet and fun about those early games when the girls could barely be trusted to run the bases in the right direction.

The utter excitement of just being on the field with other girls was enough to make them giddy. At one game, when the girls were in about first grade, we watched one of our girls make it to second base and, because she was so excited to be there, she threw her arms around the second baseman and hugged her until they both nearly toppled over in a fit of giggles.

Of course there was also the time, that same season, when our team staged a walk out in the middle of a game. There was thunder in the distance and the girls were getting nervous.

"MOOOOOMMMMMYYYY!" The third basement whined.

"You're fine, it's just thunder and it's far away...."

But she was not to be convinced. After a few more rumbles, she threw her glove to the ground and marched off the field.

"I'm NOT PLAYING in a storm!"

Soon the second basement abandoned her glove and followed her team mate. Then we lost our short stop. Within minutes half the team was in tears over the storm moving in.

Which wasn't actually moving in.

It was then that the coaches-slash-dads all threw their hands up and called the game off. Perhaps the only thing worse than losing a game is losing your team.

GAME CALLED DUE TO TEARS.

It's much different now.

Now when bad weather moves in we sit on metal bleachers while our girls swing metal bats, surrounded by a chain link fence, and we listen to our girls say "They better not call this game."

"We totally could play in this." "I hope we get to play in the rain." "Yeah, we could, like, slide in the mud."

While we moms make comments like "If that ump had any sense at all, he'd call this game right now. It's foolish - FOOLISH I TELL YOU - for us to be out here in this weather. Why, I have half a mind to drag my daughter off that field right now."

Except our daughters' wrath at being pulled from a game would be much more painful to endure than being struck by lightning.

PROXY

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine actually said to me "I would rather go to the gynecologist than shop at the mall."

I was able to quickly set aside my shock - SHOCK! I tell you - and think of a way that her attitude could benefit me.

ME ME ME ME ME.

So I said to her "Oh, well then. What are you doing on May 13th at 1:30? Because I think we can work something out."

Since I had an appointment today - you know, THAAAAT appointment - I thought I could go to the mall and shop for some fun sandals and a couple of flirty tops, and she could take my place in the stirrups.

After all she said she'd RATHER do that.

I thought I had stumbled upon a great concept.

Pap Smear by Proxy.

During the civil war wealthy families could actually pay somebody to go fight in place of their men folk.

This would be the same thing, except instead of any money changing hands it would be more of a barter system. You go see the doctor for me and I'll check out the sale at Kohl's for you.

Sadly my friend and I never came to an agreement on the initiation of my proxy idea.

Somehow I think she's not as disappointed about that as I am.

OVERSTOCK

I surely must be the only housewife in the country who is constantly in trouble for keeping too much food in the house. A well stocked freezer (or overstocked, depending on how you look at it) really bothers Paul.

REALLY. BOTHERS. HIM.

There's too much food in this house! He grumbles when he opens the freezer.

Yes dear.

We are not buying any more groceries until we've eaten everything in the freezer!

Yes, dear.

Are we expecting a blizzard?

You complain now, but when that blizzard hits and we can't get out for three days, who's going to be complaining then? Huh? HUH?


This past Saturday, when I couldn't be bothered to make lunch before heading to my cousin's wedding, Paul dug out an old chicken pot pie. And since that was pretty good he dug out another one for lunch on Sunday.

He has decided to take it upon himself to empty the freezer of all of our old food, one meal at a time.

And turn his body into a science experiment while he does it.

How old is that pot pie you're eating? I ask, my hand on the phone ready to dial 911.

Old.

Yesterday morning, I noticed he was carrying a plastic bag out the door on his way to work.

Oh, you're taking your lunch today?

Yes. I'm going to eat everything in the freezer that has expired.

Because he'd rather eat old food than throw it away.

But then I noticed something red in the bag. Weight Watchers Smart Ones Red.

But....pfthhht....UH!...you can't....WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING?

I'm taking these frozen entrees to work so I'll have lunch all week.

Not my Weight Watchers meals you're not. Don't you be takin' my Weigh Watchers Fruit Inspirations meals. They're not old. Besides, I saw that ice cream you ate last night; there's no way you're counting calories.
PUT DOWN THE SACK AND STEP AWAY FROM THE FROZEN ENTREES.

Fine. I'll take these corn dogs. He says as he digs in the freezer all over again.

I wouldn't do that. The kids eat those after school. I mean if YOU want to tell the kids you're eating all their corn dogs....

Well there's gotta be something in here that has expired.

MUST. EAT. OLD. FOOD.

Come to think of it, he's asked me to meet him for lunch today. I've been thinking we'd be going to an actual restaurant. Maybe he's planning to heat up all that old food in the microwave at work so we can sit in the car and eat it together.

I better call him and clarify his plans.

TREASURES

I used to have this beautiful Willow Tree Nativity Set.

In fact, I had it until this past Tuesday.

I was walking through the garage on Tuesday morning, on my way to plant flowers, when I noticed an odd looking toy on the floor.

Hmm. What's this? I asked my dog as I wandered over to investigate.

Then my poor dog actually stuck her ears out, parallel to the ground, and cocked her head to one side when she heard the noises that came out of my throat.

Nyaaaah! I whined as I picked up the camel's head.

Looking around, I saw the carnage scattered all over the garage floor, even under the van.

Noooo! I had found the back end of the camel.

Oh Lord! not the shepherd boy - as I cradled his dismembered arm in my hand.

Finally, among the pieces that couldn't be identified, I found the ear of a little black lamb.

Why? Why? Why?

Seems the box containing the nativity set had fallen from the storage shelves in the garage, shattering several supporting cast members of the nativity.

I decided there was not a lot to do about it until July when the stores start putting out their Christmas decorations. Paul, however, had different ideas. He went online to see what he could do to replace my treasures. Turns out he was able to buy a Willow Tree Nativity Companion Kit that contains a camel, a shepherd boy and two little black lambs.

And just like that, he ordered it for me.

What, I ask you, do you do with a man as sweet as that?

NOW THAT'S FUNNY

Listen to this...

Our minister asked if we might be interested in helping with a class on parenting. You know, now that we have teenagers, we might have some helpful tidbits to impart to those in an earlier phase of this parenting journey.

I can hear it now:

Paul and Heidi what can you tell us about being effective parents?

*crickets*

Um...

Well....gee....uh...

D'oh!

*rolling eyes heavenward searching for words*

Hmmm....

*scratching forehead*

Let us get back to you on that.
********************************************************************************

On another note. I have also recently found out that said minister has come across my blog and reads it occasionally.

*gulp*

Now I am frantically searching my archives for anything mean, cruel or inappropriate that I may have typed.

I know I called some Las Vegas prostitute a tramp once right here on this blog. See, she had gone on the morning news shows and said the great thing about this country was that she could build a business of her own and become financially successful, while serving the needs of countless men.

So I went on this rant and let my fingers get carried away on the keyboard and actually called her a tramp. Maybe twice.

*hanging head in shame.*

And then there's the time I said "hellacious," because that's the kind of evening I was having.
But at least then I asked my ones of readers if I could say "hellacious," on this blog, before actually using the word "hellacious." A few times.

I don't even want to think about the time I wrote crap crap crap - TWICE - because my papers blew out of my hands and into a muddy field right outside Staples, causing me to run through that muddy field trapping papers with my feet and wiping who-knows-what off of them before I requested 100 copies of each.

As much as I try to keep this blog-o-mine rated "G," sometimes I let my snarky side shine through.

And look where that's landed me?

THE THREE STOOGES DON'T GO TO PROM

What do you do when you are having a wedding reception on prom night and you need somebody to shuttle your guests back and forth between the reception site and their cars?


Why, you hire three 17-year-old boys who have no interest in going to prom, of course.




*Drew, Blake, Cody



The cousin of one of Blake's classmates was recently married in his homeland of Greece. They held their reception two nights ago and, since Blake and his friends were free, they agreed to be the parking attendants-slash-shuttle drivers for the evening.

Because, really, if you need somebody to drive a golf cart back and forth through your neighborhood, is there a better person for the job than a teenage boy?

But wait. What if any of those guests get out of line?

No problem. They'll just pull out the big sunglasses and show 'em who's boss.


Hey Blake - CHiPs called. Ponch wants his shades back.

THE INFIRMARY

Two years ago Kayla sprained her ankle during track practice; she ended up on crutches.

The injury itself was not as painful as the nurse's orders, however.

"No flip flops!" she told the heartbroken patient.

Because Paul wasn't with me at the doctor's office for that injury, I said we'd take some crutches from them and they could bill us.

Poor Kayla. If her father had been with us that day, he would have carved two tree branches into "Y" shapes and made her hobble around like an injured character from Gunsmoke.

A couple weeks ago, Kayla injured her foot while sliding into home during a softball game. And, no, she wasn't safe. After another visit to the clinic and an x-ray, she was ordered to be on crutches for at least four days.

The crutches I had bought two years ago, however, were too short for her.

"Walgreen's has crutches. I checked," I told Paul.

"I'm not buying a new set of crutches for her to use for four days," he replied, clutching his wallet to his chest, as he dug a new hole in which to bury it.

"Honey, she's a freshman. There WILL be more injuries. I promise you we'll get our money's worth out of them if we buy new crutches," I reasoned. But he was not to be swayed.

After one day on crutches which were too short for her, however, Kayla gained the sympathy of her father, who agreed to get her a pair that fit.

He marched into the school office and asked the secretary if they keep crutches on hand for sports injuries.

Sure enough, the trainer had some crutches.

Sure enough, Paul was able to find a way to get our daughter free medical equipment, which is being stored in our dining room.


I like to call this decorating style "orthopedic chic."


When we were explaining the free crutches to a friend of ours, he said "Oh you should have come to me. We have crutches of all sizes," as his hand climbed an imaginary staircase to illustrate the options we would have.

Between him and our friends who bring antibiotics back from Mexico, we might never have to see a doctor again.

SPEAKING OF THE SWINE FLU...

Yesterday I was back in our little grade school again to make another ArtPals presentation.

The print I introduced to them was Prince Balthazar Carlos on a Pony by Diego Velasquez - painted in 1634-1635.

Riveting, huh?

Since the painting was of a little prince on a horse, I decided to take some fabric that would show the children the kinds of things a prince might wear in that time. I took some satin and velvet, some golden ribbon. In the first classroom, I held up the fabric and explained that this was the kind of fabric a little prince's clothes might have been made of.

Then I handed the soft and shiny fabric to a little boy and told the kids to pass it up and down the rows so everybody could handle it. Because little ones like to touch things.

Let me just say. My mind is no longer in tune with that of a seven year old. I don't know if my mind could ever have been prepared for what I saw these children do to that fabric.

Each child took the fabric and ran his or her little hand over it while making cute little ooh, ahh noises.

And then each child put the fabric up to his or her cute little face and proceeded to wipe it across said face like a towel.

One little boy decided to run the fabric across his head after he'd wiped his face on it.

I...

I just...

It's just that...

Um...er....

I was paralyzed.

I was struck dumb.

As the fabric made it's way up and down the rows, having suddenly been turned into a communal bath towel, all I could think of was the swine flu. If any of those kids was feeling the least bit fluish I was going to start craving corn cobs and watermelon rinds by midnight.

I really don't want to get sick.

Boys and Girls, do NOT put the fabric on your face or heads. Please, just touch the fabric with your hands. No, not on your face. Keep it in your hands. NOT THE FACE!!!!

But the pull was too great. Once the first child had put the fabric on his face, no amount of pleading or threatening, was going to keep the other children from putting it on their faces.

Guess what.

The other classes didn't get to touch the fabric.

MEET KAYLA'S FRIENDS

As a mother, one of my most important jobs is eliciting as many eye rolls and exasperated sighs from my children as possible. It is one of the things I will be judged most harshly on when they are grown.



So, when Kayla Beth told me, about six weeks ago that she wanted an ihome for her birthday, I was able to elicit a record number of said eye rolls by continuously referring to it as an idock, ipod home, ipier, iport, ihut, i-abode, iresidence, ihouse, ishelter, ikeeper....



I simply could not remember "ihome." It is after all a really difficult word- two syllables!



So when she got her IHOME for her birthday, not only was she extremely grateful, but she was also quite impressed that we, her technologically impaired parents, were able to buy the correct i-item.

It is interesting to note that when she had four girls spend the night on her birthday, three of them had to bring their own ipods so that they would have plenty of music to play through the night.


Holy ear buds Batman!! How many songs does a girl need?



It is a good thing they all brought their own ipods; otherwise they would have have had to settle for Kayla's 500 or so songs to entertain them, but amongst the four ipods present they had well over TWO THOUSAND songs available for their listening pleasure.

Thank goodness, or the evening would have been a complete failure.


I must admit it was quite surprising that one of the girls left her ipod at home because a teenager leaving home without her ipod would be like me leaving home without my right foot.

Or my right frontal lobe.

Come to think of it, I might have done that once or twice; I can't remember.




Every cell phone, however, was present and accounted for. These girls' cell phones are as different and varied as the girls themselves. Since I did not have permission to post the girls' pictures on this blog (because I didn't want to draw up a contract and print it out in four-plicate) I did the next best thing and had them line their phones up for a group photo. This was probably a better plan, anyway, since a cell phone IS a teenager's identity, is it not?

EMBRACE the cell phone. BE the cell phone. PROTECT the cell phone at all costs.
It is also important to point out that Kayla plopped her cell phone down on the table upon my command "line up your cell phones* girls" - because she obeys really well, that girl of mine - and said "let's line them up worst to best, mine being the worst."

And it was one of the proudest moments of my life, for I strive to deprive my child of all things fun and embarrass her as often as possible. Frankly, she's lucky she doesn't have two tin cans and a really long string. What better way to recycle?

Then one of the other girls, who insists that her cell phone is a bigger piece of junk than Kayla's, ousted my girl's phone right out of the "worst cell phone" spot and plopped her own device right down in the loser's circle, saying "um...mine's the worst."

Her parents can be very proud.

*Kayla's friends - left to right - Shannon, Kayla, Hannah, Becky, Maddie.*

HERE WE GO AGAIN

Evidently it's not enough that our government sees fit to admit chubby-cheeked red headed toddlers into the military; but they now think it's acceptable to give their baby sisters learner's permits and teach them to drive.





Seriously people - enough is enough!

*Kayla Beth - first birthday*

IMPOSSIBLE

Paul was cleaning out one of our storage closets the other day.

He came across a picture of Blake that was taken... oh...I don't know...last week, and I just have to ask: Can anybody tell me how this little boy could possibly be ready to join the Marines in a year?





Anybody?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

NEW LOVE

On April 18, 1994, my husband fell in love with another woman.

I was helpless to stop it and it was really quite pathetic to watch. He jumped through all sorts of hoops for this new female in his life. Every time their eyes met he turned into this puddle of goo. He called her all sorts of sugary sweet nicknames like princess and sweet pea.

He even had the nerve to talk to me about his future with her.

The first time I saw them together, my heart did a flip flop and all I could do was sit back and weep.

With joy.







Because I totally understood.

Happy 15th birthday Kayla Beth. You are our world.

NOT TO BE OUTDONE...

One of Kayla's friends was surprised with a trip to New York City for Spring Break.

Her parents woke her and her brother up REEEEEEAAAAAL early and drove them to the airport and didn't even tell them ahead of time.

How cool is that?

Well, being the kind of parent that can't stand to be outdone by another mom, I decided to surprise Kayla with our very own special spring break trip today.

We took her to EUREKA!!!! Illinois to walk through the Ronald Reagan library!!

I know.

What more can a teenage girl want? We were lucky enough to catch her euphoric reaction to this fantastic surprise:

I think that is supposed to be a "gun to the head" expression.

HMMMM. I can't imagine why.

She did, however, do a happy dance when we said that yes, we'd probably find a mall to stop at on the way home. She did an even HAPPIER happy dance when we were able to find a new dress for her to wear to my cousin's wedding next month.

Okay, not really on the happy dance or the HAPPIER happy dance, but she did manage to smile.

Actually, it was a really fun day with our girl. We explored a couple of little towns, had lunch at a nice little diner and managed to only use the credit card one time - which caused Paul to do a happy dance.

At the end of our day, as we were headed to the car, I told her how much I'd enjoyed my time with her. I said "thanks for spending one of your spring break days with your old mom and dad."

Her response?

"Don't Expect this when I'm in college."

HMMMM. I can't imagine why.

SOMETHING JUST ISN'T RIGHT...

Since it is the first day of Spring Break, Kayla and I decided to grab our sunglasses and shorts, slather on a little sunscreen and sit on the patio to enjoy the GLORIOUS spring weather:






Bwahahahahahahaha. Oh my, I crack myself up.


In reality, we bundled up in our winter clothes - Kayla even had to put on SOCKS and leave her flip flops in the closet - and went to Wal-Mart, where we bought the newest copies of People and In Touch Weekly, and a couple of spring tops and dresses (not that we can wear them any time soon). Then we picked up some Chinese food and brought it home so we could catch up on all the celebrity gossip as we ate lunch.

I have baked a batch of cookies and am getting ready to start a pot of chili.

You know. Those things you do when you're stuck inside on a cold winter day and there is snow on the ground.

In April.

Thankfully softball practice was cancelled today but the coach said to dress warm tomorrow.

As for me, I can't decide if I should wear shorts or capris...

MY CHOICE

We are one step closer to watching our son become a member of the Armed Services - not the Marines.

The Marine recruiter did not show up. When Blake called him, an hour before our appointment to give him directions to our house, he said he couldn't make it.

Nice.

Now Blake is talking to an Army recruiter. Blake is ready to make a commitment.

Now before any of you tell me that you think he should go to college first, or he should choose another branch, or that he shouldn't even consider the military at all, let me just say, I don't want to hear it. We've had very few responses to Blake's plan that did NOT include some disparagement about his choice, and frankly, I'm tired of it.

I won't get on my soapbox about these comments (yet) other than to say I know people don't mean to be rude, but they are still a little hurtful.

I've decided that, with regards to Blake's plan to join the military, I can react in one of two ways.

First, I can send Blake off into the world with a sense that he's let me down. I can react negatively to his plans to the point of making his heart heavy with a feeling that he didn't live up to my expectations. I can send my son off into the world to pursue his dreams, knowing that his mother doesn't approve, causing him to live under that heavy cloud all of his life.

Or, I can be certain that Blake is a mature young man who knows his own heart and is excited about his future. I can let him know that I will put my fears aside and support him and encourage him in his choice. I can send him off into his first steps toward adulthood without the slightest taint on our relationship. I can send him off with the knowledge that his mother is proud of him, that he has not let me down, that he has exceeded my wildest dreams as to the person he has become. When I say goodbye to my son as he leaves to start his life outside of the protection of our home, I want to know that there is no shadow of doubt following him. I want him to know that we, his parents, are behind him all the way.

I choose the latter.

I will not risk my relationship with my son because I can't come to terms with his career choice.

And so I have come to terms with his career choice. And I am proud of him.

I do not look forward to the next phase in my parenting journey. I don't look forward to that day, fourteen months from now, when we will see him off to the unknown. But I wouldn't be looking forward to it if he was going off to college, either.

And yet, as I read a devotional book recently, I came across these thoughts on parenting:

This notion that our children are ours - where did we get that idea? The truth is, my children have never been mine. Not ever. No, the truth is, they are children of God Almighty and they've belonged to Him all along. He gave them to [us] to nurture for a while, but their ambitions, hopes and dreams are theirs, and only theirs to know. And as we do our best to ready them for a difficult world, we pray for them and give them our love, and finally we give them the most important gift of all - our blessing to go it on their own.
Rick Rusaw

Enough said.

MORE GROWING PAINS

Tonight I have an appointment with a Marine recruiter.

I had read that they were having trouble meeting their quota of overweight middle aged housewives so, for love of country, I decided to enlist.

I'm going to paint my helmet mauve.

Actually, Blake has been meeting with this recruiter for quite some time so Paul and I told Blake that we wanted to meet with him ourselves before we gave our final okay on Blake's plan to enlist.

I asked Blake if Sergeant Gibson has seen combat. Has he been deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan?

He said yes, yes he had.

And I said that was good because then he might be somewhat prepared for me. My goal is to make the recruiter cry.

Oh! I kid.

My friend told me to act real crazy while he's here, then they won't want Blake. I said that wouldn't work because they would feel the need to rescue him. You know, that "never leave a man behind" business.

Blah, blah, blah.

So I decided I'm going to tease my hair real big and put on lots of black eyeliner. Then I'm going to greet him at the door in my Daisy Dukes and clear stiletto heels, smacking my chewing gum, while waving a cigarette around as I talked.

Hi. I'm Bubbles. I can't stay long because I'm working a double shift at the biker bar tonight. But, my oh my, aren't you a big strapping young man. *wink, wink*

Oh, stop. That's not true either.

I did, however, warn Blake that I probably would embarrass him because I intend to serve up a plate of homemade cookies and a pitcher of lemonade. Because that's the kind of thing we do in this house when we have a guest (even if that guest IS trying to steal my baby boy away from me.)

You wouldn't believe how that kind of thing embarrasses a teenage boy. You know - hospitality.

But he said that would be fine and he wouldn't be embarrassed. He said he already "warned" Sergeant Gibson that his mom could easily be the president of Mothers of America (whatever that means) which I think was a reference to the fact that Blake thinks I've approached this parenting job with a, well, um...ferocity? But that's okay. I think it's okay for a Marine to be a little bit afraid of me.

Moms? Can I get an Amen on that?

So I need to get busy jotting down my questions for Sergeant Gibson.

My first one? "Will the United States Marine Corps provide a cot for ME or should I bring my own sleeping bag?" Oh. and "Should I bring a lawn chair to sit in while I watch Blake in PT?" And finally, "Do they have a special menu for moms?"

See, Blake has nothing to worry about tonight.

KEEPING UP WITH THE JONES'

The W house finally got a satellite dish and somebody's not too happy about her role in making sure we have 600 channels.....







Look, Cookie, I'm sorry you're humiliated. But if you'd stop eating away the flesh on your legs we wouldn't have to do this. Maybe that Benadryl the vet suggested will help.

Until then please make sure your head is always facing southeast.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

This is my daughter.


Isn't she lovely? When she was a baby, she looked like me. Now, though, she looks like her dad and his sister. But see that dimple? It's just like mine. So, anyway, in about 13 months, she will get to start dating and, like all proud mamas, I imagine we'll have a few boys knocking at our door wanting to spend time with her. And that's fine with me.


Because this is what will be waiting for them once that door is opened:






Welcome to the gun show fellas.


Sorry Kayla.

LIFE IS GOOD

One of my favorite books is O Rugged Land of Gold by Martha Martin.

It is the true story of a woman who, in the early 1950's, is stranded on an Alaskan island for an entire winter.

She is stranded alone, in a little cabin, because her husband left on a fishing trip and a severe storm set in, making it impossible for him to return for her.

She actually gave birth on the island.

Alone.

With no epidural.

Without her husband. She couldn't squeeze his hand. She couldn't threaten him with things like "You will NOT touch me again!" She didn't get to eat green jell-o after she gave birth and send the baby to the nursery for the nurses to tend to.

All of you should try to read this book. It is truly inspiring.


The reason I am thinking about this story today is that I can totally relate to this brave woman right now.

See, Blake's car wouldn't start this morning.

So he took Paul's Jeep to school and Paul took my van for the day.

I'm stranded here, people.

I'm stranded in my suburban home with central heat and air, a pantry full of food (including chocolate and coffee) one cat, and a dog who is trying her best to chew her front paws clean off.

All I have to look forward to is lunch tomorrow with my dear friend, a weekend with my sweet husband and two healthy kids, sleeping late in my clean bed Saturday morning, eating Chinese food sometime in the next few days, and attending church services on Sunday morning.

There is nothing to occupy my time except a tiny little computer, another historical novel, and a book about London which I'm supposed to be reading so we can plan our upcoming trip. I might have to do a few loads of laundry before I prepare a sparse supper of chicken casserole, green beans and Sister Schubert's rolls.

The weather is dreadful. While the wind is quite chilly, the sun is shining and a few daffodils have bloomed in the front flower bed. Every now and then I watch the Canadian geese fly over our house. And, lately, I've been visited by a few pairs of mallards who have taken to waddling through the yard, perhaps looking for a suitable nest.

Conditions here are truly harsh.

Yeah, I can relate.

WEARY

I have just returned from a visitation.

To protect the privacy of the grieving family, I will not write my feelings tonight. Of course, I am too tired to write anything but this one thought anyway:

With every ounce of my being, I wish there would never again be the need for such a tiny casket.

Sadly, I do not believe my wish will come true.

THE DING DONG DITCH...

But first, a Facebook thingee update.

We had dinner with my BFF and her husband last night. She once again pointed out to me that I need a Facebook account. And I got all excited and said "OH! I've been thinking. I'll open a facebook account, if YOU will open a Google account so you can comment on my blog 'cause your comments will be so funny."

And she was all like "I don't know how to comment" and I was all like "Well I don't know how to do Facebook." And she was all like "Okay, I'll do it." And I was all like "YAY!"

Notice how I was unwilling to do something for my friend without first being assured that she would do something for me in return.

Yeah, I'm like that - I try to never, never, never, never give anything without getting something in return. That's my motto "NEVER GIVE WITHOUT GETTIN'."

In other news....

We were Ding Dong Ditched on Thursday night.

Now I can picture my BFF holding up two fingers to tell me this will be the second time she's heard that story*

So anyway. We got Ding Dong Ditched on Thursday night. Ding Dong Ditching is when a hooligan rings your doorbell late at night and then runs away.

I know.

It's great fun to be the Ding Dong Ditchee.

So this happened at about 11:45 Thursday night. Now, since we are very lax parents who have no values at all, we had given Blake permission to go to a midnight movie; he had left 30 minutes before our little wake-up call. So when somebody started pounding on our door and the dog started barking her "Somebody's on the porch!" bark, my heart squeezed into a tiny little ball because I was afraid it was a police officer telling me there had been an accident.

Of course when we got downstairs, there was nobody at the door. Paul went outside to make sure the mustang and Cody's truck were locked. Well the truck wasn't locked, so Paul locked it, prompting Cody to have to wake his dad in the middle of the night, when they returned from the movie, to come unlock the truck because he had left the keys in it. Paul had checked to see if the keys were in it but couldn't find them. That's probably because they were IN THE IGNITION!! And Paul didn't think to look there. So last night, I couldn't help but ask Cody if it wouldn't be easier for him to put a big ole sign on his truck that says "STEAL ME."

No, my kids aren't embarrassed by my sarcasm to their friends. They are used to it. Besides it builds character.

Plus we have good snacks, so the kids just can't stay away.

Anyway, while Paul was out locking the cars, our next door neighbor was also out looking for the Ding Dong Ditchers because they had been DDD'd too. We also noticed that our other neighbors had been out for a while, and then I got really mad, because they,our across-the-street neighbors, are a retired couple and should just be left alone. If our house is targeted because we have high school kids, then I can live with that. If some girls want to draw little hearts all over Blake's car windows in the middle of the night (hypothetically of course) or if the adolescent boys who live a block over want to play a joke on us because Kayla lives here I can live with that. I much prefer it be on a Summer night or at the very least a weekend, however. The fact that this was a Thursday night and they totally ruined my sleep PLUS the fact that they Ding Dong Ditched a retired couple who have totally done their time in Teenage-dom REALLY bothers me.

Please understand me, people. I've VERY open minded about Ding Dong Ditching. Let's face it there are much worse things a couple of hooligans...I mean teenagers, could be doing. But now I've got my dander up because these kids broke the rules of Ding Dong Ditching Etiquette.

So, here's my plan. I'm going to set a booby trap (heh! I said booby) and string some fishing line across the steps of our porch. That way when they fall and bloody their nose on my porch, they will be down long enough for us to fling open the door and say "AHA!" and scare them half to death. Then I will tell them to leave retired people alone. And then I will hand them a copy of DING DONG DITCHING ETIQUETTE - WHAT EVERY HOOLIGAN SHOULD KNOW.
Then I'm going to fall to my knees and pray that I don't forget about the fishing line and trip on my own steps and break a hip.

I know it sounds harsh, but you DON'T EVEN WANT TO KNOW what Blake's suggestion was.
***********************************************************************************

*When I was in college I had a professor who had suffered from "inoperable" brain cancer and was told she would not survive. She won the battle against cancer and returned to the classroom. On our first day of class she shared her story and told us she still struggled with memory, so if she started covering a topic we had talked about the day before, we were to hold up two fingers to indicate "second time," and then she'd find her starting point again. We use the two finger signal here at the W house (which is A LOT BETTER than that one finger signal some people use). So I told that story last night.

Funny, later in the evening I started telling a story about my brother and my BFF held up not two fingers, but SEVEN!!!

PRAYERS...

I ask for your prayers.

A baby has died at the hands of his father.

This precious baby's mother has had a special place in our family for years. She has a special place in the hearts of our children; she helped shape them.

I believe in a sovereign God. I believe in a God who holds us in the palm of His hand each second of each day. And yet, may He forgive me, I don't know how this family is supposed to pull themselves up out of the pit of grief into which they've just been thrown. I don't know how a family is supposed to fight a two front battle against grief and rage. How does one grieve the loss of a baby while digging into the depths of their souls to find forgiveness?

Is the human heart really made to withstand such a brutal attack?

I AM NEARLY WITHOUT WORDS...

Since this blog is meant as a record for my family - for my children - I have to record this.

We just returned from Blake's end of season wrestling banquet. It was actually a winter sports banquet so it included basketball, wrestling, cheer leading and poms.

Since we co-op with another school for wrestling, we were one of four families in attendance whose child does not attend this school. The building is a second home to Blake but we obviously don't know all the families like we would if it were a banquet being held at our own high school.

The banquet started with a nice meal and all the athletes together in the cafeteria. Each athlete was introduced and then the teams were separated into different rooms for their own awards.

The wrestling coach introduced each wrestler. Upon calling Blake's name, he called him his "Go-To" wrestler. Blake often ended up wrestling opponents he was not scheduled to wrestle because they had to move people around in weight classes (and Blake would have to wrestle UP) at the last minute or a senior would choose not to take on an opponent that was too tough for him (really!) Blake never said no. He never ran from a challenge. The coach pointed out that Blake would have had more wins to his name had he played it safe, but for the sake of the team he always took on the challenge of wrestling somebody bigger than he was. He always stepped up. The coach made sure to tell Blake tonight that his frustration at wrestling above his weight class, wrestling more experienced athletes who were often state qualifiers, and having to change his plan of attack at the last minute, were all indeed sacrifices that helped the team.

That alone was enough to make this mama proud.

Then the four main awards were given out.

Most improved wrestler went to a freshman from our school.
Most take downs went to Cody, Blake's best friend - who also goes to our school.
Best wrestler (Most Wins) went to a senior who has an astounding record.

The Coach's Award, which is voted on by the coaching staff alone, went to our son.

The award is named after a wrestler who, last year, sacrificed his spot in the state tournament to another wrestler due to a mistake made by the coach.

The plaque reads:
The Nikko Lang Award.
Awarded to Blake W
This award is based on character, sportsmanship,
leadership, unselfish acts and hard work.
Thank you for being an example to others - 2009.

I audibly gasped when they read his name. Not because I was surprised but because I was so doggone proud. Blake is lucky I did not turn into a puddle of goo right there in the cafeteria.

This is what it's all about, people. This is when you see the sleepless nights and the utter exhaustion pay off. When you see your child recognized with a plaque that includes the words Character, sportsmanship, leadership, unselfish and hard work; when you see your child being called an example to others...well, then at least for a while, you can lay your head on your pillow and rest your weary soul.

HER MOTHER IS POSSESSED BY A DEMON...

A large herd of pigs was feeding on the nearby hillside. The demons begged Jesus, "Send us among the pigs; allow us to go into them." He gave them permission, and the evil spirits came out and went into the pigs. The herd, about two thousand in number, rushed down the steep bank into the lake and were drowned. Mark 5:11-13
********************************************************************************

Kayla stayed home today because she has a headache.

Because I had already planned a trip to the grocery store for this morning, I decided, while I was there, to once again use my vast pharmaceutical and medical knowledge and pick up a couple of things to help her feel better.

A half gallon of vanilla ice cream and the latest issue of Teen Vogue.

On my way home from the grocery store I realized I could also pick up an early lunch for us. So I steered the van into the healing glow of the Golden Arches.

Because we all know there is nothing healthier for our children than an order of Chicken McNuggets.

Along with the nuggets for Kayla, I had every intention of ordering a Southwest salad with grilled chicken for myself. Have you tried it? It's really good - and so tasty you don't even need dressing.

So I ordered a six piece McNugget with sweet and sour sauce...

And then I heard a voice say "and one Big Mac, please."

Wait. What?

I looked all around my van to see who was leaning over my shoulder to hi-jack my healthy order; but found nobody.

Clearly I have become possessed by a fast food demon and my only recourse is to throw myself down a steep bank and into one of the many large lakes found in Central Illinois.

WHO'S THE LUCKY GIRL...?

In May Paul and I will celebrate our 22nd wedding anniversary.

Now, I am not the kind of wife that expects all sorts of wining and dining on our anniversary. I don't expect an expensive vacation or an elaborate gift. I truly love and appreciate simple celebrations, living on the belief that we try to celebrate our marriage every day of the year.

This year, though, we are pulling out all the stops and are in fact leaving town for our anniversary.

We're going back to our little hometown to attend Paul's 25th class reunion.

I know.

How lucky can a girl get?

The problem lies in a statement my husband, by his own admission, made to his running buddies. Something like: "Yeah, Heidi's agreed to let my class reunion serve as our anniversary celebration."

No no no no no no no.

Heidi did not say that.

What Heidi said was that she didn't mind going to Paul's class reunion on our anniversary. I guess I just went on the assumption that some sort of simple anniversary celebration would take place on another weekend. "Assumption" is the key word, I guess.

Gentlemen, what we have here is a failure to communicate. *name that movie*

I hate to be a snob but I just can't get excited about spending my anniversary eating dinner at the local KC hall. Not that there's anything wrong with the KC hall....

To sweeten the deal Paul has offered to get us a hotel room for the night in our little hometown - our hometown with a population of 6,000. That way we can socialize and dance the night away at the KC hall without worrying about the long drive home, PLUS take in all the local culture the next day. This added bonus led to me doing a little bunny hop and clapping my hands wildly: "lucky me, lucky me, lucky me!"

The bright spot in all of this? I'm thinking that new patio furniture I've been wanting will be making it's way to our house right about the time May 23rd rolls around.

I'm just sayin'.

ON DATING...

Every now and then I have to remind Blake that his sister already has two parents and he is not one of them.

Blake, you are not the third parent around here.

This usually occurs when the subject of dating comes up for his little sister.

He has his own very clear ideas on WHEN she should be allowed to date and WHOM she should be allowed to date. The interesting thing is that these ideas keep changing.

When Kayla started high school he had a talk with us to make sure that we were indeed smart enough to forbid Kayla from dating a junior or a senior. In fact, he added, there is no reason for her to date a sophomore or anybody that can drive since she isn't allowed to car date. IS SHE?

Then he pointed out that if she were to be seen hanging out with a junior or a senior, said junior or senior boy would find himself in quite a jam because since Bronson and Andrew (our school's top wrestlers) have graduated he's pretty sure he could take anybody in our school and these upper class men would be sorry they looked at his sister.

Upon hearing this, I pictured myself jumping up and down and pumping the air with my fist - perhaps offering him money. I could totally handle having him suspended from school if it was to protect his sister's honor. But I simply said something along the lines of "Well, that's for your dad and me to handle...."

It appears, though, that Kayla and Blake have dating discussions quite often on the way to school. And although Kayla won't reveal all of their conversations (what happens in the Jeep stays in the Jeep) she has indicated that her big brother keeps changing his dating rules on her.

First the rules went something like this:

No dating juniors or seniors.
No dating any boys from another school.
No dating any boy who already had his license.

Then he added:
No dating any boy who was NOT a wrestler.

Now, evidently Blake has amended his dating rules again:

No dating wrestlers because they are too dumb - his words not mine. When Kayla pointed out that he was a wrestler. He simply said "I know."
No dating anybody that does not attend our church.
No dating ANYBODY until Blake is at least twenty and is a trained marine or soldier and highly skilled in numerous forms of combat. In other words, until Blake is able to kill somebody without leaving a mark.

Since this final list of rules sounds just about right to me, I will be having them notarized tomorrow. Then we three parents can sign off on it.

Sorry, Kayla.