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!
Thursday, July 29, 2010
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!
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