NO BULLIES ALLOWED

I just saw a news story about a mother who got on a bus and confronted the kid who had been bullying her daughter. Seems she kept poking him in the forehead while she warned him to leave her child alone.

She has been brought up on some kind of charges.

This is not the way to handle a bullying situation, but there is a part of me that wants to applaud her. After all, don't most of us as parents WANT to attack the person who has attacked our child?

My kids have never been bullied, thank God.

We did have an incident on the school bus once that made me fear we were in for some bullying, though.

When The Princess was in the 6th grade and The Smart One was in 8th, she came in after school crying, and he came in stomping mad. Seems an older boy had been teasing her and even her brother was mad about it. I listened to the story and then called the bus driver. I did not want to raise a big stink but I truly wanted to prevent a bullying situation from starting. So I told her what had happened and asked her to keep her eyes and ears open because this is how bullying started. She was very understanding and eager to help.

In the mean time, 3 of The Smart One's friends came over and were all hanging out in his room. After speaking with our daughter for a while and helping her feel better, I went into his room to talk to him. "Do you know anything about this kid?" I asked. And all the boys chimed in with little tidbits "He's a freshman." "He's a big fat loser..." "He's always picking on somebody..." "He quits everything he starts..." And then as I was leaving his room The Smart One said the sweetest thing to me. He swept his finger around the room, indicating his friends, all of whom were wrestlers and/or football players; and said "Mom, do me and the guys need to take care of something?" And his buddies chimed in with "Yeah, we could totally do that."

And the crazy fierce mother in me wanted to scream "YES! I want you to TAKE. HIM. DOWN!! I want you to use every move you've learned on the wrestling mats and the football field to teach him a lesson! I want you to let him know that NOBODY. NO. BODY. makes your little sister cry......Except you!"

But I didn't.

I simply said "Oh, that's really nice, guys. But, we can't handle it that way. We have to take the high road."

But wasn't that sweet of them to offer?

And the princess? I had told her I would drive her to school from now on if she wanted to avoid the Big Fat Loser. But the next morning, she got up and marched right down to the bus stop and climbed on as usual. And there were no more problems after that.

My kids.....My heroes.

TELL ME AGAIN WHY I HAVE A DOG....

Yesterday I had to take Cookie to the vet. She needed her rabies shot, and her ear was bothering her AGAIN. When I called to make the appointment and told them what I needed, we agreed upon a day and time and then the girl said;
"Okay, so we have Cookie down for heart worm check, full exam, rabies, and ear check..."

And I said "UHM....yeah." I really just was hoping to run in and get the shot, have them peek in her ears, give me the drops and let me run out.

But, NOOOOOOO!

I cannot even relate how stressful it is to take this dog to the vet.

So I won't. I will just say that she trembles like a leaf on a windy spring day, and she drools so much she leaves a trail of dog spit every where she goes. She gets that nervous. They have to muzzle her to check her ears. I hate every minute of it.

So as I was leaving and putting my checkbook away - after writing a check for $326. THREE HUNDRED. TWENTY. SIX. DOLLARS. - plus another $10.00 to register with the county for the rabies shot - I decided it really was easier to take 2 small children to the doctor - healthy or sick - than to take this dog. It was also cheaper.

We have used a family doctor since our children were born. I love the continuity of care a family doctor offers. If I have been diagnosed with strep throat, I can call two days later and say that my kids have fevers and sore throats, and he'll prescribe for them. If one of the kids has an appointment and something comes up for me or my husband, I can call and say "could you pull my chart too, and let me see the doctor when I bring my son in?" And they are always so good to do that. Of course, since this doctor was also my OB doctor with my first, and arrived 15 minutes after my second was born to hold her in his arms even before I did, we do have a special rapport with him. He does tend to think of us as his special patients. And I will admit to using that status to my advantage from time to time.

Of course it was never easy to take little ones to the doctor.

There was always the wait. The waiting room wasn't so bad because there were toys, but it was the wait in the exam room that was sometimes enough to send me over the edge. One time when our son was about 6 and my daughter 3, I had both children waiting in the exam room. We had waited quite a while and I had just about exhausted my magic tricks for keeping them happy. When the doctor finally came in, Our son said "WE. HAVE. BEEN. WAITING. TEN. HOURS." And without missing a beat, the doctor said "I bet it seems like longer for Mommy..."
So true.
But I really never mind the wait at our doctor's office because he spends LOTS of time with us and never makes me feel rushed. I just figure he's treating all of his patients like that.

Another time- I think the kids were 5 and 2 - we had an appointment at 11 in the morning. Knowing that would run into lunch time, and then ruin nap time, which would in turn ruin the whole day; I did the only safe thing I could think to do. I packed two lunch boxes and took the kids' lunch to the doctor with us.
At noon, when we were in the exam room waiting, I pulled their lunches out and started feeding them. Of course, that's when the doctor came in. He smiled and actually told me it was a great idea. He was thrilled that I wasn't letting the kids get hungry and cranky while they waited on him. Then he proceeded to listen to hearts and check ears and throats around fingers sticky with bananas and little mouths ringed with jelly mustaches.
I will always remember him then taking my children by the hand, our daughter holding a banana and our son holding his pb&j, and walking them to the sticker box - a child on each side of him all mushy and sticky from their little lunches.

And I would get a warm feeling and smile because there was one more person in the world that loved my children, and that my children weren't afraid of their doctor.

But after an appointment with the vet?

No warm feeling. No smiles that someone else loves my dog. No cute little things to remember to tell Daddy about our visit.

Nope. Just a headache, cold sweats, a twitching eye and three hundred twenty six dollars gone from our checking account. Plus ten dollars for the county.

Oh, and today is the dog's birthday. She's nine years old today, and in "amazingly good health; and so spry and active. She's got many good years ahead of her," according to the vet.

Greeeeeaat!

BURGER KING MEMORIES

Last night the Don and I had another of our incredibly romantic Sunday night dates.

We went grocery shopping at Wal-Mart.

After we bought many necessities for the week - ice cream, pop tarts, cat litter; we stopped at Burger King to take home a late supper. I cannot eat at our Burker King without remembering my first visit there.

We had just built a house in the town in which we still live; so had not lived in the neighborhood long. Another young mom and I decided to take our kids to the new Burger King that had a very small play area. My daughter was 2, and my son was 5. Her daughter was 3 and her son was 5, so we had the perfect set up. We went for an early lunch so there would not be a big crowd.

After feeding the kids, we grabbed a table right by the ball pit, where we could watch through the windows as our kids got to know each other. Luckily there were no other children there, and the restaurant was not real crowded. See, eleven years later, I still remember the fun of this day...

My daughter had toddled through the balls and climbed onto the rope bridge that would take her to the small slide. I watched her reach the bridge and then turned away. My attention was brought back right quick, though, when I heard my son yelling. I turned to see him standing thigh-deep in the colorful balls, hands cupped around his mouth yelling "CALL SECURITY!! CALL SECURITEEEEEEEE!!"

Seems his little sister had her foot stuck in the rope bridge and was immobile. Rather than tap on the window to get my attention, he chose to treat it as a bank robbery and scream for police assistance.

My daughter was remaining surprisingly calm. My neighbor's kids were standing in the corner watching in silence, as my son continued calling for security.

I looked at my neighbor and said "I'm going to have to go in and get her aren't I??" And she said "Yep."

So we walked to the entrance to the ball pit. It was a round entrance about the size of a large pizza. We just stood and looked at each other for a minute and agreed that the only way to get in was to slither in head first. So I started in and when I was half way in I stopped and looked back at my neighbor and said

"Are people looking at my butt?" And she said "No, No, No, you're fine."

My son was still calling for security, my daughter was sitting calmly on the rope bridge with one little foot caught, smiling at her mommy coming to rescue her, and the neighbor children were enjoying the sight of the crazy new neighbor lady coming in to play in the ball pit.

So I slither into the pit of primary colors and waddle over to my son and say "You need to stop calling for security. Mommy can handle this, and we really don't need any more attention..."

Then I waddle to the rope bridge and untangle my daughter and get her settled. Then I stop and stare at the little round doorway and realize now I have to get out. So I stick my head through and start to come out.

When my head was out but my backside was still in the ball pit, my neighbor said,
"Heidi?"

"What?"

"Now people are looking at your butt!!"

Good times.

LET'S TALK ABOUT ETHICS, SHALL WE...?

Our son has been driving for almost two months. In our state, the kids have to have 50 hours of driving time with parents, once they get their permit, before they can be issued their license. We kept track of the time on a sheet provided by the Secretary of State - destination, weather condition, night or day, amount of time spent driving.

As we got within a month of his birthday, we were getting a little worried that he would not have his 50 hours in. So I sat down with him and told him something like "with 30 days left until your birthday, and so many hours needed, you need to plan on driving this many minutes a day." And our son responded something like this: "If you two weren't SO ETHICAL, this wouldn't be such a problem. Do you know how many 'trips to St. Louis' R has taken, on paper, to fill his sheet up? His dad just marks the sheet and doesn't make him drive."

Seems there was a lot of that going on.

So I tried to explain that their parents were not doing them any favors, and that we needed to follow the rules so he'd be experienced and confident behind the wheel, blah, blah, blah....

Fast forward to the first week of school. Sophomore biology. The students are required to bring a paper home each Friday to have us look at their grades for the week and sign it to let the teacher know we looked at it. I thought once we were out of elementary school, I would be done signing papers, but...Well, our son forgot to have us sign his the first week and so got a zero for that assignment.

His classmates, however, also forgot to have their parents sign theirs, but signed their parents' names right there in the classroom before handing it in.

My son, the ethical one, got a zero, bringing his grade down to a C for the week. The kids who chose not to follow the directions and took the easy (and sneaky) way out, got full credit.

I have to believe the teacher knows this is going on. I cannot believe that anybody with a lick of sense and ANY experience with teenagers would not at least suspect this. Can she not see that the handwriting for the "parent's signature" looks suspiciously like that of the student? Does she not wonder about the shuffling of papers and the desperate search for pens and the hurried writing on the papers before they are handed forward?

I told our son that I was prouder of his "C" that week than I would be of an "A" because it meant he chose the ethical route. And I told him I might be having a talk with this teacher when conference time comes around.

Life is not always about taking the easy way out. I wish it could be. I wish every day of jr. high and high school could be easy for my kids. But it can't be. I wish they didn't have to learn some lessons so early.

But they do.

BAD MOMS....

In January of '06, we went through a terrible parenting ordeal.

We watched our son make a dangerous mistake and then saw the consequences come tumbling down around us. I don't know if we handled it all correctly but, looking back, I do think we were able to temper our discipline with just the right amount of mercy.

There is something, however, from that incident that I cannot seem to crawl out from under. That is the response I got from someone when I finally decided to share with them what our family had gone through.

As I was telling the story, tears welling up in my eyes, voice quivering, this is what I kept hearing: "you should have done...." "you shouldn't have...." "next time do...."

That's right. In my most vulnerable state as a mother, in my desperate need for validation and encouragement, I got nothing but harsh criticism on the way I handled things.

And so, I basically share nothing with people now on my struggles as a parent.

Because we as parents are judgemental and critical of each other. And ladies? Moms? I think we're worse than the men.

Oh, I've done it too. I've uttered many a criticism about my fellow mothers:

"Did you see the way her child acted at the table? Let's teach some manners..."

"I CANNOT believe she lets her child do that...."

"I CANNOT believe she won't let her child do that...."

"Her kids wouldn't do that if she'd only..."

And the best of all:

"I don't think my child would ever...."

Let me just say, parents, NEVER SAY NEVER. You could be going along just fine, putting everything you've got into being a great parent and raising great kids, and WHAM! You could be blind sided by something that will turn your world upside down. If you're lucky, it will be relatively minor and short lived. If not, you are going to long for a soft place to fall in your search for answers. You are going to long for other parents who will continue to love you AND your child. Other parents who will simply listen and not judge or criticize.

I'm not saying I'm proud of it, but I've done it - this criticism thing. But I am trying really hard to stop. My experience a year and a half ago has helped me learn to stop and think before I open my mouth about something that is none of my business, unless of course, I can ENCOURAGE and not CRITICIZE. You know? Build up and not tear down. I am praying to become "that parent" to whom others could turn when they are in that dark corner of parenthood.

As I raise my teenagers and see that as children get bigger, so do their mistakes; I'm trying to soften my heart to my fellow mothers. Now I honestly try to see things from a mother's perspective. I've started many sentences lately with "As a mother, I can certainly see how bad the parents must feel about...."

This is on my mind lately because, in the last several weeks, I've come across a lot of blogs, articles, TV spots, and conversations about parenting. And people are so judgmental, to the point of being angry and venomous about their views; spewing words like "ignorant" and "lazy" and even "abusive" when some one's view is different than theirs. And I'm not talking about REAL situations of abuse; I'm talking about views that are different and, to make their point seem more valid they throw the word "abuse" around.

Based on some of these opinions I've decided that I'm a bad mom because:

- I had c-sections. In fact I had two. And I don't hate the doctors that performed them. I was deeply disappointed to have c-sections and the competition we women create among ourselves to have the best, un-medicated, most "natural" birth experiences ever recorded, did not help that sense of disappointment. But. I have two beautiful, healthy children. So there.

- I did not breast feed exclusively. THAAAAT'S RIIIIIIGHT! I supplemented with formula. That means my babies had a bottle every now and then. AND! There was no nipple confusion. AND! The child I breast fed longer had more ear infections than her brother. AND! Even though I breast fed for less than a year, there are NO food allergies in my kids. ZERO. NADA. ZILCH. I totally agree that breast feeding is best. And I totally agree that it is great to do it for the first year. But, ladies, the guilt we heap on each other is UNNECESSARY!

- I spanked my children. Yep. When they were pre-schoolers, we spanked them in certain situations. We truly feel that spanking, IN SOME SITUATIONS, is what got the point across. Preschoolers CANNOT always be reasoned with, cannot understand consquences when given a long verbal explanation. If a spanking saved my child from being injured or doing the same dangerous, or rebellious thing over and over, so be it. AND! I've asked my children if they resent it and feel betrayed when they remember the spankings. Their answers "Uh, No!" So, in the words of the Great Lt. Colonel Henry Blake "You can hang my butt from a flag pole if you want..." but we spanked. We did not abuse. We were both spanked as children, and we don't remember it, nor do we feel betrayed and angry by it. I feel betrayed and angry by the other selfish things my parents did while raising me, but spanking? NO. If you still feel betrayed and angry over spankings you received as a child, perhaps there are deeper issues to explore. If you don't want to spank, then don't. Just find a way to discipline your children, and don't tell the rest of us that we abuse ours.

- I let my kids watch TV. I used to joke that my kids learned their numbers from the remote control, but it wasn't that bad. My kids grew up with Gulllah Gullah Island, Thomas the Tank Engine, Mr. Rogers, and the old black and white Lassie episodes. And of course Sesame Street. I even let them watch Rugrats. We also spent a great deal of time at the library, the children's museum, and of course at home playing Hi-Ho Cherry-O, Barnyard Bingo, Candyland. And doing puzzles. Lots of puzzles.

- I let my kids eat sugar. In fact, I never monitored their sugar intake; preferring instead to emphasize the healthy choices, while still having sweets available. I've written before on this. Their favorite snacks are yogurt, popcorn, carrots, rice cakes, mandarin oranges, apples. Not a lot of sugar going on in those choices. I know a mom who says sugar makes her little boy act like a monster, so she NEVER lets him have it. The thing is, the child is rude and out of control most of the time. Seriously. So maybe, in that situation, sugar is not the culprit.....but I know it effects some kids differently than others. I also know that other additives effect some children more severely. But in our house? Not a problem.

- I allow, even encourage my kids to be friends with kids of all different backgrounds and family situations. I monitor the friendships; and there are some in which I prefer (OK sometimes insist) they spend their time together at our house and not the other child's house. But if two children get along and love spending time together, I don't care if the other kid's parents work, or if they are divorced, or if they are Hindu, or Muslim, or Catholic, or Baptist. I don't care about the other child's race, or their parents' income. I simply care that my child has a friend with whom he enjoys spending time; and sometimes our house is a refuge, a safe haven, for that other child. And frankly, we might be doing something right, because our house is always full of kids. I only gave birth to two children (by the dreaded c-section) but there are usually 4,6,7...9 kids here.

- I do not make my kids go to church with us; although, they do most of the time. This is a hard one for me to talk about, because sometimes our Christian friends are just as judgmental (or more so) than the rest of the world. But there comes a point when it seems silly to me to drag a teenager to church and allow them to sit and sulk in the pew. I told my husband that we can certainly drag them to the table but we cannot force them to partake of the feast. I believe you cannot FORCE faith onto anybody. And being in a church is not building faith. We cannot "guilt" our kids into being the spiritual beings we want them to be.

- I send my kids to public school. Homeschooling is a great option, but we public school moms have also put much thought and prayer into our decision. Some, and I mean SOME, homeschool moms have been rude and condescending to me about my choice to send my kids to public school. Just because my choice is DIFFERENT doesn't mean it's bad, and it certainly doesn't mean I do not value the safety and moral upbringing of my children. For every criticism you can give me about my choice, I could give you one back about your choice. But I choose not to.

Let's see. I think that's if for now.

Let's take it easy on each other moms! We all can use a little encouragement in this most precious, yet difficult of jobs.

And for the record..."As a mother, I think you're all doing great!"

HOME

...home is where nurture lived, where strength thrived. Home was that place that fed the soul, healed the broken pieces of a life. Home is where you'll find what you're seeking...

Jane Kirkpatrick

This is what I strive to give my children. I strive to give them a place that feeds their souls. A place where they can heal their wounds, regardless of their stage in life. A place that shelters and warms them when life is stormy. A place where, even if they arrive weary and broken; they can collapse into a bed of love and breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that rest and healing are imminent. A place where love and mercy are always more abundant than judgment and anger.


I have always wished for that kind of home.

Oh, I live in that kind of home now. But I wish for that kind of home to go back to. My home of origin, I guess.

We built this house 6 years ago and have every intention of growing old here, hearing our grandchildren's laughter here. But we started building our home 20 years ago. And we keep adding to it; building and adjusting and rearranging. Learning over time how to best move things around to fit our phase of life, how to build the home that will feed our souls, the souls of our children, the souls of our grandchildren.

But when things are stormy here, when life has worn me down, when I feel like I'm surely failing at this job of wife and mother, when I have doubts... I have nowhere to go. No soft place to fall. No parents waiting with open arms to say "It's okay. Come and rest."


When my husband travelled for weeks at a time and I had two tiny children, I longed for a home
where nurture lived and strength thrived. I longed for a place where, after 3 or 4 weeks of raising these children alone, I could show up and just say "help me." Or better yet, a place where I would have to say nothing at all. I longed to hear the voice of one of my parents say "Come home and rest. Come home and let us help. Let us carry you, while you carry this burden."

But I did not have that.

And I grow in acceptance of that every day. I've learned to look elsewhere for the things that I've missed.

And I am determined to give my children those things.

One of the most important things I've learned from my childhood is what NOT to do as a parent.

And that's not a bad lesson to carry through life.

A FRIENDLY REMINDER...

Dear God,

I know you are REEEEALY busy, what with watching over the world and all. And I know you have about a gazillion people bending your ear with their many urgent requests. I mean, just overlooking my faults is a full time job.

But I was just thinking that, with your busy schedule, you might have forgotten to look at your calendar. Or maybe you have someone who does that for you. But I just wanted to let you know, in case time got away from you, that it is September. And this is Illinois.

And usually, in September in Illinois, it's not 97 degrees outside. I know it's not technically autumn, but we do think of it as the beginning of autumn; and therefore, tend to expect a break in the temperatures.

I mean, schools have started again. The corn is nearly all brown, and the farmers have started harvesting. Friday nights are full of football games. The Halloween decorations are out at the stores. Or should I n0t bring up Halloween to you? I never know. Oh, and we can't wear white anymore until May.

So really, we are all treating it as though autumn is upon us, anyway. So if you could maybe, you know, if you have a minute, turn the temperature down just a bit? If you don't want to do it for me, maybe you can do it for the farmers, or the athletes or, more importantly, the little children who are sitting in their sauna-like classrooms. I know for a fact that you love little children.

Now, God, I don't mean to be nagging here. If you choose not to turn the temperature down, then, believe me, that's just fine. You have blessed me with a fine air-conditioned home; and I don't mind one bit just staying inside. I really don't want any trouble. I'm not looking for lightning bolts, or hail storms, or swarms of locusts. Just some cooler temperatures.

But only if you really want to.

Thanks for listening,

HW

P.S. Great job on that whole creating the world and saving mankind thing. Each day, I'm more amazed at your work.

CHANGES....

A big congratulations to The Princess for making the basketball team.

After FIVE days of try-outs in an un-air-conditioned gym in 90 degree weather, she bounced to the van at 5:00 this evening and said "I made it!"

I am sorry for the couple of girls that did not make the team. It is a difficult thing to be left out of the chosen group.

And this evening, I have spent time filling in my little red date book with all of the 8th grade girls basketball games - all 26 OF THEM!!

Now that she is in the 8th grade, she will be playing the second game of the evening on game nights, instead of the first game like last year. Also, there will be the 8th grade honors night at the end of the season to bid the players a fond farewell as they leave jr. high basketball and get ready for high school basketball.

Am I a little nutty for already choking up over that?

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

In other news, The Smart One got a job at the local steak house. And this was completely his idea. I kind of wanted him to wait a few weeks to get used to his class load at school before he added a job; but how can we refuse to let our child work if he wants to? I think that would kind of be squelching his work ethic.

He has been grilling his dad on CD rates and the best way to save his money and pull in the most interest on his earnings. What's not to love about that?

So he comes home after school and, depending on when he's due at work, spends time doing his homework, or"chillin' on his bed for awhile" and then comes down in his jeans and steakhouse t-shirt, tucked in with a belt (you know - dressed up) and says "Bye Mom, I Love You." And I say "Bye Bub, I love you much." And I watch him walk to his car, wearing his sunglasses and dangling his keys. And sometimes I stand on the porch and watch him get in and drive away. And I say a little prayer that he'll come home safely to me at the end of the night.

And I think "My mom told me not to blink."

I THINK I MAY BE DOING SOMETHING WRONG....

So, yesterday I ran to Target to pick up a couple of things.

On my way home I drove through McDonald's and ordered some french fries.

I live VERY close to McDonald's and yet, the fries were still nearly gone by the time I pulled into my driveway.

A few other things I nibbled on yesterday:

- Peanut Butter m&m's. Now I have to go buy more because they were my son's.

- Cashews

- Chocolate chips

- Cashews and chocolate chips

- Peanut Butter fudge ice cream (but only half a cup)

- Froot Loops - right out of the box

- grapes

Yeah. I tend to eat pretty healthy like that.

But seriously I don't usually eat like a Hoover sucking up everything in sight. I think it's because I'm working out at our new local gym. And my appetite is enormous from all the extra energy I'm expending.

Yeah, that's it.

And I can't seem to convince myself that this new exercise routine will do ABSOLUTELY NO GOOD if I come home and start shoving sugary and fatty treats into my mouth for the remainder of the day. So today I am turning over a new leaf. No more Froot Loops.
No more chocolate chips. No more m&m's (because they're gone). No more ice cream. No more sugary fatty treats. At least not one after the other all day long.

Oh, and what had I bought at Target?

Slim-Fast.

(Hanging my head in shame.)

THANK YOU, TITLE IX

My picture post from yesterday prompted me to post about something that comes to mind every time my daughter puts on a uniform, whether it's softball, basketball, volleyball, or track.

I am not an athlete.

I have recently joined the new gym in our town and I try to walk a few miles most days, but I was never good at sports.

In high school, I ran track for two years. After that
I realized it was not worth it because the coach was just plain mean. Seriously mean. Looking back as an objective adult, I can still see with great clarity that she was mean. Except to the track stars.

Most of those stars were in the grade above me (my husband's class) and they were the jockettes. The jockettes were mean too. Even at class reunions 10 and 15 years later they were mean. The mean girls had become mean women.
But I digress.

Aside from my lack of talent, there was also my lack of confidence to participate in sports, which my husband says is interesting since I spent four years performing in school plays. Whatever.

Because of my lack of talent, confidence and well, alright, interest in playing sports, I was pleasantly surprised my daughter has chosen to be athletic. Many times I have said I was surprised she loved team sports so much because she was painfully shy when she was very young. Sports have helped her to overcome her shyness.

A few years ago, another mom and I were discussing the schedules we would soon face when our daughters entered the school sports phase, as opposed to just summer sports. She mentioned several articles she had seen regarding the correlation between athletic participation and sexual activity, or rather LACK of sexual activity. You can check out this website: http://www.womenssportsfoundation.org/ Or this one: http://www.teenpregnancy.org/ to read more.

At the risk of causing your eyes to glaze over, making you slide off your chair, I will sum up a few interesting points.

-Teen girl athletes are more likely to remain virgins longer than non-athletes.

-Athletes are less likely to use drugs and alcohol, which are linked to risky sexual behavior.

-Athletes have higher grades and higher graduation rates.

-Practically speaking, athletes are busy in supervised activities during the after-school and early-evening hours; therefore making it less likely they will engage in risky behavior.

It seems that female athletes gain stronger respect for themselves and their bodies than non athletes. They feel more in control of their bodies and are more able to assert themselves to make safer decisions.

And so I want to give a big shout out to Title IX, and say Thank You. Without Title IX, our girls would not have as many opportunities to participate in sports.

I don't know what sports programs are available in your areas, but I personally consider dance and cheer leading both to be athletic activities. Dance is big in our area, and the dance squad at school is VERY busy at most sporting events. And they work hard. Their routines are amazing. And the cheerleaders are VERY busy too. They show up for practices to encourage the boys, they spend time making signs for lockers and yards, and they do push-ups every time our football players score a touchdown. They do push-ups to equal our total score. EVERY TIME we score. And last year, when our team was the undefeated state champion, they had to do A LOT of push-ups on the sidelines. So I definitely consider these to be athletic activities.

So moms....dads? Go on out and sign your girls up for some activities.
Let's empower our daughters.

SHE'S STRIKING....

This is my daughter. She's a pitcher. She loves softball. LOVES it. Each evening in the summer, when we weren't at a game, her dad would sit on a five-gallon bucket and catch her pitches. I tried catching her pitches once and ended up in a near fetal position.

I am afraid of the ball. Don't tell my brothers.




Did I mention she loves softball. She loves it so much, she can't keep her feet on the ground.

Look at that concentration. Look at that sweat. You go girl!!

Why, she's even kickin' up some dust at the end of her wind up.

Yeah, what's that about "throwin' like a girl"?

And here we are on first base, taking the lead-off. Go back Go back Go back!!!! She's throwin' to first!! GO BACK!! Your mother is too old for this kind of excitement.

And she was safe!!!!

Whew, that was close.

And thanks to our lovely neighbor J.S. for the great action photos.

Our Brief Encounter with Gus

The other evening as I was walking by our back door, I saw our three neighbor children (ages 2,5 and 6) saunter onto our patio, plop down in our chairs, put their feet up and start eating popsicles. I went to the window to watch them and when they noticed me looking out, they all waved with a big, surprised smile as if to say "Oh, hi! What are YOU doing here?"Then I went out to visit with them. When I saw their mom, I yelled over, "I have found 3 stray children. I do not know if I should adopt them or call the pound." And she said "They're for sale."
So then we started visiting. And before long, a big stray dog wandered into our yard. I am not happy to see stray dogs. We have a leash law in our little town and it drives me crazy when people don't keep track of their pets. We have an underground electric fence that keeps our dog contained very well. The only problem is that, while she can't get out, other dogs can get in. And when I see a dog wandering around for too long I always say something like "We've paid good money to keep our dog contained like we're supposed to....."

But this dog was very good natured and it was obvious he was used to people. The only problem was that when the kids would run, he'd run after them, thinking they were playing. And that scared the little ones. Plus he had some white foam coming out of his mouth. The men thought it was because he was hot. The women thought it was because he was rabid. As much as we tried to get him to leave, and as harsh as we tried to sound, he was not going anywhere.
When we were all settled in for the night, our dog Cookie stood at the front door and started barking. Sure enough, there was the big black dog lying in front of our door as though he'd adopted us. Even The Don felt bad for him because he took him a handfull of food and a big bowl of water. The Princess of course wanted to keep him and asked what we would name him IF we kept him. I suggested "Gus" since he appeared on a hot August evening. She agreed that IF he was our dog, we'd call him Gus.

At midnight I was just getting ready for bed when I heard Gus barking out front. So I looked out and noticed that Gus had cornered a baby opossum. Well I did not want to wake up in the morning and find an opossum corpse in our yard, nor did I want any of the kids finding that, so I ran downstairs and opened the living room window, and whisper-yelled "no,no,no" And Gus looked around and ran back to his spot on the porch. Every time he'd leave the porch, I'd whisper-yell "NO" and he'd look around to see where the voice was coming from and run right back to the porch. This went on until The Smart One heard the commotion and came downstairs. When I told him what was going on, he grabbed a flashlight to run outside and said "can I shoot that opossum with my bb gun?" And I said absolutely not. So instead he just stood up on the electrical box in our front yard and pointed the light at the opossum and started taking pictures of it with his cell phone. And Gus would head over and I'd tell him "NO!" And he'd look around all confused at where the voice was coming from and head back to the porch.
For about 10 minutes, the opossum did not move a muscle, except to open its mouth to make a little hiss or squeak. So The Smart One got the garden hose to try to spray it just enough to get it to run off, which it did. Thank goodness, because I did not want Gus getting hold of that poor little thing.

Then The Don woke up and came downstairs and I explained what all the commotion was, and he said "I'm taking that dog across town." So he walked the dog over to the mustang and opened the door. The Smart One, who is still standing on the Electrical Box sees this and whisper yells "What the Heck, Dad!! I don't want dog slobber and wet fur in my car!!!" Meanwhile, The Don is standing over by the mustang with the dog saying "Come on. Get in! Get in the car. GET. IN. THE. CAR. Come Oooooon!"And Gus was tilting his head to one side just listening and knowing that he was winning this battle.

And Me? I was still sitting at the open living room window. Laughing my head off at The Don's argument with the dog.

So then The Don decides he will get the leash and drag Gus into the car. So he comes back out and puts Cookie's collar and leash on him and this time goes to the jeep and opens the back door and has the same conversation with the Dog. "Come on! Get in!!! Come on, boy!!! GET. IN. THE CAR."

And I'm still laughing through the window. I mean, I don't know what else to do. And I know how much The Don appreciates it when I laugh in situations like this.

Having no luck with the jeep, The Don, walks the dog back over to the mustang and opens the door. This time, Gus jumps right in and The Don walks around to the driver's side.
And now from my post at the window I hear "Move over! Come on, get out of that seat! GET! GET. OUT. OF. MY. SEAT." Seems Gus had hopped right into the car and immediately moved into the drivers seat. Things were not going well for The Don. Did I mention that Gus probably weighed 100 pounds? I did not see how The Don actually got in the car because I had to leave my post at the window to get some tissues to wipe the tears that were rolling down my face from laughing so hard.

Except evidently I was no longer laughing; I was cackling. At least that's the way The Don described it the next day.

Anyway, then the Don revved the engine and roared off in the mustang with Gus sitting happily by his side. The time was 12:36 AM.

The Don told me when he got home that he had taken Gus across town and that the dog actually seemed to perk up as though he was in familiar territory. He let him out in a neighborhood behind our local library and he actually headed off like he knew where he was going.
I really hope Gus is ok. I hope his owners are more careful with him.

And I hope that in the next stressful situation I can be just as helpful to The Don as I was this time.

Yeah. It's just a gift I have.

AH! YOUNG LOVE...

Warning: The following tale is likely to make The Princess lose her royal lunch, but I'm going to share it anyway.

On Thursday evenings, The Don and I watch the new show Mad Men together. I could write a whole post on that show alone; but not now. Last night The Don was sitting on our new basement sofa and I was sitting in one of the recliners while we watched. I got up during a commercial to check out our stock of kids movies for our babysitting gig tonight.
While I was scanning the movie drawer The Don said,

"Why don't you come on over here and make out with me?"

And I, in all my prim and proper modesty said "What did you say?"

And he said "Come on over here and make out with me. We haven't made out on our new sofa."

So we did. THAAAAT'S RIIIIGHT! Twenty years of marriage and we still neck on the couch like a couple of teenagers. Sometimes just to make our kids mad. They HATE it. HATE. IT.

So while we were snuggling I said to The Don "It's a huge relief not to be going back to work next week. Thank you for supporting me in my decision. And now that I'm going to be home full time again, I'm going to work extra hard on being the best housewife possible."

And he kissed my forehead and said "You already are."

Is it any wonder that I often find myself thinking "I'm the luckiest woman in the world."?

LUCY AND RICKY TAKE A WALK.....

The Don took today off so he could drive The Princess and a friend to Chicago to watch The Bandits play. The Bandits are a women's softball team and Jennie Finch often pitches for them. Do you know who Jennie Finch is? She's the young woman who pitched for the 2004 U.S Women's softball team when they won their gold medal in the summer Olympics. The Princess LOVES Jennie Finch. She took her Finch jersey and a sharpie in hopes of getting an autograph. Let's all keep our fingers crossed shall we...

Anyway, since they didn't leave until around 1:00, The Don was home to take a walk with me this morning. I have been walking at the mall each morning because the weather is wicked hot outside. So we pull up at the mall and park the jeep and walk about 3 feet and The Don says
"This isn't good." When I turn to look at him I see he's holding the clicker up that he'd slipped in his pocket so he could unlock the jeep after our walk, without carrying his whole keyring.

Except he was holding the clicker to the van.

And my keys were in my purse locked in the jeep because as we parked I had said "I'm just going to keep all of my keys and stuff in the car since you'll have everything we need, right?"

So before we decided how to handle this situation I said (in all loving, submissive kindness and understanding) "you know, I walk here nearly every morning without incident, and the day I bring you, my walk goes into the crapper...." And he said "I know." And then I couldn't stop laughing. And neither could he.

We decided, as we walked the mall, that we had several options. Here were the main two:

1. Walk home and wake the Princess up so she could let us in once we got to the house. Because we had done such a good job of locking her in the house when we left, we had no way of re-entering once we got to our front porch.
2. Call The Smart One at his friend Drew's house, where he had spent the night, and wake him up and tell him to come unlock the jeep at the mall for us.

We weighed our options carefully. Both seemed risky since they each involved waking a teenager. Who should we tick off today? The Princess....? The Smart One...?

The Smart One was the winner!!! Yay, Smart One!!

So The Don called our son. I think the conversation went something like this:

Dad: uh, yeah, I need you to come to the mall in the next half hour and unlock the jeep. I locked the keys in it when I parked for our walk.

Son: You're kidding me?! Why can't you get mom to do it?

Dad: Because your mom is here with me stuck at the mall...

Son: alriiiiiiiiiight.

When they hung up The Don said "Well, he's mad."
And I said "He probably hung up, looked at Drew and said 'I'll never get them raised.'"

So as we continued our walk The Don said "We need to change..." and I didn't let him finish because I said "WE don't need to change anything, YOU need to change your habit of locking the keys in the car." And he said "I need you to change how we do things..."

Wait, what? He needs me to change how we do things when it comes to locking the car?

So he said "yeah, if you would stop locking the car from your side when we get out of it, I'd know I need to lock it with the keys and then I'd be sure to have the keys in my hand."

So I said "nuh-uh!! If I didn't lock it from my side I'd ask if you'd locked the car and you'd say 'it'll be ok unlocked.' or you'd lock it from your side without the keys and still leave your keys in the car. And besides that, now when we leave the car I not only have to ask if you have the keys, I also have to ask if they are the right keys. AAAAANNNND.... if you hadn't tried so hard to simplify things by only carrying the clicker, we'd not be locked out. You've simplified us right into being trapped at the mall...."

Yeah, I'm really good at letting things go like that....

Oh, and before we left the jeep, we each grabbed a couple of dollars - for coffee for him and water for me. So we walk into the coffee shop and, like a couple of 5-year-olds say, "Um, yeah, how much is a small coffee, cause we only have a couple of dollars?" And I say "ooooh, next time, I'm bringing in more money so I can afford a fresh fruit smoothie. But for now, could I just have a bottled water, please?"And the young clerk was trying to be patient with us so I said "We've locked ourselves out of our car, or we'd have more money to get exactly what we wanted...."

So we finished our walk and then went to Lowe's to buy a dishwasher. And as they ring it up guess what The Don says? "Honey, I need your credit card. I left my wallet in the jeep."
I AM NOT KIDDING!!!!

Then The Don's phone rings:

Dad: Hellooooooo?

Daughter: Um, Dad. The Smart One wants me to ask you if you'll bring lunch home from Panda Express.

Dad: (sigh) Yes.

When they hung up, he said "The kids want Chinese food. How can I tell them no after making him rescue us like that?"

Yep. They'll probably never get us raised.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN...

I registered the kids for school yesterday.

We live in a very small town and our schools are consolidated with another very small town seven and a half miles up the highway. This time of year, that's 7 1/2 miles of corn fields (and a couple soybean fields) on either side of the highway. As I was looking at the fields during my drive I thought of my friend from New York who once said "It's so boring to look out and see nothing but flat fields for miles." To which I replied "But....but...these are the fields that feed the world."

Anyway, as I was driving up to the schools yesterday I was thinking of all the times I had made this trip. Trips to take The Smart One up early to study for a test. Trips to get the kids there because the bus simply didn't show up. Trips to pick up a sick child. Trips for practices and games - football, basketball, softball, volleyball, track. Trips to do my volunteer work at the school or to help with a class party. Trips to take The Princess up early so she could decorate a locker for somebody's birthday. Trips to pick The Smart One up from detention (for which he had to give me gas money).

There have been days I've made that trip three times. That's 45 miles in a day for school purposes. But always, when I drive up alone in the van, it feels better to have my young passengers with me on the way home. Well, ok, not always. Sometimes The Smart One was a little grumpy. But despite the smell of sweat that fills the van after football - or track - or basketball - or volleyball practice, it is good to have those 7 1/2 miles to hear about the kids' days. Especially with The Smart One, that seems to be when I got details about what's going on in his life. You know? What's REALLY going on. And with The Princess and her royal friends, I am always enlightened on who's going with whom, who wore what to school, what the expected big color will be for the dance, who's going to the mall or the movie that weekend. And giggling. Lots of giggling.

And nowI realize my trips will be dramatically fewer since The Smart One is driving. Don't get me wrong. It is truly liberating to have a child who drives. For instance, today while I sat around with an ice pack on my head to soothe my migraine, I was able to enlist The Smart One to drive The Princess and her friend to the pool. And yesterday when The Don brought pizza home for dinner and the kids asked for soda, I was able to toss 2 dollars at The Smart One and say "if you want soda, you can drive to the gas station and buy soda..." And when he tells me he wants to go to a friends house, or to the Y to lift weights, I no longer have to ask "What time?" or "Can his parents bring you home?" And when The Don and I had a date the other night, and I didn't want to fix dinner for the kids before we left, I handed The Smart One money and said "please drive your sister to the mall for some Chinese food." Not only do we not need a sitter anymore, but we can let them fend for themselves for supper too.

See? It's great.

But.

I am going to have much less time with my son now. And probably with my daughter too, since he will be taking her places. Funny how this road of parenthood seemed so long when the nurses were placing them in my arms; and how slowly we seemed to be moving down this road when we were in the throes of nursing, teething, diapers, sleepless nights.

And now?

This parenting road seems short. So Short.

And I, who have never had a speeding ticket, seem to be moving down this road too quickly.

IT'S WICKED HOT OUTSIDE....

Too hot to do anything.

Except, apparently to go out and buy a new sofa for the basement.

I rarely go to the basement. Mainly because it is usually inhabited by teenagers. Not that I have anything against teenagers. It's just that, well, I totally get that I'm not wanted down there when they are. So, except for the occasional movie night with The Don, I do not go to the basement. Unless it's to hide out in my craft room, but that hasn't happened in a while either.

So when I go to the basement I usually look around in stunned silence and say something like
"Good Lord, we are PIGS." And my eye starts to twitch.

Especially when I am cleaning the bathroom down there. Because as I am scrubbing that toilet, I am usually mumbling to myself "Why? Why, for the love of Pete, did we think we needed a 4th bathroom?"

But now that The Smart One has taken over that bathroom (because he's "sick of his sister's junk" in the one they shared) I have adopted a new clean bathroom policy. When I announced this policy to the kids and said "Your bathrooms have to be cleaned BY YOU from top to bottom every Saturday by noon. Everything. Tub. Toilet. Sinks. Floors. Garbage cans. I will be checking them. I will be very picky," The Smart One said "NOOON?! Why do we have to get up so early on a Saturday.?"

Lord help me.

I am afraid,though, that they know it is an empty threat, because they probably know I will forget. So please, all of you help me out; send me a reminder on Saturday to check my kids' bathrooms.

Anyway, back to the sofa. A few weeks ago, I was lying on the basement sofa in full slug mode, flipping channels when I noticed a few holes in the upholstery. Hmmmm. This is not good. The Don and I had agreed that this sofa was perfectly good enough to last us until we were rid of the teenagers....I mean until we sadly said goodbye to our precious offspring when they left for college. But, holes! This really bothered me. So I decided I'd bring it up to the Don and see what his reaction was to maybe, perhaps, you know, if we found a really good deal....buying a new (cheap) sofa.

So I said "Look at these holes, maybe we oughta go ahead and replace this. Those holes are only going to get bigger." And he said "Yeah, I noticed some springs poking me the other night too. You can go pick something out whenever you're ready."

Wait, what? Apparently, pointy metal spikes poking him in his hiney, are enough to spur The Don into a major purchase.

So, just like that, we decided to get a new basement sofa. With two conditions: 1) I stay within budget (uh, of course I will) and 2) The Don does not have to come with me to pick it out. That is the phase of life we are in. We decide we need furniture for whatever room. We agree on a budget. I pick out whatever I want and The Don never has to darken the door of a furniture store. It's a win/win situation.

The first sofa I had my eye on had a whitish background, which was probably not a good idea for a basement sofa that would encounter lots of teenagers. Although, judging from the looks of our basement carpet, all of the spills appear to hit only the floor, and never the furniture. The old sofa may be holey and poky, but it actually looks pretty clean.

So today I trudged out in the wicked heat and picked out a sofa. It will be delivered Tuesday. And I am happy.

Now, to talk The Don into that hutch I saw for the kitchen.....

REMEMBERING JON...

I think of him often. I usually don't know what brings him to mind, but he left an impact on my life. Escpecially considering I knew him for about 6 weeks - over 20 years ago.

I attended college at a small Christian school in Arkansas. It was an 8 hour drive from my hometown. Basically, I left home after high school and never looked back.
It was one of the smartest things I ever did.

The summer after my freshman year, I decided to stay down there and take summer classes.
It was in English 201 that I met Jon. He sat in front of me and he was a Bible major. I was actually still very shy in those days, but after he introduced himself to me, a very easy friendship developed. We only saw each other in class but we had something important in common. We were both engaged. I had just become engaged and he was weeks away from getting married. Her name was Kimberly. So we spent time before and after class sitting at our desks comparing wedding notes. That is how I remember him; turned sideways in his desk with one arm crooked over the back of his chair, leaning toward me while we talked.

Strange, I never met Kimberly and I don't think he every met The Don.

After that summer session, I didn't see Jon again. At least not in the way I would want to.

One evening I was watching TV with The Don at his apartment and we saw a story about a young man who had drowned in the local river. He had been underwater and apparently become tangled in debris at the river bottom. It was a sad story, but I had basically forgotten about it by the next morning.

Until I heard that it was Jon. THAT Jon. The Jon that I had spent every morning laughing and talking with during first summer session.

Jon. Who had been married just two weeks before he died.

I went to his funeral and The Don went with me. I remember wearing my church clothes to class that morning so that I could leave early and go straight to the church. I remember I had on a navy skirt and short sleeve pink blouse and navy pumps. I remember telling my music appreciation professor that I'd be leaving for this funeral. I remember walking out the door during class and hearing my professor quietly say "thanks for going." That was actually the last time I saw Jon. At his funeral.

And I will never forget seeing Kimberly at that funeral. She walked down the center aisle literally being held up on each side by two of our professors, each of whom was an elder at the church she and Jon attended. I was horrified. I was sad for her. I was angry for her. I was sad for Jon and couldn't stop thinking of the fear he must have felt in his last moments of life. I couldn't stop thinking of how ecstatic he had been at the anticipation of his marriage to Kimberly. Only for it to last two weeks. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Their life together was fourteen days long.

I had taken classes under each of those professors. Dr. White taught English 101. Dr. Tate taught Sociology, so I had lots of classes with him in the my four years there. I saw a side of those men that day that shaped my view of them. Regardless of what I had felt for them as instructors, I learned that they were gentle souls. I learned that, despite their years of learning and seemingly unending knowledge of scripture, they were, quite simply, humble. They were servants.

I will never forget Dr. Tate's words as he spoke at the funeral. He told us that God doesn't go around making bad things happen. Yes He can DO anything. And He can PREVENT anything. But sometimes he chooses not to.

And here was his explanation to the "why" of it all. This man who had spent years on the mission field in Kenya and then years teaching young people at a Chrisitian university. This great Bible scholar said:

"I don't know."

I think his words that day served to hold Kimberly up in her walk of grief, just as his arms had held her up in her walk down that church aisle.

I think those words - "I don't know" - are liberating. They allow us to stop wasting energy trying to answer questions that may never be answered. They allow us to use our energy to focus on God's healing power.
*************************

When The Smart One was about 8 he came home wet and muddy from shoulder to shoe. The creek near our house was up and running fast due to a recent rain. He and his friends had played in the creek. It was only knee deep to him but I panicked. Through tears, and with a quivering voice, I told The Smart One about Jon and how he had died in a river. And I pleaded with The Smart One to never, NEVER go into a body of water like that again unless there is an adult to give permission and watch him. See? Jon's life and death are there to shape my life.

And now I still wonder about Kimberly. I think of her often. Did she remarry? Does she have children? Is she happy? Does she have somebody walking beside her through this life? Somebody to hold her up?

Soon after Jon's funeral, the minister at our church (a different church than Jon's, although both Church of Christ - there were a gazillion down there) mentioned a young woman who had become a widow after two weeks of marriage. He said he had asked the question earlier "What can be worse than becoming a widow after two weeks of marriage?" And an older lady had responded with "Becoming a widow after 35 years of marriage."

That's quite a debate, but I don't know.

I think it is always too early to be a widow.

SUPPLY AND DEMAND....

On The Smart One's last day of first grade, he came home with a stack of photos his teacher had taken of him throughout the year. I was touched and impressed that she had taken photos of each child and then made sure the parents had a stack of memories of their student doing all the great things in the classroom that parents don't usually get to see.

So, when we got the school supply lists for the following year, I did not mind a bit supplying the "one roll of 35 mm film - 36 exposures" because I knew these teachers were taking time to preserve memories for the parents of all 20+ students in their classes.

Those were the days when we had to supply, not only crayons, glue sticks (oh my the countless glue sticks) and safety scissors; but also paper towels, two large boxes of kleenex, and antibacterial hand cleanser.

I tried never to complain about the HUGE pile of supplies we had to buy or the HUGE check I had to write for all of those supplies. I learned very early to ADORE teachers. I love teachers. I fall at their feet in admiration. I learned very early that elementary teachers spend not only lots of time, but also lots of their own money to keep their classrooms fun and exciting. In our little school district, we honestly loved all the teachers that taught our children all through elementary school. LOVED them. And junior high and high school teachers? Well, when you have teenagers, you will also adore those who spend their day with DOZENS of them. Willingly. I mean, they CHOOSE to spend their days with our teenagers. So that we don't have to.
I'm just KIDDING! I love my teenagers. But I can love them just as much while they are at school.

But this is not about teachers, as much as they deserve a whole post just for them.

This is about students, and what it takes to get them ready for that first day of school. This is about supply and demand. Or the demand for supplies.
I have an 8th grader and a sophomore. The Princess (my 8th grader) and I went shopping for school supplies yesterday. She still has a list of required items. Things like post-it notes, index cards, markers, looseleaf paper....and twelve red ink pens. TWELVE! One. Dozen. Red. Ink. Pens.

I am incredulous.

I tried to keep it to myself but every now and then a comment would slip out like "I'm still not clear why you need TWELVE red ink pens." I mean I know they grade each other's papers and all, but TWELVE?

I will also admit to getting a little grumpy about the cost of things yesterday.
We got a few things at Staples and after the third very nice employee asked me "Can I help you find anything?" I answered with "Yes, do you have any valium...?"

No, I didn't really say that, but I thought it.
Because I could not find a one-subject notebook for less than $5.00!! FIVE DOLLARS!! For a notebook. One hundred sheets of paper.

So we moved on to the other stores, hoping to find lower prices. And we ended up getting everything we needed except 4x6 ruled index cards - white; and the liquid glue pen. Not glue STICKS, of which I have a thousand, but a liquid glue pen. We also managed to splurge on a really nifty binder for The Princess. It was not on the list, but it has zippers and velcro, and all sorts of pockets and TWO built in accordian files. It also cost more than our lunch at Panera.

Not that I'm complaining. Because to SOME mothers (not me of course) back-to-school time truly is the most wonderful time of the year.

And really, I don't mean me.....

LUUUUCCCCYYYY!!!!....YOU GOT SOME 'SPLAININ' TO DO!

I feared I would have some splainin to do when The Don saw what I had ordered for The Smart One's Birthday.

The Smart One didn't want to do ANYTHING for his 16th birthday. Take his friends out for steak dinners? No. Have friends over for ANY kind of party? No. I realize, now, he wants to keep his birthday completely free so that he can spend the day DRIVING. Plus, he has informed me that none of the guys are having parties. He has invited his grandparents up for pizza tonight (his birthday is tomorrow) so that will be our simple family celbration



He did tell me, however, that he wished we would be in Chicago for his birthday so he could have some lemon raspberry cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory. That's really what he wanted for his birthday cake.

So, being the super mama that I am, I went online and ordered two cheesecakes to be delivered NEXT DAY AIR so they'd be here for the grandparents tonight and for all the kids that will most surely be in our house all weekend. I am the mom that makes things happen. Since we all know that ONE SLICE of Cheesecake Factory cheesecake is not cheap, you can imagine how much a whole cake is. And I ordered two. Lemon Raspberry for The Smart One and then an Original Flavor for the Princess. And then, since I was a woman possessed by the idea of making her son's birthday wish come true, I clicked on the NEXT DAY AIR icon when it came to shipping.

But only after sitting at the computer for nearly half an hour debating if it was indeed worth it.

Of course to me it was going to be worth it, but you know how dads can be - not nearly so sentimental and indulgent. So after rehearsing in my mind the justification I would give The Don over this ridiculously indulgent purchase, I made the order. I definitely think these cheesecakes are going to be cheaper than feeding 6 teenage boys at a steakhouse. And I think they will even be cheaper than buying enough groceries to feed them all here. And that is what I told The Don when I informed him of my decision. I just hemmed and hawed and smiled and batted my eyelashes and said "Let's just say it was a BIG splurge. A REALLY big splurge." And he said "How big?" And I told him and he said "Oh that's ok. I thought you were going to say like Five Hundred Dollars."

Whew!

Fast Forward to this morning.

I had to pick The Princess up from a slumber party and then we were going straight to the mall where she had a hair appointment. I was worried I would miss the Fed Ex man delivering the cheesecakes. So I woke The Smart One and told him to be listening for the doorbell so we wouldn't miss out on our cheesecakes.

And Lo and Behold as we walk out of the mall, there is the Fed Ex man pulling up. This driver delivers to my office and his kids go to school with our kids, so I said "Hey Bart, do you have a package for me?" And he said "Yeah, but I can give it to you now, because I have no other deliveries in your neighborhood." So he found my cheesecakes and let me sign for them right there in the mall parking lot. Well, after teasing me for ordering not just one but TWO .....

Ya gotta love the Fed Ex Man.

PICKING UP THE PIECES....

The Smart One and I have been in ongoing negotiations for the past year or so regarding redecorating his room. He has his ideas. I have mine. It's not so much that we can't agree on decor, however, as we can't agree on a timeline. He wants me to redecorate his room without having to put him out. Literally and figuratively. Every time he comes up with a plan, he changes his mind when he realizes he might be displaced to the guest room for a few days.
I was going to tackle the project while he was away for wrestling camp, but I had a pulled muscle in my shoulder and was not up to the job.

Now we are on the subject again. Mainly because he has found a Euro Futon at Target that he really wants. It is black. His room is blue an orange. So I think it is the perfect time to do a quick makeover and incorporate black into his room. He wants black and red. I suggested black and tan with touches of red. He literally curled into a ball laughing at that idea. "TAAAANNNN?! Oh, my gosh!"

So now he is throwing out the idea of blue and red. I could go for that, even though the black Euro Futon will not match well. I have long since given up on having my kids' rooms be the magazine pictures I had planned. Their rooms are their spaces. Their personalities. Their expressions. The kids change their sheets, keep their laundry sorted and, for the most part, keep their messes contained in their own spaces. Most importantly, much tension (and I mean MUCH tension) has been released from our home since I quit hounding them about keeping their rooms in magazine picture condition.

So last night, The Smart One was showing me how he had cleaned his room and repositioned the posters on his wall. He also wanted to show me how he intened to make the futon work in his room. I am skeptical but, like I said, it's his room. Anyway, we got into the discussion again about redecorating and I was laying out my plan for him. Again, he was not happy with the idea of being displaced. He just doesn't think the end result will be worth the hassle. And then he said it.

"Just wait until I leave home to do anything. I'll be gone in a few years anyway."

And that is when I stooped to the floor to gather up the pieces of my heart.