"Boys are found everywhere—on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them and Heaven protects them. A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair
and the Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket."
Author: Alan Beck

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Mommy's List...

Dear Santa,

We all know that Christmas is for kids.  However, if you feel compelled to leave a morsel for me, here are a few ideas that would make me grin from ear to ear.

This kitchen scale-

Is Mrs Claus running into the same baking dilemma as I?  Every new recipe calls for the flour to be measured in grams.  Lord knows I'm no genius when it comes to math.  I've tried to convert grams into cups....may all those failed attempts RIP. 

These boots-
Which you know, Santa, that I have been drooling over for years.  At LEAST 3 long years.  Maybe this will be the year you bring them to me?  Color? Cranberry.  Size?  8. 

This wine-

No explanation needed.

This gift card-
So that I can repaint my walls.  8 years of fingerprints, flying toys, sharpie tagging, and the occasional UCO (unidentified crusty object),  have taken their toll.  Its time for a fresh new look.

This man-

To give my walls a fresh new look.

Any or all of the above would be much appreciated, Santa.  After all, I've been very, VERY good.


Thursday, December 8, 2011

A note to hubby....

To My Darling Husband,

You've been gone all week on business.  Before you walk in the door tonight, you may want to read up on the business that has been happening here at the homestead.

I may or may not have ruined all of our hard work and allowed the boys (all 5) to sleep in our room while you've been gone.

I may or may not have invited one of the dogs, too.

This new sleeping arrangement may or may not take quite a while to reverse.

Our car may or may not be acting funny.

This may or may not have something to do with the fact that I pulled it into the garage too far and crashed into our beer fridge.

This may or may not have happened more than once.

I may or may not have had any sleep over the past 4 days.

This may or may not have anything to do with the fact that I was awaiting the arrival of the boogie man.

I may or may not have texted the police officers who live next door, to tell them to protect me from the impending arrival of the aforementioned boogie man.

The children may or may not have consumed cereal for all meals (including dinner) for the last 4 days.

We may or may not be running very low on cereal.

I may or may not have added another pet to the house.

You may or may not leave me.

I may or may not have had time to shave my legs while you've been gone.

You may or may not understand.

I may or may not have planned on cooking a fancy dinner for your return.

I may or may not have forgotten three or four key ingredients.

We may or may not be having cereal for dinner tonight.

I may or may not have kept up with laundry, vacuuming, dusting, homework, brushing teeth, etc.

You may or may not recognize the place when you walk in.

As I sit here, I may or may not be counting down the seconds until you arrive.

That total may or may not be 14,400.

Please hurry.  Love,

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Have You Ever?

Have you ever been in one of those (seldom) cleaning moods where you get down and dirty with the dirt?  You know the mood I'm talking about.  The OCD type of cleaning mood where the tiniest crumb hiding in the corner of the pantry doesn't stand a chance.

Yeah....doesn't happen to me very often, either.

Two weeks ago, I found myself in the midst of a random cleaning marathon.  As I scrubbed crusted yogurt (and another substance strikingly similar to grits) from one of the legs of our kitchen table, I quickly found myself lying flat on my back. 

When I clean, I take no prisoners. 

Sponge in hand, I followed the trail of splattered yogurt, which led me further and further under the table, until I rested completely underneath.  Just as you would lie in a tall, grassy meadow and stare at the clouds passing by, I stared at the underside of our table.

The scrubbing came to an abrupt stop.  I found a treasure.
A mural.  (No doubt, created with Sharpies.)  As I studied the drawings, I located the artists signature and invited him to join me.  There we lay, under the table, while he pointed out the mountains, a rainbow, and several more mysteries hidden within his masterpiece.
Pointing to the center of the table, he said, "That's where I wrote my name for the first time."

Given the fact that our home is plentiful with paper, and many other resources for developing artists, I asked why he chose this location.  Why the underside of the kitchen table?

"Because the top is plain, and brown." he said.  "I wanted part of our table to be beautiful, and I wanted it to never erase, so that everyone who comes to our home can see it."

To my husband, who often questions my need to save every drawing, creation, craft, special article of clothing, first pair of shoes, and anything else nostalgically related to our boys, I say this-

Add the kitchen table to the list of things I shall never part with.

And to my brother, I say this-

See? I knew the day would come where one of my children would use a Sharpie for an acceptable purpose.