It’s unbelievable how quickly time passes. If you don’t believe me, just grab last year’s family album and wander through the pages at random. You’ll see clothes that no longer fit. Shoes that have long since been laid to rest. Baby fat that has been replaced by slender cheeks and longer legs.
Take a moment or two to gaze upon your screen saver as your digital memories pass at random across the screen. There are homes you no longer own. Cars you no longer drive. Loved ones you no longer see.
When we are young, it seems the days are endless. Weeks drag on like years when we are waiting for Christmas, our next birthday, summer vacation. Why does it happen, then, that when our children are young, time moves so much more quickly? If I wasn’t already aware of this phenomenon on my own, I was reminded yet again by our oldest this past weekend.
As Randy and I were leaving Oklahoma City after a long day of shopping, my phone rang; it was Cooper.
Cooper is a child who is most like his father: he speaks only when necessary. So for him to be calling must mean something is up. And as soon as he spoke, I knew something was.
I could hear my mom in the background trying to build him up, get him to smile. But as soon as he spoke, I could hear it in his voice. He was about to cry.
I had a pretty good idea what had happened just from listening to my mom and knowing my son as I do. You see, he has a certain odd (as I see it) attachment to his teeth. When he discovered his first tooth was loose, he was leaning forward, from the back seat of our parked car, looking in my rear-view mirror. I looked over my shoulder to see him in tears at the mere thought that his tooth might be thinking of going somewhere.
And sure enough, when it finally did decide to come out, there were a few more tears shed for the loss. The second was no different, and the third…the one he was fretting over this time…well, it seems to have followed suit.
I, of course, am proud and excited as I try to get the details from him on the phone. Through his tears, he tries to tell me how he had a sock in his mouth and Brisco was pulling on the other end and it yanked that tooth right out. At least I think that’s what he was trying to say.
I tried to console him from 100 miles away, but it was all for naught. And I had to admit as I hung up the phone, that what I really wanted to do was cry right along with him. For the loss of that tooth. For the passing of time. For the empty space in that little-boy smile.
As I sat listening to the hum of the road and the ramblings of Bob Barry, I wished for a moment that time could stand still. Yeah, I know. It’s only his teeth. But before I know it, his feet will be as big as his dad’s, he’ll be wearing deodorant (I hope), and he’ll be telling me how he’s planning to grow out his hair like all the other cool kids get to do. Hold the phone, folks. I’m not quite ready.
But what else is a parent to do? We can’t keep them young forever, and who’d really want to anyway? He still needs help in the bathroom, he can’t yet tie his shoes, and a lifetime of blowing someone else’s nose? No thanks. But oh, for that baby-faced smile!
In the end, we really have little choice in the matter. Time passes. Life moves quickly. Kids grow up. Pull out your old family album. You’ll see what I mean.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
A holiday shopper’s guide to motherhood
After listening for days to crazy talk about bargain hunting and purchase power, I’ve decided that motherhood isn’t all that different from holiday shopping. From the mere thought of planning for the most essential “purchase” of our lives to the moment we must wrap them up and give them over to independence, the journey is an up and down battle that can leave us wounded and scarred and desperate for a moment of peace…much like a long day at the mall. The interesting comparison, though, is not how similar the two experiences are, it’s the fact that by keeping an eye on the prize, a mother is sure to bask in what promises to be an amazing journey, and in the process, she just might make it through the checkout line alive.
The experts tell us to make our holiday shopping lists well ahead of schedule, to map our route and budget our money. Characteristics of any great planner. Likewise, is the mommy-to-be who starts making her “shopping list” well before the big event. At age 12 she knows for sure that she’ll have two boys and two girls, “…and the boys will come first so they can look out for their sisters and…” By age 21, she has made a list of her unborn children’s names, birth weights and possible career options. Instead of waiting for nature to take its course, she knows how many months each child will be apart from his subsequent sibling, the color of his hair, eyes, probable shoe size, and potential IQ. (Planning is good, but isn’t there something to be said for the element of surprise?)
As time has passed and technology has advanced, holiday shoppers are now able to take advantage of Smartphone apps and social shopping sites, empowering consumers in new and innovative ways. So too, has technology advanced motherhood through 3D and 4D ultrasound imaging. It then drags her through the crazy uncertainties of parenting an infant with the support of Google and Ask.com and fellow, mommy-bloggers who seem to know her plight all too well. And finally coming to her aid is a mother’s modern-day lifeblood: email and the social networking sites which seem to be the only way to stay connected to her sanity and former life through those demanding toddler years. Stay steady, mothers; you’ve got mail.
At last the biggest shopping day of the year arrives: Black Friday. The day following Thanksgiving. The beginning of the Christmas shopping season when retailers open as early as 4 a.m. and offer promotional sales to kick off the longest and most maddening day of their careers. Shoppers wait in the cold, endure road rage, buyer’s remorse and open themselves up to potential bodily harm should they encounter the wrong holiday shopper on a mission. In a nutshell, Black Friday is a mother’s equivalent to dealing with instant gratification, sibling rivalry, neighborhood bullies, and adolescence all rolled into one. Ho, Ho, Ho.
Finally, the worlds of holiday shopping and e-commerce collide to give customers what they really want: Cyber Monday. A day when money-savvy consumers can get all the goods, at great prices, without leaving the safety and comfort of their own homes. And isn’t all that exactly what we mothers want as well? To revel in the comfort of knowing that we can provide “the goods” for our children--knowledge about the important things in life. It simply takes sacrificing a few short years--a reasonable cost--all in the name of maintaining a warm and safe place to call home. Cyber Monday, baby. Bring on the reindeer.
So it would seem that the ultimate holiday purchase isn’t a 42 inch plasma HDTV with surround sound for $449.99. It’s more than the perfect pair of Marc Jacobs riding boots for half of half of half. No, the ultimate investment is not made on the busiest shopping day of the year. It’s made everyday that comes before and every moment that comes after. So when you are standing in the checkout line ten customers deep at 11 o’clock at night on Super Saturday, make sure what you’re buying is worth what you’ll get in return. After all, motherhood’s not about the purchase. It’s about the prize.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
The experts tell us to make our holiday shopping lists well ahead of schedule, to map our route and budget our money. Characteristics of any great planner. Likewise, is the mommy-to-be who starts making her “shopping list” well before the big event. At age 12 she knows for sure that she’ll have two boys and two girls, “…and the boys will come first so they can look out for their sisters and…” By age 21, she has made a list of her unborn children’s names, birth weights and possible career options. Instead of waiting for nature to take its course, she knows how many months each child will be apart from his subsequent sibling, the color of his hair, eyes, probable shoe size, and potential IQ. (Planning is good, but isn’t there something to be said for the element of surprise?)
As time has passed and technology has advanced, holiday shoppers are now able to take advantage of Smartphone apps and social shopping sites, empowering consumers in new and innovative ways. So too, has technology advanced motherhood through 3D and 4D ultrasound imaging. It then drags her through the crazy uncertainties of parenting an infant with the support of Google and Ask.com and fellow, mommy-bloggers who seem to know her plight all too well. And finally coming to her aid is a mother’s modern-day lifeblood: email and the social networking sites which seem to be the only way to stay connected to her sanity and former life through those demanding toddler years. Stay steady, mothers; you’ve got mail.
At last the biggest shopping day of the year arrives: Black Friday. The day following Thanksgiving. The beginning of the Christmas shopping season when retailers open as early as 4 a.m. and offer promotional sales to kick off the longest and most maddening day of their careers. Shoppers wait in the cold, endure road rage, buyer’s remorse and open themselves up to potential bodily harm should they encounter the wrong holiday shopper on a mission. In a nutshell, Black Friday is a mother’s equivalent to dealing with instant gratification, sibling rivalry, neighborhood bullies, and adolescence all rolled into one. Ho, Ho, Ho.
Finally, the worlds of holiday shopping and e-commerce collide to give customers what they really want: Cyber Monday. A day when money-savvy consumers can get all the goods, at great prices, without leaving the safety and comfort of their own homes. And isn’t all that exactly what we mothers want as well? To revel in the comfort of knowing that we can provide “the goods” for our children--knowledge about the important things in life. It simply takes sacrificing a few short years--a reasonable cost--all in the name of maintaining a warm and safe place to call home. Cyber Monday, baby. Bring on the reindeer.
So it would seem that the ultimate holiday purchase isn’t a 42 inch plasma HDTV with surround sound for $449.99. It’s more than the perfect pair of Marc Jacobs riding boots for half of half of half. No, the ultimate investment is not made on the busiest shopping day of the year. It’s made everyday that comes before and every moment that comes after. So when you are standing in the checkout line ten customers deep at 11 o’clock at night on Super Saturday, make sure what you’re buying is worth what you’ll get in return. After all, motherhood’s not about the purchase. It’s about the prize.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Making mental notes
Sometimes in the world of parenting, we only have a moment's notice to react to the situations our little angels create. Whether it’s a broken glass or a broken heart, we parents have to learn to think on our toes, or feel the pain of getting them smashed where we stand.
One of the best ways to parent, I believe, is to learn from someone else’s mistakes. So I’ve made a few mental notes for all those parents who, like me, are still in training.
-Nothing can make a parent feel like strangling their child more than the phrase, “NO FAIR!”
-A close second to the urge to strangle the offspring would be the impulse to apply duct tape to the mouth at the sound of, “I’M NOT PLAYING!” directly following the phrase, “NO FAIR!” (We are currently working on a more appropriate resolution to both scenarios.)
-Sarcasm really is wasted on four and five year old boys.
-While the phrase, “two a piece” sounds self explanatory, to a little kid on a sugar high, it’s not.
Me: “Brisco! I said two a piece! No more!”
Brisco: After shoving at least four Tootsie Rolls in his mouth to his cousin’s one: “Mom! I don’t know what that means!”
-Four year olds don’t realize it’s not ok to glue stuff directly to the wall unless you tell them.
-The word “maybe” means nothing. They prefer a yes or a no.
-Every once in a while, the answer to an everyday question might not render the response you expected.
Me: “What did you do at school today, Coop?”
Cooper: “Hmm. Well, they checked our heads again.”
Me: (choking on my own spit) “Oh really? Again? What were they looking for?”
Cooper: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Well, did they find anything?”
Cooper: “Not today.”
-Air-guitar in the middle of Wal-Mart is pretty funny for the first five minutes, but after the 200th time through the first four measures of “Bad to the Bone,” fellow shoppers begin to shoot air-pistols in the direction of your child.
-“A couple” and “a few” are much better understood with a specific number attached to them.
Me: “A few more minutes and then to bed.”
Cooper: “How many is a few?”
Me: “A few. Not too long.”
Brisco: “Is it like 20 or 40?”
Me: “No, it’s like a couple.”
Cooper: “How many is a couple?”
Brisco: “It’s like eight or 16.”
Me: “A couple is two. A few is three or more. You now have approximately thirty seconds to get to bed.”
Brisco: “What is a pox matey.”
Me: “Never mind.”
-Being happy that everyone in your house is able to dress themselves means not complaining when they show up at a basketball game looking like rodeo clowns.
-While to many, peeing in the gazebo might seem like an understood “no-no,” it really should not be taken for granted as such.
-For the most part, the boys don’t really know I write about them in my articles. It was brought to my attention last week that someday, they might not appreciate all the embarrassing stories I tell. But the way I’ve got it figured, when they start trying to raise their own kids, these stories will be all the explanation they need as to why in the middle of their utter chaos, Grandma can sit back silently, and smile.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
One of the best ways to parent, I believe, is to learn from someone else’s mistakes. So I’ve made a few mental notes for all those parents who, like me, are still in training.
-Nothing can make a parent feel like strangling their child more than the phrase, “NO FAIR!”
-A close second to the urge to strangle the offspring would be the impulse to apply duct tape to the mouth at the sound of, “I’M NOT PLAYING!” directly following the phrase, “NO FAIR!” (We are currently working on a more appropriate resolution to both scenarios.)
-Sarcasm really is wasted on four and five year old boys.
-While the phrase, “two a piece” sounds self explanatory, to a little kid on a sugar high, it’s not.
Me: “Brisco! I said two a piece! No more!”
Brisco: After shoving at least four Tootsie Rolls in his mouth to his cousin’s one: “Mom! I don’t know what that means!”
-Four year olds don’t realize it’s not ok to glue stuff directly to the wall unless you tell them.
-The word “maybe” means nothing. They prefer a yes or a no.
-Every once in a while, the answer to an everyday question might not render the response you expected.
Me: “What did you do at school today, Coop?”
Cooper: “Hmm. Well, they checked our heads again.”
Me: (choking on my own spit) “Oh really? Again? What were they looking for?”
Cooper: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Well, did they find anything?”
Cooper: “Not today.”
-Air-guitar in the middle of Wal-Mart is pretty funny for the first five minutes, but after the 200th time through the first four measures of “Bad to the Bone,” fellow shoppers begin to shoot air-pistols in the direction of your child.
-“A couple” and “a few” are much better understood with a specific number attached to them.
Me: “A few more minutes and then to bed.”
Cooper: “How many is a few?”
Me: “A few. Not too long.”
Brisco: “Is it like 20 or 40?”
Me: “No, it’s like a couple.”
Cooper: “How many is a couple?”
Brisco: “It’s like eight or 16.”
Me: “A couple is two. A few is three or more. You now have approximately thirty seconds to get to bed.”
Brisco: “What is a pox matey.”
Me: “Never mind.”
-Being happy that everyone in your house is able to dress themselves means not complaining when they show up at a basketball game looking like rodeo clowns.
-While to many, peeing in the gazebo might seem like an understood “no-no,” it really should not be taken for granted as such.
-For the most part, the boys don’t really know I write about them in my articles. It was brought to my attention last week that someday, they might not appreciate all the embarrassing stories I tell. But the way I’ve got it figured, when they start trying to raise their own kids, these stories will be all the explanation they need as to why in the middle of their utter chaos, Grandma can sit back silently, and smile.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
“Birthday letter-number six”
Dear Cooper,
Today you turned six. Unbelievable, I know.
The past year has brought many new and exciting experiences for you and our family. Whatever age you are as you sit reading this right now, I’m sure there are many events that stand out, and others that you may have forgotten. Hopefully this letter will serve to jog your memory…and mine…as we recollect special moments and “true stories” from our past. Someday, you might even want to pass them along.
To begin, just after your fifth birthday (for Halloween last year) you wanted to be Batman. And I, against your daddy’s better judgment of course, got you a “store bought” costume to wear. We went trick-or-treating with the Smith cousins in Sterling before the big family Halloween party/Mamaw’s birthday party. It’s quite a tradition, one of which I hope you’ll have many fond memories for years to come.
Aunt Carol let you borrow an old Power Ranger costume that she made years earlier for your cousin Clay. You wore it to school for your Halloween party. Funny thing, we saw one just like it in the store this year. I doubt it lasts as long as Aunt Carol’s has.
The weather began to change, and we were all happy to have a sunny day to enjoy on Thanksgiving at Mamaw and Papaws. You kids had fun riding the barrel train, playing in the barn and jumping on the hay bales, which as you can imagine, was a game that scared me to death. Especially when I discovered that one of you had gotten stuck in between two giant bales.
With the cooler weather brought the falling of the leaves and the fun you and your brother had running and jumping and diving in the piles we raked up in the yard. This was the fall that you got your first bike from Uncle Glendon. You had no idea it was one he had salvaged from the city dump. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. It was a great bike. Still is today.
I knew when you got that bike that the training wheels wouldn’t stay on long, and sure enough, on my birthday, another beautiful Sunday afternoon in December, we took you to the ball field with just two wheels, and you learned to ride right there on the infield dirt. Pretty sweet.
Christmas 09 was the year of the hat. I think between you and Brisco, you got five ball caps and two coon skins. And Santa brought you the telescope you asked for. (Next time, ask him to send along an elf who’s really good in science.)
This winter was the year the lights went out, and stayed out for about a week. We stayed at Martha’s where it was warm with Grandmother and Uncle Max. This is when he taught the two of you to play poker. We enjoyed watching the snow fall, and couldn’t believe how easily the big branches broke right off the trees in the yard. You boys really wanted the tree in the middle of the backyard to fall because it’s the one that always blocks your homerun shots. Sorry. That hog is still standing.
This year brought little things to relish, like playing in the rain and discovering that the Easter bunny lays really big eggs. And they’re pink. Like discovering the Winter Olympics and the game of hockey, which can be played just as easily indoors with a Nerf baseball and a light saber.
Like trips to the mountains for hiking and picnicking and finding giant bird baths on top of huge rocks. Like Granma Camp and family vacations and seeing your first big league ballpark.
And then, of course, there’s the important stuff. You played your second year of coach pitch. Second base was your usual position. I think the most fun you had all summer was the night you got to catch. Nervous and amazed, I watched through squinted eyes. And as is often the case with you and the game of baseball, when it was over, I simply had to shake my head.
Starting Kindergarten proved to be more traumatizing for me than it was for you. You never have much to say about your day when I ask, other than “good”, so I just take your word for it. I never saw a kid who wasn’t starving when he came home from school. I usually have to beg you to have a snack. (Someday I’ll think back on that last statement and call myself crazy.)
What about life beyond Kindergarten in Sentinel, OK? Well, after enjoying another season as Reigning World Series Champs, our beloved Yankees fell short in the playoffs this year. But you are still pretty pumped to watch the Giants and the Rangers in the 2010 World Series games.
Gas prices are hovering at $2.79 a gallon, which means you should start saving now if you expect to drive yourself to college in the year 2023. I also paid $3.67 for a gallon of milk this week, so you might hit Uncle Billy up for a good price on one of his milk cows. (That is if your craving for a nightly trough of cereal holds up.)I’d inform you of a bit of the politics of the time, but frankly, I’m too annoyed to bother. Besides, you’ll have a good history teacher in a few years. I’m sure he’ll fill you in.
Technology is a powerful force in our world today. You’ve told me the part of your school day that you like the least is computer class. It’s possible that in ten years, you won’t know how to live without one. Cell phones are currently about the size of a half of a grilled cheese sandwich. By the time you get one, they’ll probably be the size of black-eyed pea and implanted into the side of your head. And you know we’re not gonna pay for that.
One thing that hasn’t changed much in the last six years…and won’t change much more for the next 60 or so…is the way your momma loves you. More than warm sun on the face, a cool breeze through the air and a baseball leaving the ballpark. More than our beloved Yankees. And yes, even more than your favorite chocolate brownies.
Happy birthday, Coop.
I love ya,
Momma
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Today you turned six. Unbelievable, I know.
The past year has brought many new and exciting experiences for you and our family. Whatever age you are as you sit reading this right now, I’m sure there are many events that stand out, and others that you may have forgotten. Hopefully this letter will serve to jog your memory…and mine…as we recollect special moments and “true stories” from our past. Someday, you might even want to pass them along.
To begin, just after your fifth birthday (for Halloween last year) you wanted to be Batman. And I, against your daddy’s better judgment of course, got you a “store bought” costume to wear. We went trick-or-treating with the Smith cousins in Sterling before the big family Halloween party/Mamaw’s birthday party. It’s quite a tradition, one of which I hope you’ll have many fond memories for years to come.
Aunt Carol let you borrow an old Power Ranger costume that she made years earlier for your cousin Clay. You wore it to school for your Halloween party. Funny thing, we saw one just like it in the store this year. I doubt it lasts as long as Aunt Carol’s has.
The weather began to change, and we were all happy to have a sunny day to enjoy on Thanksgiving at Mamaw and Papaws. You kids had fun riding the barrel train, playing in the barn and jumping on the hay bales, which as you can imagine, was a game that scared me to death. Especially when I discovered that one of you had gotten stuck in between two giant bales.
With the cooler weather brought the falling of the leaves and the fun you and your brother had running and jumping and diving in the piles we raked up in the yard. This was the fall that you got your first bike from Uncle Glendon. You had no idea it was one he had salvaged from the city dump. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. It was a great bike. Still is today.
I knew when you got that bike that the training wheels wouldn’t stay on long, and sure enough, on my birthday, another beautiful Sunday afternoon in December, we took you to the ball field with just two wheels, and you learned to ride right there on the infield dirt. Pretty sweet.
Christmas 09 was the year of the hat. I think between you and Brisco, you got five ball caps and two coon skins. And Santa brought you the telescope you asked for. (Next time, ask him to send along an elf who’s really good in science.)
This winter was the year the lights went out, and stayed out for about a week. We stayed at Martha’s where it was warm with Grandmother and Uncle Max. This is when he taught the two of you to play poker. We enjoyed watching the snow fall, and couldn’t believe how easily the big branches broke right off the trees in the yard. You boys really wanted the tree in the middle of the backyard to fall because it’s the one that always blocks your homerun shots. Sorry. That hog is still standing.
This year brought little things to relish, like playing in the rain and discovering that the Easter bunny lays really big eggs. And they’re pink. Like discovering the Winter Olympics and the game of hockey, which can be played just as easily indoors with a Nerf baseball and a light saber.
Like trips to the mountains for hiking and picnicking and finding giant bird baths on top of huge rocks. Like Granma Camp and family vacations and seeing your first big league ballpark.
And then, of course, there’s the important stuff. You played your second year of coach pitch. Second base was your usual position. I think the most fun you had all summer was the night you got to catch. Nervous and amazed, I watched through squinted eyes. And as is often the case with you and the game of baseball, when it was over, I simply had to shake my head.
Starting Kindergarten proved to be more traumatizing for me than it was for you. You never have much to say about your day when I ask, other than “good”, so I just take your word for it. I never saw a kid who wasn’t starving when he came home from school. I usually have to beg you to have a snack. (Someday I’ll think back on that last statement and call myself crazy.)
What about life beyond Kindergarten in Sentinel, OK? Well, after enjoying another season as Reigning World Series Champs, our beloved Yankees fell short in the playoffs this year. But you are still pretty pumped to watch the Giants and the Rangers in the 2010 World Series games.
Gas prices are hovering at $2.79 a gallon, which means you should start saving now if you expect to drive yourself to college in the year 2023. I also paid $3.67 for a gallon of milk this week, so you might hit Uncle Billy up for a good price on one of his milk cows. (That is if your craving for a nightly trough of cereal holds up.)I’d inform you of a bit of the politics of the time, but frankly, I’m too annoyed to bother. Besides, you’ll have a good history teacher in a few years. I’m sure he’ll fill you in.
Technology is a powerful force in our world today. You’ve told me the part of your school day that you like the least is computer class. It’s possible that in ten years, you won’t know how to live without one. Cell phones are currently about the size of a half of a grilled cheese sandwich. By the time you get one, they’ll probably be the size of black-eyed pea and implanted into the side of your head. And you know we’re not gonna pay for that.
One thing that hasn’t changed much in the last six years…and won’t change much more for the next 60 or so…is the way your momma loves you. More than warm sun on the face, a cool breeze through the air and a baseball leaving the ballpark. More than our beloved Yankees. And yes, even more than your favorite chocolate brownies.
Happy birthday, Coop.
I love ya,
Momma
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Campout 2010
Our family has started a tradition. Once baseball is over and the weather cools, we pack our gear, load the pickup, and head to the creek and our favorite camping spot for our yearly family campout.
It started a couple years ago, with at least one of the boys was still in diapers, and we’ve done our best to make it there and back-alive and in one piece-at least one time every fall. This past weekend was the big event.
Now, I’m a lover of nature and campfire coffee and good conversation that lasts well into the night. But I’m no farm girl. I like to stay warm; I avoid things that offend my delicate sense of smell, and…well, I’m a big fan of indoor plumbing. Beyond that, I can handle most anything that they throw at me out there in Comanche County.
That said, I have discovered that as the boys grow, I’ve more to worry about than just the cool night air, the pungent aroma of day old cow manure or “making my own bathroom in the woods” (as Brisco says). I’ve got boys. And as they grow, these boys become, at least in their own minds, invincible, with no limit to what they can find to get into. So much for the peace and serenity of nature.
So on our adventure this year, the campout of 2010, I saw, heard, learned and experienced enough of the great outdoors to last me until next year. I’m already looking forward to it.
1. Work before play. Especially on a campout.
2. Just because you bring them mud boots to wear on the creek, doesn’t mean they will wear their mud boots on the creek.
3. Just because they wear their mud boots in the creek doesn’t mean their feet will stay dry.
4. There is no limit to the number of socks a mother should pack for one night of camping.
5. To do list: invent disposable socks.
6. Who needs a tent to go camping? Just string up a tarp between two pickup beds and call it cozy. Redneck cozy.
7. There really is nothing like seeing your baby curled up and falling asleep in his daddy’s lap in front of a blazing campfire.
8. I do believe our youngest is a pyromaniac. Once the fire was lit, he was dead set on burning every stick on the creek…one at a time.
9. Cooper can literally sleep anywhere.
10. Who says “city girls” can’t shoot a BB gun?
11. Seeing the four year old come up the side of the creek bank with no shoes on is never a good feeling.
12. I am officially the only voice of reason at the Smith house. I caught Cooper and dad just moments before the creation of a chancy contraption which would have had my babies swinging from one side of the creek to the other--a good 30 feet across and 20 feet down--from an old, decaying tree limb on a 15 year old rope. The voice of reason lives on.
13. Repelling is our newest adventure, albeit a simple, slightly more dangerous version of the sport.
14. All the encouragement a little boy needs to be convinced he can climb a big tree is for his mother to get up and do it first.
15. If there was ever a question as to how many marshmallows Brisco can eat at one time…we are currently sitting on a dozen…and counting.
16. Thanks to modern technology, we can still enjoy a Yankee win, even while camping in the middle of nowhere.
17. There really is nothing like a homemade breakfast burrito, prepared in a cast iron pot over a hot fire. You’ll be feeling it for days. Thanks, Uncle Ryan.
18. Brisco’s highlights? “Walkin’ the creek, roastin’ marshmallows, rope swing and climbing the clift.”
19. Cooper’s? “Climbing on the clift, walking across the creek on big logs, and seeing minnows.”
And that’s All in a day’s work!
It started a couple years ago, with at least one of the boys was still in diapers, and we’ve done our best to make it there and back-alive and in one piece-at least one time every fall. This past weekend was the big event.
Now, I’m a lover of nature and campfire coffee and good conversation that lasts well into the night. But I’m no farm girl. I like to stay warm; I avoid things that offend my delicate sense of smell, and…well, I’m a big fan of indoor plumbing. Beyond that, I can handle most anything that they throw at me out there in Comanche County.
That said, I have discovered that as the boys grow, I’ve more to worry about than just the cool night air, the pungent aroma of day old cow manure or “making my own bathroom in the woods” (as Brisco says). I’ve got boys. And as they grow, these boys become, at least in their own minds, invincible, with no limit to what they can find to get into. So much for the peace and serenity of nature.
So on our adventure this year, the campout of 2010, I saw, heard, learned and experienced enough of the great outdoors to last me until next year. I’m already looking forward to it.
1. Work before play. Especially on a campout.
2. Just because you bring them mud boots to wear on the creek, doesn’t mean they will wear their mud boots on the creek.
3. Just because they wear their mud boots in the creek doesn’t mean their feet will stay dry.
4. There is no limit to the number of socks a mother should pack for one night of camping.
5. To do list: invent disposable socks.
6. Who needs a tent to go camping? Just string up a tarp between two pickup beds and call it cozy. Redneck cozy.
7. There really is nothing like seeing your baby curled up and falling asleep in his daddy’s lap in front of a blazing campfire.
8. I do believe our youngest is a pyromaniac. Once the fire was lit, he was dead set on burning every stick on the creek…one at a time.
9. Cooper can literally sleep anywhere.
10. Who says “city girls” can’t shoot a BB gun?
11. Seeing the four year old come up the side of the creek bank with no shoes on is never a good feeling.
12. I am officially the only voice of reason at the Smith house. I caught Cooper and dad just moments before the creation of a chancy contraption which would have had my babies swinging from one side of the creek to the other--a good 30 feet across and 20 feet down--from an old, decaying tree limb on a 15 year old rope. The voice of reason lives on.
13. Repelling is our newest adventure, albeit a simple, slightly more dangerous version of the sport.
14. All the encouragement a little boy needs to be convinced he can climb a big tree is for his mother to get up and do it first.
15. If there was ever a question as to how many marshmallows Brisco can eat at one time…we are currently sitting on a dozen…and counting.
16. Thanks to modern technology, we can still enjoy a Yankee win, even while camping in the middle of nowhere.
17. There really is nothing like a homemade breakfast burrito, prepared in a cast iron pot over a hot fire. You’ll be feeling it for days. Thanks, Uncle Ryan.
18. Brisco’s highlights? “Walkin’ the creek, roastin’ marshmallows, rope swing and climbing the clift.”
19. Cooper’s? “Climbing on the clift, walking across the creek on big logs, and seeing minnows.”
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Vocabulary lessons
Me (while making decorations for Halloween): What we need is some black construction paper.
Brisco: What’s instruction paper?
Me: Not instruction, construction.
Brisco: Huh?
Me: INstruction is when you read or someone tells you how to do something. CONstruction is when you build something.
Brisco: Well, I’ll take the instruction paper and you can tell me what to do.
Me (the morning after getting an unwanted visitor in my bed at 4 a.m.): Who dares to disrupt my slumber?
Brisco: Big smile
Me: Who dares to disrupt my slumber?!
Brisco: Laughs hysterically
Me: Hey! I’m talking to you!
Brisco: (mouth clamped around a soggy thumb): I don’t know what that means!
Me: Slumber means sleeping. Who dares to disrupt my sleeping?!
Brisco: (more laughter, and then…): I don’t know!
Me: You know what disrupt means?
Brisco: No.
Me: It means bother. Who dares to bother my sleeping?!
Brisco: Oh! Why didn’t you just say so. That was me!
Brisco: I’m starving thirsty. And I know that’s a word cause it has a vowel in it.
Me: They are both words, but they don’t go together. When you need food, you are starving. When you are thirsty, you can say, “parched”. Parched is a good word.
Brisco: Yep. Well, I’m still starving thirsty. And I’m parched.
Brisco (At the campfire): I wanna roast some marshmallows.
Me: We don’t have any.
Brisco: Well, I wanna roast something. I’ll just roast these paper towels then.
Me: That looks like a giant marshmallow.
Brisco: Yep. What else can I roast?
Me: Well, you aren’t actually “roasting” paper towels. You are burning them. We roast things that can be eaten. We burn trash.
Brisco: Well, what else can I roast?
Brisco (while sitting on the potty): Mom, When we get to the letter “T”, listen…“T…T…Turd.”
Me (with a disapproving face): Yes, Brisco, that’s letter T. Think of something else.
Brisco: T…T…Twert
Me: What is that?
Brisco: I don’t know.
Me: Where’d you hear it?
Brisco: Coop.
Me (just being curious): What’s a turd?
Brisco: It’s just poop.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Brisco: What’s instruction paper?
Me: Not instruction, construction.
Brisco: Huh?
Me: INstruction is when you read or someone tells you how to do something. CONstruction is when you build something.
Brisco: Well, I’ll take the instruction paper and you can tell me what to do.
Me (the morning after getting an unwanted visitor in my bed at 4 a.m.): Who dares to disrupt my slumber?
Brisco: Big smile
Me: Who dares to disrupt my slumber?!
Brisco: Laughs hysterically
Me: Hey! I’m talking to you!
Brisco: (mouth clamped around a soggy thumb): I don’t know what that means!
Me: Slumber means sleeping. Who dares to disrupt my sleeping?!
Brisco: (more laughter, and then…): I don’t know!
Me: You know what disrupt means?
Brisco: No.
Me: It means bother. Who dares to bother my sleeping?!
Brisco: Oh! Why didn’t you just say so. That was me!
Brisco: I’m starving thirsty. And I know that’s a word cause it has a vowel in it.
Me: They are both words, but they don’t go together. When you need food, you are starving. When you are thirsty, you can say, “parched”. Parched is a good word.
Brisco: Yep. Well, I’m still starving thirsty. And I’m parched.
Brisco (At the campfire): I wanna roast some marshmallows.
Me: We don’t have any.
Brisco: Well, I wanna roast something. I’ll just roast these paper towels then.
Me: That looks like a giant marshmallow.
Brisco: Yep. What else can I roast?
Me: Well, you aren’t actually “roasting” paper towels. You are burning them. We roast things that can be eaten. We burn trash.
Brisco: Well, what else can I roast?
Brisco (while sitting on the potty): Mom, When we get to the letter “T”, listen…“T…T…Turd.”
Me (with a disapproving face): Yes, Brisco, that’s letter T. Think of something else.
Brisco: T…T…Twert
Me: What is that?
Brisco: I don’t know.
Me: Where’d you hear it?
Brisco: Coop.
Me (just being curious): What’s a turd?
Brisco: It’s just poop.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Just enough
In a world of first, fastest, biggest and best, it seems odd that anyone could simply be satisfied with “enough”. But sometimes, enough is just what we need.
For some, it’s easy to get caught up in having the most or being the most important, but that’s not really what makes for a happy life. Doing right, being content, and knowing that we have just enough of all the wonderful things God blesses us with every day should bring satisfaction and comfort. At least that’s what this anecdote teaches.
I can’t attribute it to anyone in particular, but it was sent to me by someone I’ve never personally met on a day when it did my heart good to hear its message. A coincidence? Maybe. Although, I like to think that coincidence is nothing more than God’s decision to remain anonymous…another wise notion I borrowed from a friend.
“I wish you enough”
A father and daughter in their last moments together at the airport heard the announced departure. Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the father said, “I love you, and I wish you enough.” The daughter replied, “Dad, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Dad.”
They kissed and the daughter left. The father walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, “Did you ever say good-bye to someone, knowing it would be forever?”
“Yes, I have,” I replied. “Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?”
“I am old, and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is-the next trip back will be for my funeral,” he said.
“When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?”
The man began to smile. “That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone…” He paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail, and he smiled even more.
“When we said, 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them.” Then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.
“I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.
I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
And I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.”
With that, the man began to cry and walked away.
It’s easy to get caught up in the business of life and all the crazy circumstances that come along with it. But our biggest joy often comes when we learn to welcome the challenges, appreciate the opportunities, and be thankful for all those whose paths cross ours. Surely all of that should be enough.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
For some, it’s easy to get caught up in having the most or being the most important, but that’s not really what makes for a happy life. Doing right, being content, and knowing that we have just enough of all the wonderful things God blesses us with every day should bring satisfaction and comfort. At least that’s what this anecdote teaches.
I can’t attribute it to anyone in particular, but it was sent to me by someone I’ve never personally met on a day when it did my heart good to hear its message. A coincidence? Maybe. Although, I like to think that coincidence is nothing more than God’s decision to remain anonymous…another wise notion I borrowed from a friend.
“I wish you enough”
A father and daughter in their last moments together at the airport heard the announced departure. Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the father said, “I love you, and I wish you enough.” The daughter replied, “Dad, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Dad.”
They kissed and the daughter left. The father walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, “Did you ever say good-bye to someone, knowing it would be forever?”
“Yes, I have,” I replied. “Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?”
“I am old, and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is-the next trip back will be for my funeral,” he said.
“When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?”
The man began to smile. “That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone…” He paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail, and he smiled even more.
“When we said, 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them.” Then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.
“I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.
I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
And I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.”
With that, the man began to cry and walked away.
It’s easy to get caught up in the business of life and all the crazy circumstances that come along with it. But our biggest joy often comes when we learn to welcome the challenges, appreciate the opportunities, and be thankful for all those whose paths cross ours. Surely all of that should be enough.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
A first nine-week’s assessment of Kindergarten
So, Cooper, do you love kindergarten?
“Mmm, Uhh, yeah, but no. But I tell people yes. I really just want to go home and snuggle.”
What is your favorite thing about school so far?
"Recess and Nap."
What is your least favorite thing about school so far?
"Computer."
Who do you sit by at lunch?
"It‘s not always the same person every day. And that’s ok with me."
Who do you play with at recess?
"Jacob, Reed and sometimes Trayden."
Do you have to run from the girls?
“I run from Dillon, Gabby, Madison, Skylin, and that’s all.”
What was the best part about your day today?
"Well, it is usually always nap and recess. I just like it."
Is there anything that you miss about Pre-K?
“Hmm…Coloring, I do. We don’t color so much in Kindergarten.”
Do you like show and tell?’
“I love it.”
Why do you love it?
“Cause you get to show stuff.”
What was your favorite show and tell?
“The H, when I brought Daddy’s old hat. The first hat he got when he played major league.”
Have you gotten your name on the board yet?
“No. I got a bunch of warnings, though.”
Have you gotten a naughty note?
“No. You only get a naughty note if you get two or one marks by your name. Then you get a naughty note.”
Have you been put on the time line?
“Just once.”
What is the time line?
“There’s two lines that ain’t the time line, and the middle is the time line.”
What does it mean if you are on the time line?
“Then you get in trouble and go put your head on the wall.”
Why were you on the time line?
“For picking up Skylin and she was picking up me.”
There you have it, folks. One nine-weeks down, 51 more to go.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
“Mmm, Uhh, yeah, but no. But I tell people yes. I really just want to go home and snuggle.”
What is your favorite thing about school so far?
"Recess and Nap."
What is your least favorite thing about school so far?
"Computer."
Who do you sit by at lunch?
"It‘s not always the same person every day. And that’s ok with me."
Who do you play with at recess?
"Jacob, Reed and sometimes Trayden."
Do you have to run from the girls?
“I run from Dillon, Gabby, Madison, Skylin, and that’s all.”
What was the best part about your day today?
"Well, it is usually always nap and recess. I just like it."
Is there anything that you miss about Pre-K?
“Hmm…Coloring, I do. We don’t color so much in Kindergarten.”
Do you like show and tell?’
“I love it.”
Why do you love it?
“Cause you get to show stuff.”
What was your favorite show and tell?
“The H, when I brought Daddy’s old hat. The first hat he got when he played major league.”
Have you gotten your name on the board yet?
“No. I got a bunch of warnings, though.”
Have you gotten a naughty note?
“No. You only get a naughty note if you get two or one marks by your name. Then you get a naughty note.”
Have you been put on the time line?
“Just once.”
What is the time line?
“There’s two lines that ain’t the time line, and the middle is the time line.”
What does it mean if you are on the time line?
“Then you get in trouble and go put your head on the wall.”
Why were you on the time line?
“For picking up Skylin and she was picking up me.”
There you have it, folks. One nine-weeks down, 51 more to go.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
“Random thoughts on life, death, and other important stuff”
Brisco on Leadership
B: Who were you talking to on the phone?”
Me: “It was John from church.”
B: “Which John?”
Me: “The preacher, John.”
B: “Oh. You mean King John.”
Brisco on Verb Tense:
B: “Momma, It’s waffle day!”
Me: “Yes, but I’m all out of waffles.”
B: “You buyed some. I knowed you did.”
Brisco on Grooming:
“If you need a haircut, just go down to the Barbie Shop.”
Cooper and Brisco on Movie Quotes:
“You got nothing but a slop in the face.”
“Get outa my eyeballin’ seat you new meat!”
“The Aaaay card!”
“Sweep the leg!”
Brisco on Figures of Speech:
B: “Aw, my foot is…it’s just…”
Me: “Is it asleep?”
B: (Blank look)
Me: “If it’s tingly, that means it’s asleep.”
B: “Awww. It didn’t even tell me it was tired!” (True, folks. I can’t make this stuff up.)
Brisco on the Miracle of Life:
B: “Momma, were you born before Grandmother?”
Me: “No, Grandmother is my mother. I was in her tummy.”
B: “Who else was in there?”
Me: “Aunt Keri, but not at the same time.”
B: “Was Daddy in there too?”
Me: “No, Daddy was in Granma’s tummy.”
B: “Who else was in there?”
Me: “Aunt Rhonda, Aunt Regina, Uncle Ryan, Aunt Rachel, Aunt Becca, Aunt Rhetta, and Aunt Robyn.”
B: Eyes wide, brow furrowed…“Oh, uh, never mind.”
Brisco on Effective Advertising:
(At random, while driving trains through the living room.) “Hyundai! Hyundai! Hyundai!”
“Hey Momma, I have a secret.” (Whispering in my ear) “Lowes Knows.”
While playing Star Wars with their light sabers, I hear Brisco from the other room, “You have the power of the Home Depot!”
Cooper on Literal Thinking:
C: (at worship one evening) “Mom, did God used to live here?“
Me: “What do you mean?”
C: “Well, people keep saying it’s God’s house. Where did he go?”
Brisco on Random Thoughts:
B: “Are there still dinosaurs in this world?”
Me: “Nope.”
B: “Is Tom and Jerry on this planet?”
Me: “No. They’re in Cartoonland.”
B: “Is that a long way from here?”
Me: “Depends on the day of the week.”
Brisco on Entertainment:
“Come on, Harlie, let’s trap Bessie (the 11 year old Labrador) so we can take her paw print on the etch a sketch.”
Brisco on Death:
B: “Momma, we’re all gonna die someday.”
Me: “Yes, that’s true.”
B: “So, are we really gonna die?
Me: “Yes, I think we probably will.”
B: “If I eat this, will I die? If we never eat, will we die? If you hold something in your hands, will it die?” (On a cloudy day:) “Did the sun die?”
Brisco on Shopping:
“If they’re out of steak at the store, you can just go to Brance’s.”
Brisco, Scared Straight:
After being repeatedly warned about playing outside without shoes, Brisco lost the battle and almost ripped off his toenail; however, he refused to wear a band aid. Finally, after soaking his foot three times a day to remove the dirt and fuzz that would accumulate on the wound, I took another approach.
Me: “Brisco, if you don’t wear a band aid on this toe, I think it might die. And then it will fall off.” (He only cried for a minute.) And then…
B: “Well, I guess I’ll wear a band aid then.”
That worked so well, I tried this one:
Me: “Brisco, if you don’t quit peeing outside, a bird is going to come along and bite off your wienie.” (What? It could happen.)
B: (Taking pause for a moment) “…ummmm…hmmmmm…” At least I’ve got the boy thinking.
Third time’s a charm:
Me: “Brisco, don’t put the banana peel in your mouth! It’s nasty!”
B: “Why is it nasty?”
Me: (Thinking quickly) “Monkeys pee on them!”
B: “Ugh. That’s disgusting!”
Score one for Mom.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
B: Who were you talking to on the phone?”
Me: “It was John from church.”
B: “Which John?”
Me: “The preacher, John.”
B: “Oh. You mean King John.”
Brisco on Verb Tense:
B: “Momma, It’s waffle day!”
Me: “Yes, but I’m all out of waffles.”
B: “You buyed some. I knowed you did.”
Brisco on Grooming:
“If you need a haircut, just go down to the Barbie Shop.”
Cooper and Brisco on Movie Quotes:
“You got nothing but a slop in the face.”
“Get outa my eyeballin’ seat you new meat!”
“The Aaaay card!”
“Sweep the leg!”
Brisco on Figures of Speech:
B: “Aw, my foot is…it’s just…”
Me: “Is it asleep?”
B: (Blank look)
Me: “If it’s tingly, that means it’s asleep.”
B: “Awww. It didn’t even tell me it was tired!” (True, folks. I can’t make this stuff up.)
Brisco on the Miracle of Life:
B: “Momma, were you born before Grandmother?”
Me: “No, Grandmother is my mother. I was in her tummy.”
B: “Who else was in there?”
Me: “Aunt Keri, but not at the same time.”
B: “Was Daddy in there too?”
Me: “No, Daddy was in Granma’s tummy.”
B: “Who else was in there?”
Me: “Aunt Rhonda, Aunt Regina, Uncle Ryan, Aunt Rachel, Aunt Becca, Aunt Rhetta, and Aunt Robyn.”
B: Eyes wide, brow furrowed…“Oh, uh, never mind.”
Brisco on Effective Advertising:
(At random, while driving trains through the living room.) “Hyundai! Hyundai! Hyundai!”
“Hey Momma, I have a secret.” (Whispering in my ear) “Lowes Knows.”
While playing Star Wars with their light sabers, I hear Brisco from the other room, “You have the power of the Home Depot!”
Cooper on Literal Thinking:
C: (at worship one evening) “Mom, did God used to live here?“
Me: “What do you mean?”
C: “Well, people keep saying it’s God’s house. Where did he go?”
Brisco on Random Thoughts:
B: “Are there still dinosaurs in this world?”
Me: “Nope.”
B: “Is Tom and Jerry on this planet?”
Me: “No. They’re in Cartoonland.”
B: “Is that a long way from here?”
Me: “Depends on the day of the week.”
Brisco on Entertainment:
“Come on, Harlie, let’s trap Bessie (the 11 year old Labrador) so we can take her paw print on the etch a sketch.”
Brisco on Death:
B: “Momma, we’re all gonna die someday.”
Me: “Yes, that’s true.”
B: “So, are we really gonna die?
Me: “Yes, I think we probably will.”
B: “If I eat this, will I die? If we never eat, will we die? If you hold something in your hands, will it die?” (On a cloudy day:) “Did the sun die?”
Brisco on Shopping:
“If they’re out of steak at the store, you can just go to Brance’s.”
Brisco, Scared Straight:
After being repeatedly warned about playing outside without shoes, Brisco lost the battle and almost ripped off his toenail; however, he refused to wear a band aid. Finally, after soaking his foot three times a day to remove the dirt and fuzz that would accumulate on the wound, I took another approach.
Me: “Brisco, if you don’t wear a band aid on this toe, I think it might die. And then it will fall off.” (He only cried for a minute.) And then…
B: “Well, I guess I’ll wear a band aid then.”
That worked so well, I tried this one:
Me: “Brisco, if you don’t quit peeing outside, a bird is going to come along and bite off your wienie.” (What? It could happen.)
B: (Taking pause for a moment) “…ummmm…hmmmmm…” At least I’ve got the boy thinking.
Third time’s a charm:
Me: “Brisco, don’t put the banana peel in your mouth! It’s nasty!”
B: “Why is it nasty?”
Me: (Thinking quickly) “Monkeys pee on them!”
B: “Ugh. That’s disgusting!”
Score one for Mom.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Officially normal
We woke up last Tuesday preparing the boys to appear at the doctor’s office for their yearly wellness visit. It was time for someone with some real training and skill to certify our boys as normal.
With one boy feeling less than stellar, I began to think it might be my lucky day. Really, how often do you already have an appointment for the doctor and subsequently get sick? However, I was a little unsure about how in the world I was going to get a boy who is typically car sick off the toilet long enough to drive 30 minutes to the doctor. I mean, one bucket, I can do. But two?
As I visited with him, I wasn’t altogether sure how much of him felt sick and how much of him was just plain worried. “Is it a long drive?” Cooper asked. “Thirty minutes,” I said. “Are you worried about getting sick in the car?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied. “Are you worried about having to get shots?” “Yes,” he said as his bottom lip started to quiver.
You see, it was only a few weeks ago when these kids endured their first lucid experience with childhood vaccinations, and the memory is still quite vivid. However, today was not about getting shots.
“Don’t worry, Coop. No shots today, I promise. Just take your pill for getting sick in the car, and drink your medicine for having to go poop…oh, and here’s a Tums to settle your tummy…” No wonder the kid was tied up in knots.
After our fourth trip that morning to visit Mr. Tidy Bowl and my insistence that the boy take all the “required medicine”, we finally made an attempt to get on the road. As luck would have it, we drove the 31.24 miles to the clinic without the need for any buckets, and by the time we strolled into the office, we were about as healthy as two little boys could be. Go figure.
We sat and waited as patiently as we could wait for a nervous five year old, an ornery four year old and a frazzled mother with eight pages of medical history forms to complete. My favorite: Question 47: “Do you smoke?” Answer: “I’m four years old. Refer to question 2: Age. Or question 3: Date of Birth.” (Come on folks. Can’t we streamline these forms a little for the kiddos?)
After almost an hour in the waiting room, one trip to the restroom, and taking my life in my own hands by agreeing to read them half a dozen kids’ books from what could probably be considered the Holiday Inn for germs and disease (the children’s play area), the nurse finally called our names.
As we stood in the hallway outside the examining room, I thought to myself how amazing it is that such simple things can make really smart kids look like morons. Take measuring their height, for instance. Telling my kids to “stand on the ruler” was somehow a little mind boggling. Of course the ruler was vertical, from floor to near ceiling, and I suppose they were wondering how in the world they were going to “stand on” that.
Sticking out their tongues and saying “Aaahh”: another tricky request. For some reason, my little Einsteins could not put those two tasks together at the same time. But the most difficult task of the appointment came when the doctor asked Cooper to take a deep breath so she could listen to him breathe. I’m not really sure which part of her request was confusing to him, but his interpretation must have been something like, “Open your mouth really wide and make a hacking sound from the back of your throat like you are coughing up a bone.” Yeah, I’d say there was a small breakdown in communication.
After about four or five failed attempts, the doctor, who was trying really hard to hold back her amusement, finally gave up and moved on to the next developmental milestone on her list. I stopped sweating it when I realized there would be no IQ test today.
I spent the next four and a half minutes trying to have adult-like chat with a doctor I’d just met. A question about puss pockets, an inquiry into the normalcy of a boy’s bowel movements, and the burning question of the day…what do you do about carsickness?
Unfortunately, the doc had no remedy, although she was able to feel my pain, as she too has issues with motion sickness in her own child. And just as we were attempting to bond with one another, trading poor, pitiful me and puke stories, child number two falls to the floor after a 30 second spinning frenzy while his brother climbs into the window sill, half pulling down the shade in the process. I’m guessing the doc’s thinking, “Lady, you’ve got a lot bigger problems to worry over than kids puking in your car!”
So we cut our doctor-parent consult short before the boys stabbed each other with the tongue depressors or stuffed cotton balls up their nostrils, and I attempted to grab each boy by the nape of the neck and drag them back to a place where their delinquency could not be observed by others: strapped in and buckled down on the inside of my car.
As I drove in silence toward the unavoidable black hole some call Wal Mart, I could not believe the way my kids had misbehaved. Like morons, I said. And it was only moments later, as my brow had become permanently furrowed, my teeth were almost completely ground away and I’d made my third disapproving remark to my morons, I realized…I’d forgotten to pay.
I wheeled my car back in the direction of the clinic, and made my apologies to the receptionist, who actually didn’t seem totally shocked about my mistake. I suppose I’m not the first person to attempt a “drive off” at the doctor’s office. (And after I made my co-pay, I understood why.)
I settled back behind the wheel and forced myself to pause. So maybe our day didn’t go quite as I’d planned. Maybe we’re just not talented when it comes to deep breathing. Maybe we’ll never get an A+ in tongue depressing. It’s true, the overall experience may not have been ideal, but at least I was assured that I had two happy, healthy, as close-to-normal-as-you-can-be little boys. If I wasn’t convinced about that before, I now officially had a licensed doctor’s stamp of approval to prove it. And sometimes, as any mother can tell you, being “normal” is just about the best news you can get!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
With one boy feeling less than stellar, I began to think it might be my lucky day. Really, how often do you already have an appointment for the doctor and subsequently get sick? However, I was a little unsure about how in the world I was going to get a boy who is typically car sick off the toilet long enough to drive 30 minutes to the doctor. I mean, one bucket, I can do. But two?
As I visited with him, I wasn’t altogether sure how much of him felt sick and how much of him was just plain worried. “Is it a long drive?” Cooper asked. “Thirty minutes,” I said. “Are you worried about getting sick in the car?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied. “Are you worried about having to get shots?” “Yes,” he said as his bottom lip started to quiver.
You see, it was only a few weeks ago when these kids endured their first lucid experience with childhood vaccinations, and the memory is still quite vivid. However, today was not about getting shots.
“Don’t worry, Coop. No shots today, I promise. Just take your pill for getting sick in the car, and drink your medicine for having to go poop…oh, and here’s a Tums to settle your tummy…” No wonder the kid was tied up in knots.
After our fourth trip that morning to visit Mr. Tidy Bowl and my insistence that the boy take all the “required medicine”, we finally made an attempt to get on the road. As luck would have it, we drove the 31.24 miles to the clinic without the need for any buckets, and by the time we strolled into the office, we were about as healthy as two little boys could be. Go figure.
We sat and waited as patiently as we could wait for a nervous five year old, an ornery four year old and a frazzled mother with eight pages of medical history forms to complete. My favorite: Question 47: “Do you smoke?” Answer: “I’m four years old. Refer to question 2: Age. Or question 3: Date of Birth.” (Come on folks. Can’t we streamline these forms a little for the kiddos?)
After almost an hour in the waiting room, one trip to the restroom, and taking my life in my own hands by agreeing to read them half a dozen kids’ books from what could probably be considered the Holiday Inn for germs and disease (the children’s play area), the nurse finally called our names.
As we stood in the hallway outside the examining room, I thought to myself how amazing it is that such simple things can make really smart kids look like morons. Take measuring their height, for instance. Telling my kids to “stand on the ruler” was somehow a little mind boggling. Of course the ruler was vertical, from floor to near ceiling, and I suppose they were wondering how in the world they were going to “stand on” that.
Sticking out their tongues and saying “Aaahh”: another tricky request. For some reason, my little Einsteins could not put those two tasks together at the same time. But the most difficult task of the appointment came when the doctor asked Cooper to take a deep breath so she could listen to him breathe. I’m not really sure which part of her request was confusing to him, but his interpretation must have been something like, “Open your mouth really wide and make a hacking sound from the back of your throat like you are coughing up a bone.” Yeah, I’d say there was a small breakdown in communication.
After about four or five failed attempts, the doctor, who was trying really hard to hold back her amusement, finally gave up and moved on to the next developmental milestone on her list. I stopped sweating it when I realized there would be no IQ test today.
I spent the next four and a half minutes trying to have adult-like chat with a doctor I’d just met. A question about puss pockets, an inquiry into the normalcy of a boy’s bowel movements, and the burning question of the day…what do you do about carsickness?
Unfortunately, the doc had no remedy, although she was able to feel my pain, as she too has issues with motion sickness in her own child. And just as we were attempting to bond with one another, trading poor, pitiful me and puke stories, child number two falls to the floor after a 30 second spinning frenzy while his brother climbs into the window sill, half pulling down the shade in the process. I’m guessing the doc’s thinking, “Lady, you’ve got a lot bigger problems to worry over than kids puking in your car!”
So we cut our doctor-parent consult short before the boys stabbed each other with the tongue depressors or stuffed cotton balls up their nostrils, and I attempted to grab each boy by the nape of the neck and drag them back to a place where their delinquency could not be observed by others: strapped in and buckled down on the inside of my car.
As I drove in silence toward the unavoidable black hole some call Wal Mart, I could not believe the way my kids had misbehaved. Like morons, I said. And it was only moments later, as my brow had become permanently furrowed, my teeth were almost completely ground away and I’d made my third disapproving remark to my morons, I realized…I’d forgotten to pay.
I wheeled my car back in the direction of the clinic, and made my apologies to the receptionist, who actually didn’t seem totally shocked about my mistake. I suppose I’m not the first person to attempt a “drive off” at the doctor’s office. (And after I made my co-pay, I understood why.)
I settled back behind the wheel and forced myself to pause. So maybe our day didn’t go quite as I’d planned. Maybe we’re just not talented when it comes to deep breathing. Maybe we’ll never get an A+ in tongue depressing. It’s true, the overall experience may not have been ideal, but at least I was assured that I had two happy, healthy, as close-to-normal-as-you-can-be little boys. If I wasn’t convinced about that before, I now officially had a licensed doctor’s stamp of approval to prove it. And sometimes, as any mother can tell you, being “normal” is just about the best news you can get!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Monday, August 30, 2010
All about me, according to B
Since Cooper has started to school, Brisco and I have had lots of time together-alone. We’ve done practically everything with one another, and enjoyed most every minute. Other than the occasional bowl of oatmeal spilled all over the kitchen or the random basket of folded clothes strewn about the living room, things have been quite nearly perfect.
He’s very excited about having his own school time, so I try to prepare something for us to do together every day. Whether it is coloring or cooking, glittering or gluing, lately, the two of us have been pondering deep thoughts and examining nature and whatever else a four-year old boy can think up to do when he’s got his mother all to himself for seven hours a day.
I began thinking that with all our time together, this kid should be getting to know his mom pretty well. I mean, little kids can do lots of talking, and the number of questions they’ll ask is limitless. So just what does this little guy know about his mommy? Thanks to a set of creative interview questions I borrowed from a friend, I just found out.
1. What is something mommy always says to you?
“Don’t pick your nose.”
2. What makes mommy happy?
“Coloring you a picture.”
3. What makes mommy sad?
“When I make you have to spank me.”
4. How does mommy make you laugh?
“Being funny.”
5. What was mom like as a child?
“Like me!”
6. How old is your mom?
“37”
7. How tall is your mom?
“40 pounds. Really tall.”
8. What is her favorite thing to do?
“Play catch with me.”
9. What does mom do when you're not around?
“I don’t know?”
10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
“She won’t.”
11. What is your mom really good at?
“Exercising.”
12. What is your mom not very good at?
“Playing softball. Well, not anymore.”
13. What does mom do for her job?
“Computer stuff for Grandmother.”
14. What is your mom's favorite food?
“Peppers.”
15. What makes you proud of your mom?
“When she gives me ice cream!”
16. What do you and your mom do together?
“School and cook.”
17. How are you and your mom the same?
“We’re not.” (Upon further consideration) “We both have brown in our eyes.”
18. How are you and your mom different?
“You don’t like ice cream and pancakes and I DO!”
19. Where is mom's favorite place to go?
“To Yankee Stadium and the mountains.”
20. How do you know mommy loves you?
“Because you tell me!”
What can I say; the kid knows me pretty well. It seems our first few weeks at home together have definitely been time well spent.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
He’s very excited about having his own school time, so I try to prepare something for us to do together every day. Whether it is coloring or cooking, glittering or gluing, lately, the two of us have been pondering deep thoughts and examining nature and whatever else a four-year old boy can think up to do when he’s got his mother all to himself for seven hours a day.
I began thinking that with all our time together, this kid should be getting to know his mom pretty well. I mean, little kids can do lots of talking, and the number of questions they’ll ask is limitless. So just what does this little guy know about his mommy? Thanks to a set of creative interview questions I borrowed from a friend, I just found out.
1. What is something mommy always says to you?
“Don’t pick your nose.”
2. What makes mommy happy?
“Coloring you a picture.”
3. What makes mommy sad?
“When I make you have to spank me.”
4. How does mommy make you laugh?
“Being funny.”
5. What was mom like as a child?
“Like me!”
6. How old is your mom?
“37”
7. How tall is your mom?
“40 pounds. Really tall.”
8. What is her favorite thing to do?
“Play catch with me.”
9. What does mom do when you're not around?
“I don’t know?”
10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
“She won’t.”
11. What is your mom really good at?
“Exercising.”
12. What is your mom not very good at?
“Playing softball. Well, not anymore.”
13. What does mom do for her job?
“Computer stuff for Grandmother.”
14. What is your mom's favorite food?
“Peppers.”
15. What makes you proud of your mom?
“When she gives me ice cream!”
16. What do you and your mom do together?
“School and cook.”
17. How are you and your mom the same?
“We’re not.” (Upon further consideration) “We both have brown in our eyes.”
18. How are you and your mom different?
“You don’t like ice cream and pancakes and I DO!”
19. Where is mom's favorite place to go?
“To Yankee Stadium and the mountains.”
20. How do you know mommy loves you?
“Because you tell me!”
What can I say; the kid knows me pretty well. It seems our first few weeks at home together have definitely been time well spent.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Back to school
It was the first day of school for the boy I seemingly just gave birth to yesterday. Everyone seemed excited (on the outside) except maybe for little brother who isn’t starting school yet, but really wishes he was. We all got up early that morning, dressed, ate breakfast, and walked the half block from our house to the school house to send him on his way.
As we left the back gate, the butterflies began their work. We talked as we walked, and he held my hand a little tighter than usual. Or maybe it was me who was holding on for dear life.
We paused at the stop sign, seemingly looking for a reason stand there a second or two longer than what we normally might, admiring the perfectly shaped skid-marks that had strangely enough just appeared in the road overnight. Finally, we were pulled onward by an over-anxious little brother, and we crossed the street and headed to the lunchroom to meet with dad.
The thought of tossing down a breakfast as hearty as the one we were smelling sent the butterflies into overdrive, churning up that early morning, empty stomach feeling, leaving me wishing I’d at least grabbed a piece of dry toast to settle my nerves. But still onward we trudged.
With huge smiles plastered on our faces, we walked the last leg of our journey to the door of the Kindergarten classroom. I fumbled with my camera and begged him to pause in front of the door which read “Hop Into K”. He hesitated at first, but then agreed, somehow knowing that taking a picture might keep us hanging around for just a few minutes more.
We entered a classroom with too many kids to count, some excited and talking, some laughing, some crying. “Let’s find your name and hang up your bag,” I said with as much enthusiasm as my melting heart could muster. He continued hanging on to my hand, tighter still, knowing that in just a moment I’d be walking out the door we’d just walked in, with Brisco alone at my side.
I helped him with his name tag and pointed out his old friends that he’d spent last year going to school with. Still, he stood beside me, eyes wide, watching as children and siblings and mothers with strollers scampered all around him.
“Ok, boys and girls. Everyone find a number on the floor and sit on it.” The teacher had given her first directive. But Cooper simply looked up at me and stared. He knew it was the moment of truth. The instant when the transfer of power went from parent to teacher. The second before I would have to leave. The time had come, and we both knew it.
I walked him to the green line on the floor, as he chose number nine to be his spot for the day. I squatted down until his eyes met mine and said, “Well, I guess I better go, Buddy.” He didn’t say much, but offered a hug even before I could beg for it to be given. A kiss as well, which doesn’t usually come cheap, and a watchful eye as I backed out of his classroom, this new home away from home, waving and smiling with every convincing, albeit contrived expression I could muster.
The three of us walked back to where Brisco had parked his bike, and I kissed my husband goodbye, wishing him, too, a good first day of school, all the while being certain not to make eye contact lest my sentimentality get the better of me. However, as we headed for home, I felt the first ball of emotion begin to well up in my chest. My throat tightened; my stomach churned; my jaw clenched. And suddenly there was nothing that could harness the tears that finally began to flow.
I walked home slowly that morning, shoulders heaving, voice quivering as I tried talking myself out of this sudden crazy, onset of emotions I was under. “It’s is just a part of growing up!” I argued with myself as I trudged nearer to our back gate. But he’s our first child, and my one and only Cooper, and I’m pretty much still a rookie at this parenting gig. So I just let myself cry a little more until I entered the back door to a smiling, angel of a child with a blanket in one hand and a book in the other. And with that “you-can’t-tell-me-no” look in his eyes, he begged, “Momma, will you just hold me on the couch for a little while?”
God sure knew what he was doing when He didn’t stop at one. I’m not sure what would have become of me that sad, Thursday morning if I hadn’t had Little Brother there by my side to cheer me on. And while the two of us are still learning to adjust to a daily routine without our Cooper in it, we’re finding ways to lean on one other. And have a little fun while we’re at it.
Back to school sure doesn’t mean what it used to. And in another year or two, I can only imagine the toll it will take. But I guess it really is just part of growing up…for them and for me.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
As we left the back gate, the butterflies began their work. We talked as we walked, and he held my hand a little tighter than usual. Or maybe it was me who was holding on for dear life.
We paused at the stop sign, seemingly looking for a reason stand there a second or two longer than what we normally might, admiring the perfectly shaped skid-marks that had strangely enough just appeared in the road overnight. Finally, we were pulled onward by an over-anxious little brother, and we crossed the street and headed to the lunchroom to meet with dad.
The thought of tossing down a breakfast as hearty as the one we were smelling sent the butterflies into overdrive, churning up that early morning, empty stomach feeling, leaving me wishing I’d at least grabbed a piece of dry toast to settle my nerves. But still onward we trudged.
With huge smiles plastered on our faces, we walked the last leg of our journey to the door of the Kindergarten classroom. I fumbled with my camera and begged him to pause in front of the door which read “Hop Into K”. He hesitated at first, but then agreed, somehow knowing that taking a picture might keep us hanging around for just a few minutes more.
We entered a classroom with too many kids to count, some excited and talking, some laughing, some crying. “Let’s find your name and hang up your bag,” I said with as much enthusiasm as my melting heart could muster. He continued hanging on to my hand, tighter still, knowing that in just a moment I’d be walking out the door we’d just walked in, with Brisco alone at my side.
I helped him with his name tag and pointed out his old friends that he’d spent last year going to school with. Still, he stood beside me, eyes wide, watching as children and siblings and mothers with strollers scampered all around him.
“Ok, boys and girls. Everyone find a number on the floor and sit on it.” The teacher had given her first directive. But Cooper simply looked up at me and stared. He knew it was the moment of truth. The instant when the transfer of power went from parent to teacher. The second before I would have to leave. The time had come, and we both knew it.
I walked him to the green line on the floor, as he chose number nine to be his spot for the day. I squatted down until his eyes met mine and said, “Well, I guess I better go, Buddy.” He didn’t say much, but offered a hug even before I could beg for it to be given. A kiss as well, which doesn’t usually come cheap, and a watchful eye as I backed out of his classroom, this new home away from home, waving and smiling with every convincing, albeit contrived expression I could muster.
The three of us walked back to where Brisco had parked his bike, and I kissed my husband goodbye, wishing him, too, a good first day of school, all the while being certain not to make eye contact lest my sentimentality get the better of me. However, as we headed for home, I felt the first ball of emotion begin to well up in my chest. My throat tightened; my stomach churned; my jaw clenched. And suddenly there was nothing that could harness the tears that finally began to flow.
I walked home slowly that morning, shoulders heaving, voice quivering as I tried talking myself out of this sudden crazy, onset of emotions I was under. “It’s is just a part of growing up!” I argued with myself as I trudged nearer to our back gate. But he’s our first child, and my one and only Cooper, and I’m pretty much still a rookie at this parenting gig. So I just let myself cry a little more until I entered the back door to a smiling, angel of a child with a blanket in one hand and a book in the other. And with that “you-can’t-tell-me-no” look in his eyes, he begged, “Momma, will you just hold me on the couch for a little while?”
God sure knew what he was doing when He didn’t stop at one. I’m not sure what would have become of me that sad, Thursday morning if I hadn’t had Little Brother there by my side to cheer me on. And while the two of us are still learning to adjust to a daily routine without our Cooper in it, we’re finding ways to lean on one other. And have a little fun while we’re at it.
Back to school sure doesn’t mean what it used to. And in another year or two, I can only imagine the toll it will take. But I guess it really is just part of growing up…for them and for me.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Granma Camp
Summertime brings many opportunities for children to pack up and head out. For some kids it’s ball camp, for some it’s band camp, and for others still, it’s church camp. The Smith kids are still a bit young for all of that. But this summer they were old enough to depart on one special for-kids-only excursion: Granma Camp.
After seven days on the road trip of a lifetime, Cooper and Brisco had only 24 hours to rest and recuperate for the first annual Granma Camp in Duncan. See, Granma Donna had been making plans for weeks to hold a special session with her favorite little people on earth, and the boys couldn’t have been more excited.
Of course Granma has a total of eleven favorite little people, so she set her sights on anyone over the age of four. This made one daddy, who was a little unsure about his mother being bombarded by that many Smith children, feel a little better about the whole event. There would be six excited campers and one brave Granma.
We were instructed to pack lightly no doubt to help reduce the amount of laundry and chaos that can be created when six little kids (four of whom are boys) decide it’s time to change clothes or dig through a suitcase. The campers would be attending Vacation Bible School every evening where they would receive a T-shirt, as well as their First Official Granma Camp T-shirt that Aunt Becca would be helping them tie dye. Such a brave soul.
That is pretty much all the information we received as far as the itinerary for the week, but I was sure that Granma-this mother of eight-would have them lined out and entertained in a manner far better than any of us parents could do on our own…if she could just get all the grown-ups to go home.
We were to drop the kids off on Sunday afternoon, and by 10 p.m., or somewhere thereafter, the last of the big people finally drove away, leaving Granma to corral her six rowdy stallions and convince them it was time to hit the hay. It seems it was us parents who put a kink in Granma’s schedule right from the start, but she was able to calm their high spirits and dry a few tearful eyes, soothing them to sleep, as only a granma can.
And so the week began. Like an actual summer camp--the kind you usually have to pay for--Granma had events and activities scheduled to keep their hands and their minds busy and engaged. From picnics and baseball to just hanging out in the pool, there was always something going on for the kids to enjoy.
One morning was spent at the Chisholm Trail Museum, which apparently made a lasting impression on every child attending. I wasn’t sure our kids were really old enough for the experience, but it seems Granma knows best, as all the children had stories to tell about their day. “We got rained on during the movie! And the seats moved!” Cooper remembered. “Real water came our of the TV and got us wet!” Mattie added. There was apparently lots of interactive learning, as the boys recalled beating on the drum so it would “toot” and say, “Not beans again!” Mattie and Cooper remember how scared Brisco would get every time he pushed the button to hear the Buffalo sound. “He would run back to the rail every time!”
But it wasn’t just the museum that had the kids talking. For Tyler, the oldest, his favorite part of the week was playing with Cooper. Two little boys with different talents and interests, but the same gust for playing hard and having fun. No doubt he gave the little guys (and girls) tips on climbing trees and put on a show with his unbelievable acrobatics on the trampoline. Mattie had fun swimming, but enjoyed it most of all when Granma taught her how to swim on her back. Cooper loved having a water balloon fight, watching “the Babe” and “getting Granma awards”. My son, always the competitor.
Haley, the youngest of the two girls attending, enjoyed spending time with Mattie and painting the rocks that Granma provided for all the kids to decorate and put in her pathway off the back porch.
Brady, the lone brother in a house full of girls, had an especially good time being surrounded by a bunch of boys. “I liked playing water balloons with Tyler, Cooper and Brisco. We would try to hit each other with the balloons!" He also enjoyed it when Granma got in the pool “because it made her hair all smooth".
For Brisco, the youngest of the crew, his favorites had to include the food. “Swimming, watermelon, and Granma’s biscuits”.
It’s not easy on a family when you’re spread out from the Oklahoma panhandle to near the Red River. But what better way for children to enjoy their grandparents, and each other, than to pack their bags and head to Granma’s.
Generations of grown-ups can recount the history of their childhoods told from memories they made with their grandparents. And now ours will too. From Sunday dinners at Grandmother Hightower’s, to running downstairs on Christmas morning at Martha’s, to summer camp at Granma Donna’s. What more could a little kid ask for?
And that’s All in a day’s work!
After seven days on the road trip of a lifetime, Cooper and Brisco had only 24 hours to rest and recuperate for the first annual Granma Camp in Duncan. See, Granma Donna had been making plans for weeks to hold a special session with her favorite little people on earth, and the boys couldn’t have been more excited.
Of course Granma has a total of eleven favorite little people, so she set her sights on anyone over the age of four. This made one daddy, who was a little unsure about his mother being bombarded by that many Smith children, feel a little better about the whole event. There would be six excited campers and one brave Granma.
We were instructed to pack lightly no doubt to help reduce the amount of laundry and chaos that can be created when six little kids (four of whom are boys) decide it’s time to change clothes or dig through a suitcase. The campers would be attending Vacation Bible School every evening where they would receive a T-shirt, as well as their First Official Granma Camp T-shirt that Aunt Becca would be helping them tie dye. Such a brave soul.
That is pretty much all the information we received as far as the itinerary for the week, but I was sure that Granma-this mother of eight-would have them lined out and entertained in a manner far better than any of us parents could do on our own…if she could just get all the grown-ups to go home.
We were to drop the kids off on Sunday afternoon, and by 10 p.m., or somewhere thereafter, the last of the big people finally drove away, leaving Granma to corral her six rowdy stallions and convince them it was time to hit the hay. It seems it was us parents who put a kink in Granma’s schedule right from the start, but she was able to calm their high spirits and dry a few tearful eyes, soothing them to sleep, as only a granma can.
And so the week began. Like an actual summer camp--the kind you usually have to pay for--Granma had events and activities scheduled to keep their hands and their minds busy and engaged. From picnics and baseball to just hanging out in the pool, there was always something going on for the kids to enjoy.
One morning was spent at the Chisholm Trail Museum, which apparently made a lasting impression on every child attending. I wasn’t sure our kids were really old enough for the experience, but it seems Granma knows best, as all the children had stories to tell about their day. “We got rained on during the movie! And the seats moved!” Cooper remembered. “Real water came our of the TV and got us wet!” Mattie added. There was apparently lots of interactive learning, as the boys recalled beating on the drum so it would “toot” and say, “Not beans again!” Mattie and Cooper remember how scared Brisco would get every time he pushed the button to hear the Buffalo sound. “He would run back to the rail every time!”
But it wasn’t just the museum that had the kids talking. For Tyler, the oldest, his favorite part of the week was playing with Cooper. Two little boys with different talents and interests, but the same gust for playing hard and having fun. No doubt he gave the little guys (and girls) tips on climbing trees and put on a show with his unbelievable acrobatics on the trampoline. Mattie had fun swimming, but enjoyed it most of all when Granma taught her how to swim on her back. Cooper loved having a water balloon fight, watching “the Babe” and “getting Granma awards”. My son, always the competitor.
Haley, the youngest of the two girls attending, enjoyed spending time with Mattie and painting the rocks that Granma provided for all the kids to decorate and put in her pathway off the back porch.
Brady, the lone brother in a house full of girls, had an especially good time being surrounded by a bunch of boys. “I liked playing water balloons with Tyler, Cooper and Brisco. We would try to hit each other with the balloons!" He also enjoyed it when Granma got in the pool “because it made her hair all smooth".
For Brisco, the youngest of the crew, his favorites had to include the food. “Swimming, watermelon, and Granma’s biscuits”.
It’s not easy on a family when you’re spread out from the Oklahoma panhandle to near the Red River. But what better way for children to enjoy their grandparents, and each other, than to pack their bags and head to Granma’s.
Generations of grown-ups can recount the history of their childhoods told from memories they made with their grandparents. And now ours will too. From Sunday dinners at Grandmother Hightower’s, to running downstairs on Christmas morning at Martha’s, to summer camp at Granma Donna’s. What more could a little kid ask for?
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
“The family vacation experience: The final episode”
When morning came, we packed our bags and said goodbye to Missouri and to our temporary lap of luxury and headed south to Arkansas. We had planned to break up the next leg of our trip by driving a while and then stopping to explore an underground cave. Cosmic Cavern to be exact. An experience fit for two little boys.
We pulled in to what appeared to be an old RV site with a trailer house sitting on top of a hill. The boys were somewhat confused since they were expecting to explore a cave, which to them clearly meant something right outa Scooby Doo.
We headed inside to prepare for our descent and check out the goodies on display. As I stood listening to the employee explain how things worked, I could feel someone tugging on my shirt. “Momma,” he said in a whisper. And again, “Momma, Momma.”
Since our boys have been taught not to interrupt when grown ups are talking, I was a bit aggravated and gave him the palm-toward-the-face, not-now-maneuver and tried to continue listening to the worker. He didn’t give up so easily, thank goodness, and when I finally bent down to impatiently ask, “Cooper! What do you want?” He said, “Momma, I’m gonna throw up.”
My cleverly disguised Supermom strength kicked in, and I picked up the boy, and tucked him under one arm, dodging a rack of adventure guides and oncoming explorers in the fray. We barely made it to the end of the porch before the poor child could hold it no longer.
I was frantically scrounging for a tissue of some sort but kept coming up empty handed. I sent Dad to the car and he came back with a Coke and a day old biscuit--to help calm his stomach--and a wadded up, partially used single ply. Geez.
Aside from the uneasy looks we received from the other paying customers, and the personal visit from what appeared to be the proprietor of the place, I’d say we handled the mess quite well, and by the time his stomach had settled, it was our turn to head underground.
The opening of the cave was like an old cellar door. Steps right on top of one another made the trip down and up a challenge for some, but it seemed a perfect fit for two little boys. The guide spent way too much time explaining the differences between stalagmites and stalactites and the origin of the latest bat disease, but the boys were patient, knowing somewhere in this underground world were two bottomless lakes with blind cave trout bumping into one another, no doubt. They could not wait to feast their eyes upon something as crazy as that.
We finally reached the lakes, but as luck would have it, the cave trout had all been eaten by some other kind of trout and all that was left was a giant whisky barrel some old-time explorer had discarded along the way. The boys’ first lesson on “truth in advertising”.
By the time we emerged from the old cellar door, we were all glad we lived above ground, despite the warmer climate, and were ready to continue traveling to our next destination: Devil’s Den State Park.
The place wasn’t as ominous as it’s name, but the caves it housed were closed due to the same crazy bat disease the tour guide had previously told us about. Arkansas, however, was not about caves for our boys. It was all about the great outdoors. You see, those new fishing poles we bought three days ago had yet to get wet. In fact, they weren’t even out of the plastic, so our first order of business was to catch some fish.
They learned rather quickly that just because they had a new rod and reel, and just because there was a bunch of water in front of them, and just because they really wanted to…well, that didn’t mean they were going to catch a single fish. A little moss, a stick or two maybe, but no fish.
And for the next three days…still no fish. They tried top water lures. They tried bobbers. They even tried real live worms, thanks to a nice lady fishing from the dam. But nothing. It was a real test in patience, and we all learned rather quickly that one of them has it, and one of them does not. I think Brisco could have cast and reeled all day long without getting a bite. Coop on the other hand, quite simply would have rather been playing ball.
The next two days were spent in a rustic cabin hidden in the trees of the Ozarks. The rain killed our swimming plans as well as our satellite and cell service, but there’s no way it ruined the fun of our stay.
We spent one morning on a mile and a half hike through beautiful terrain and saw a waterfall and the many crevices in the earth that had formed in the area. The boys seemed to enjoy their discoveries but were even more impressed with the convenient places provided for hikers to tie their shoes (i.e. trail markers). Thanks, Dad, for that bit of comic relief.
We took walks in the rain and perfected our rock-skipping techniques on the creek. We cooked out on the grill and enjoyed catching fireflies and meeting the baby owls that frequented our spot. One morning we watched as a baby deer wandered to within a few feet of our car.
We discovered huge daddy longlegs spiders and walking sticks that were so big and incognito that they could have been mistaken for a stalk of wheat. We eyed Heckle and Jeckle lurking overhead in the treetops above us, and Dad even came across a snake on the hiking trail. Now who says you need a satellite to have fun?
The drive home was no less exciting than any other part of our journey, and as the boys talked about the fun they’d had, all that seemed to be missing was a good, long swim. Being the old softy that he is, Dad steered his car into the first hotel with an indoor pool--and a working air conditioner--that he could find, and rallied the troops for a night and a day of all the swimming they could handle. It seemed the perfect ending to a week of fun and togetherness and to a successful first family vacation experience.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
We pulled in to what appeared to be an old RV site with a trailer house sitting on top of a hill. The boys were somewhat confused since they were expecting to explore a cave, which to them clearly meant something right outa Scooby Doo.
We headed inside to prepare for our descent and check out the goodies on display. As I stood listening to the employee explain how things worked, I could feel someone tugging on my shirt. “Momma,” he said in a whisper. And again, “Momma, Momma.”
Since our boys have been taught not to interrupt when grown ups are talking, I was a bit aggravated and gave him the palm-toward-the-face, not-now-maneuver and tried to continue listening to the worker. He didn’t give up so easily, thank goodness, and when I finally bent down to impatiently ask, “Cooper! What do you want?” He said, “Momma, I’m gonna throw up.”
My cleverly disguised Supermom strength kicked in, and I picked up the boy, and tucked him under one arm, dodging a rack of adventure guides and oncoming explorers in the fray. We barely made it to the end of the porch before the poor child could hold it no longer.
I was frantically scrounging for a tissue of some sort but kept coming up empty handed. I sent Dad to the car and he came back with a Coke and a day old biscuit--to help calm his stomach--and a wadded up, partially used single ply. Geez.
Aside from the uneasy looks we received from the other paying customers, and the personal visit from what appeared to be the proprietor of the place, I’d say we handled the mess quite well, and by the time his stomach had settled, it was our turn to head underground.
The opening of the cave was like an old cellar door. Steps right on top of one another made the trip down and up a challenge for some, but it seemed a perfect fit for two little boys. The guide spent way too much time explaining the differences between stalagmites and stalactites and the origin of the latest bat disease, but the boys were patient, knowing somewhere in this underground world were two bottomless lakes with blind cave trout bumping into one another, no doubt. They could not wait to feast their eyes upon something as crazy as that.
We finally reached the lakes, but as luck would have it, the cave trout had all been eaten by some other kind of trout and all that was left was a giant whisky barrel some old-time explorer had discarded along the way. The boys’ first lesson on “truth in advertising”.
By the time we emerged from the old cellar door, we were all glad we lived above ground, despite the warmer climate, and were ready to continue traveling to our next destination: Devil’s Den State Park.
The place wasn’t as ominous as it’s name, but the caves it housed were closed due to the same crazy bat disease the tour guide had previously told us about. Arkansas, however, was not about caves for our boys. It was all about the great outdoors. You see, those new fishing poles we bought three days ago had yet to get wet. In fact, they weren’t even out of the plastic, so our first order of business was to catch some fish.
They learned rather quickly that just because they had a new rod and reel, and just because there was a bunch of water in front of them, and just because they really wanted to…well, that didn’t mean they were going to catch a single fish. A little moss, a stick or two maybe, but no fish.
And for the next three days…still no fish. They tried top water lures. They tried bobbers. They even tried real live worms, thanks to a nice lady fishing from the dam. But nothing. It was a real test in patience, and we all learned rather quickly that one of them has it, and one of them does not. I think Brisco could have cast and reeled all day long without getting a bite. Coop on the other hand, quite simply would have rather been playing ball.
The next two days were spent in a rustic cabin hidden in the trees of the Ozarks. The rain killed our swimming plans as well as our satellite and cell service, but there’s no way it ruined the fun of our stay.
We spent one morning on a mile and a half hike through beautiful terrain and saw a waterfall and the many crevices in the earth that had formed in the area. The boys seemed to enjoy their discoveries but were even more impressed with the convenient places provided for hikers to tie their shoes (i.e. trail markers). Thanks, Dad, for that bit of comic relief.
We took walks in the rain and perfected our rock-skipping techniques on the creek. We cooked out on the grill and enjoyed catching fireflies and meeting the baby owls that frequented our spot. One morning we watched as a baby deer wandered to within a few feet of our car.
We discovered huge daddy longlegs spiders and walking sticks that were so big and incognito that they could have been mistaken for a stalk of wheat. We eyed Heckle and Jeckle lurking overhead in the treetops above us, and Dad even came across a snake on the hiking trail. Now who says you need a satellite to have fun?
The drive home was no less exciting than any other part of our journey, and as the boys talked about the fun they’d had, all that seemed to be missing was a good, long swim. Being the old softy that he is, Dad steered his car into the first hotel with an indoor pool--and a working air conditioner--that he could find, and rallied the troops for a night and a day of all the swimming they could handle. It seemed the perfect ending to a week of fun and togetherness and to a successful first family vacation experience.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The family vacation experience Part 3
To tell our children they were going to Silver Dollar City meant nothing. When the biggest amusement park they’ve ever been to is Kiddie Land--four rides and a snow cone stand--there’s just no way for them to wrap their minds around SDC.
“It’s like a big town in the old west, with cowboys and gunfights in the street.” That was the best explanation I could come up with, since I didn’t want to bother my worrisome child with thoughts of “robbers and bad guys.” And let’s face it, they’re too young to hear about “bar maids and saloon girls”. But then I realized they really don’t know much about the west either. Or what it was like when it was old.
So as we made the turn into parking lot five, I could tell that they really didn’t know what to expect. The place is so big that you can’t see the park or even the main gate from the lot. All you can see is the tram that gives you a lift to the front door. And as we stood in line waiting on our turn, the boys excitement finally began to rise. “We’re gonna get to ride on that train?” It was like Christmas in July.
As we neared the gate, I wondered silently if we could just ride the tram back and forth all day since I knew the price of tickets into the wild, wild west just might be enough to kill my husband on the spot. Brisco and I chose not to watch and scampered inside to a bathroom. We left Dad no choice but to pay the unreasonable toll and put it out of his mind while he walked in circles over the 61 acre theme park with the aid of a map that looked like Brisco could have drawn it. Thank goodness for the rain or we might have had to stop to buy him an authentically crafted pine box for the ride home.
We failed to escape the picture lady before we ever entered the gate. Six or seven minutes of trying to get my three uncooperative males to adequately pose and smile to her satisfaction seemed to be long enough, and she finally gave up and released us for our adventure back in time.
After catching a few demonstrations and scouring a few stores, Dad eyed a spot that looked familiar from his days as a youngster visiting the park. He led us inside without any of us knowing just where we were going until the little carts pulled to a stop at the front of the line. Suddenly, I knew where we were.
“Is this a roller coaster?” I asked.
“Fire in the hole,” he said with the ornery smile of a 10 year old boy.
“Is this going to scare them?” I asked again.
“Naah. It’s not too bad,” he promised.
The boys had no idea what they were getting into. Even when the carts pulled up to where they could see them, they didn’t get it. It simply looked like a little train--seats, connected to the seats in front of them, rolling down a track. What’s to be afraid of?
Cooper and dad went first. They rolled into the tunnel with a big smile, and when they came out the other side, slightly sprinkled, they were both wearing the same smile they went in with. “Ok,” I thought. “Maybe this isn’t so bad.”
Brisco and I were next, buckling and smiling and getting ready to enjoy our first real amusement park ride at SDC. “Are you ready?” I asked. “He just looked up at me with that big Brisco smile and said, “Yep! Where are we going?”
It seemed we’d taken a trip back in time to when the Baldknobbers lie in wait to attack and terrorize and torture the hardworking people of the Ozarks. Scenes of burning houses and the sounds of loud, twangy hillbillies were being shouted from the insides of old farmhouses as the vigilantes attempted to set the town on fire. “Put ‘cher pants on!” the lady of the house screamed. “I cain’t! The Baldknobbers took em!” her fleeing husband replied.
All this would seem harmless enough if it weren’t for the pitch darkness and the twists and turns of what seemed (to a 4 year old) an out of control race car barreling willy-nilly into the night. As he clutched at my arm and screamed, “Mama, I don’t like it!” I knew it was going to get worse before it got better. Suddenly, the raucousness of the burning town was behind us. Only darkness…and the sight of one bright headlight, shining from an oncoming train lay ahead. Oh no! We’re going to crash!
I suppose a crash might have been a better idea to Brisco than the bottom dropping out of the track (and his stomach) because at that point, the screams and the tears started coming. I think I may even have a permanent bruise on my left arm. One high-speed drop would have been more than enough for my poor boy, but there were two. And right when he thought the torture had ended, he was squirted with just enough water to wind him up all over again. We exited our cart screaming and pawing and crying real tears that could not be consoled for the next 15 minutes. Who’d have thought our bold little Brisco would be so terrified!
We quickly learned that Cooper would try anything and Brisco was afraid of even the frogs. Yes, the frogs. The only ride he decided he could enjoy safely was the Ladybugs, and let me tell you, I could walk faster than those bugs flew.
By the end of the day, we had worked so hard all any of us wanted to do was go home and check the water in the hot tub. And as we climbed on the tram for the ride back to our car, Cooper looked out over the trees in the distance. “Look! It’s a rainbow!” he said excitedly. It was a picture-perfect ending to an all-around excellent day.
As the boys climbed into bed that night, they could hardly believe that tomorrow it would be time to move on. “Where are we going next? Will we get to go swimming? How long will it take to get there?” Some questions are as timeless as the messes our children get us into. But one thing’s for sure: No matter where our travels take us, good music, great food, and unforgettable memories are sure to follow.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
“It’s like a big town in the old west, with cowboys and gunfights in the street.” That was the best explanation I could come up with, since I didn’t want to bother my worrisome child with thoughts of “robbers and bad guys.” And let’s face it, they’re too young to hear about “bar maids and saloon girls”. But then I realized they really don’t know much about the west either. Or what it was like when it was old.
So as we made the turn into parking lot five, I could tell that they really didn’t know what to expect. The place is so big that you can’t see the park or even the main gate from the lot. All you can see is the tram that gives you a lift to the front door. And as we stood in line waiting on our turn, the boys excitement finally began to rise. “We’re gonna get to ride on that train?” It was like Christmas in July.
As we neared the gate, I wondered silently if we could just ride the tram back and forth all day since I knew the price of tickets into the wild, wild west just might be enough to kill my husband on the spot. Brisco and I chose not to watch and scampered inside to a bathroom. We left Dad no choice but to pay the unreasonable toll and put it out of his mind while he walked in circles over the 61 acre theme park with the aid of a map that looked like Brisco could have drawn it. Thank goodness for the rain or we might have had to stop to buy him an authentically crafted pine box for the ride home.
We failed to escape the picture lady before we ever entered the gate. Six or seven minutes of trying to get my three uncooperative males to adequately pose and smile to her satisfaction seemed to be long enough, and she finally gave up and released us for our adventure back in time.
After catching a few demonstrations and scouring a few stores, Dad eyed a spot that looked familiar from his days as a youngster visiting the park. He led us inside without any of us knowing just where we were going until the little carts pulled to a stop at the front of the line. Suddenly, I knew where we were.
“Is this a roller coaster?” I asked.
“Fire in the hole,” he said with the ornery smile of a 10 year old boy.
“Is this going to scare them?” I asked again.
“Naah. It’s not too bad,” he promised.
The boys had no idea what they were getting into. Even when the carts pulled up to where they could see them, they didn’t get it. It simply looked like a little train--seats, connected to the seats in front of them, rolling down a track. What’s to be afraid of?
Cooper and dad went first. They rolled into the tunnel with a big smile, and when they came out the other side, slightly sprinkled, they were both wearing the same smile they went in with. “Ok,” I thought. “Maybe this isn’t so bad.”
Brisco and I were next, buckling and smiling and getting ready to enjoy our first real amusement park ride at SDC. “Are you ready?” I asked. “He just looked up at me with that big Brisco smile and said, “Yep! Where are we going?”
It seemed we’d taken a trip back in time to when the Baldknobbers lie in wait to attack and terrorize and torture the hardworking people of the Ozarks. Scenes of burning houses and the sounds of loud, twangy hillbillies were being shouted from the insides of old farmhouses as the vigilantes attempted to set the town on fire. “Put ‘cher pants on!” the lady of the house screamed. “I cain’t! The Baldknobbers took em!” her fleeing husband replied.
All this would seem harmless enough if it weren’t for the pitch darkness and the twists and turns of what seemed (to a 4 year old) an out of control race car barreling willy-nilly into the night. As he clutched at my arm and screamed, “Mama, I don’t like it!” I knew it was going to get worse before it got better. Suddenly, the raucousness of the burning town was behind us. Only darkness…and the sight of one bright headlight, shining from an oncoming train lay ahead. Oh no! We’re going to crash!
I suppose a crash might have been a better idea to Brisco than the bottom dropping out of the track (and his stomach) because at that point, the screams and the tears started coming. I think I may even have a permanent bruise on my left arm. One high-speed drop would have been more than enough for my poor boy, but there were two. And right when he thought the torture had ended, he was squirted with just enough water to wind him up all over again. We exited our cart screaming and pawing and crying real tears that could not be consoled for the next 15 minutes. Who’d have thought our bold little Brisco would be so terrified!
We quickly learned that Cooper would try anything and Brisco was afraid of even the frogs. Yes, the frogs. The only ride he decided he could enjoy safely was the Ladybugs, and let me tell you, I could walk faster than those bugs flew.
By the end of the day, we had worked so hard all any of us wanted to do was go home and check the water in the hot tub. And as we climbed on the tram for the ride back to our car, Cooper looked out over the trees in the distance. “Look! It’s a rainbow!” he said excitedly. It was a picture-perfect ending to an all-around excellent day.
As the boys climbed into bed that night, they could hardly believe that tomorrow it would be time to move on. “Where are we going next? Will we get to go swimming? How long will it take to get there?” Some questions are as timeless as the messes our children get us into. But one thing’s for sure: No matter where our travels take us, good music, great food, and unforgettable memories are sure to follow.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
“The family vacation experience” Part 2
As is usually the case, the world was a brighter place in the morning. By the time everyone was dressed and ready to go, it was 10 a.m.: prime puking time for big brother. For some reason the car sickness doesn’t bother him late in the day, but drive in the morning and you better have your bucket nearby.
On this morning, however, it seemed we’d caught a break. But Honky-Tonky Mama’s fear of driving six more days in a car that smelled of a half-eaten banana and curdled milk was enough for me to offer him “the bucket” every few miles. Leave it to Brisco, of course, to take someone else’s torture and create a family joke that will no doubt last well into the lives of his own children. During an odd moment of silence on scenic 412, surrounded by the beautiful trees and valleys near the Arkansas state line, Brisco broke the silence with a loud shout: “Buck-et!” followed then by the loudest, most authentic fake, burp and barfing noise I’d ever heard. Needless to say, when things would become tense over the next few days, all one of us had to do to garner a big smile was shout, “Buck-et!” It worked every time.
After a quick stop for gas, and goodies, we crossed over into Arkansas with a loud cheer from the boys. I was perfectly certain they knew not for what they were cheering, especially when Brisco asked, “Is Arkansas in our world?” “Yeah, kind of,” I replied.
By the time we made it to the south side of Branson where our “cabinet” (tr: “cabin”) was located, the rain had found us again. It didn’t hang around long, however, and after a couple unplanned detours and (finally) a stop at the State Park Marina for a local map, we were directed to a popular spot off the dam of Table Rock Lake to swim.
It was called Moonshine Beach, and despite the name, it was nearly perfect. I’m pretty sure the hundred or so other folks there, still on holiday from July 4th, would also agree. No worries, though. A cool dip and the anticipation of catching a lake full of fish kept our spirits high and our stress level low, and before we knew it, we’d passed the afternoon and worked up quite an Ozark appetite.
As we left the beach, Randy asked the man at the gate for directions to a local grocery store so we could stock our kitchen for the upcoming two days. Evidently this man was not the grocery shopper in the family because he directed us to what he declared was the “only grocery store in the area”: Wal-Mart Super Center.
Now anyone who knows my husband, or like most men in general I suppose, the thought of going to a Wal-Mart is maddening. Especially when he is on vacation. But what choice did we have? We’d already proved that simply “driving around till we see something” wasn’t really working for us. So to Wal-Mart we went.
A couple hours and a drive across town and back later, as we turned the last mile to our cabin, we stopped at a quick stop for ice and gas. To our extreme aggravation, Randy and I spotted a local Country Mart not 30 feet away. Such is the luck of those who choose to travel the “old fashioned’ way. No WiFi. No GPS. Just a map and a man behind the wheel…and a woman giving incredibly thorough directions.
When we finally made it to the cabin, the boys were excited to check out the hot tub, which ended up being a cool tub, at least the first night. They were even more stoked to see the pool table in the middle of the living room, and they both immediately picked up a pool cue to practice their game. Eighteen seconds and one cracked stick later, we decided the boys, and the equipment, would be better served learning to roll the cue ball rather than shoot it.
After unpacking the car and preparing supper, we were all happy to be sitting around the table, talking about our day and getting excited about what tomorrow might bring. Smiles on little boys’ faces, the juice of a medium-well ribeye glistening on Daddy’s fingertips, and George Jones playing in the background. What more could a mother ask for?
And that’s All in a day’s work!
On this morning, however, it seemed we’d caught a break. But Honky-Tonky Mama’s fear of driving six more days in a car that smelled of a half-eaten banana and curdled milk was enough for me to offer him “the bucket” every few miles. Leave it to Brisco, of course, to take someone else’s torture and create a family joke that will no doubt last well into the lives of his own children. During an odd moment of silence on scenic 412, surrounded by the beautiful trees and valleys near the Arkansas state line, Brisco broke the silence with a loud shout: “Buck-et!” followed then by the loudest, most authentic fake, burp and barfing noise I’d ever heard. Needless to say, when things would become tense over the next few days, all one of us had to do to garner a big smile was shout, “Buck-et!” It worked every time.
After a quick stop for gas, and goodies, we crossed over into Arkansas with a loud cheer from the boys. I was perfectly certain they knew not for what they were cheering, especially when Brisco asked, “Is Arkansas in our world?” “Yeah, kind of,” I replied.
By the time we made it to the south side of Branson where our “cabinet” (tr: “cabin”) was located, the rain had found us again. It didn’t hang around long, however, and after a couple unplanned detours and (finally) a stop at the State Park Marina for a local map, we were directed to a popular spot off the dam of Table Rock Lake to swim.
It was called Moonshine Beach, and despite the name, it was nearly perfect. I’m pretty sure the hundred or so other folks there, still on holiday from July 4th, would also agree. No worries, though. A cool dip and the anticipation of catching a lake full of fish kept our spirits high and our stress level low, and before we knew it, we’d passed the afternoon and worked up quite an Ozark appetite.
As we left the beach, Randy asked the man at the gate for directions to a local grocery store so we could stock our kitchen for the upcoming two days. Evidently this man was not the grocery shopper in the family because he directed us to what he declared was the “only grocery store in the area”: Wal-Mart Super Center.
Now anyone who knows my husband, or like most men in general I suppose, the thought of going to a Wal-Mart is maddening. Especially when he is on vacation. But what choice did we have? We’d already proved that simply “driving around till we see something” wasn’t really working for us. So to Wal-Mart we went.
A couple hours and a drive across town and back later, as we turned the last mile to our cabin, we stopped at a quick stop for ice and gas. To our extreme aggravation, Randy and I spotted a local Country Mart not 30 feet away. Such is the luck of those who choose to travel the “old fashioned’ way. No WiFi. No GPS. Just a map and a man behind the wheel…and a woman giving incredibly thorough directions.
When we finally made it to the cabin, the boys were excited to check out the hot tub, which ended up being a cool tub, at least the first night. They were even more stoked to see the pool table in the middle of the living room, and they both immediately picked up a pool cue to practice their game. Eighteen seconds and one cracked stick later, we decided the boys, and the equipment, would be better served learning to roll the cue ball rather than shoot it.
After unpacking the car and preparing supper, we were all happy to be sitting around the table, talking about our day and getting excited about what tomorrow might bring. Smiles on little boys’ faces, the juice of a medium-well ribeye glistening on Daddy’s fingertips, and George Jones playing in the background. What more could a mother ask for?
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
“The family vacation experience” Part 1
Even as I sat in front of the computer planning our adventure, I had my doubts. “Six hours in the car with those boys?” “How many times will we have to stop to go pee?” “How many barf buckets will we need?” Long road trips with little kids in tow may not be what most would consider the ideal summer getaway, but it’s what families do. And this year, we dove head first into our first real “family vacation experience” with a week-long trip through Missouri and Arkansas.
I tried to prepare for the drive--keeping the boys entertained and dad and I sane--by creating a CD full of songs we could all enjoy. No “Old MacDonald”; no “Herman the Worm”. Some kind of compromise. Songs Randy and I remembered growing up listening to in the car with our parents. A little John Denver, the Beach Boys, the Beatles. Lots of Merle Haggard, John Anderson, and some CCR tossed in here and there. And of course a few fun, funky beats for the little guy. It proved to be a great compilation for a mile or two. After that, all they wanted to hear was the “Yankee Mambo”. Go figure.
As we headed east, the boys began as they always do by counting pump jacks. Depending on the location, this can really keep them busy for a while. But on this particular day, it seemed they were too excited to focus, and were chiming in with ole Merle before we were out of Washita County, calling me “Honky-Tonky Mama” thru giggles and hysterical, little boy screams.
It was raining by the time we reached Weatherford, and it seemed there was nothing left to do but the obvious. “Are we there yet?” (You had to know it was coming.) “Not even close,” I promised. “But we’ll take a break when we get to the city and try to find you some fishing poles.” And so began the first stop of many on what should have been a semi-simple passage straight through to Branson.
After swimming into Bass Pro and loading up a couple new fishing poles, we grabbed a bite to eat and headed back out into the rain toward T-Town. Not before we sat through single-lane traffic and drove miles in the relentless downpour, however, and by the time we neared Tulsa, Dad decided maybe we needed to make another stop.
As luck would have it, the Drillers were playing at home with fireworks following the game, and we somehow managed to drive straight to the ball field with little driver-navigator conflict or confusion. We gladly made our way inside the stadium and enjoyed three or four innings before the rain we’d driven through earlier caught up with us and drove us back into our vehicle, and out on the road again (cue the twangy Willie Nelson impersonation).
We had no real idea of where we might be heading, as our reservations in Branson were for the following night, but dad assured us he’d find a hotel and we’d be back at it in the morning. As we drove further east, the boys could see fireworks in the distance. Reds, greens, and whites popping and flashing all around them as we drove in the dark to a less than fancy little motel in the booming metropolis of Chouteau. For only $79.99 we got a double bed, a pull out couch (minus sheets and pillows), and a room with a broken air conditioner. If you’re ever that way and need a place for the night, I strongly recommend you keep driving. After a trip to the front desk, Randy returned with linens, a bucket of ice and a 32 inch floor fan that I suppose was to do the trick.
After a cool shower and the sight of my Mr. Fixit hubby lying on the floor trying to repair the broken wall unit, I decided there was nothing left to do but give a little laugh, crawl in bed, and dream about what adventures lay in store for day two of what had all of a sudden become our first redneck family getaway.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
I tried to prepare for the drive--keeping the boys entertained and dad and I sane--by creating a CD full of songs we could all enjoy. No “Old MacDonald”; no “Herman the Worm”. Some kind of compromise. Songs Randy and I remembered growing up listening to in the car with our parents. A little John Denver, the Beach Boys, the Beatles. Lots of Merle Haggard, John Anderson, and some CCR tossed in here and there. And of course a few fun, funky beats for the little guy. It proved to be a great compilation for a mile or two. After that, all they wanted to hear was the “Yankee Mambo”. Go figure.
As we headed east, the boys began as they always do by counting pump jacks. Depending on the location, this can really keep them busy for a while. But on this particular day, it seemed they were too excited to focus, and were chiming in with ole Merle before we were out of Washita County, calling me “Honky-Tonky Mama” thru giggles and hysterical, little boy screams.
It was raining by the time we reached Weatherford, and it seemed there was nothing left to do but the obvious. “Are we there yet?” (You had to know it was coming.) “Not even close,” I promised. “But we’ll take a break when we get to the city and try to find you some fishing poles.” And so began the first stop of many on what should have been a semi-simple passage straight through to Branson.
After swimming into Bass Pro and loading up a couple new fishing poles, we grabbed a bite to eat and headed back out into the rain toward T-Town. Not before we sat through single-lane traffic and drove miles in the relentless downpour, however, and by the time we neared Tulsa, Dad decided maybe we needed to make another stop.
As luck would have it, the Drillers were playing at home with fireworks following the game, and we somehow managed to drive straight to the ball field with little driver-navigator conflict or confusion. We gladly made our way inside the stadium and enjoyed three or four innings before the rain we’d driven through earlier caught up with us and drove us back into our vehicle, and out on the road again (cue the twangy Willie Nelson impersonation).
We had no real idea of where we might be heading, as our reservations in Branson were for the following night, but dad assured us he’d find a hotel and we’d be back at it in the morning. As we drove further east, the boys could see fireworks in the distance. Reds, greens, and whites popping and flashing all around them as we drove in the dark to a less than fancy little motel in the booming metropolis of Chouteau. For only $79.99 we got a double bed, a pull out couch (minus sheets and pillows), and a room with a broken air conditioner. If you’re ever that way and need a place for the night, I strongly recommend you keep driving. After a trip to the front desk, Randy returned with linens, a bucket of ice and a 32 inch floor fan that I suppose was to do the trick.
After a cool shower and the sight of my Mr. Fixit hubby lying on the floor trying to repair the broken wall unit, I decided there was nothing left to do but give a little laugh, crawl in bed, and dream about what adventures lay in store for day two of what had all of a sudden become our first redneck family getaway.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Fun on the 4th
Family holidays are always fun, and the 4th of July is one of the best. I’m not certain the boys fully understand the meaning behind it yet, but they sure do enjoy celebrating. This year, we had plans to go to Uncle Glendon’s for the 4th to play ball with the kids. Knowing that was our destination was all it took to have them excited about what the day would bring.
See, Uncle Glendon has a “Field of Dreams” of sorts that he has manicured out of the pasture behind his house in the country. Back stop, base lines, flag flying on the outfield fence. When Cooper turned two, he had a birthday party there, his name spray painted on the grass in front of home plate in big, orange letters. They love that place, and playing with all the cousins who gather there.
Equally, they love the time they spend with the other half of their family. They faithfully keep track of “who’s turn” it is to come stay with Grandmother (one triplet at a time), and when the big cousins get the chance to come too? Well, that’s just icing on the cake. And now we have “babies” at Grandmother Martha’s house again, so Brisco especially is in total hog heaven.
That being said, it is clear why kids can sometimes be torn in two directions. Thus, mom and dad typically function from the mindset of “What they don’t know won’t hurt them”. We make the executive decision and the boys are none the wiser.
This year it was our turn to travel, so we hadn’t even mentioned to the boys that they would be missing their Mama’s family and the big Sentinel parade; however, there was one little glitch in our plan: Rain
We found out on Friday that the Brantley Ballgame had been postponed. “It’s in a rain delay,” as Brisco put it. So suddenly, we were planning to watch a parade in Sentinel, one they hadn‘t even realized they were missing.
Now, one year earlier, this would have been an easy adjustment for our family to make. Until last July 4th, the boys had no idea that they could actually be in the parade, or cause the parade to go on lock down, which is what Cooper did with his race to the front of the pack. Until then, we had only watched parades…well, and gathered candy, lest we forget our younger boy’s sweet tooth.
But being in town for the parade this year meant that we were a little sad that we didn’t have Teague’s “floor-liter” to drive or a motorized gator that we could crawl into, resembling a miniature Daddy working on the ball field. No, at a moment’s notice, all we had were two bicycles and four feet. So we decided to put them to good use.
I took the boys to line up for the parade and left them to the good will of another dad who had planned to walk with his kids. “I’ll keep an eye on them,” he offered. I figured one eye probably wouldn’t be enough, but I said, “Thanks” and went to take my spot on the street to gather Brisco a bag of candy like I had promised.
As the parade began, so did the drizzle. I wasn’t sure how the boys would fare on the wet pavement, but evidently it wasn’t the pavement that gave them problems. As they finally came into my sights, I could see that Cooper was struggling, and the helpful, responsible dad said, “He’s having a little trouble. He seems to have a flat.”
Indeed he did, and just as we wheeled Cooper off the street, Brisco spotted me waving to him and decided he wanted to check out my candy-gathering skills. But instead of easing over to where we were standing, he made a hard right--right into the sweet little boy of the nice, helpful dad who had offered to look out for our boys. “Look out!”
After I helped the little boy up, dragged my kids off the street and consoled Cooper over his flat tire, we managed to make our way to the park, candy bag in hand, and enjoy a cool morning of all the rest that Sentinel had to offer.
Yes, a day of food, friends, family, and of course a little baseball is all these boys really need on the 4th. Regardless of where we spend the holidays, it’s a sure thing that we’ll be doing it with flare. Whether they’re falling through hay bales at Mamaw’s or causing crashes on Main Street in Sentinel, there is always trouble to be found, fun to be had, and memories to be made.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
See, Uncle Glendon has a “Field of Dreams” of sorts that he has manicured out of the pasture behind his house in the country. Back stop, base lines, flag flying on the outfield fence. When Cooper turned two, he had a birthday party there, his name spray painted on the grass in front of home plate in big, orange letters. They love that place, and playing with all the cousins who gather there.
Equally, they love the time they spend with the other half of their family. They faithfully keep track of “who’s turn” it is to come stay with Grandmother (one triplet at a time), and when the big cousins get the chance to come too? Well, that’s just icing on the cake. And now we have “babies” at Grandmother Martha’s house again, so Brisco especially is in total hog heaven.
That being said, it is clear why kids can sometimes be torn in two directions. Thus, mom and dad typically function from the mindset of “What they don’t know won’t hurt them”. We make the executive decision and the boys are none the wiser.
This year it was our turn to travel, so we hadn’t even mentioned to the boys that they would be missing their Mama’s family and the big Sentinel parade; however, there was one little glitch in our plan: Rain
We found out on Friday that the Brantley Ballgame had been postponed. “It’s in a rain delay,” as Brisco put it. So suddenly, we were planning to watch a parade in Sentinel, one they hadn‘t even realized they were missing.
Now, one year earlier, this would have been an easy adjustment for our family to make. Until last July 4th, the boys had no idea that they could actually be in the parade, or cause the parade to go on lock down, which is what Cooper did with his race to the front of the pack. Until then, we had only watched parades…well, and gathered candy, lest we forget our younger boy’s sweet tooth.
But being in town for the parade this year meant that we were a little sad that we didn’t have Teague’s “floor-liter” to drive or a motorized gator that we could crawl into, resembling a miniature Daddy working on the ball field. No, at a moment’s notice, all we had were two bicycles and four feet. So we decided to put them to good use.
I took the boys to line up for the parade and left them to the good will of another dad who had planned to walk with his kids. “I’ll keep an eye on them,” he offered. I figured one eye probably wouldn’t be enough, but I said, “Thanks” and went to take my spot on the street to gather Brisco a bag of candy like I had promised.
As the parade began, so did the drizzle. I wasn’t sure how the boys would fare on the wet pavement, but evidently it wasn’t the pavement that gave them problems. As they finally came into my sights, I could see that Cooper was struggling, and the helpful, responsible dad said, “He’s having a little trouble. He seems to have a flat.”
Indeed he did, and just as we wheeled Cooper off the street, Brisco spotted me waving to him and decided he wanted to check out my candy-gathering skills. But instead of easing over to where we were standing, he made a hard right--right into the sweet little boy of the nice, helpful dad who had offered to look out for our boys. “Look out!”
After I helped the little boy up, dragged my kids off the street and consoled Cooper over his flat tire, we managed to make our way to the park, candy bag in hand, and enjoy a cool morning of all the rest that Sentinel had to offer.
Yes, a day of food, friends, family, and of course a little baseball is all these boys really need on the 4th. Regardless of where we spend the holidays, it’s a sure thing that we’ll be doing it with flare. Whether they’re falling through hay bales at Mamaw’s or causing crashes on Main Street in Sentinel, there is always trouble to be found, fun to be had, and memories to be made.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The value of sickness
Spending the better part of 48 hours in bed can do a lot to change your attitude. Just when you think you can’t stand cooking another meal, picking up after another kid, or spending another hot day in the sun…that’s when it hits you. The pain. The agony. The 36-hour, double dose of the most miserable summer sickness you’ve ever been unlucky enough to contract.
Suddenly, the simple things in life…like a hot shower, a toothbrush, a leisurely stroll to the toilet…they all seem so far from your grasp. If only you could make the room stop spinning. If only you could keep your insides from spinning…such has been life at the Smith house as of late.
I really shouldn’t complain too much. It’s the first time I’ve been sick in bed for a whole day in 15 years. Not a terrible track record, I guess. And it seems all a mother really needs to make her appreciate her own daily grind, which really isn’t so bad, is a glimpse at something worse.
So here’s what I’ve learned to appreciate, in the last 16 hours, about my life, my health, and my family.
I love it that my boys are still young enough not to care one bit when a buddy comes over for a surprise visit and finds them covered in flour and wearing aprons.
I love that my four year old niece has no reservations telling our boys how she and her two brothers were cut out of her mommy’s tummy when they were babies. “Then it just grows right back together!”
I love that I can predict Brisco’s response to this revelation before it ever happens, “Uh-uh. Mom! You know what Harlie said?”
Cleaning a dirty kitchen sink doesn’t seem so bad after two days of looking at the bottom of the toilet.
In the midst of booking a last minute family vacation I came across Devil’s Den State Park. Oh yeah, I can handle that.
I’m not worrying a bit that our 5 year old would rather eat an entire cup of flour “in the raw” than the delicious homemade pizza he just created.
I’m having no trouble teaching the same 5 year old to mop the floor “Cinderella Style” as he tracks his piles of dropped flour all over the kitchen tile.
I’m actually excited to feel well enough to wash my own bed sheets and scrub the germs out of my bathroom.
I’m relishing in the few peaceful hours that I probably have before we start all over again with Dad.
Multi-tasking things like chopping onions, swatting flies, rescuing a drowning aloe vera plant and being a big scary monster to three little kids doesn’t seem to bother me one bit.
It’s possible that maybe my husband said it best, “Not a bad time to start a diet, eh?”
And finally, it’s true: No matter how old you get or how sick you are, no one takes better care of you than your Momma.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Suddenly, the simple things in life…like a hot shower, a toothbrush, a leisurely stroll to the toilet…they all seem so far from your grasp. If only you could make the room stop spinning. If only you could keep your insides from spinning…such has been life at the Smith house as of late.
I really shouldn’t complain too much. It’s the first time I’ve been sick in bed for a whole day in 15 years. Not a terrible track record, I guess. And it seems all a mother really needs to make her appreciate her own daily grind, which really isn’t so bad, is a glimpse at something worse.
So here’s what I’ve learned to appreciate, in the last 16 hours, about my life, my health, and my family.
I love it that my boys are still young enough not to care one bit when a buddy comes over for a surprise visit and finds them covered in flour and wearing aprons.
I love that my four year old niece has no reservations telling our boys how she and her two brothers were cut out of her mommy’s tummy when they were babies. “Then it just grows right back together!”
I love that I can predict Brisco’s response to this revelation before it ever happens, “Uh-uh. Mom! You know what Harlie said?”
Cleaning a dirty kitchen sink doesn’t seem so bad after two days of looking at the bottom of the toilet.
In the midst of booking a last minute family vacation I came across Devil’s Den State Park. Oh yeah, I can handle that.
I’m not worrying a bit that our 5 year old would rather eat an entire cup of flour “in the raw” than the delicious homemade pizza he just created.
I’m having no trouble teaching the same 5 year old to mop the floor “Cinderella Style” as he tracks his piles of dropped flour all over the kitchen tile.
I’m actually excited to feel well enough to wash my own bed sheets and scrub the germs out of my bathroom.
I’m relishing in the few peaceful hours that I probably have before we start all over again with Dad.
Multi-tasking things like chopping onions, swatting flies, rescuing a drowning aloe vera plant and being a big scary monster to three little kids doesn’t seem to bother me one bit.
It’s possible that maybe my husband said it best, “Not a bad time to start a diet, eh?”
And finally, it’s true: No matter how old you get or how sick you are, no one takes better care of you than your Momma.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Change
There’s no doubt becoming a parent changes who we are. It starts with the physical. It moves on to the emotional, the intellectual, and some days, the psychological. It changes our wardrobe, modifies our mood, and alters our ego. It reworks our plans, revises our priorities, and rearranges our schedules. It can correct our habits and mutate our mates. Quite honestly, becoming a parent transforms every facet of our lives entirely.
That said, I’m not sure why I found myself dumbfounded once again last week at the madness that has become my life as a mom. As I attempted the simple act of vacuuming the family car, I was reminded of yet another change that parenthood brings: the apparent disappearance of personal ownership.
Nothing is this world is really just mine. Nothing is exclusive, and no place is sacred once we become parents. This could not have been made more evident to me as I discovered, one item at a time, the random hodgepodge of garbage that has been hiding in what I used to consider my vehicle.
Starting with the obvious--I found baseballs of every kind: new, old, squishy, hard, with covers, and without. There were eight in all. Add to that two ball caps and two batting gloves and I’ve got a dozen pieces of equipment that will bail out any unprepared ball player in a pinch.
Next come the “Mommy Supplies”. These are the two things that if a mother dares to enter the car without, she’ll probably be stopping along the way to buy: food and drink. Yes, a misplaced bottle of Aquafina, a couple hundred crushed Gold Fish and countless strips of bread crust carelessly discarded from the edges of a year’s worth of PB&J sandwiches was enough to force me to rename my car the “Nissan Virus”.
The following set of items come under the heading “Just in Case”: an insane number of napkins; a one gallon ice cream tub filled with a half-dozen plastic sacks (i.e. barf bucket); a spare set of clothes; and a good switch.
The remaining items could be labeled nothing other than “Random and Ridiculous”: one coloring book; two dead flowers; an orange, plastic slinky, smashed and partially melted; and a whoopee cushion.
The coup de grace was finding a conglomeration of hues-green, red, yellow, and blue-all beautifully melted and settled nicely into the inside handle used to close the passenger-side door. The one item-other than music and money-that actually belongs to me? A strategically placed bottle of aspirin. In case of emergency.
While I’m not particularly surprised by any of my findings, what I am surprised about is my attitude toward them. Five years ago, all I’d have found hiding under my seat would have been a couple empty candy wrappers, a few pennies and a long lost tube of lipstick. I could have cleaned up my spilled cups of coffee much easier than the surprise buckets of car sickness our oldest often throws our way. But oh, the things I would have to give up: questions about the moon and the stars, brothers giggling and singing and carrying on in the back, and little boys begging to be unbuckled because they want to be held by their momma as they fall asleep to the hum of the road and an old Merle Haggard tune.
Yes, becoming a parent changes who we are. And I couldn’t be more grateful.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
That said, I’m not sure why I found myself dumbfounded once again last week at the madness that has become my life as a mom. As I attempted the simple act of vacuuming the family car, I was reminded of yet another change that parenthood brings: the apparent disappearance of personal ownership.
Nothing is this world is really just mine. Nothing is exclusive, and no place is sacred once we become parents. This could not have been made more evident to me as I discovered, one item at a time, the random hodgepodge of garbage that has been hiding in what I used to consider my vehicle.
Starting with the obvious--I found baseballs of every kind: new, old, squishy, hard, with covers, and without. There were eight in all. Add to that two ball caps and two batting gloves and I’ve got a dozen pieces of equipment that will bail out any unprepared ball player in a pinch.
Next come the “Mommy Supplies”. These are the two things that if a mother dares to enter the car without, she’ll probably be stopping along the way to buy: food and drink. Yes, a misplaced bottle of Aquafina, a couple hundred crushed Gold Fish and countless strips of bread crust carelessly discarded from the edges of a year’s worth of PB&J sandwiches was enough to force me to rename my car the “Nissan Virus”.
The following set of items come under the heading “Just in Case”: an insane number of napkins; a one gallon ice cream tub filled with a half-dozen plastic sacks (i.e. barf bucket); a spare set of clothes; and a good switch.
The remaining items could be labeled nothing other than “Random and Ridiculous”: one coloring book; two dead flowers; an orange, plastic slinky, smashed and partially melted; and a whoopee cushion.
The coup de grace was finding a conglomeration of hues-green, red, yellow, and blue-all beautifully melted and settled nicely into the inside handle used to close the passenger-side door. The one item-other than music and money-that actually belongs to me? A strategically placed bottle of aspirin. In case of emergency.
While I’m not particularly surprised by any of my findings, what I am surprised about is my attitude toward them. Five years ago, all I’d have found hiding under my seat would have been a couple empty candy wrappers, a few pennies and a long lost tube of lipstick. I could have cleaned up my spilled cups of coffee much easier than the surprise buckets of car sickness our oldest often throws our way. But oh, the things I would have to give up: questions about the moon and the stars, brothers giggling and singing and carrying on in the back, and little boys begging to be unbuckled because they want to be held by their momma as they fall asleep to the hum of the road and an old Merle Haggard tune.
Yes, becoming a parent changes who we are. And I couldn’t be more grateful.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Just a little Q and A
Brisco, at 8 a.m.: Mom, can I have a popsicle?
Me: Brisco, it’s 8 a.m.
Brisco: Mom, when you loose all your teeth, will you die?
Me: No.
Brisco: Will you get new teeth?
Me: Yes.
Brisco: Will you die when you are, like, a hundred?
Me: Probably.
Cooper, looking at my sleeveless, under arm during worship services, and with huge eyes says: What’s that white stuff?
Me, trying not to let him see me smile: That’s so I don’t sweat and stink.
Brisco, at 9 a.m.: Mom, can I have a popsicle yet?
Me: Are you serious?
Brisco, while watching me make oatmeal: Why does that pan of water make that noise?
Me: Because the water is getting hot.
Brisco: Why is it getting hot?
Me. Because it is going to cook the oats.
Brisco: Why are there tiny bubbles in the water?
Me: The water is getting ready to boil.
Brisco: What is boil?
Me. Big bubbles that will melt your face off.
Brisco: There’s the big bubbles, Mom. Can I pour the stuff in?
Me. Not a chance. But you can help me stir.
Brisco: Aw, just give me a spoon. I’ll eat the oats right outa the box.
Cooper, with a huge grin, the next time we are sitting in worship service: Hey Mom, remember that white stuff?
Brisco, at 9:30 a.m.: Mom, may I please have a popsicle yet?
Me: It’s 9:30 in the morning. When you get up and do something that makes you sweat, you can have a popsicle.
Cooper: Is Joe going to the major leagues?
Me: Are you talking about Daddy’s Joe?
Cooper: Yes. Is he going to the major leagues since he finished high school?
Me: Well, first you usually go to college, unless you’re really, really good, like Jeter.
Cooper: Well, I wanna go to OU. Then I’ll go to the Yankees.
Brisco: Mom, can we get a cat?
Me: Absolutely not.
Brisco: (Indignantly) Fine. But when you die, I’m getting a cat!
Me: You go right ahead.
Brisco: Mom, did you know baby Caleb drinks milk from Aunt Rhetta’s shirt?
Me: Really? Wow.
Brisco: You need to get you one of those shirts!
Me: Here. Have a popsicle.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Me: Brisco, it’s 8 a.m.
Brisco: Mom, when you loose all your teeth, will you die?
Me: No.
Brisco: Will you get new teeth?
Me: Yes.
Brisco: Will you die when you are, like, a hundred?
Me: Probably.
Cooper, looking at my sleeveless, under arm during worship services, and with huge eyes says: What’s that white stuff?
Me, trying not to let him see me smile: That’s so I don’t sweat and stink.
Brisco, at 9 a.m.: Mom, can I have a popsicle yet?
Me: Are you serious?
Brisco, while watching me make oatmeal: Why does that pan of water make that noise?
Me: Because the water is getting hot.
Brisco: Why is it getting hot?
Me. Because it is going to cook the oats.
Brisco: Why are there tiny bubbles in the water?
Me: The water is getting ready to boil.
Brisco: What is boil?
Me. Big bubbles that will melt your face off.
Brisco: There’s the big bubbles, Mom. Can I pour the stuff in?
Me. Not a chance. But you can help me stir.
Brisco: Aw, just give me a spoon. I’ll eat the oats right outa the box.
Cooper, with a huge grin, the next time we are sitting in worship service: Hey Mom, remember that white stuff?
Brisco, at 9:30 a.m.: Mom, may I please have a popsicle yet?
Me: It’s 9:30 in the morning. When you get up and do something that makes you sweat, you can have a popsicle.
Cooper: Is Joe going to the major leagues?
Me: Are you talking about Daddy’s Joe?
Cooper: Yes. Is he going to the major leagues since he finished high school?
Me: Well, first you usually go to college, unless you’re really, really good, like Jeter.
Cooper: Well, I wanna go to OU. Then I’ll go to the Yankees.
Brisco: Mom, can we get a cat?
Me: Absolutely not.
Brisco: (Indignantly) Fine. But when you die, I’m getting a cat!
Me: You go right ahead.
Brisco: Mom, did you know baby Caleb drinks milk from Aunt Rhetta’s shirt?
Me: Really? Wow.
Brisco: You need to get you one of those shirts!
Me: Here. Have a popsicle.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Making memories
On Memorial Day weekend, we enjoyed a trip to Duncan to visit Grandma and Granddaddy Smith. And as luck would have it, all eight of the Smith kids had made the same plans: to enjoy a day or two at home with the family-swimming, cooking out, and spending time together.
With all of Randy’s brothers and sisters visiting, and all but one of the 11 grandkids present, it was a moment that doesn’t happen too often in a large family: having everyone back at home at the same time. It makes for a full house, a constantly-running dish washer, and a crazy bunch of kids. But it also makes great memories.
At seven, Tyler is the oldest of the grandchildren. He’s the most loved and the ring leader of the grandkids. He’s smart and brave and the most acrobatic child I’ve ever met. I just know one of these days Cooper is going to break a bone trying to climb a tree as high as his big cousin Tyler.
Mattie is the second oldest at six. She’s daring and dramatic and isn’t afraid to get dirty. Give this girl a pile of dirt and a water hose and she’ll take a head-to-toe mud bath that will have her skin healthier than any supermodel in six states. Just don’t talk her into trying to pull a loose tooth till it’s ready. Her screams could wake the dead.
Cooper comes next at five and a half. He’s the child who just wants to have fun, like all the other cousins, jumping on the trampoline or running through the yard in his bare feet. Unfortunately, he’s stuck with the mother that drags him off the trampoline every time he gets on, and forces him to wear shoes whenever he goes outside. You wouldn’t believe the size of the pine needles in southern Oklahoma.
Haley was the only cousin missing from our holiday weekend. She just turned five, and she falls in with the three older kids just fine. Don’t let anyone tell her she’s too little to do something, cause she’ll try it anyway, and most likely be the best of the bunch. She’s the closest thing to a twin Cooper will ever have, and we all missed seeing her last weekend.
Next come the killer B’s: Brady and Brisco. They are both four years old, only six weeks apart. They share a closeness that all parents wish for their children to find in a friend. Brady is sweet and shy and a stickler for the rules. Brisco is decidedly his polar opposite; but the two of them love one another as if they were the same. They were a powerful force in the pool this weekend, bombing aunt Becca from every angle.
Joe is number seven; he’ll be four in October. He’s a true adventurer. He has been found on top of stoves and underneath porches; there is nothing this boy is afraid of. He has a smile and a laugh that will knock your socks off. Unfortunately, for him, he knocked the top off of a hornet’s nest this weekend, suffering a bite or two around the neck. Of course that didn’t keep him down long. I could swear those were his little buns I found on my camera card when I got home on Monday night.
Aubrey is three, and the oldest of the trifecta of little girls who come next. She is a princess and a beauty queen, and a new big sister. She swims like a fish and her easy, golden tan is the envy of all of her aunties. Mollie and Jenna are the last girls in the bunch. At two and a half and almost two, these three girls together can clean out a toy box and make an hour of dress up seem like a trip to Macy’s.
Little baby Caleb is the newest of our crew. At seven weeks old, he definitely stole the show, giving all the aunts and grandmas a sweet reminder of how small and snuggly our little monsters used to be.
Whether it was roasting marshmallows, playing in the tent, or finding “poo” in the pool, you can bet the weekend with the cousins created lasting memories for everyone in our family, and brought a lifetime of recollections back to both sets of grandparents who were present.
How time does fly when we’re raising kids. It must have seemed like only yesterday that the grandparents were making biscuits and gravy for their own children, or enjoying a cool, summer evening on the back porch, under a blanket of stars, singing and laughing and enjoying just being together.
Yes, time moves too quickly, but thank goodness for long, holiday weekends and for big families who are able and adept at creating memories that last.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
With all of Randy’s brothers and sisters visiting, and all but one of the 11 grandkids present, it was a moment that doesn’t happen too often in a large family: having everyone back at home at the same time. It makes for a full house, a constantly-running dish washer, and a crazy bunch of kids. But it also makes great memories.
At seven, Tyler is the oldest of the grandchildren. He’s the most loved and the ring leader of the grandkids. He’s smart and brave and the most acrobatic child I’ve ever met. I just know one of these days Cooper is going to break a bone trying to climb a tree as high as his big cousin Tyler.
Mattie is the second oldest at six. She’s daring and dramatic and isn’t afraid to get dirty. Give this girl a pile of dirt and a water hose and she’ll take a head-to-toe mud bath that will have her skin healthier than any supermodel in six states. Just don’t talk her into trying to pull a loose tooth till it’s ready. Her screams could wake the dead.
Cooper comes next at five and a half. He’s the child who just wants to have fun, like all the other cousins, jumping on the trampoline or running through the yard in his bare feet. Unfortunately, he’s stuck with the mother that drags him off the trampoline every time he gets on, and forces him to wear shoes whenever he goes outside. You wouldn’t believe the size of the pine needles in southern Oklahoma.
Haley was the only cousin missing from our holiday weekend. She just turned five, and she falls in with the three older kids just fine. Don’t let anyone tell her she’s too little to do something, cause she’ll try it anyway, and most likely be the best of the bunch. She’s the closest thing to a twin Cooper will ever have, and we all missed seeing her last weekend.
Next come the killer B’s: Brady and Brisco. They are both four years old, only six weeks apart. They share a closeness that all parents wish for their children to find in a friend. Brady is sweet and shy and a stickler for the rules. Brisco is decidedly his polar opposite; but the two of them love one another as if they were the same. They were a powerful force in the pool this weekend, bombing aunt Becca from every angle.
Joe is number seven; he’ll be four in October. He’s a true adventurer. He has been found on top of stoves and underneath porches; there is nothing this boy is afraid of. He has a smile and a laugh that will knock your socks off. Unfortunately, for him, he knocked the top off of a hornet’s nest this weekend, suffering a bite or two around the neck. Of course that didn’t keep him down long. I could swear those were his little buns I found on my camera card when I got home on Monday night.
Aubrey is three, and the oldest of the trifecta of little girls who come next. She is a princess and a beauty queen, and a new big sister. She swims like a fish and her easy, golden tan is the envy of all of her aunties. Mollie and Jenna are the last girls in the bunch. At two and a half and almost two, these three girls together can clean out a toy box and make an hour of dress up seem like a trip to Macy’s.
Little baby Caleb is the newest of our crew. At seven weeks old, he definitely stole the show, giving all the aunts and grandmas a sweet reminder of how small and snuggly our little monsters used to be.
Whether it was roasting marshmallows, playing in the tent, or finding “poo” in the pool, you can bet the weekend with the cousins created lasting memories for everyone in our family, and brought a lifetime of recollections back to both sets of grandparents who were present.
How time does fly when we’re raising kids. It must have seemed like only yesterday that the grandparents were making biscuits and gravy for their own children, or enjoying a cool, summer evening on the back porch, under a blanket of stars, singing and laughing and enjoying just being together.
Yes, time moves too quickly, but thank goodness for long, holiday weekends and for big families who are able and adept at creating memories that last.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Counting down to summer
We’ve been counting down to summer for about a month. Not the official, middle of June, longest-day-of-the-year-summer, but a kid’s summer: stay up late, sleep in, play all day with a backyard full of boys Summer. It begins the day after the last day of school, and this year, although not in school himself, Brisco has been in charge of officially counting it down.
To him, summer means going to the beach, swimming at Grandma’s, late night ballgames, and having his big brother home all day long. Mornings are brighter because no one has gotten up and gone to school, and more days than not, he’ll get a made-to-order breakfast, courtesy of “Daddy-O,” his new nickname for the chief-breakfast-cooker at our house. No wonder he’s been counting it down.
The most exciting part of Cooper’s new-found freedom has been staying up past his 8:30 bedtime and catching the end of his nightly ballgame of choice. Much better than having to wait and see how it ended the following morning on the highlights.
Of course a mom knows it’s summer by the slamming of the screen door, the piles of dirt-caked shoes that accumulate in the entry, and the endless quest for that perfect recipe of homemade ice cream. But perhaps the most tell-tale sign that summer is here are the extra faces that show up in the backyard, with or without a glove, ready for a game of baseball.
Why, just today, less than a full week from the final ringing of those school bells, there were five little boys batting balls and rounding bases in the blowing dust and hot, early morning summertime air. And tomorrow there will be just as many, or more, eating buttery, grilled cheese sandwiches and pretzels dipped in mustard or cleaning out the fruit bowl or sharing a two liter of pop someone grabbed as they walked out the door of their home, on their way to ours.
I smiled, watching them just being boys, as the carefree feeling of being young tickled at my memory. It was just enough to make me look away while they chewed with their mouths full and spilled drinks at the table. It was enough to make me close my ears to talk of bloody bear bites and 100 ways to die and explaining to the youngest of the bunch what it means to “let one rip”.
Yes, there are so many reasons to love summer, and our boys are slowly discovering each and every one. From swimming and slushies to fishing and flip flops there’s a whole world of summertime fun just knocking on our back door. And they’re all bringing friends.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
To him, summer means going to the beach, swimming at Grandma’s, late night ballgames, and having his big brother home all day long. Mornings are brighter because no one has gotten up and gone to school, and more days than not, he’ll get a made-to-order breakfast, courtesy of “Daddy-O,” his new nickname for the chief-breakfast-cooker at our house. No wonder he’s been counting it down.
The most exciting part of Cooper’s new-found freedom has been staying up past his 8:30 bedtime and catching the end of his nightly ballgame of choice. Much better than having to wait and see how it ended the following morning on the highlights.
Of course a mom knows it’s summer by the slamming of the screen door, the piles of dirt-caked shoes that accumulate in the entry, and the endless quest for that perfect recipe of homemade ice cream. But perhaps the most tell-tale sign that summer is here are the extra faces that show up in the backyard, with or without a glove, ready for a game of baseball.
Why, just today, less than a full week from the final ringing of those school bells, there were five little boys batting balls and rounding bases in the blowing dust and hot, early morning summertime air. And tomorrow there will be just as many, or more, eating buttery, grilled cheese sandwiches and pretzels dipped in mustard or cleaning out the fruit bowl or sharing a two liter of pop someone grabbed as they walked out the door of their home, on their way to ours.
I smiled, watching them just being boys, as the carefree feeling of being young tickled at my memory. It was just enough to make me look away while they chewed with their mouths full and spilled drinks at the table. It was enough to make me close my ears to talk of bloody bear bites and 100 ways to die and explaining to the youngest of the bunch what it means to “let one rip”.
Yes, there are so many reasons to love summer, and our boys are slowly discovering each and every one. From swimming and slushies to fishing and flip flops there’s a whole world of summertime fun just knocking on our back door. And they’re all bringing friends.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Lessons on home
I recently enjoyed a long overdue get together with an old high school friend and her family in South Carolina. I’d planned on taking Brisco along, and as I began trying to pick the travel dates, I wondered how we would fit it in, between ballgames and banquets and special editions. As it turned out, we missed a little of all three. But the time we spent with my friend and her family was well worth it. And the joy of having my newly-discovered traveling buddy at my side brought a week’s worth of cherished memories and a few simple lessons on home.
As the countdown for our departure began, Brisco was clearly anticipating his first ride in an airplane. “I’m really excited to ride in an airplane!” he would say in such a grown up manner that it caught me off guard each time he said it. And while his enthusiasm about our means of getting there was apparent, mine was tentative, praying he’d turn into the little angel that always seems to be hiding just beneath his cherub-like face.
As it turned out, I had little reason to worry. My boy was almost as grown up about his experience as his mom, buckling his own seat belt, keeping himself entertained, and carefully following the captain’s orders. Lesson One: Away from home, even the youngest in the family can behave like the oldest.
Right off the bat, Brisco became buddies with my friend‘s children. With two girls and two boys ranging from ages two to thirteen, he had his pick of the best of both worlds. From bubbles and baseball to hop scotch and hula hoops, every day was an adventure. Lesson Two: Five kids in one house means there’s always someone to play with.
Every adventure, however, doesn’t always have a happy ending. Brisco learned this the hard way (which is his nature) when he attempted to teach Beckett, the two year old, how to “arm bat” a 12 inch beach ball inside the house. Lesson Three: There is a reason most kids are not allowed to play ball in the house. Unfortunately for the picture frame, he learned this lesson a split second too late.
Lesson Four: Having sisters means not blowing your nose in the kiddie pool.
As much fun as Brisco was having in “Souff Carolina”, he woke up on the last day bright eyed and said, “Are we going on the airplane today?” It seemed my boy might be ready to go home. And while he was missing his dad, his brother, his house and his back yard, when it came time to tell his new friends goodbye, there wasn’t a dry eye in the bunch. Lesson Five: Saying goodbye is always hard, even when you’re excited about where you’re going.
When we first started planning this trip, I wasn’t sure how Brisco would fare in someone else’s home. He’s a kid, after all, and all boy at that. But in our time away, I discovered that someone else’s home really isn’t that much different from our own. And after four days and nights of friendship and fun, the lessons we learned are ones that will remind us of why we went in the first place.
Relationships are the most powerful forces in the universe. Anyone who doubts that should watch a four year old shed tears over leaving a family he met only days earlier. Lessons on home are lessons on life, and the most important ones, I watched my son learn first hand: that home is really about the people, not the place; that a heart can be pulled both to go and to stay; and that a person can feel at home, even when their own is miles away.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
As the countdown for our departure began, Brisco was clearly anticipating his first ride in an airplane. “I’m really excited to ride in an airplane!” he would say in such a grown up manner that it caught me off guard each time he said it. And while his enthusiasm about our means of getting there was apparent, mine was tentative, praying he’d turn into the little angel that always seems to be hiding just beneath his cherub-like face.
As it turned out, I had little reason to worry. My boy was almost as grown up about his experience as his mom, buckling his own seat belt, keeping himself entertained, and carefully following the captain’s orders. Lesson One: Away from home, even the youngest in the family can behave like the oldest.
Right off the bat, Brisco became buddies with my friend‘s children. With two girls and two boys ranging from ages two to thirteen, he had his pick of the best of both worlds. From bubbles and baseball to hop scotch and hula hoops, every day was an adventure. Lesson Two: Five kids in one house means there’s always someone to play with.
Every adventure, however, doesn’t always have a happy ending. Brisco learned this the hard way (which is his nature) when he attempted to teach Beckett, the two year old, how to “arm bat” a 12 inch beach ball inside the house. Lesson Three: There is a reason most kids are not allowed to play ball in the house. Unfortunately for the picture frame, he learned this lesson a split second too late.
Lesson Four: Having sisters means not blowing your nose in the kiddie pool.
As much fun as Brisco was having in “Souff Carolina”, he woke up on the last day bright eyed and said, “Are we going on the airplane today?” It seemed my boy might be ready to go home. And while he was missing his dad, his brother, his house and his back yard, when it came time to tell his new friends goodbye, there wasn’t a dry eye in the bunch. Lesson Five: Saying goodbye is always hard, even when you’re excited about where you’re going.
When we first started planning this trip, I wasn’t sure how Brisco would fare in someone else’s home. He’s a kid, after all, and all boy at that. But in our time away, I discovered that someone else’s home really isn’t that much different from our own. And after four days and nights of friendship and fun, the lessons we learned are ones that will remind us of why we went in the first place.
Relationships are the most powerful forces in the universe. Anyone who doubts that should watch a four year old shed tears over leaving a family he met only days earlier. Lessons on home are lessons on life, and the most important ones, I watched my son learn first hand: that home is really about the people, not the place; that a heart can be pulled both to go and to stay; and that a person can feel at home, even when their own is miles away.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Have faith
Some of the most meaningful lessons in life can come from the most unexpected experiences. Take a student’s choice of activities while in school. Whether it’s athletics, agriculture or preparing to be a leader of tomorrow, these events and activities teach our kids something that no lecture or textbook ever could. Things like loyalty, teamwork, and faith. Yes, they may consume our time, but if there’s any doubt that it is time well spent, just ask our five year old what a week at the state tournament has taught him.
I knew the days of traveling and late nights might get a little hard for the boys, so as we prepared for four days of competitive action, I tried to take their minds off the miles we had left to drive and focus their thoughts on all things good, keeping karma on our side for one more week.
We talked about the state tournament and exactly what it means, and why it’s any different from any other tournament we play.
“Do we get a trophy?” Cooper asked, already concerned about collecting more hardware.
“If we win three games, the boys will get a trophy,” I said, and he seemed to be dreaming of another gold medal for his collection.
Then he asked, “Who do we play?”
“Sterling” was my reply, and I could almost see the life draining out of his dream. Immediately, he said, “We’re gonna lose.”
Shocked at his response, I said, “What? Are you crazy? Why would you say that?”
“Because they always beat us,” he said in dismay.
It’s true, Sterling had had their way with us several times in the past year or so, and I suppose it had left a bad taste in this little boy’s mouth, but I couldn’t stand his defeatist attitude.
“Come on, Cooper! You gotta have faith!” But I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t hearing that catchy guitar strum from the late ‘80’s pop tune playing in his head like I was. To him, those words meant nothing.
“Have faith, you know. Believe in your team! Believe in your coach! Know that we can do it!”
Still, the kid wasn’t buying it. And it wasn’t until the end of a 14 hour day, and three incredible softball games, that he had his first living example of just what that phrase might mean.
With two outs and two on in the bottom of the seventh inning, against the number one team that few thought could be beaten, I sat on that cool, metal bleacher and whispered in our boy’s ear. “Watch, now. Only one more out.” And about that time, a liner hit strait to the outfield was caught, and the celebration began.
“See that, Coop? See how happy they are? They just beat a team nobody thought they could beat. But they did it. That is why you’ve got to have faith.”
I could tell the experience really got him thinking, but still, it was Sterling and boy, does losing make a lasting impression on this child.
So when we made the drive back to the city two days later, I asked him on the way, “Well, how are you feeling about Daddy’s game?”
“When do we play if we lose?” he asked, giving concession to his still-doubting thoughts.
“We don’t.“ I reminded him. “If we lose, we go home. But remember, you’ve gotta have faith, right?” He looked at me with his brown eyes wide and his brow slightly furrowed. I could see the puzzlement on his face, so I decided to take another route.
“Think about it like this: Do you believe that God is real and that he made us and the world and that he loves us and is always watching over us and keeping us safe?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Even though you can’t see him?” I asked again.
“Yes,” again, without delay.
“Well, that’s faith! You believe in something even though you may not understand why or how. You believe in something even though other people may not. You have faith, even when something seems impossible.”
Not sure I’d done any good at all, and frankly a little afraid I might have just given my kid several reasons to ask a whole realm of questions I’m not really prepared or equipped to answer, I said a little prayer of my own, having faith that my timing was on for this ever important lesson to be brought to life through the efforts of 13 boys, a coach, and a game of baseball.
And sure enough, a half-pound of sunflower seeds, four chewed cuticles, a hoarse voice, and a raw tongue later, at the end of the longest seven-inning game I’ve ever nervously attended, I had the sheer joy of sitting next to our son and whispering in his ear.
“See that?” I said as we watched the celebration. “That is why we play ball all year long--to earn the right to play here, these three days, in the state tournament. To win a game like this, that nobody thought we could win against a team that nobody thought we could beat.”
He looked up at me, smiled, and said, “Hey, Momma. We just beat Sterling.”
“That’s right, Buddy. I never doubted it for a minute.”
“Yep. You just gotta have faith!” he said.
I couldn’t have sung it better myself.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
I knew the days of traveling and late nights might get a little hard for the boys, so as we prepared for four days of competitive action, I tried to take their minds off the miles we had left to drive and focus their thoughts on all things good, keeping karma on our side for one more week.
We talked about the state tournament and exactly what it means, and why it’s any different from any other tournament we play.
“Do we get a trophy?” Cooper asked, already concerned about collecting more hardware.
“If we win three games, the boys will get a trophy,” I said, and he seemed to be dreaming of another gold medal for his collection.
Then he asked, “Who do we play?”
“Sterling” was my reply, and I could almost see the life draining out of his dream. Immediately, he said, “We’re gonna lose.”
Shocked at his response, I said, “What? Are you crazy? Why would you say that?”
“Because they always beat us,” he said in dismay.
It’s true, Sterling had had their way with us several times in the past year or so, and I suppose it had left a bad taste in this little boy’s mouth, but I couldn’t stand his defeatist attitude.
“Come on, Cooper! You gotta have faith!” But I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t hearing that catchy guitar strum from the late ‘80’s pop tune playing in his head like I was. To him, those words meant nothing.
“Have faith, you know. Believe in your team! Believe in your coach! Know that we can do it!”
Still, the kid wasn’t buying it. And it wasn’t until the end of a 14 hour day, and three incredible softball games, that he had his first living example of just what that phrase might mean.
With two outs and two on in the bottom of the seventh inning, against the number one team that few thought could be beaten, I sat on that cool, metal bleacher and whispered in our boy’s ear. “Watch, now. Only one more out.” And about that time, a liner hit strait to the outfield was caught, and the celebration began.
“See that, Coop? See how happy they are? They just beat a team nobody thought they could beat. But they did it. That is why you’ve got to have faith.”
I could tell the experience really got him thinking, but still, it was Sterling and boy, does losing make a lasting impression on this child.
So when we made the drive back to the city two days later, I asked him on the way, “Well, how are you feeling about Daddy’s game?”
“When do we play if we lose?” he asked, giving concession to his still-doubting thoughts.
“We don’t.“ I reminded him. “If we lose, we go home. But remember, you’ve gotta have faith, right?” He looked at me with his brown eyes wide and his brow slightly furrowed. I could see the puzzlement on his face, so I decided to take another route.
“Think about it like this: Do you believe that God is real and that he made us and the world and that he loves us and is always watching over us and keeping us safe?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Even though you can’t see him?” I asked again.
“Yes,” again, without delay.
“Well, that’s faith! You believe in something even though you may not understand why or how. You believe in something even though other people may not. You have faith, even when something seems impossible.”
Not sure I’d done any good at all, and frankly a little afraid I might have just given my kid several reasons to ask a whole realm of questions I’m not really prepared or equipped to answer, I said a little prayer of my own, having faith that my timing was on for this ever important lesson to be brought to life through the efforts of 13 boys, a coach, and a game of baseball.
And sure enough, a half-pound of sunflower seeds, four chewed cuticles, a hoarse voice, and a raw tongue later, at the end of the longest seven-inning game I’ve ever nervously attended, I had the sheer joy of sitting next to our son and whispering in his ear.
“See that?” I said as we watched the celebration. “That is why we play ball all year long--to earn the right to play here, these three days, in the state tournament. To win a game like this, that nobody thought we could win against a team that nobody thought we could beat.”
He looked up at me, smiled, and said, “Hey, Momma. We just beat Sterling.”
“That’s right, Buddy. I never doubted it for a minute.”
“Yep. You just gotta have faith!” he said.
I couldn’t have sung it better myself.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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