The Boys' New Milestone

Last night the boys hit an unusual milestone in life... they learned how to pick things up with their butt cheeks. You know, I am not quite sure how they figured out that they could pick things up between their cheeks, but Jim went in to follow up on dressing before bed and there they were - picking up things (balls mostly) with their derrieres and standing up and bending over so that the object would fall to the ground again as they shrieked with laughter. Growing up a girl, and living to be almost 42 now, it has never ONCE occurred to me to try to pick something up this way!
Jim chastised them for messing around and told them to "get dressed, and get in bed". He then emerged from the hallway red-faced and rubbing his chin, smiling. I think he did pretty good not to laugh out loud.
I'd just like to know exactly which items were being picked up so that I can either disinfect them or avoid them.

The Same Story

We had some friends over yesterday for lunch. It was necessarily a "pleasant" experience for all of us. Have you ever had a lunch like that? They both told the same story from different perspectives. It sounded like completely different stories; but because we know them, we know it's the same story. We also know that both stories are truthful. It's really interesting how perspective can change something so dramatically and how our feelings can shade our realities. I really believe that God puts people in our lives for a reason and that even painful moments (or years) can make us better people. Part of me thinks it's easy to retreat when we are hurt and try to regroup or give up entirely and quit. The other half thinks there is a deep need to push through until you reach a new place - to go full steam ahead carefully in order to reach a better destination. Not just for one person, but for both of them. We care for them both a great deal and we, from the outside, can see another perspective again. It's not hopeless. It's not futile. It's a very important journey! I feel a little sad because I don't know the end to the story. We haven't reached it yet.

I love him.

I love my husband. I think women are sometimes too reluctant to admit they love their husbands. Or maybe they feel it's faking it? I hear a lot people say bad things about their husbands. I hope I don't come across that way even when I am acknowledging he is not perfect.

My husband puts up with a lot from me. I am not very even-keeled. Thank goodness he is. He is centered, well-balanced, firmly seated and not arrogant about it. I love him for that. He always can tell when I am not centered and can step out just so to keep our family perfectly balanced.

I have some good qualities, too: I am social - not usually afraid to start a conversation. I like having small adventures and trying new things. I know how I feel almost all the time! I like to touch people to tell them I love them. And I am willing to say anything to someone that hurts someone I love.

I know that our personalities compliment each other, but he makes me look much better than I would ever look out on my own and I'm not sure I return the favor. So let me just put it here in black in white for us both to read - I love him.

Just Plain Busy

Some days are just like that. Scurry, scurry scurry. Run, run, run. Type, type, type. Drive, drive drive. That's how it's been for about 4 days now and I can't even clear my brain long enough between tasks to think. It starts to feel like a mental white-knuckle grip. If I stop to think too long, a ball that I'm juggling will fall. I'm hoping my mind catches up to my scurrying pace soon so that I can stop making mental lists in bed and then feeling forced to get up and write the lists down before they're forgotten. Some days (and nights) are just like that.

Super Ad Sunday

Today is Super Bowl Sunday. We don't watch the Super Bowl; we watch the commercials - so I have officically changed the name in our house.

My littlest son is playing flag football. Yesterday was his very first game and day of practice. The parents, especially the dads, are all gung ho about seeing their little 4 and 5 year old tigers hit the field. Most of the parents have their boys really psyched up for this. Well, we did have one mom there without a partner whose son seemed too terrified to even look at the field as he sat clinging to his mother's calves. Meanwhile, the opposing red team has these giant boys that line up and actually grimmace and growl at our young-looking team during the -what do they call it? - oh yeah, the snap.

So, I overheard a couple of dad's talking in that guy way that men do. "Blah, blah.. yeah, well over here it's impossible not to know the game well. All you have to do is grow up here and it's a given... yadda, yadda, mumble." The context was that the assistant coach is Bahamian and is struggling to learn the rules of the game so that he can actually assist the coach.

I was just walking by and I had to laugh. My son knows NOTHING about football. I think this guy would've been willing to accuse my husband and me of child abuse had he known that. We don't even know for sure that he would have identified a football correctly before that morning. And there he was... on the field... in his yellow shirt chewing on the yellow flags hanging from his belt. What else are they for?

The good news is that he actually did run with the ball the one time they handed it off to him. The bad news is it was in the wrong direction until he heard all the yelling. Of course, then there was the Bahamian coach's son. He was handed the ball, the red team started charging toward him, and he does the most obvious thing to him... his face morphs into a look of sheer terror, he hurls the ball AT the red team, and turns tail and hauls hiney!!