Follow by Email

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Lovin' You Is Fun

My husband and I have a great time together.

I think that statement is a super understatement, by the way.

THIS song, I just love it.  It's a guy singing but every time it comes on, if I am near Jake, I have to lean in for a kiss.




Then Sunday came along.

Now, my honey likes me tease me but for whatever reason, Sunday's are usually my least favorite day of the week.  This Sunday he was sorta on my last nerve with his teasing - I can get emotional like that every once in awhile.  And on this Sunday I was running around trying to get dinner together, get the kids to look like at least they TRIED to attempt to get dressed and the one thing I do like about Sunday's - dressing up.  Because I just like to dress up.

Anyhow.

I was in the shower - finally (six of us and one bathroom is really showing it's huge problems lately) - and Jake was in the bathroom getting ready to go and he sprays this awful deodorant.

I don't get my guys and deodorant.  I mean, I know they need it but do we have to have spray deodorant with too strong scents that cause me to gag and choke and cough?  What happened to good stick deodorant and some great smelling cologne (for my husband, not for my boys...I don't think they need cologne yet.  Like, not till they are thirty two.)

I start coughing in the shower because I can't escape the smell, and my husband says, "What?  I think it smells good."

And thankfully I was in the shower so he didn't see my eye roll at that statement.  But he had been pushing all my buttons all morning and I was just...done.

But what he did next, it's forever inexcusable.....

He sprayed the deodorant OVER THE TOP OF THE SHOWER.  I am in the shower, unable to escape.  I am coughing and gagging and literally screaming, "What are you thinking?"

"I think if you really smell it you'll like it."

I hated the smell of it before.  Whatever the level is that is more than hate, that is where I am with that deodorant now.

And my Sunday?  Well, it required it therapy.  Therapy in the form of texting Morgan who then brought me a Starbucks to church.  I needed it.

And my husband, bless him, let me take a nap.  I needed it after all that.


Friday, September 21, 2012

Football - First Game Ever, First WIN Ever

On September 12th, S1 had his first football game.

Ever.


I never expected him to enjoy football.  I never really expected him to play football.  He has had a lot of guys tell him he should play but I thought he would stay hunting. But he signed up, was glad he survived practice and then low and behold, he ended up liking football.

The day of his first game, it was hard to figure out who was the most nervous.

S1 didn't seem nervous at all.  S2 was so nervous for his older brother I thought he may be sick.  I was so excited and so scared...S2 I tell to run as fast as he can so he can't get caught with the ball.  S1 I have to say, "Hit the kid hard enough that he stays down...but don't hurt him...and don't let him tackle you."

That just seems wrong somehow.

They marched onto the field and I have to say, I may have had a bit of a tear in my eye.  I snuck a photo as their cleats clicked along the pavement.

We have, seriously, one of the VERY best sports announcers for our little school.  He cares about the kids out on the field, he has great school pride, he is naturally hilarious and he can sell food like no one I have heard before.  He can sell cheese dipped in cheese, seriously.  He let our boys climb up in the press box to watch the game.


The day was hot.  Hot hot hot.  And S1 played hard with his team, getting over the nerves and putting into practice the plays they have worked so hard on.  It was all a learning experience.  At the end of the game, the other team pulled out a touchdown in the bottom of the fourth and my son's team lost by eight.  He still smiled.


We took a zillion photos.  Okay, I took a zillion photos.  We had made it through the first game! We had survived!

S1 had had his own cheering section.  The boys in the press box, us, my parents, my grandparents, my aunt and since it was a home game, a lot of friends from school came out to cheer their friends on.

It was a good game.


He told me later it was hard to hit a kid he didn't know.  It's fun in practice, it's just "horsing around".  But on the field, it's business.  That was a tough switch for him.

Wednesday, September 19 I loaded the suburban up with cookies, brownies, water, caffeine, an extra kiddo and two extra mom's and we headed to a school in a town I had never been to. Our first away game.

We did not get lost on the way but we nearly had to be like the Dukes and jump a hole in the road that blast it all I didn't think to take a photo of until we had turned around.

We sent our boys to school in their white jersey's, we arrived to the school it find them in old school maroon jersey's.  The school we were playing against only had white jersey's so someone had dug in the dark corners of the school and found some ancient old jersey's.  The parents in the stands were straining to get a glimpse of a face, watch the way the boy walked to find their player.  Some jersey's only fit the boys half way down their torso's.  Some seemed a bit snug, or big or small.  But they were our boys and we cheered like the dickens for them.

I sent texts during the game to Jake who couldn't be there.

"We just scored!!!!!!! :) 6 to 0.  That extra point didn't go in."

"Ugh. The other team just ran it in."

"Extra point no good so it's tied 6 to 6."

"Someone just ran it in! Touchdown Martin!!!!"

"Extra point is good!!!!!!"

"On our last quarter.  We are ahead 14 to 6."

We won.

Those boys whooped and hollered and cheered and jumped up and down.

Us parents gathered the blankets, coats, popcorn and drinks and made the trek back to the vehicles, shivering a little because we were so cold that night.  Thrilled with our boys! Staying away from the parents who had the son's who had lost the game.

But no one got hurt.  That was the call I made to my husband.  "They WON! And no one got hurt!"

Such a mom.


We hung out at the bus as the kids climbed on.  Korene and I were all set to take our boys home with us, planning on getting some McDonald's for dinner.

The coach told us no.  "They need to enjoy this moment as a team," he said.

This mama knew the coach was right.  But as I watched my boy climb the bus, cheering and celebrating with his team, I realized again just how grown up he is becoming.

How as a mom I need to adjust to that.

And how much I am not ready for that.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

What To Do If A Gallon Of Paint Falls All Over Your Kitchen Floor

There are so very many titles for this post.

Here is what happened....

Yesterday I began getting all my fall decorations out and somehow managed to make the house messier than it was before I began.  And people, it was messy.  Like, I can't believe we are living like this messy.

I blame football six days a week.

Anyhow.

Hubs had given me "the look".  So this morning I made some super strong caramel coffee, ate an apple donut and got to work. 

I kicked butt.

I cleaned parts of this house that forgot what clean felt like (behind the toilet, for instance).  I scrubbed every pot and pan.  I folded five million loads of laundry (but not any socks).

I still had a ways to go, but I could see the end in sight.  Jake was gone on an overnight haul trip and I was certain when I went to bed the house was going to look transformed - and very fallish (my favorite kind of decorating.  Seriously. Who can't love fall decorations?).

I had calculated the time that the boys would only have 15 minutes after getting off the bus for us to leave again for practice so I decided to go pick them up.  Being busy cleaning, I had not made any after school snacks, but figured I would quick mix up a batch of no bake cookies when we got home.  I grabbed my cookbook for the recipe to be out when I returned, walked into the dining room and suddenly heard a very loud

Crash

I knew.  I knew before turning around what it was.

Long ago, before summer even began, I finally had decided on a paint color for the kitchen.  We had gone and bought said paint color.  I had asked a bunch of times if we could paint because according to my husband I am by far one of the worlds worst painters and he needs to help me.

I know for a fact, after today, I am WAY better than some others who shall remain nameless.



Timing never seemed right, so I just kept the paint on top of the dishwasher but I recently had moved it because it made a great book stop for stack of cookbooks.

Well, it had made a great book stop.  No longer.

Paint oozed out.  There is no way to scoop up paint, in case you ever wondered about that.

Once it begins pouring, you just begin crying.

It was like THE time for me to leave for getting the boys.  As I drove to the school, I realized that I was in the currently living in what would probably prove to be a great blog post.  I quick zipped to school and picked up my very surprised boys who thought they were riding the bus home.

"How was your day?" asked S1.

"Well, here's the thing...." I began.

"What.  Happened.  Now."
S1 knows me ever so well.

"Well," I began, "There was a slight accident.  But no one was hurt!  Um, thereisagallonofpaintalloverthekitchenfloor," I rushed out.

S3 and S4 suddenly had sonar ears.  "We get to paint? Yippee!" and they ran for the suburban.



"My thought is," I explained to S1 as I watched them gleefully run, "to just start painting the kitchen.  There is no way to get the paint back in the can so let's just paint it.  But I don't know where paint brushes and stuff is."

When we arrived home, all the boys trooped into the kitchen.  "Wow.  That is a mess," was the general statement of the moment.

What struck me greatly is that while this was definitely a big mess, no one seemed shocked by it.  Not even slightly fazed.  It's almost as if they are used to such things happening....

Maybe I should be worried.

No time to think on that now.

I set S3 and S4 in a spot in the kitchen I was sure that no eyes would ever see but me when I dared to move the furniture.  I had the boys just scoop paint onto paper plates and paint as fast as we could before it got sticky and before we had to leave for football practice.

(You apparently paint better if you just wear your grundies.)

Because I had not gotten to mopping the floors yet (that is an after bedtime thing to do here), the paint has a certain "texture" to it.  We have a sort of grass effect going on.  But we could call it "organic" and it may catch on.


I did not think that the little boys could possibly ruin a back hidden wall.  

I was wrong.

And the door was right next to the wall and the door was already covered with paint and since all the paint happened to be right in front of the door....

People, my boys had a great time. They laughed and stood tall knowing they were helping their mama, but that door is forever going to look like an eight and six year old painted it.  And a few other parts of the kitchen one wouldn't normally paint in a room are glowing in red.

It looks like we really like the color red.


All the boys agreed on one thing...it was a good thing Daddy was overnight.

We weren't even close to being done when it was time to leave for football.  S2 cried all the way to practice, he is so tired.  S3 and S4 fought over who could pretend to sing to the radio and who had to wait for another song to come one.  I did the never done before and left the two football players behind and drove home to continue painting.  When we arrived home, I sent the two little ones to watch TV.

The kitchen floor was covered in paint now.  Everyone had stepped in it and walked all over.  Paint brushes dripping in paint had left long lines of paint across the room.

My husband called.

Now, he can call me and talk for twenty minutes straight about someone he met or some place he stopped or road conditions or weather.  I was really hoping he wouldn't say, "And what have you been up to today?"

But he did.

So I told him.

I held nothing back.  Might as well prepare him.

He was not even shocked.

Are you catching a pattern here?

Even my friends I had text the photo too were unsurprised.  Some even giggled.  Giggled hysterically I would suppose.  Just they wait until paint falls on their kitchen floors.

Wait, I am the only one I know of who has ever had that happen.


The kitchen I had worked so hard to clean was suddenly this hazard mess everywhere.  I only had one burner on the stove I could get to so dinner had to be "creative".  I made up a couple packets of instant noodles, added some left over roast and headed out to pick up the boys.

When we went to get into the suburban to leave, somehow S4 forgot that his door was open, as in wide open, went to lean against it to buckle up and fell out of the suburban onto the hard pavement.

He was still gripping his booster seat.

He let out the most blood curdling scream.  A dad came to see what exactly was going on.  S4 was wailing and it was hard to tell if he was crying because he was scared, hurt, super hurt or overtired.

He asked if he could go to the hospital.

I may have gone to that "mom zone" in my head as I drove home to S4 wailing he may never be able to sleep again and that his wrist was broken so he could never to go school again while S2 cried that his Lions hat he had forgotten at practice the night before was missing and looked to never be returned again.

When we got home S4 ran for the TV, ate two or three plate-fulls of what all the boys deemed one of the best dinners I had ever made (hmmmm, that isn't helping me much.  Here I cook all these big from scratch dinners and they like the noodles from a package with left over roast beef.) and seemed to be just fine.  Well, until shower time when the wailing began all over again.

I think the second week of school is tougher than the first.


I sent the boys to bed.  S3 and S4 said they had to sleep with me so I wouldn't get lonely.  They have taken over the entire bed with all their stuffed animals.  S4 who was so sure he would never sleep again due to his booster seat accident seems just fine.

I scrubbed the floor on my hands and knees.  In my head, I rearranged some furniture pieces that I am now too exhausted to move.  I will spare you the gory details of scrubbing but believe me when I say my fingers ache.  It is pure love to share the story with you (so you can all be thankful this did not happen to you).  But just as I was finishing, S1 came down and stood in awe of the kitchen.

"We did pretty good," he said, "We should have painted this a long time ago."

I have to admit, we did do a pretty good job.  I love the color and I had forgotten how pretty it is.

So, if you need a room cleaned, spill a gallon of paint on your floor and let your kids go wild with the paintbrushes.  It will get done in no time.

OR....paint it as soon as you buy the paint and spare yourself (and your knees and fingers) some serious grief.

All in all, even though I am glad this day has ended and I get to finally go to bed, it honestly is going to be one of those days that we remember forever.  I think we all will grin when we tell the story of how the kitchen got painted. 

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

First Day of School Versus the Second Day of School

The first day of school dawned dark and rainy.  The perfect day for sleeping in.  But we were up early.  Like, 5:30 am early.

Thank you God for coffee.

The excitement of the day was high and we were ready in record time for plenty of photos.


No arguing, a little nerves, a lot of excitement.

We had enough time to get a photo of me with each of the boys.

We won't mention about how S1 is most definitely taller than me.  Or that that may have been the reason that I wore wedges to the first day of school.

And this collection of photos is my new favorite.

We ran through the rain, passing some birthday boys who arrived to school in a LIMO - pretty big stuff - and walked through the door where the amazingly sweet Mrs. Wynsma took a quick photo of us.  She is amazing, she had kids to hug and notes to take and she still took our wet bedraggled photo.


S1 allowed us all to go down to the Junior High section of school so his brothers could see his locker.  The hallway on the way there was filled with kids...bigger kids than my kids.  And I had to pretend to not be sad to send my oldest among them.  

It was sort of frightening.  All these kids I don't know after knowing so many of them for so long.

And that is me feeling that.  How about my son?

But he hugged his brothers - briskly - and we left him to his first ever morning in Junior High facing his locker that had a combination.

I'll love him forever for letting us tag along.  I'd love him forever anyway but, you know what I mean.

Every boy went off to their class.  The halls were packed.  PACKED.  Every parent, sibling, grandparent, aunt, uncle, neighbor were in those hallways, I swear. And it was some ninety percent humidity day and it wasn't long until we were all HOT.  Literally felt the sweat trickling. 

What a great mom impression I'm making, I thought to myself as I wiped a drip of sweat from my brow.  Hopefully it wasn't as bad as I was sure it felt to be.  

With all my boys seated in their classes (and THAT was a trip - S1 dropped off then S2, then S3, then S4, then back to S3's room then back to S4's room and then to the office and then out of the school), a bunch of mom's (and one dad) headed to the recently reopened Barn Restaurant for breakfast. 


My husband, in a broke down semi truck next to a closed for remodeling McDonald's had the breakfast photo sent to him.  I can be mean like that.

After breakfast, I headed into work.  My mind was scattered and I kept watching the clock.  The library was eerily quiet without them there with me.  At three I was out in the blazing sunshine to pick up my boys.

My boys I missed so much. 

Driving home with Scotty McCreery cd playing I asked the boys how the day had gone.

S1 - "I survived."

S2 - "It was pretty good."

S3 - "It was hot."

S4 - "It was okay.  But I am soooooooo hungry.  Can I eat a snack?  I have to wait till I get home? But I am starving! (Major tears) Mama! I am passing away! I am soooo hungry! I need cookies!  Cookies...Mama, I need a cookie.  Can I have something from my lunch? I have to wait until I get home? It's sooooo far away......"

He cried the whole ten minute ride home.

And then my boys devoured the entire bowl of cookies I had for them.  That's like four cookies at least a piece.  Seriously.

Then they wanted to know when dinner was.

My husband, who had bee stranded most the day, arrived home and took the two oldest off to football practice while I filled out school paperwork and got my youngest boys in bed. Bless that husband of mine.

This morning we woke up and S4 asked if he could stay home and just sleep.

The morning went basically smoothly.  I only had to tell one son to be nice once.  The boys raced up the sidewalk to beat their friends who had just pulled into the parking lot like a million mornings last school year.

We dropped S1 off at the hallway instead of going down to his school.  He headed to the left and we headed to the right.  I couldn't resist a backwards glance back at him to see how he was.  His back was tall and straight as he strode past all the kids bigger than him to get to his hallway.

My little boy who is so big now.

Looking at my three in front of me I swallowed hard.

We dropped everyone off ONCE today.  S2 at his locker.  He hugged me goodbye.  S3 we said goodbye to at his desk.  He pulled me down for a kiss on the cheek.

S4 and I walked down to his hallway and he confidently shoved his backpack into his locker.  Gave him a hug, told him to have a good day.  He walked toward his class and I walked away, smiling at the new moms with tears in their eyes.  Poor girls.

I heard his foot fall before I heard S4 wail, "Mama!!!!!!"

My poor boy.  He fell into my arms.  Sobbing.  "I want to stay with you!"


And then begins the awfulness.  When you have to send your crying child into class.  You tell him to be tough.  You tell him he will do well.  You watch his friends give him a hug and tell him it will be okay.  You give his hand to the principal whom you know will take care of him and let her lead him into class.  You stop a friend who works at school and ask her to check on him. You get in the big ol suburban and glance back to see his unfinished toast with strawberry jam.  

So you call your husband and cry.

School is tough.  For all of us.


Monday, September 3, 2012

Our School Year is Looking...Rough

If this morning is any indication of how our school year is going to go...

It's going to be rough.

Last night we had a huge family affair over at my mother in law's.  It's a large gathering of people from when they all used to go camping back when my husband was an itty bitty boy.  The boys ran up and down the driveway hill, stole shoes from the few girls that were there and jumped on the trampoline.  We never left until nearly eleven at night.

So they weren't too happy to have mama calling them at 7am this morning saying, "Rise and shine!"

They did not rise and they most definitely did not shine.

At all.

With their eyes just barely slit size in open, they looked at me in confusion.

When I said tomorrow we have to get up half an hour earlier than this, there were a few tears that slipped down still dirty cheeks from the night before.

Daddy stumbled through, sleepy, laughed at his sleepy boys and then went back to bed.

He is supportive in moments like these.

I had the boys make their lunches for the next day, told them to all take showers and then I would make them breakfast.

I had a grouchy son, my one who is usually the calm helpful one.

I had a crying son.  According to him, school had just gotten out and it wasn't fair that he had to go to school now.  And his toes hurt.  His toes hurt so bad he didn't feel he may be able to walk tomorrow.

I had another son quietly going to work snagging every "good" snack he could find to toss in his lunch box before he had to fight his brothers for them.

The other son was silent.  He is never silent.  I mean, never ever ever ever silent.

The showers were filled with fighting and shoving.  S4 laid down in the shower for half an hour and had to be told repeatedly to get out.

S3 helped me make breakfast and I made him coffee. He seems to be functioning quite well now.

They picked at their food, though, they did eat at it all.

And then they trooped back up the stairs to go back to bed.

Husband slept through it all.

Yah, it's not looking promising for tomorrow.

What big plans do you have for this Labor Day?

We have a riveting game of Kick The Can planned and we hope to just relish our last day of freedom.

Right after our eight thirty in the morning nap we all have planned.


Saturday, September 1, 2012

War of the Mouse

I recently bought some of my favorite cookies and realized I never shared this story with you all.

The story of the evil mouse.



When we went to go camping this year, I loaded up the camper with lots of good things to eat and drink.  I mean, if you are camping, you need certain things.

And those certain things always involve the food we never usually buy.

The first morning I awoke in my cozy camper, my mom and I decided to make pancakes.  When I got into my cupboard, in my giant bag of chocolate chips there was a hole.

A giant mouse hole.

It dined well on chocolate chips.

I immediately went on a cleaning rampage and had that camper gleaming spotless.  That mouse wasn't getting any more of my food.

Stinking mouse.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed over to my mom's campsite to visit and share my conquest over the mouse. 

As I was sipping my coffee, I looked down.

Mouse

Turd

In

My 

Coffee

I started to gag.  I spewed the coffee from my mouth and dumped all the coffee out on the ground.  I jumped around and may have uttered curses from under my breath. 

Well played, evil mouse.  Well played.

My mom was on the phone at the time and could not figure out what possessed her laid back daughter, me, to act like that.  Then she took pity on me and made me a pot of coffee at her camper.
(We camped with three coffee pots.  Apparently we all need coffee too much to share.  How I love my family.)

Through this process I was texting my sister in law who was still to arrive to the campground.

She only laughed at me.

For a few days later, we seemed to call a truce, that evil mouse and I.  I assumed wrong.  It had not traveled to other campers, it was just laying in wait for me.

It is evil like that.

It ate my cookies.

I have these Dutch cookies that, ironically, The Farmers Wife sent me.  You have to find them in the ethnic isle at the store and it makes me feel very cultured to purchase them.  The lovely added feature of these beyond yummy goodness is that they sit perfectly on your coffee cup, getting all warm and gooey and then you dunk them in your coffee and...

Bliss.

The mouse ate them.

No one came near my camper as I scrubbed the camper down AGAIN.

It was the day before we left.  Everyone steered clear of me as I tore through that camper sure I could hear that mouse giggling.

The first thing I did when I got home was have S1 set traps in the camper.  I placed dcon in the camper.  I layered the thing with fabric softener sheets (It had been prior, just so you know.)

I laughed with joy at the thought of the mouse pulling one on me never again.

As I put away my silverware in my unused silverware drawer that night, I leaned closer down.

Mouse turds.

My reaction was not a joyous one.

Mice.

I hate them so.

Well, except the Cinderella kind.  But THEY would have made me new Stroopwaffles.

And that is the mouse story, be that as it may.

For added entertainment, want to glimpse my text to my sister in law as she was headed out to us?  She giggles over them still...

Me - I forgot soap. Plllllleeeeeeeaaaaasssssseeeee bring me a bar of girl soap.  Thanks.

Her - I don't have girl soap.  I only have zest. Want that?

Me - No Zest.  Thanks.  That is the only sap I have strong feeling about. Dove or Olay. Please and Thanks.

Me - Did you get my message?  Zest is fine. I will even sing the zestfully song! It's Irish spring I detest so greatly.

Her - (Your brother) hates that kind to.  I grabbed you one!!

Me - You rock.  Thank you!!

Me - Bring dcon by the tons. I have been infested. They ate my chocolate chips. I am freaking out!!!!

Her - Raccoons?

Me - MICE!!!!!! In. My. Camper!!!!!!  This has NEVER happened!!!!!

Me - I am currently furious and cleaning.

Her - From the campground?  Thats just wrong.

Me - Which is why I am freaking out.  And it's a mean one.  It put a turd in my COFFEE and I did not see it until I had drunken some.  You can understand my hatred at the moment.

Her - The way you put that made me laugh even if its not really funny.

My sister in law.  I love her so.  And I am glad she loves me so. 

RIP Snake With No Name and Superman the Hen

A post not for the faint of heart.
I posted this a week ago but it deleted.
Argh.
So, S3 is doing well now.
And planning his pets for next year. 

It's been a rough stretch for S3.

Earlier this month, S3 ran into the house looking for me to nurse...

A snake.

In the tank with the snakes, frogs and turtles, the snapping turtle had taken a bite out of the snake and it wasn't a recovery snake.  The turtle had gone right for the middle of the snake to devour it up.

S3 was ready to move the snake to our one and only bathtub to nurse the snake well.

I told him, "No way."

And then I watched his little lip quiver, his eyes fill up with tears.

I still said no.

But my husband and I headed out to see the snake in recovery.

S3 had taken the turtle out and moved him out to a new habitat (how many habitat these boys have for reptiles is unnerving) and removed the snake to lay on the grass.  There it laid still, unmoving.

Only a slight flick of it's tongue gave indication it was still alive.  In the middle of the snake was a huge chunk gone. The little turtle had thought the snake looked very tasty.

We brought S3 into the house so he didn't have to see while S1 took care of the snake and buried it out in the weeds.  He was sniffling and crying.  "That snake didn't even have a name," Jake tried to console him.

"But it was my snake and it was trained so good," he wailed.


What do you say when your son is sobbing over a snake?

I just sorta ran out of words at all so I just gave him a hug.  


RIP Snake with No Name

Less than two weeks later....

S3 headed out to the chicken coop with a bunch of chicken scraps.  Any leftover food or cleaned out fridge food goes right out to the chickens.  They get to dine on home cooked meals quite regularly. 

Suddenly he came bursting into the house.  

His chicken, his beloved chicken that had survived all the raccoon attacks this summer, had died.

And my poor son had been the one to find the chicken.

This chicken has had quite a life.

There was the day we took the chicken to school.





Yah, you read that right.


Superman the hen did a rather memorable class trip and I chalked that up on my "Never thought I would do this" list.


All summer we have been fending off raccoons and have had to keep our usually roaming chickens penned up.  But something had grabbed the hen and taken it's head off - whether a night time critter or a dog - but the chicken was dead and he was devastated.

My heart broke for my son who's heart is so soft that he sobs over dying snakes and dead chickens.


RIP Superman the Hen