For some reason, I have a really hard time committing to do things that take us out of our routine. I hear about a great opportunity to get away from the kitchen table for a day and say “yeah, maybe we’ll do that.” But when the day arrives, something always comes up that keeps us home. I have been determined to change that… to stop saying “maybe” and start saying “yes”.
Yesterday our homeschool group was planning to meet at 9 AM at a farm for a field trip. Corn maze, hay ride, lots of animals, loads of fun. I signed us up. Even told several people we were coming in an effort to give me some accountability. In order to be there at 9, we had to leave at 8:20. Somewhere along the way, children learn that the time to sleep in is anytime you have to be somewhere. read more…
I hear those words and look down to see a broad smile spread across the sweet chubby cheeks of my youngest son as he presses his blanket into my hands. I know that he is waiting anxiously for me to tie the corners of his blanket into a cape so he can bound around the house ready to save the world. As I watch him race out of the room I am struck by the magnitude of his tiny words. Every day I have the awesome privilege of helping three little boys to become Super Men.
They may never be faster than a speeding bullet, but I pray they will be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.
They may never be more powerful than a locomotive, but I pray they will know that they can do everything through Christ who gives them strength.
They may never be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but I pray they will be willing to take a leap of faith when God asks more from them than they think they can give.
And above all else, I pray that Jesus Christ will be their greatest hero.
Early Monday morning we dropped Amber off at the vet for her annual comprehensive exam. We decided to have them clean her teeth as well because after 2 1/2 years her breath has become, well, less than fresh. Probably because I refuse to brush her teeth. I love her, but I have enough teeth to brush around here already.
When it was time to pick her up, they handed me a bottle of antibiotics and informed me that it was a precaution to guard against infection in her gums from the cleaning procedure. Okay then.
The next day, after a couple doses of the medication I started to notice a smell that seemed to follow her around the house. Apparently the antibiotics have begun their assault on her intestinal tract. I went in the boys room last night to kiss them goodnight and the whole room smelled so bad I wanted to cry. Poor kids. I decided to leave their door open to let some fresh air in.
About 30 minutes later, I’m laying in bed, certain I can still smell her. So I got up, and sure enough, she had followed me downstairs and was laying outside my bedroom door. I could smell her stinky behind through the crack under the door!
Today I’m thankful for the relatively cool, cloudy day that makes it possible for me to keep the windows open. Poor dog. If it warms up I may have to banish her to the back yard.
I find it a litte ironic that the reason we’re all suffering through this is that I thought her breath smelled bad.
Okay, so this past weekend we loaded up the kids and made the 5 hour trek to Bowling Green, Kentucky. Apparently Bowling Green is quite the center of family fun. Who knew? We took a boat on a river that flows underground into Lost River Cave. We visited the National Corvette museum and the Corvette assembly plant. We mingled with marsupials and exotic birds at Kentucky Down Under. And, of course, we did what we originally set out to do – a tour of Mammoth Cave.
I could write page after page about the incredible weekend we had in Kentucky. But I kid myself that I would actually have time to do that now in the midst of cake-baking and home schooling. So instead, I’ll share just one of the highlights:
We arrived at Mammoth Cave about an hour ahead of our scheduled tour. We were all wearing appropriate caving attire – athletic pants, tennis shoes & jackets – with the exception of the (almost) 7 year old. Somehow I forgot to grab a jacket for him, so I told him that he could wear mine when it was time to enter the cave. He was pretty excited about the prospect of wearing Mommy’s clothes, so he spent the majority of that hour pestering me about why he couldn’t have the jacket now, particularly because it was secured around my waist and so I wasn’t technically wearing it. So I said, more to myself than to anyone else, “You can’t have it now because it is covering up my butt while we’re out here in broad daylight.”
This was, of course, heard by the entire family and so began the barrage of questions about why I needed a jacket to cover up my backside. My answer was “because I don’t like it very much.” Whether my son was being truthful, or just trying to convince me to give him the shirt, I will never know, but his response was, “awww Mom, I like your butt…”
My mind then began to process this statement… am I happy about this? Why yes, yes I am happy. A compliment is a compliment after all, even if it is coming from a 7 year old with ulterior motives. As I was reveling in the moment, he continued his thought…
“I like your butt because it is REALLY big.”
Every Tuesday at our house is grocery day. I’m ever thankful that God gave me three boys that can help me carry all the groceries up the stairs from the garage each week. It has become standard procedure for everyone, including the toddler, to carry something. Then we all go up the stairs and work on putting things away. The end result of all this help is usually a kitchen scattered from end to end with empty grocery bags.
Yesterday my oldest decided, on his own, that he would help further by cleaning up all the bags. So I said to him, “Thank you so much for cleaning up all those bags without being asked.” He replied, “maybe I could do it every week and you could pay me for it.” I chuckled internally for a bit, and then said, “Maybe you could do it every week, but not for money. Maybe you could just do it as part of your share of the responsibilities. After all, I don’t get paid for doing your laundry or fixing your dinner.”
He looked a bit dejected and then he disappeared up the stairs. The surprise came when he reappeared with 65 cents. I said, “What is this for?” And he said, “for being the greatest mom in the world.”
I love that kid.
What goes hand in hand with a wetter than average, steamy summer in Georgia? Bugs. Bugs. And more bugs. The bug stories have been accumulating, so I thought maybe it was time to share.
Bug Story #1 – The Cruelty of Nature read more…
As we were walking from our car to church on Sunday, we passed a patch of dandelions. My 6 year old immediately plucked one and brought it to me with a big smile. I knew the big hug he got in return would start a parade of flower picking for mom. As expected, the oldest and youngest soon followed suit and picked flowers of their own. But much to my dismay, their flowers weren’t for me. The little one kept his for himself and the oldest, well… he gave his to a little girl in his class. It was quite the picture of the stages of childhood and a reminder of how precious and few those years really are.
AKA… a homeschool mom in a liquor store. You’ll get it in a minute.
So, a few weeks ago I decided to try my hand at selling cakes. It has been going remarkably well so far. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but every time I feel overwhelmed, I just say a little prayer and put it all in God’s hands. I’ve been saying that prayer a lot.
I have three cakes this weekend and one of them is going to have lettering that is painted gold. Edible gold paint can apparently made by mixing gold luster dust, readily available at craft stores, with vodka, which is not so readily available at craft stores. read more…
No, I’m not talking about getting married, although that is absolutely true. I’m talking about the much anticipated, stressed over, gray hair manifesting, zit-inflicting, family-neglecting baking of my first ever wedding cake. After months of planning, practicing and preparing, the big day arrived, ready or not, last Saturday. Here’s how it all went down:
Two weeks ago I flew to Utah, along with all my children, my mother, two Kitchen Aid mixers and half my kitchen, leaving behind my husband and my sanity. read more…
Sunday afternoon I was sitting with my 6 year old watching Wall-E for the 100th time when he made a comment about the cockroach’s home. He said it looked like he was living in a caramel. It was very plain to me that the home he was referring to was actually a Twinkie. Could it be possible that my son had never seen a Twinkie?
We did the only thing you can do when faced with a situation such as this – we rushed right out to buy a box of Twinkies. It was a first for all of my children, and the first time in 20 years for me and my husband. I don’t buy much in the way of junk food. We eat fruit for snacks, and occasionally granola bars. The big splurge for the kids is those chewy fruity things, in our home simply referred to as “gummies”. Other than that we eat home made cookies, bars, etc…
It took us a while to locate them at the store. First I tried the cookies/crackers aisle, I mean, that is where the majority of the junk food is located, so I thought it was logical. Then it started to come back to me… no, not the junk food aisle – the bread/peanut butter aisle – a ridiculous location in my opinion, but nonetheless, we found them there. We stood in line with our box of Twinkies, and I have to admit I was embarrassed, probably more so than I would be standing in line with feminine products.
When we got home we tore open the box and distributed Twinkies to all. I was actually excited about it. My memories of Twinkies were quite fond. But after the first bite, my husband and I glanced at each other with the same thought. They aren’t as good as we remembered. My oldest son took one bite, made a face and then ran away. The littlest one ate until he reached the “cream” filling, then he handed it to me and said “you eat it.” The only one of my family who appeared to like the Twinkie at all was the 6 year old, for whom this whole adventure was started in the first place.
It was a proud, proud day at our house.
