Camping

My husband is good about giving me breaks.  While he is in training he has insisted that I hire a sitter to watch my boys at least twice a week so I get a little free time.  He has also been known to give me weekends to myself.  I come home refreshed, rested, in a happier mood and better able to serve my family.  Mike's foresight in this area is probably the reason I am not sitting on the floor in the corner of my room rocking back and forth.

The last two or three weeks have been hard around here.  I think we are all getting tired of having dad gone.  Spring has arrived and with it lots of yard work.  I've had to work double time to keep up with the weeds and garden in addition to the house.  More work for mom means less time paying attention to the children. 

"Go outside and play boys." 
"I can't help you right now, I'm busy."
"Watch your little brother."

How many times have I said those things in the last few weeks?  Lots.

The boys have gotten the leftovers.  I've given them what little was left after the work was done.

Maybe it was the lack of mothering that's been taking place, or maybe they were rebelling against my busyness, but whatever the cause there has been a pretty significant disregard for one another going on here.

The boys weren't doing a good job listening to instructions and didn't really care.  They'd half-heartedly obey (or not) till I got so fed up that I'd yell at them and threaten them with an unpleasant consequence.

They were tired of obeying.  I was tired of making them.  We all went to bed, not with full content hearts but tired ones.  Glad the day was finally over and we were one step closer to Mike coming home.

Not a fun existence.

Tuesday morning.  54 degrees.  I put on my warm socks, pants, fleece and scarf (and was still chilly) before I went outside to my lounge chair for the first outdoor quiet time of the season.  I had coffee with the Lord while my ipod blasted people singing songs of praise to Him.  This is sometimes how I spend the harder days.  Just sitting there with my coffee, usually I'm not in the mood to read the Bible, and often I don't want to talk to God about what's going on.  I just want to sit.

 "I'm here Lord.  I know I've been lacking in patience and love with my children.  I know I could be doing this better.  But I'm not.  And I don't feel like talking about it."

So I just sit.

He sits with me.

My mind fires off constantly.  I've trained it to handle (handle haha! if you read my last post) all the irons in the fire, so times of sitting still and focusing on the music are a battle for my mind.   The focus takes work.  It's work to relax.  By definition I don't think that's possible, but by experience I'll tell you it is.

As I sit there with the Lord, among all the other things that come and go into my brain I have the thought:  "We should go camping."

Camping.

Hahahahahha!!  No really.  That's a good one.  I laugh at myself for coming up with something like that.  I may have some crazy ideas, but this one takes the cake.

I dismiss it and move on.  But the thought keeps creeping back into my head.

Camping?

Well.  Why?  "Why Becca would you want to take 4 wild boys camping?" I ask myself.  (I always ask myself questions in third person,  I've found I take myself more seriously that way and usually end up with a more professional response.)

Well why?

I talk through my answer in my head:

Because I want to give my poor children a break from me.  Except I can't give them a break from me.  I have to be with them.  But maybe I can be with them in a place where I will have the freedom to be more like a friend and less like an evil dictator. 

Because sometimes we all need a break --even little boys.

Because Mike gives me retreats when I'm tired and frustrated and wanting to run away.

Because boys need to be boys sometimes.  They need to run and hoot and jump and tackle and do dangerous awesome things.

Because I'm tired of saying: "Don't talk with your mouth full of food."  "Sit up straight."  "Take off your shoes AND put them away before coming in the house."  "Go clean that up."  "Stop being so rough."

Because... we need it.

As I thought about the idea throughout the day, I prayed and ask God if the camping idea was from him.  "If this is a bad idea, don't let me do it."

I asked a few of my friends who are in the thick of kid-raising what they thought of my idea.  I told them why I felt it would be beneficial.  They listened and agreed that maybe I could pull it off.  If I followed my plan which was to find a pre-made camp site and show up with food prepared and ready to heat and eat.  Or just eat.  They told me they thought it could help the boys relax and maybe we would remember how much we like each other and that we DO like to have fun.

First thing the next morning, as I sat in my chair drinking my coffee, I looked up and said:  "God, I know this is asking a lot... but please help everyone obey well on this trip.  Please help everyone be nice and please, let this be fun."

We needed some fun.  Laughter.  Smiles.  Joy.

Next morning we headed out at 10 o'clock. We arrived at our camp excited and with hope already being restored.

 

 

The yurt we rented had three sets of bunk beds, came with an ice chest, gas grill and a canoe!

It was perfect.

 

Top bunks for everyone!



Yes, I brought the high chair --smartest move of the whole trip.  It was worth the space it took up in the van.

This trip was perfect.  It was just what we needed.  We ran.  We jumped off of big rocks.  We played hide 'n seek behind trees.  We flew a kite.  We hiked to a waterfall.  We roasted marshmallows.  We found awesome sticks.  We hung precariously over the railing on a pier.  We canoed.  We drank Shastas.  We talked to the retired folks (only other people camping during the school year in the middle of the week.)  We went inside a cave.  We played TONS of "Go Fish".  We learned how to play War and Crazy 8's.  We jumped over creeks.  We missed.  Ok, so that was me.  I missed the stepping stone while crossing the creek, but in my defense I was pushing a giant stroller and couldn't see exactly where it was.  We ate so much junk food.

I wanted to be able to say, "Sure!" when the boys asked me for things, so as much as possible I did.  I said "Yes" to cokes, whole candy bars that were intended for the s'mores.  Yes to crackers, apples, cheese sticks, hikes, capri suns, boat rides and glow sticks and staying up late.

Austin did so well.  He listened AND obeyed.  whoa.  He followed the rules and kept his underwear clean.  The rest of the kids did well too, but Austin was the one I noticed the most improvment in.

God did help those boys be good.  Sure as the sun rose that day.  He blessed our trip.  Just look at these photos and tell me our gracious Lord didn't have something to do with this:

 

  

We made it the whole trip and got twenty minutes from home before someone threw up.   haha!  Welcome back to reality!  Back we are, but we've returned renewed and ready to take on whatever comes next. --which will, I'm sure be washing the carseat cover.

Whew.

Call me butter cause I'm on a roll!

Today I went to the microwave and set the timer for thirty minutes.  Except that I didn't push the timer button, I pushed the "cook time" button.  It was down to 23 minutes when I walked back by.  I stopped the cooking and when I did, the thing lost power.  Thankfully it came back on after a little while.  Whew.

A week ago I was working in a flower bed, about to break for a moment, when I thrust my pitchfork down into the soft earth beside me.  Except that I forgot where I keep my feet and instead of stabbing the earth slammed the fork down onto my foot.  It went through the rubber boot but only left a small cut on my skin.  Initially I thought I'd broken my foot.  I was relieved to find I could still walk.  Whew.

Sunday I lost my phone.  I looked everywhere.  Except behind the pillow (the round one the boys use as a Frisbee) on the chair you would never expect could hide a phone.  Monday morning I found it.  Whew.

Ten o'clock yesterday morning, after dentist appointments (at which all the kids were declared cavity free.  I'll take a pat on the back thank you.) I pulled into the driveway, looked out across the lawn and thought I really should do some yard work before the storm hits.  The internet said it could start raining as early as noon, so I needed to hurry.  In the 7 seconds it took to cruise from my mailbox to the house my mind voluntarily ran through 8 or 10 things I needed to accomplish in the next two hours.  Besides that, it was time for Brady to nap.  What better time to get things done.

First thing was to put the sleepy child in bed.  I lay him down then jog back down the stairs.  Coming down into the kitchen I look at the sink and think, "I've got to get that chicken out of the freezer.  Otherwise no dinner."  I stop up the sink, turn on the water and set the two packages of chicken breast down into the water.  While standing at the sink, I turn and see Austin.  Austin, the two-year-old underwearing little boy who has stayed dry for 4 hours. (We had a pretty major setback in our potty training after a super fun visit to the grandparents so I was proud of 4 hours.) 

"Austin, let's go potty.  Hurry to the bathroom."  It seemed like a good idea to use the time while the sink was filling up with water to take Austin potty.  Efficient.  I like to be efficient.  It doesn't take but a moment to pull down his drawers and lift him to the seat.

Maybe I need some medication, maybe I just need to take on less, but by the time I took 5 steps toward the bathroom, the last thing on my mind was the water running in the kitchen sink.

I got Austin fixed up then turned toward the front door and walked outside. 

Outside!  I love being outside.  I was looking forward to getting the riding mower running (it hadn't been started in a couple months) and the battery had died.  Dad told me how to jump it off with the van so that was my plan.  I push it out of the garage, jump it off, let it run for... at least 5 minutes, drive around to the front where I was going to hook up the cart full of yard debris and haul it to the woods.  The mower died when I got off of it (why do they make them do this???)  I tried to start it back up but the battery wasn't strong enough yet.  Sigh...  I push the thing back over to the van, pull out the jumper cables, jump it off again.  This time I left it running while I walked a few feet away to the flower bed to pull weeds while waiting.  I made sure to keep myself between the running mower and the children. 

A couple minutes later Ty runs out to me:  "Mom!  .... water.... I turned it off.... everywhere..."
I couldn't really hear him cause of my bad hearing and the fact that the mower was running behind me.

"OK Ty, thanks."  I say.

He stands there a second then turns around and walks off. I go back to my weeds.

Pulling weeds, pulling weeds, wow they come up so fast don't they... I think about which bed I'm going to put the mulch in, how I should plan on tackling the unwelcome monkey grass I have sprouting up everywhere...

Ty walks back up, interrupting my thoughts and says: "Mom, the water is still all over the floor and it's spreading out everywhere."

Guess what scene flashes back into my mind.

"Ah!"  I gasp.  "The kitchen!"

I jump up, turn off the mower (thank goodness I have some sense left), and run into the house.

Water.

I see it as soon as I open the door.  Apparently the floor slopes down toward the garage.  I grab towels and soak up the water running along the baseboard and into the laundry room.  The next 10 minutes are kind of blurry in my memory. However, I do remember that I sprang to action.  I threw down towels, dried up what I could see than began investigating where the rest of the water could be.  I pull out the stove.  I walk outside.  I look in the laundry room and under the water heater. 

Then it began to sink it.  I sat on a step stool in the kitchen, rested my chin on my fist and thought: "I've ruined my house.  We are going to have to find a new place to live.  This water, the water that was pouring out of the sink for 15-20 minutes is somewhere, probably under the cabinets pooling, waiting to grow mold and ruin drywall."  I felt myself sinking.  My confidence was taking a nose dive.  I was like the book "The Little Engine that Could" read backwards.  I had started off with: "I thought I could" moved down to "I think I can" to "I'll never get to the good little boys and girl on the other side of the mountain."  Haven't read the book?  Oh nevermind then.

Not knowing what to do, I called mom.  She gave me hope and calmed me down a little.

I texted 7 friends who live relatively close asking them if any had fans I could borrow to dry out my kitchen. 

Immediately I got a couple responses.  Two offered to bring fans over.

Corrie arrived first.  I was still not sure what else to do at this point.  So when she walked in I was standing there in the kitchen just looking.  I told her what had happened.  We talked about what to do next.  She said she was sorry this happened then asked if there was anything else I needed.  "A husband,"  I said, half-jokingly.  Then the tears came.  I stood there and cried while Corrie hugged me. 

I felt momentarily defeated.  I felt tired.  I'd been working hard for three months to keep things together around here while Mike was away with the air force.  Honestly I thought I'd been doing pretty well.  We'd held up fine, the children seemed happy, I was content in my role and God had been giving me strength to do the work that had to be done.

Through this military wife gig I've learned that when you have something tough in front of you, you just take a deep breath and do it.  People have told me, "I don't know how you do it when your husband deploys."  Well, you just do it.  I always respond with, you'd just do it too if you had to.  I can't describe it better than putting on your game face.  There's no place for weakness and failure isn't an option.  You get up and do. 

But then, in the midst of the deployment, there never fails to be moments like this.  Moments when you feel like you've failed and the persona you put on in order to survive deflates like a balloon.  So you cry --sometimes for a long time.

Then you blow your nose and you feel better.  You get up and again begin to do.  At least this is how it always goes for me.  Maybe it's not like this for everybody.  Resolve is one thing, but how far does that take you?

I think it's my Jesus that is picking me back up.

It's when I am at my weakest that He reminds me He is near.  He whispers, "It's ok."  He holds me while I cry.  He so gently shows me He loves me.  He reminds me, "I'm your strength."

He does it every time.  He did it yesterday.

Yesterday He used his Church.

I got texts or phone calls from each person I messaged.  Two dropped everything to come help.  Three told me they were praying.  Two called and asked what more I needed.  One cooked my family dinner.  Corrie even let me borrow her husband.

I felt loved.

That evening, as the fans blew the cabinets, I sat on the couch and with great joy in my heart, praised the Lord for his goodness to me.  I thanked him for his provision.  I thanked him for an understanding husband who cared more about my well being than his house I almost ruined. I thanked him for his church and what a gift it is to those who follow him.  I thanked him for Ty (who discovered the water). 

I did something foolish yesterday, but God (as He always does) took the opportunity to flood me with his mercy (pun intended).   

Whew.
 

My new mechanic



 

I'm not sure who is prouder, Ty or me.  The light bulb went out in one of the headlights on the van.  Mike noticed it so today we went to an auto shop where be bought a new one.  I told Ty he was going to install it.  And he did.  All he needed was a rubber glove and a screw driver.

 

Hoping I'll have a mechanic on hand VERY soon.  We took the pictures to show Big Dad and Pop  --thought they'd be pretty proud.

  

 

 

It works!

 



The Child's Story Bible

This is another book I LOVE.

The Child's Story Bible has been part of our nightly reading for the last several months.  It has also been part of my Sunday school lesson on most weeks.  The stories are told with much accuracy and the attention to detail is what I really love about this book.  Most story Bibles don't tell the whole story.  They leave tons out.  This one doesn't.  Several times it has given me details that I couldn't remember so I look it up in my Bible.  Every time the book has been Biblically accurate --which is more than I can say for myself unfortunately.

This last week we skipped ahead to the New Testament to read about Jesus' last day and then Sunday we read about the resurrection.  It was so, so good.  At one point I was almost in tears as this book so lovingly explained how Jesus' sacrifice was for us:

Then they stretched Jesus out upon the cross.  With heavy spikes they nailed His blessed hands and feet to the wooden beams.  They raised the cross and set it in the hole with stones and earth so that the cross would stand upright.  Two thieves were crucified with Jesus, one on His right hand, and one on His left.

When they had finished all this, the soldiers divided up Jesus' clothes among the four of them.  His coat was one piece, without any seams.  So they said, "Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it, whose it shall be."

It is very painful to you and me to see our beloved Lord hanging there on the cross, with His blood dripping down.  But even though it is painful, we need to look, for He hangs there because of what we have done.  His blood is being shed to pay for our sins.  He loved us so much that He chose to die in our place. 

Even in His great suffering Jesus thought not of Himself but of others.  The first words He uttered were a prayer: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Wow.  This year, the old old story seemed fresh and new to me.  I read it in a book written for children.  The simple language made the simple story so easy to digest:  Jesus loves us.

I want to type out for you many more parts that spoke to my heart as I read this last week.  I know this book is for kids, and if you have kids ages 4+, I HIGHLY recommend using this book as you disciple your children.  It captivates my boys.  They look forward to the stories in here as much as any other book we have read.  But you know, even if you don't have kids, I think this book will speak to your heart as it has mine.  So pretty much... everyone needs a copy.  Besides, you'll have it on hand for the next time you get the privilege of stepping into a children's class on Sunday morning.  ;-)   

The Child's Story Bible by Catherine F. Vos

This is war.

5:30

 

The veggies are chopped and sauteing on the stove.  I turn down the heat, put the lid on (as I want them to soften up a bit), and head out to pick some green onions out of the garden. 

 

(Seems like such a nice start to the story doesn't it?  You can almost smell the beginnings of the Italian feast I was preparing my family for dinner.) 

 

Before I step out I hear Ty: "Mom!  Can you come start my water?"  I run upstairs, turn on the water for Ty's shower, then out to the garage where I slipped out of my comfy old-man-houseshoe-wanna-be shoes (love these shoes!) and into my rubber rain boots.  I walk past the basil I planted day before yesterday.  It's looking good.  It's been raining non-stop since I planted them, so I was hoping they hadn't drowned, they hadn't.  On to the other side of the house to get the onions.  I harvest my onions and while I was there took a peek at the garlic planted right beside the onions.  It was looking good to. Pleased I was. Back around and in through the garage with three green onions. Upon walking in I immediately notice the smell.  It was the veggies.  Not the aroma I'd hoped to walk into. It was more of a... well, burnt sort of smell. 

 

Crud.

 

I quickly tended to the pan.  We'll still eat them.  I wouldn't serve them to company, mind you, but my people are used to eating "blacked" food.  Especially broccoli.  I specialize in blackened broccoli.

 

After getting the veggies under control, I begin to chop the onions.  Then I look out the window.  It was Austin.   Austin.  Out the window.  In the mud.  It's rained so much around here Jack told his Dad that he thought there was going to be a flood.

 

I'm sure he's not wearing shoes.  Two-year-olds never remember to put on shoes before they go outside.  Come to think of it, none of the kids around here remember to put on shoes before going outside.  He needs to come in.  I throw the onions in the pan, wipe off my hands, then walk around to the back door to call him in.

 

Oh.  I was wrong.  He did remember shoes.

 

My shoes.

 

My man house shoes.

 

My favorite shoes.



 

 

 

Yes, those shoes.

Muddy?  Wet? 
Yes.

Dripping wet.

 

Thanks for that Austin.

I get him in, wash his feet, then back to the kitchen.

 

My onion has burnt.

 

Pasta goes in the pot.

 

I set the timer for the pasta (yes, looking for a little credit here).  I'm about to start on the alfredo sauce when I hear a scream well, maybe more a shriek.  No, probably just screaming.  At first I can't figure out where it's coming from or who is doing it.  It's not a normal sound anyone around here makes.  Most screams are playful.  This one wasn't.  I think the best way I could describe it was a  "scream bloody murder" scream.  It was Ty.  Upstairs in the shower.  I sprint up there again.  He's gotten soap in his eyes.  I think it was only the second time in his life this has happened, so it really threw him for a loop.

 

I get his eyes rinsed out and dried off and wrapped in a towel.  I tell him he's got to handle himself cause I'm in the middle of cooking.  He comes down few minutes later.  His poor eyes were all red.

 

 

 

The pasta (angel hair) which only needed to cook 2 minutes is now beyond done.

 

 

As if on cue, Brady toddles up to me.  He grabs my legs and cries. 

 

"Jack!!  Come get your brother!"  Jack pretends not to hear.

  

Based on the above evidence I conclude that the children are trying to ruin dinner.  Every night it's the same thing.  I think they get together first thing in the morning and plan their attack on dinner.  I can just hear this mornings meeting:

 

Jack: 

 

"Alright, here's the plan:

Ty, you ask to get a shower as soon as you see Mom step into the kitchen. 

Austin,  go outside in whatever non-waterproof shoes you can find. 

Ty, after Austin gets captured see what else you can do to cause a commotion.  I'll send Brady in at the end and he'll cry and fuss I'm sure of it."

 

Why? 

 

Why would they do this?  Seems like a lot of trouble just to eat a bad dinner.  Well, I'll tell you why.  Three words:  Pizza and Mac-and-cheese

 

It's not too far fetched.  I'm pretty sure they'd do anything to get Mom to give up on cooking and feed them a diet strictly of carbs and cheese.

 

Let me tell you something boys.  It ain't gonna work.  If you continue to attack me when cooking dinner, I'll be forced to retaliate.  No, I don't mean turn on a TV show while I cook.  I mean strap you in your car seats in the living room till the food's ready.

 

Think I'm kidding?

 

Try me.

 

Put that on your blog

I knew it would happen at some point and now it has: the kids are finally old enough to read and read well.  Claire, my niece, has recently discovered my blog and Emily, my sister, said she sat for two days on the computer and read most of it.  Over spring break she was talking it up to Jack.  I'm not sure what she told him, but whatever it was, it made him think it was kind of fun to be the subject written about. 

Any time something funny happens at the house he's been telling me to write about it.

Just the other day he ran down the stairs, stuck his head around the corner and says:  "Mom!  Ty and I were upstairs talking about our favorite shows and Ty just told me he liked 'Tinker Bell.'  You should put that on your blog Mom." 

Tooth Fairy

This morning I got to hang out with a cousin of mine before I left Greenville.  We were talking and laughing about raising kids and how no parents do it perfectly when she said something to the affect of "...Oh yeah, Dan and I joke about saving for our kids therapy instead of college."  We both laugh and she continues with: "...the therapy would probably benefit them more!"

 

As soon as she makes the joke my mind flashes back to a conversation Mike and I had a few days ago when I tried to sell him on an awesome idea I had come up with.  His response:  "Becca.  You know we are going to have to pay for therapy if you do this."  I think he was expecting this to deter me --He knows how I don't like to waste money.  I, however, took his comment to mean:  "I'm not telling you 'No.' But, I want no part in this."  Fair enough Mike.  Your involvement has been stricken from the record, in fact, I have it recorded right here that you were against it from the beginning.  Jack, Dad's got your back.  Mom... well, she is taking advantage of you, it's true.   But if you read very far back in this blog you'll find you had it coming.  Fair is fair. 

 

 Despite the warning I proceeded:

 

 

 

It was to be my first tooth fairy gig.  I was excited.  The only other time one of the kids lost a tooth was the result of an accident.  I was in mourning for a couple weeks thus in no mood to celebrate the tragedy.

 

This all started one morning in the middle of Jack's spring break.  I was in my room casually getting ready for the day.  I was doing things like fixing my hair and texting with some friends while listening to some Jack Johnson on Pandora.  I had closed the door to my room as well as the door that leads from my bedroom into my bathroom.  This seemingly insignificant detail symbolizes how I had temporarily checked out.  I was mentally taking my fifteen-minute break.  In most workplaces it's no big deal (and often encouraged) to leave your desk or register or station and get a breather.  When Moms do this,  bad things often happen.  Things that end with you on the phone with poison control or...

 

 a loose tooth knocked almost completely out.

 

Jack came into my bathroom with his mouth wide open and blood dripping.  I got the privilege of pulling my first-born's first tooth.  (sniff sniff)  It's the little things like this that I am so glad I don't miss.

 

Jack was beaming.  After the bleeding stopped --oh, by the way.  The shirt he was wearing?  It was brand new.  Took the tags off not 10 minutes before the blood stained it (second law of thermodynamics at work here.)  Anyway, Jack was beaming.  He walked around the bathroom hands on his hips with his face turned toward the mirror grinning widely.  "Mom.  I'm just so proud of myself."  He told me.  I smiled.  I was proud of him too.

We took a picture of him and his tooth.  He told me that tonight he would put the tooth under his pillow for the Tooth Fairy.  He carried the new treasure around with him for a while.  Then...  it got... lost.  The lost tooth was lost.  We looked everywhere.  Couldn't find it.  That's when my brain began devising a plan.

"Jack, I think you need to leave the tooth Fairy a note telling her that you can't find your tooth."  I suggest.

He agrees and dictates this note as I write:

It says:
"Dear Tooth Fairy,
I lost my tooth today, but I just couldn't find it.  So... you might find this paper instead.  I'll try to find it tomorrow."
-Jackson Edward Ellis

He thought we should sign it "Jackson Edward Ellis" to avoid confusion.  I agreed.

That night, I snuck up to his room, retrieved the note and wrote a response from the "Tooth Fairy."

"Dear Jack,

I would like to congratulate you on the loss of your tooth!  I am assuming this is your first lost tooth as I have no other paperwork in your file.  Losing the first tooth is exciting and a proud time for any child.  I am happy for you.  I see from your note that the tooth has been misplaced.  This happens frequently, don't worry we will still be able to process your claim, however, it will take a little longer for us to get the paperwork through.  Even though we are a not-for-profit corporation, the U.S. government wants us to keep careful records of every dollar that goes out.  What we need next from you is a written description of the tooth you lost as well as a picture showing which tooth is missing from your smile.  See you tonight!

-The Tooth Fairy"

 

 





The next morning he came down with the paper and informed me there was no dollar left.  I read him the note and he seemed to take it in stride.  He went right to the printer, pulled out a sheet of paper and we began to try and meet the Tooth Fairy's demands:

"Probably sharp" was my favorite part. 

He left the paper at the foot of his bed.  The next morning he received a letter on company letterhead from the Tooth Fairy with a lot of legal jargon obviously written by a novice.  Jack didn't read it, he only cared about the dollar attached to the top right hand corner.

I told him he needed to sign the paper and send it back to the Tooth Fairy for her records.

 

Jack signed both copies.  One he kept for his records and the other he returned to the foot of his bed before we got in the car to leave town.  I think he was wondering how much longer this would go on because he left her a note that said:

 

"Leveing for 3 days"

 



 

And that's it.  Pretty sure I had more fun with this than he did.  But like I said, "Fair is fair."

Lucky to be Texan

The boys and I were talking about St. Patrick's day yesterday.  Jack had learned a little about the holiday from his teacher.  She showed them pictures of Ireland and talked about the history of the holiday.  He learned about leprechauns, pots of gold and the Irish culture.  His teacher is amazing.  we are so "lucky" (read blessed) to have her as Jack's first teacher.  During the conversation I was having with the boys, Jack recounted part of a conversation they had had at school.

When trying to explain what an "Irishman" was, the teacher said to the kids: "All of you were born in Cabot..."

Jack says: "And I raised my hand. And she says: 'Yes, Jack.'  And I said: 'I am not an... an Arkansas.... I am not from Arkansas.  I am from Texas.'"

I grin then ask him what the teacher said next.

Jack: "She said: 'Oh, sorry.'"


Nothing to be sorry about teacher.  Nothing at all --unless you meant you were sorry to accuse him of being from Arkansas.  If so, apology accepted, things like this happen.  We'll move forward from here.

No idea what's going on here

 

 

"You need to be able to take a leak in your yard without someone saying, "Hey what's he doing?"

 -Phil Robertson

 

 

Apparently Jack and Ty Ellis feel that you also need to be able to take a leak in your garage without someone saying, "Hey what's he doing?"



 

 

I'll never understand males.

They're after me I tell you!

 

 

For those of you (not Chris Mathis) who, when reading about how I keep almost ruining every party Jack's kindergarten class has had think:  "Oh that Becca, she just exaggerates everything.  I'm sure she's not messing up a thing those cute little kinders are doing."

 

See below:

 

 

 

 

For those of you with questionable eyesight (Chris Mathis), it says:

 

 "Mrs. Ellis, Thank you for signing up to bring fruit for our party tomorrow at"

 

Uh...

 

What?!

 

Again! 

 

Noooo!

 

I found this wrinkled note on the floor this morning.  It was lying near the wall by the magazine rack.  I have no idea how many days it's been there.  I don't know which "tomorrow" the writer is referring to.  I don't even know who the writer is! 

 

See people?  Something crazy is going on here.  Is this a prank?  Chris Mathis, do you  have anything to do with this?  It sort of reminds me of that time I came home to find my couch on my stairs.   Except that was clearly a prank.  I'm not sure if this is...

 

  I've about decided that there's just not much I can do.  Something sinister (ok that might have been an exaggeration) something fishy is going on here and I'm pretty sure I'm the victim.  But today the jokes on them because I'm not showing up at school with a plate of apple slices for a party that happened yesterday or whenever it happened or will happen or is happening this very moment.

 

Not today.  Not today....

 

 

 

 

 



V-Day

Oh Valentine's day.... 

Depending on your stage or station of life you look forward to it with anticipation or dread.  Whether you love it or hate it, one thing is sure: it refuses to pass by unnoticed.  Everyone has an opinion of Valentine's day.       

For this never-been-accused-of-having-it-together mom of a kindergarten student the day was just another opportunity for me to blow it. 

How could I mess this one up?  I sat for a moment while my mind explored the possibilities.  Then I got up and said to myself: "Not today sir.  Not today."

I'm going to climb this Valentine's mountain, stake my banner in the ground and declare to the world that I came and I conquered.  I will not mess this one up.

Besides... it is one my last chances of the school year... we are running low on holidays.

No problem, I only need one --this one.

I've got this.

(you people are rolling your eyes. stop it. like i said. i've got this.)

Really, I do.

I've been on Pinterest and perusing the February edition of Family Fun magazine, I've got more ideas than a patent office.

I start a notebook titled: V Day.  The "V" stood for victory.

First thing:

Candy --a non-negotiable.  A card that contained candy was a guaranteed success.  And that's what we needed at this point.  I'm 0 for 3.  Team Ellis needed a win.  Candy was the play that was called.
I'm not saying you can't have an awesome valentine without candy, you can.  And I'm sure in a year or two  I will be an advocate for the group MACC --Moms Against Candy Cavities and I'll lobby the schools to send home handouts encouraging the parents to send valentine's with apples and carrot sticks attached.  ....that will be another day.

My favorite card idea was the one with a few gummy fish attached to a blue card that read:  "I'm glad you're in my school."  (Get it?  Fish... school?)

I know the five-year-olds wouldn't get the connection, but their mamas would and more importantly, the teacher would.  But.. it was featured in this month's Family Fun and what if someone else handed out the same card?

I had to change it up a bit. 

I found some Sour Patch Kids candy that looked like little gummy gingerbread men.  At least that's what the package advertised.  Perfect!  I can use those and say something like:  "You're a cool kid."  or "I'm glad we're friends." 

Upon opening the package I found they looked NOTHING like the photo on the package.  They looked more like a pinkie finger covered in sugar crystals.

Well... I guess the kids won't care.  They will eat them all the same.  The teacher and parents won't know how clever we are as they probably won't see what the gummy finger has to do with being a cool kid.  Oh well.  What really matters is that Jack doesn't feel like we failed.  If he arrives at school on Valentine's day with everything he needs, we will have achieved our goal. 

Several days before V Day (you read that right --several) I put the candy in cute little baby Ziplocs and gathered everything we would need for the project.  Then, on the eve Valentine's day we ate dinner, cleaned up and were ready to put the cards together.

It was about that time I realized we hadn't called Big Dad and today was his birthday.  Oh no!  We love him too much to not call him.  In fact, we love him to much to just call him.  We would skype.

And we did. 

Now skyping is easy if your are fresh out of college with a new laptop, a working knowledge of the computer and a room with no background noise.  At our house, if the internet is working and if I can remember out password and log in, the best we can hope for is a dull roar.  Imagine skyping while sitting on the side of an interstate or at the ocean or maybe at a nightclub or a runway.  That's what it sounds like when you skype with us.

One at a time I call the boys to the computer where they make faces at the camera while everyone else tries to make as much noise as possible.

Maybe next year we should love Big Dad enough to not skype with him on his birthday.  (Are you nodding Big Dad?)

Anyway, while we skype we draw birthday pictures.  We sing, we tell jokes then we say "Goodbye."

I put Brady to bed and we begin our Valentine cards.

Austin colored in a non-conventional way:

 

The plan was that I would write a clever little phrase on the note cards and Jack would sign his name.  But while I was getting Brady to bed Jack began his cards without me.  He found some white printer paper and some Crayons and begins to write a handwritten note. 

 

"That's sweet,"  I thought.  "He'll tire in a bit and I'll finish up for him."

But he didn't.  He wrote a short note to all 19 students!  I think each one said something different.  I asked him what he was writing on the cards and he told me:  "I'm writing something that will make them feel good."   He wrote things like:  "Awesome." and "You're the best kid." and "Be my Valentine." and "You are nice".

 

 

 

Yes, that last one does say "To: Johnny Cash"  Apparently that's what one of his classmates likes to be called.

We scrapped my thought-through idea and ended up stapling the candy pouches to Jack's notes.  Ty thought they needed to go in envelopes so he worked and worked to get those bulky letters in the small envelopes.  He folded them any way he could to get them to fit.

They looked a mess.

 

The whole thing would be a disgrace to Pinteret.

But how sweet it was.  Each note packed with love.  I was proud of my little boys and more than willing to throw out my plans for much cuter Valentines.  This holiday was going to be a success.  We didn't have to have an awesome valentine.  Jack had hand-written letters to each student.   I was pleased with him. I was pleased with the night.  We had skyped with Big Dad and the computer was still in one piece.  We had all but finished the Valentines before 7:00 and were ready for tomorrow.  I had a special breakfast planned and had even remembered to buy little boxes of chocolate to give the boys at breakfast --just like my dad always did for us. 

I'm leaning back in my chair basking in my success.  These moments aren't frequent.  I was eating it up.  As I was waiting for Jack to finish his last card he asked me a question:  "Mom, why don't I get a valentine's box like everyone else?"

What.

What?

Wh... wh... what do you mean?  I am now sitting straight up in my chair.

"Everyone else has a valentine box and why don't I have one?  You know, boxes shaped like a car, or a castle or a rocket ship."

Are you kidding me? 

Just when I think.... 

"Jack, are you sure you need one?"  I scramble to find the handouts I had gotten from school about the party. 

"Well, everyone else was bringing them."

I find the notes.  They say nothing about needing a box.  I question him further.  "Jack, is it your class that is bringing the boxes or is it other students.  Like older students?"

"Two days ago the first and second graders were bringing boxes, but today the Kindergartners brought some."

"Are they kindergartners in your class or other classes?"

"My class."

I call the room mom.

She doesn't answer.

I text another mom, she responds back saying she wasn't aware of the need either.  She emails the teacher.

Room mom texts me back saying basically you don't have to have one.  Some people do, some don't.  You just need something to put the valentines in, a bag works just fine.

What to do now?

There was really only one option in the midst of all this uncertainty and with this being one of my last chances to not mess up a holiday.... I had to make a box.

I sent Jack to bed as soon as we finished the last valentine.  Then I went to work.

What would be easy?  Different?  Fun?  Easy?

I had a unique opportunity here.  This would probably be the only year I am able to make a box without asking my children, "What kind of box do you want?"  This time I could do whatever I wanted...

So I did.

 

 

For those of you not familiar with the Natural State, this is a deer blind.  After I got done I decided this was probably not a very original idea.  These things are probably as common as cowboy boots in Texas.

 

While I worked on Jack's box Ty stayed up and wrote a valentine for Jack.  He didn't like the idea of there being a valentine for every student except Jack in our bag.  He wanted to make sure his brother got a valentine (and candy).  I suggested he make one for him.  He copied the words I wrote out.  It said:  "U R the best brother ever!"

 

Which is wrong.  Clearly this boy is the best brother ever.

 

And yes. 

Turns out:  I nailed it.