True Stories

The newest thing around our house is “True Stories”. It’s not the latest cartoon or supposedly family-friendly reality show. It’s more like “Real Stories of the Highway Patrol”. Except without guns. And fast cars. And cops and criminals. It’s whatever little blip of the history of our family the storyteller can conjure up from the depths of his or her memory.

“Tell me a true story.” That is what the little guys will ask for, usually when it is half-past lights out on a school or a church night, when they are fighting the darkness of the bedroom and the stillness that comes with trying to fall asleep.

They like stories about everyone. Grandmother tells of when she and Uncle Max used to play in the mud by the little bridge at Grandmother and Granddaddy Jones' house. And when Uncle Kim got hit in the head with a bat. She tells of Aunt Keri falling off her bike into the cactus plant in Dumas, while her little sister ran all the way home, crying for help.

They like to hear about the big pine tree falling in Grandmother’s backyard during an ice storm because it was so heavy, and the loud, crashing sound that it made. They like stories of broken arms and broken elbows and of choking on free, Pizza Hut, peppermint candy.

And they always want to hear stories about their dad. “Tell us a story about Daddy,” they will ask. But nobody ever seems to have one…until recently.

We’ve been working with Brisco on the transition from “orange, squishy-ball” to “semi-soft, rubber T-ball”. He’s been fighting us all the way, still a little afraid of the white ball and the damage it might do should he miss it during its flight. “You can do it, Brisco! Besides, you can’t play ball with Cooper this summer if you don’t learn to use it.”

So within the last two weeks, he has decided that yes, he can do it. Not every day. Not every time, but he’s trying. And for a just-four-year-old, he was doing pretty great…until he created a true story of his own to tell.

As he and his brother stood on the outskirts of the softball field, no doubt in the way while the girls were trying to start practice, they were receiving a little practice of their own: fly balls from someone’s big brother and their own summer league coach. Just as they were about to be ousted from the practice area, and on the “Gimme just one more” pop fly, Brisco took one to the nose.

With screams of combined shock, agony, and the sight of his own blood, Brisco dropped his glove, and that not-so-soft T-ball and started running toward Coach Grant, until he realized Coach Grant wasn’t the person he was looking for.

I scooped him up like momma’s do, and after the blood and tears of the moment, he decided he was ready to go home, but not before going onto the baseball field to tell Daddy the story of his newest battle wound.

With a look and a sigh, and an apparent jog of his memory, Dad had an on-the-spot fix for our little feller. “One year, my birthday was on a Sunday. I got a new, white church shirt and a ball glove. Granddaddy and I went out to play catch before church, and I got hit in the nose with the ball. I had blood all over me and my new, white shirt.”

With that one true story, the boy perked up, gave a little Brisco grin, and decided he wasn’t ready to go home after all. “I wanna play some more catch, Mom.”

And so, like an old pro, he got back on that horse and rode. Not without a flinch or little bit of fear, but still, he rode. With the true story of his daddy---just the one he’d been looking for---tucked right into his hip pocket.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

You gotta love Maxine

As a general rule, I like to look at the bright side of life. I try to take every thought captive, thinking positive and encouraging my kids to do the same. But let’s face it; I’m only human. And every once in a while, a mom has one of those days where nothing seems to go her way. From daylight till dark, one kid or the other is barking or bawling or begging for a beating. Whether they’re fighting or fussing or being just plain mean, some days, that glass-is-half-full philosophy can get a little hard to swallow.

It is on those days that I love to read Maxine. She’s the tell it like it is, seasoned old gal who can put into words whatever cut-throat, sarcastic, borderline-shameful thought everyday women like us would never think to utter…at least not loud enough to be overheard. She makes the truth seem funny and reminds us, in her own special way, to take life in stride. And while she has opinions on everything from men to aging to being just plain stupid, I’ve discovered that most of her witty espousals are pretty applicable to being a parent.

You gotta love Maxine. And here’s just few reasons why.

“There is no vaccine against stupidity.”

“When gas prices reach $5 a gallon, it should include a free box of wet wipes.”

“I’m ready to listen. Are you ready to think?”

“Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable…like a coma.”

“Never go to bed angry. Stay up and plot your revenge.”

“Well aren’t you just the most adorable black hole of need.”

“Shhh…that’s the sound of nobody caring what you think.”

“I don’t know what your problem is…but I bet it’s hard to pronounce.”

“Don’t make me use UPPERCASE!”

“If you have something to say, raise your hand and place it over your mouth.”

“I’d like to help you out. Which way did you come in?”

“Everyone seems normal, until you get to know their children.”

“If you woke up breathing, congratulations! You have another chance.”

“My social life isn’t dead, but the buzzards are circling.”

“How do you prevent sagging? Just eat till the wrinkles fill out.”

Thanks, Maxine. I feel better already.
And that’s All in a day’s work!

Questions kids ask

Years ago, I vaguely remember a show called, “Kids say the Darndest Things”, hosted by Bill Cosby, I believe. I remember thinking how quick and witty those little kids were, without even trying. It almost seemed too funny to be real…until we had a couple of quick, witty kids of our own. Lately, though, instead of answering those questions about life, our boys have been the ones doing the asking. Sometimes scientific, sometimes philosophical, and sometimes in a category all their own, the questions these kids ask can really keep a mom on her toes.

Brisco: Who is stronger, Superman or Spiderman?
Me: Hmm. What a question. Let me see. Superman can fly, but Spiderman has sticky webs that he shoots out of his wrists. I’d say it’s a tie.

Brisco: (With a little nervousness in his voice.) Mom, do you only have to go to “Scare School” if you’re something like a ghost?”
Me: Oh baby, that’s just for Casper.

Brisco: Is John like the king or something?
Me: No, honey. He’s the preacher.

Brisco: Do me and Cooper have wifes?
Me: Not yet, but you will someday when you get big.
Brisco: How many will we have?
Me: Just one a piece. That’ll be enough.

(While looking at online pictures of 40 inches of snow)
Me: See how much snow they got in Maryland?
Brisco: Where’s Maryland?
Me: It’s another state, like Oklahoma is a state. See the igloo they built?
Brisco: What’s an igloo?
Me: It’s where the Eskimos live.
Brisco: What’s an Eskimo?
Me: They are like Indians. They live in Alaska.
Brisco: Then what are they doing in Maryland?

Cooper: How many RBI’s can you get in a game?
Cooper: Why didn’t he steal second base?
Cooper: Are the Yankees on TV today?

How long till Christmas?
How long till summer?
How long till my birthday?
How many is several?

Brisco: (While watching the real Pink Panther): “Why can’t that man say ‘phone’?”

Brisco: Am I ever gonna have a baby in my belly?
Me: Nope.
Brisco: Why?
Me: Cause God gave that job to women. Men weren’t made to have babies in their bellies.
Brisco: What about when I get big?
Me: Nope. Never gonna happen.
Brisco: (Lets out a sigh, with a sad, pouting face.)
Me: Don’t be sad, Bubba. This is good news for you.

Brisco: Will Uncle Max ever come back to the earth?
Me: No, baby, he won’t.
Brisco: Can he see us right now?
Me: I think that maybe he can.

And the question that both begins and ends every road trip ever taken with children under age 13: “Are we there yet?”

And that’s All in a day’s work!

You can tell a lot about a man by what is hanging on his refrigerator. Pictures of his family, his boy he loved so dear. Reels of film shot of the moments that were an infancy, a childhood, a lifetime. Newspaper clippings of accomplishments, blown up and highlighted to show his pride in feats that are now meandering about in the past.

Snapshots taken, after hours behind the wheel with little boys who look up to and love big trucks and those who drive them. Still a smile he musters for posterity, with that twinkle in his eyes, that slightly graying moustache that used to intrigue the little ones so, when they were new to this life, this family.

Photos of the harrier members--the four-legged ones whom he loved with all his heart no matter how large or lazy or dripping with slobber, some even down-right insane. There was always a special place for those pups in his life, a special connection between man and beast.

Letters of gratitude, yellowed and crinkled around the edges, possessed enough meaning to be held dear and given a hallowed spot just where the eyes meet the paint of that old, beat up Frigidaire. Notes of thanks for a job well done give life to the easily spoken words of appreciation and gratitude.

Recipes. Yes, recipes, clinging to life underneath an old magnetic pack of Camels. Mrs. Gov. Henry Bellmon’s super-easy and delicious pe-can pie, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the orange, Jello, upside-down cake that seemed to disappear from the store once he finally mastered its baking. Long Tuesday nights of cutting and pasting made sweeter and so much easier to swallow by the concoctions he’d crafted from these carefully clipped creations.

You can tell a lot about a man by what is hanging on his refrigerator. But it doesn’t tell you everything. Some things you learn by watching him with your boys. Teaching them to make paper airplanes, or play cards or tell jokes. Always having a peppermint in one pocket and a quarter in the other. And making sure they never forget two of the greatest Yankees of all time.

I’ll miss the smiles he so easily wore when he watched the boys play ball. The way it was so effortless for him to say, “I love ya” and mean it more than those three little words could convey. The way I could always pick up the phone and tell him to turn it to channel so and so, cause Jeter’s up and the bases are loaded.

You can tell a lot about a man by what is hanging on his refrigerator. You can tell even more from what he holds dear to his heart.

I love ya, Uncle Max.

And that's All in a day's work.

Things a mother should teach her sons

When it comes to raising boys, there are some things that are just considered “man stuff“. You know, the kind of things boys learn from their dads: working on cars, saying prayers at mealtime, learning how to fry the perfect egg. Some things are just easier-and better-taught to a boy by his father.

And then, there’s everything else.

It may seem that a father would hold the upper hand when it comes to teaching his boys facts, activities, thoughts on life. After all, he’s been there himself. However, a mom has a particular advantage: the capacity to teach her sons-from a woman’s perspective-the things that are really important in life.

So for all the amazing things that a father can do and be for his boys, I’ve decided there are at least a few things a mother should teach her sons just to help make his life a little easier, in the long run.

First, the basics. I like to look at it like it’s a sport: Shoot the ball in the hoop; throw the dart at the target; pitch the ball into the zone. Pick your analogy, but whatever you do, pee in the pot.

If it takes more than five paper plates to support your meal or snack, it’s a pretty good indication that you should have used a real one.

We’ve all heard it before, and it’s as true today as when our mothers said it: “A place for everything and everything in its place.” That includes clothes of all kind: clean clothes, dirty clothes, clothes used for bases, clothes used to wipe up spills, clothes worn for less than 10 minutes and clothes you thought might be fun to try on your dog.

Other items included in this old adage: shoes. Muddy shoes may be left by the back door so as not to track up the house, but after a 24-hour period, you may consider the mud on those shoes to be what we call “dried”. They can then be banged together and put in their proper location, which is of course a little place we like to call The Closet. This is not to be confused with the middle of the hallway where a person could trip and break an ankle at 2 a.m. when she’s up getting you “a dwink of water”.

Additional note: when banging together shoes covered in dried mud, always make sure you are outside the house.

Remote controls work best when they can be located by the user. Refer to old adage.

Learn to be a morning person. It really can have a positive effect on the rest of your day.

Waking up to a pot full of coffee can go a long way to making the other half of your household smile early in the morning.

The only sounds that are permitted at the dinner table should come from the words that you speak. Since we live in America, any compliments you may choose to shower upon the chef should be in the form of the English language. No other noises are permitted.

And finally, fingernails and toenails should be clipped outdoors. There are no exceptions.

These, of course, are not the only rules for life a mother should be concerned about teaching to her boys, but you have to admit…it’s a pretty good start.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

Facebook funnies

Seems kids all over are giving their parents a laugh. From New York to Philly to South Carolina and back home again, there’s not a parent in the world who can’t relate to the embarrassing, disgusting, hilarious or simply inspiring things our children say and do every day. And now, thanks to technology and the 21st century, we can share it all, with only the click of a button.

Following are just a few of the true-to-life, real-time, Facebook funnies my friends all over the globe have shared with me.

Sigh...don't you just love it when your child runs from you, hollering, down the middle of the isle, to the front of the auditorium, during worship! All the while, you're helplessly chasing him with a baby on your hip when he starts loudly repeating what the preacher is saying. HELP! I have a preacher's kid!

Levi: Mom, why can't 11 year olds go to Pirate movies?
Me: What do you mean? What movies?
Levi: You know, just Pirate movies...why can't 11 year olds go?
Me: I have no idea what you're talking about, Levi.
Levi: (with a big toothless grin) Because they are rated ARRRGGHHHH!

Good grief. Just walked in on Jonathan standing at the toilet, tinkler in one hand, toothbrush in the other.

Dylan, my 4 year old says, "Dad where are you going?"
I say, "To the gym to exercise."
Dylan: "Why do you need to exercise, dad?"
Me: "To stay in shape, son."
Dylan: "What shape are you getting into dad, a rectangle?"

As we were driving home from the gym this morning, Beckett told me we were "chasing the sunshine". I don't think I'll ever look at driving in the sunlight the same again.

Seriously, I have just been replaced: "Mommy, you are almost as pretty as Katie." This would be the same Katie he wanted to buy a special green M&M Valentine gift for.
Wow. He's 4 and a half.

Jackson decided to learn some math this morning...by counting how many Kleenex were in the box. Now Zachary and I are cleaning up the mess...

The kids are "skiing" from one end of the house to the other. Who wants to watch the Olympics when you can be in the Olympics?

It's a beautiful sight when your 2nd grader is curled up in a chair, totally engrossed in a book.
I'm taking the highest bid for a 12 year old boy. Any takers?

So, this week from my twins I learned that hand sanitizer does not take the place of shampoo and if you paint your face with whiteout, you really have to wait at least three days before it even begins to start wearing off. Thanks, Cohen, for that little bit of education.

Beckett has just realized that "Ban-babes" are for "boo-boos".

Sometimes when moms get tired and hungry, they aren't very nice. Such moms should really remember this when their children get tired and hungry.

Nate told me today he wants me to go to college with him. I think I will check back in 14 years. I suspect he will have changed his mind.

Me and this kid were the only ones inside the Subway when I went there this morning to get cookies for breakfast. He came and stood by me and said, "You can order first—My mama says to always let ladies go first—It's my birthday—I turned 11 today—That's why I'm late for school."
Me: You've got a good mama and Happy Birthday—are you ordering anything?
Him: Nah, I'm just waiting for my bus.

Mollie is obsessed with Barney........... paybacks for years of making fun of him.

Really? Potty training my third child and I leave the house without diapers or wipes. Sorry to all the parents in the Grove Valley Elementary parking lot.

I feel like such a failure as a parent- I just realized my 7 year old doesn't know how to change a light bulb.

I ran out to start the truck this morning. I saw Biggie standing in the yard while it was pouring rain and I yelled, "Biggie (no boots on), what are doing? Get in the house baby!" He yelled, "Mom I'm tasting God’s rain in my mouth and face!"
I smiled and just let him stand there so God could enjoy him for a moment.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

All about the gold

I’ve never been a huge fan of the Winter Olympics. There’s an event or two that I might find myself watching every five years, but for the most part, I’m more of a spectator in the summer. But for the last two weeks, our boys at least, have been all about the gold.

In the beginning, I didn’t even realize they had been watching, but I guess hanging with dad was enough to get them started. Week one found them totally engrossed in the downhill skiing. I had to admit that it was pretty unbelievable how fast those athletes flew down the mountain (even if I did have trouble converting the kilometers to miles per hour).

But watching the downhill events couldn’t compare in the minds of our boys to setting their eyes on those speed skaters. Speed. They love speed. And speed plus lots of crazy flips-and quite a few crashes-made the snowboarding events seem pretty cool too. Of course regardless of the event, the question that kept coming from both boys was simple: “Did he win a gold?”

I was amused that two tough guys like ours could be so consumed with the gnarly extremes of the half pipe and the amazing flips and twists and turns of the aerial skiers, but also find themselves totally locked-in when the ice skaters, in their feathers and sequins started jumping and floating around the rink. There is little that compares to watching two rough and tumble little boys make their mark on the ice skating world from the middle of their living room carpet. Cooper’s pretty graceful, even if his routines are done in Yankee pinstripes.

Our next big event was curling. With the rules of this sport, I was no help at all, but it didn’t seem to matter to Coop. He decided he was going to create his own “curling rink” on which he and Brisco would compete for the gold. I was anxious to see just how he planned on doing this in a living room full of carpet.

After he got started, I could see he was wasn’t thinking so much about his playing surface as he was about his equipment when I saw him grab a massively oversized, 16-inch softball we happened to have lying around and a broom from behind the washer.

I think he would have made a grand attempt at pushing that “rock” down the “ice” if he had been able to find a second broom for Brisco. But out of frustration-and the fact that I caught him trying to use the wet broom from the backyard-he decided on a change of venue. Maybe we can get a gold playing hockey?

His creative juices really got going, and before I had a chance to look up, he had the couches moved against the walls in the den, two laundry baskets tipped on their sides at opposite ends of the room, and two Star Wars lightsabers drawn and ready to knock that puck-which looked strangely similar to a Nerf basketball-into the goal. And of course Brisco was following right along beside him chanting, “USA! USA!” It seems these boys have been bitten.

I had no idea when the Olympics started two weeks ago it would have such an impact on our children. And still, after watching it with them over the course of 14 days and 86 different events, I might not have truly understood its influence if I hadn’t found the proof: Pictures. Lots of pictures-of two sweaty kids holding an old summer league trophy with a couple of gold medals hanging around their necks.



Maybe for some, the Olympics is about dreams and goals and countries and accomplishments; about the thrill of seeing someone’s life-work culminate into a once in a lifetime performance; about individuals and teams coming together to compete for self and honor and national pride. Maybe this is true, for some. But at our house? It’s quite simply, all about the gold.

And that’s All in a day’s work!