Like Father, Like Son

This little helicopter took about 45 minutes for Dave to build.......while Seth watched and observed. Even though the helicopter is small, anyone with legos knows the pieces are small, so the job can be tedious.

We were wondering how long it would take for Seth to take it apart. Surprisingly, he played contentedly with it for a few days, we went away for a few days, and then last night upon arriving home, the first thing he did was go into his bedroom and take his helicopter apart.

He was so tired that I told him he couldn't "rebuild" his helicopter again until today......he had to go to bed. Truthfully, I didn't think he would be able to rebuild it without his dad's assistance.

This morning he got up, shut his door, and came out a short time later with his completed helicopter. Dave told me that he didn't help him at all, that Seth put his helicopter together completely BY MEMORY, and did it absolutely perfect. I must confess to being shocked. It's been almost a week since he watched his dad put it together, he took apart last night, and still remembered everything perfectly today.

This afternoon while Hannah and I laboured delivering 150 flyers (in the -29 C with-the-windchill-temperature......((whine, whine......:)), Dave and Seth built a much bigger fire engine. It took several hours to build.

Now, less than two hours later, Seth has taken it apart. I await in anticipation to see if he can rebuild it on his own.

Somehow, I think he can. I believe he's found his forte.

Point Proven

This proves the point of my previous post. My son can't just do his school. In this picture his foot is on the table because he wanted me to "rub the middle of it".

It is taxing.......and hard on a person's feet after all..........to sit on your bum for longer than five minutes to do school.

Woe Is Me.......:)

I won't ever, ever, EVER let myself get behind with Seth's school work again.

EVER.

Because of my lack, we are spending a few days ON WHAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE A BREAK playing catch up with his school. I fully intend to be done tomorrow. However, before tomorrow comes I may find myself totally bald. In fact, when we finished school today, I walked into the bedroom where my dear hubby is studying (he is off for two weeks, and writes an exam in early January, or so was his excuse reason for being holed up in the bedroom while I slaved away.....:) and pointed to three spots on my head.....warning him in a sinister tone that "very soon there would be no hair there at all".......

He managed a lopsided grin. I guess having a bald wife bothers him not at all.

One half of my brain laughs hysterically at my son. The other half of my brain is in the depths of despair. I am speaking truth. He comes up with such funny things that I dare not crack up about because he needs no encouragement at all to be funny. I also realize, however, that he has far to go regarding some areas of study. Very far.

Today, he was to fill in the blanks. The first question asked (with an accompanying picture) was:

Sally Skunk ate ___________________. He filled the blank with "a cairt". Translated: "a carrot".

The second question: Tim Turtle crawled ____________________. He answered, "ovr a roc". Not a hard one to figure out.

The third question: Billy Beaver swam ____________________. His answer? "In too the loj". Translation......"into the lodge". Lodge? Loj? Why Billy swam into a hotel is a mystery to me.

Fourth question: My teacher's name is _____________. He answered, "darlu", even though he has spelled my name a hundred times. AND in spite of the fact that capitalization has been one of the major focuses right now.......((heavy sigh)).

And finally......my favourite of all that almost sent me into hysterics.....

What is the best part of the day in your class? The best part of the day is_________.

His answer? "rim".

"Rim?" I asked. What is "rim"?

"You know," he answered. "Rhyme." (NOTE: He has been learning root words and suffixes too, but clearly needs help with this as well).

Oh......of course. He loves to rhyme. He certainly does NOT love to spell. He rhymes so much in fact, that there have been some near disasters.

Like when he gets on the "truck" and "duck" rhymes.

Yep. That's when it's time to end.

Precious Truth

**DISCLAIMER: This is very frank and perhaps offensive to some. If you are not interested in hearing a rant about what I believe to be Biblical Truth, this post is NOT for you***

When I was 14 years old and desperate, God introduced Himself to me. He did this by sending someone my way, proclaiming just the right amount of His Word, and then in a Still Small Voice to my heart, telling me that "this was what I was searching for". In later years after learning to recognize His voice speaking to me, I understood this more clearly. Even now it astounds me how clear His voice was then. I remember that moment and still hear His exact words; I still feel the tingling down my spine that I felt back then. Most importantly, I still BELIEVE IT.

And I believe with all of my heart, this is what has kept me from believing a lie throughout the years. This is what has kept me from *changing* what I initially believed. The truth is down deep in my spirit and God has confirmed it over and over and over. I cannot and will not change it. It is NOT my Word to change.

I am disturbed at the confusion about *standards*. I am disturbed at the blatant rebellion against what was once believed. I understand fully, 100 percent, that standards do NOT save us. I understand that my sleeves could be to my wrists and my skirt to the floor and I could have a heart full of hatred, a tongue that gossips, a bitter spirit. And that I WILL be lost if those remain unrepented of.

What I don't understand is the belief that *forsaking those standards* might actually make us CLOSER to God.??? Why forsaking the standards suddenly gives a special insight to what GRACE really means. I understand the potential for self righteousness. I understand that God HATES self righteousness. But I don't believe we forsake separation in order to get a grip on self righteousness. The closer I get to God, the more I understand that my own righteousness is nothing but filth. But I also understand that there are many things that could defile my temple, and it certainly doesn't give me carte blanche to do what I please. It's all about balance.

What I do understand is how people who forsake the *legalism* - bless God it's grace alone after all (completely not understanding that GRACE teaches us, not permits us) - end up losing the revelation of ONE GOD, BAPTISM IN JESUS NAME, THE INFILLING OF THE HOLY GHOST BY THE EVIDENCE OF SPEAKING IN TONGUES. And I ask, do they really forget the times God moved on them in their spirit and they spoke in a language they did not learn? Do they really? If they don't forget that, why do they suddenly believe IT'S NOT NECESSARY?

How can they attend a church that believes God is a Trinity?

All the clothing/hair arguments go up in smoke entirely to me when those same people forsake the very foundation of Truth. The Oneness of God. Baptism in Jesus Name. The infilling of the Holy Ghost. Why can't the foundations be kept once the *standards* are gone? If standards are the issue, why don't they still believe in One God? If they still believe in One God, why do they go to a Trinitarian church?

I have a lot of standards for my children. Likely quite a few of them are unnecessary. Being unsure, however, of exactly what might ensnare them, I keep the standard high. Likewise, being married, I conduct my behavior AND dress in like manner. I do NOT flirt with men, married or single. I do not wear provocative clothing (and wouldn't even if I was svelte).

Why would a Christian wear provocative clothing or dress in any way that could be considered seductive? To some extent this is an individual conviction, but my goodness when someone's individual conviction is to show their cleavage, then I can certainly understand why there is a standard!

I don't feel like I am explaining my heart very well, but I my main point is this: Once upon a time, God gave me a revelation of His Truth. He then proved it by giving me a supernatural experience that was promised from His Word when I received the Baptism of the Holy Ghost. He helped me understand that He took flesh on Himself, came to earth as a man, and that he is not THREE persons. Why on earth would I risk losing ANY of that precious revelation because I feel restricted by *legalistic* standards?

I have yet to see one person retain the knowledge of that Truth once they rebelled against those standards. Not one.

It is that Truth that is precious to me. Not the length of my sleeves per se. However, even if NONE of the guidelines I keep is necessary - and I truly won't know until Glory - history has shown me that it is not worth rebelling against them because of the risk of losing the knowledge of His precious Truth.

The Truth that He spoke to me in that Still Small Voice 29 years ago.

On The Brink

My son sends me to every extreme of my emotions. (Whether or not I have extreme emotions is for the jury to decide....:)

I am convinced the sparkle in his eye grows brighter every day. Obviously in some respects I adore that. In others, it purty near drives me over the edge.

For instance, while he is cleaning his room, he sings at the top of his lungs. He dramatizes stories. He yells. While he is singing and I am elsewhere, I can't help but smile. My heart is warmed when he sings his own versions of every kind of gospel song.....from Gaithers to Gateway, IBC to bluegrass (we have a varied taste in music). That warmth quickly leaves me, however, when I go to his room only to discover he got involved in a building project and forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

He is happy. He is carefree. He laughs constantly. He sings all the time at the top of his lungs, everywhere in the house. He tells jokes to make people smile. My heart is mush.

He is lazy. He is an invalid. He procrastinates. He over-reacts and dramatizes pain worse than a girl. He drives me mad.

Last night he complained after church that both of his feet/ankles and his left elbow and wrist were aching. His dad had some compassion and rubbed them for a while. I remained cold-hearted. I've been through these dramatizations too many times. He managed to survive through his snack. He thrived through his story. However, when he went to go to the bathroom at bedtime, the tears began. AGAIN.

"I can't walk. AT ALL!"

I remained unmoved. He continued his cries from the bathroom.

"MOM! I AB-SO-LUTELY CANNOT WALK!!!" he wailed.

I finally go into the bathroom (because I wasn't prepared to stay up all night) to find him on the floor. I tell him to get up. INSTANTLY. He somehow manages to find strength in the midst of his extreme pain and.....rises. I tell him to go to the bathroom. NOW. In spite of his protests that he can't STAND, I witness the miracle of his RISING. He finishes. By himself without my assistance.

"Mom, I still really can't walk you know. I have to hop," he protests, much less however. I ask him how he can manage to hop when he can't even walk.

"Hopping is easier. That's why," he 'splains.

We brush his teeth. He is increasingly-amazingly (bad grammar, I know) healed. So much so that he runs to his bedroom, forgetting his ailment.

We pray and do our nightly rituals. He kisses me good night.

And I do not hear a peep from him all night. Nor all day today. It's a miracle.

And that is why I rarely take him seriously.

And that is why he drives me to the brink.

Today while I took my granny to an appointment, daddy took the kids to Mickey D's. They had quite the time playing. I discovered when I finally arrived that my son was the gallant knight. According to him, he rescued "a little cutie" (his words) from a bully. He proceeded to talk about it off and on for the next couple of hours. He also let me know that this girl was sure a "sweetheart".

He is six. SIX! And I am more grey every day.

Pray for me. Please.

Plum Wore Out

Today my son decided he wanted to be a scientist. He decided this because he wanted to "make dinosaurs come back to life". I guess I need to work on his *theology*.

I have actually found myself plum wore out homeschooling my son. This is not to be misunderstood about homeschooling in general - I love homeschooling and still believe in the merits of it 110 percent. I have every intention of continuing.

But pardon me if I'm just having a bit of a whine.

Truthfully, I've been spoiled by my daughter. From the beginning she has been such an independent learner. She read early, so was able to read her own instructions early and only come to me for assistance. Although Seth *reads*, he is only very average at best (whatever average is) and needs my help with everything.

Totally everything.

One hundred percent EVERYTHING. And that's what I am plum wore out about.

I've decided lately to give him his assignment and leave him - ALONE - to do it. I try to occupy myself, sometimes in another room altogether, but sometimes in the same room. This has been a total trial. Even though I have explained to him that he is to work alone and NOT to call me unless he has a question, he cannot seem to grasp this. He will work quietly for two minutes maximum before he calls me to "come see how good I made my 'S' mom!"

My son needs continual affirmation.

Other times he just dawdles when I'm not watching him like a hawk. And school drags on for much longer because he is not getting his work done.

Lest it appears that I think my son is "stupid" in comparison to my daughter, let me clarify. For some reason I have been able to tap into my daughter's learning mode. She is very, very bright but I understand her areas of strength. I get what makes her tick and have figured out how she will catch on to things. My son, however, is beyond brilliant at things I just don't get. There have been times I have told people of some things he's said or done and they have responded with by expressing their opinion of his sheer brilliance. Such incidences give me a wake-up call to my own struggle to understand his areas of genius. At times I feel totally inadequate to teach him. I know if I *only had this gift or that understanding* that he would be even further ahead.

Right now the only gift I have is of impatience.

On a positive note, one of the things I have clued into is how to teach my kids proper study habits. That is simply because I have adopted their dad's mode of studying (all the credit goes to him, really). He has taken a half dozen correspondence courses and has proven his ability to study by continually acing his exams. When I was first giving Seth spelling tests, he flunked them. All of them. Then I adopted their dad's study habits and he has been doing brilliant. Today he got 100 percent.

Now if I could only figure out other ways to help him, I'd be set. Or he'd be set. Or we'd both be set.

And I would be less grey.

I'm done my whining now.

Proud Of My Girl

I'm so proud of my girl.

She will be starting her Royal Conservatory of Music (the Canadian version, which I'm told by her piano teacher has better songs....) next week. She has worked so hard and thrived at playing the piano. I very rarely have to remind her to practice. Typically in a day she flitters around the house from task to task, stopping every hour or so at the piano to play for about 15 minutes. She repeats this until all together she has likely practiced a couple of hours. This method of practice so suits her personality. If she actually had to sit for longer than 15 minutes I think that she would go stark, raving mad.

I'm so proud of my girl.

After her piano lesson today we went to her favourite store in the planet, Michaels. She works hard and is learning to save her money. This is her once-a-month treat (which I prefer more than candy) where she usually spends just a few dollars on little items.

I discovered I was rather foolhardy to go to Michaels during the Christmas season. They have such cool things at this time of the year for a *crafty* girl such as Hannah, and I had no idea how she was going to make up her mind. My heart melted when she finally settled on a kit that constructed a bird house AND an airplane/car. She decided on this because she knew her brother would be delighted to construct and paint the airplane/car, while she enjoyed working on the birdhouse. I decided to let her spend a little bit more money than usual because of her sweet motive and as a reward for doing so well in her piano.

She then spent the entire drive home anticipating her brother's reaction to his gift.

I smiled all the way home. And I told her how much I loved this trait of hers.

Have I mentioned yet how proud I am of my girl?

Spotted On The Balcony

I have been working on my son's children's behaviour. I am fully aware that I have written several posts confessing my lapses into inconsistency, but I suspect that until I'm in Glory it will be a constant battle for me in that regard.

To continue with my story.....

He is improving (which means that I am improving, obviously) but it was apparent on Sunday morning that we still had some work to do. I am always on the platform on Sunday mornings as part of the praise singers. Dave operates the sound. Usually I have him sit with someone, but I decided that since he has shown improvement I would give him a chance to prove himself. Thus, I let his sister and him sit in the back because it is right beside the sound. And their dad. I gave him a stern warning:

1) Participate in the song service (that meant no sitting down or doodling in his notebook - the only thing he is allowed to bring to church at this point);

2) Do NOT torment his sister;

3) Do NOT make funny faces;

4) Do NOT jump around and perform doing funny dances;

5) Do NOT do ANYTHING to draw attention to himself;

6) He COULD breathe like normal. I did give in on that.

I informed him that I was on the platform and would be watching his behaviour.

After sufficiently warning him, I ran the plan by their dad. Their dad, bless his heart, takes mixing sound seriously. He is a typical male who zones in on the task at hand. Earthquakes could happen, people could be screaming.....but bless God, that sound would be PERFECT. However, he did tell me he would *watch out for him*.

I will admit that he did a better job than usual in watching out for him. However, the entire time I was on the platform I watched my son do EVERYTHING I told him not to do. I watched him make his goofy, cross-eyed, tongue-sticking-out-of-his-mouth face. I saw him poke and bump and tickle his sister. I saw him dance all kinds of goofy dances. I saw him leave the area and move to a different row altogether (thinking....."stink, I DIDN'T tell him he couldn't leave the row....but what good would it have done anyway since he hasn't obeyed even ONE of my commands"....??). I saw his dad motion to him TWICE to smarten up. I saw him straighten up for all of twenty seconds, only to go back to his stand up routine.

It is very difficult as a mother to be in a situation such as this. I had to school my facial features. I planned all kinds of *sweet retribution* when we got home. One part of me wanted to hide my head in the sand and ignore it altogether - I couldn't do anything about it at the time, after all. Another part of me wanted to laugh hysterically at his antics.

Just try to sing with all of your heart and worship God while your son is out of your reach giving the performance of his life.

It does remind me of that old Mark Lowry story where he begged his mama for permission to sit with his friends on the balcony while his mama played the "piana" and sang. She gave him permission, so he used his time to practice his comedy routines. Only, he ended up being caught because she saw him and he knew it. And then he sings:

Oh victory in Jesus, my Saviour forever

And then she spots me on the balcony........

That story has forever ruined the true significance of that song for me. And, although my son never did clue in that I "spotted him on the balcony" while he was in church, he did clue in that I "spotted him on the balcony" when we got home.

And met his just reward.

Interpretation

Definition: (from my son)

"Mom, do you know what car-league means? It means a professor."

Huh???

The story:

The professor from his computer game was getting into a car and was called by another person in the game "his esteemed car-league (a.k.a. colleague)". Thus, car-league means professor.

Obvious.

I loved this interpretation so much that I just had to record it.

A Conversation With My Son

Today my children were cleaning up my son's bedroom because both of them had been party to the mess. In the midst of their work, they had a spat. Hannah yelled at Seth. Seth then yelled to inform me that:

"Hannah's mad at me and I didn't do anything!"

Sometimes I intervene. Sometimes I ignore it because I want them to work it out.

Tonight, rightfully or wrongfully, I ignored them.

A little later while his sister was otherwise occupied, Seth informed me of *what really happened*.

"Mom, did you know that Hannah was mad at me, and I didn't do anything to deserve it?" he emphasized.

"Oh?" I said. "If I were to ask Hannah to tell me her side of the story, what do you think she would tell me?"

He thought for a little bit. "She would tell you that she was folding a blanket," he replied.

"And.....?" I asked.

"And while she was folding her blanket, I blew at it," he answered.

"What happened when you blew at it? What would she tell me then?"

"She would tell you that it made her have a hard time folding it," he stated. Then, realizing his error, he added quickly: "But I didn't know it would be a problem!"

We had a chat about his less-than-honest plea of ignorance, but I will confess to really enjoying this conversation. He thought through the issue from another perspective and ended up spilling the beans.

Think I'll try that method more often.

Thankful

It's been a while. We've been busy.....are having awesome church.....and I think perhaps many of my stories are repetitious. Sometimes I think I should "rant" about something (the Lord knows that I have MANY opinions), then I wonder who in the world will care about my opinion anyway....:)

So I just haven't blogged.

I'm sure eventually that I'll come out of my mini-hiatus. But for now, I will say that God is doing amazing things in our church. He's doing great things in my family. I'm very excited about the future.

In short, I'm thankful.

Flyer Adventures II

I think some of the best memories I'll have of this stage of life with my kids will have happened during our flyer route. When you deliver flyers three times a week on the same route, you must get creative to fight off boredom.

I have mention before that the kids like to race our mail carrier, Kelly. She is such a good sport. I've told her she reminds me of Wooten (mailman in Adventures in Odyssey), because he once lost his job for taking too long to deliver the mail every day. All the little old ladies along his route would wait for Wooten to come because they had some sort of task for him, which he very good naturedly carried out. Kelly has told us how she has gone in for "just a few minutes" into a lady's house because she wanted to show her dogs, and ended up staying for tea, leaving 45 minutes later. That is the kind of sweet lady she is. Anyway, the kids wait anxiously every time we go out, hoping we will meet up with Kelly, because if we do, there will always be some great adventure along with a little visit.

There are certain houses we label with names. There are games the kids come up with. For instance, one house has a tree that has little red berries on it. The berries always cover the sidewalk - thus the house is called the Berry House. At the Berry House, the kids always play the Berry Game. The Berry Game quite simply is trying to avoid stepping on any berry while delivering the flyer, which at times is impossible. However, Seth and Hannah attempt it every time, and sometimes there is even a winner.

Then there are the Dog Houses. There are several Dog Houses on our route. Most of them have the dogs behind the fence with the BIG SIGN of warning. We talk to the dogs as much as possible in a kind voice to let them know we are their friends. However, most of them let us know we are on their property and don't appreciate it.

There is one house, however, that is the ultimate DOG HOUSE. For in this house lives a 160 pound Newfoundland dog. I know this because this dog and owner were outside one day and we got to meet this dog..........from about 50 feet away. He told us he was very friendly, and although he had a huge BOW WOW, he meant well. However, 160 pounds on top of my 50 and 65 pound children would spell disaster, so even though the mutt is friendly, we still shiver and shake in our imaginations.

This house has a big front door and right beside it a thick pane of glass. Every time one of us delivers the flyer to this house, the big DOG jumps up on the pane of glass and barks.......

BOW WOW!!!!

(literally folks, it sounds like that)

and scares the living daylight out of whoever the lucky candidate has been to deliver the paper. Even though we prepare ourselves, the bark is enough to make my own heart skip a few beats.

Well, my son has recently decided he wants to deliver the flyer to the DOG HOUSE. He gamely tells me he is not afraid, and impressively, he has done so for several weeks now. Every time he walks down the sidewalk, before he turns into the yard, he has a chat with himself.....

"YOU'RE NOT GONNA SCARE ME, YOU OLD DOG! HA! I'M NOT SCARED!"

and it has me in stitches. I am so tickled that even though it scares him a bit, he is determined to go up the stairs to the DOG HOUSE and deliver that flyer.

One day a few weeks ago, he walked down the sidewalk to begin his journey. He began his usual muttering.

"I'M NOT SCARED, YOU OLD DOG!!"......he cautiously approaches the front door......."YOU'RE NOT GONNA SCARE ME YOU.......

AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

I was practically on the ground laughing. For whatever reason, no matter how much he psyched himself up, this time when the DOG jumped up it scared the living daylights out of him!

To his credit, he still delivers to the DOG HOUSE. I sadistically look forward to going to this house every time, if only to hear his mutters.

All in all, delivering flyers has been a great experience. The kids get exercise. They earn money, for which we get to teach great lessons in money management. They get to meet and talk to people regularly on the route.

And we get to laugh ourselves silly. It's all good.

My Little Johnny

See My Little Johnny? Doesn't he look sweet?

My Little Johnny got sent upstairs today from Sunday School. He disobeyed one teacher twice and another once. I could hear My Little Johnny screaming in the sanctuary (he was in the stairwell leading downstairs, a bit of a distance off). Little Johnny's dad went down to lend a hand. My Little Johnny - after he walked through the valley of the shadow of death - slithered into the sanctuary, totally embarrassed.

Even though I am writing this in a humorous style, I really don't find it funny. I've been gearing up for boot camp, which I was going to begin tomorrow, because I've understood that if My Little Johnny is a disobedient child, then I am directly responsible as the main parent (as in disciplinarian because I'm with him all day). I accept that responsibility. After seeking resources, I finally feel like I know what I am going to do to change the situation - and so tomorrow a *whole new life will begin*.

Daddy told his Little Johnny that he will be apologizing to his teachers this evening. My Little Johnny nodded in agreement.....then said:

"But I'm going to tell them not to tell ANYONE ELSE...."

Obviously My Little Johnny already forgot that *everyone* knows.......he made sure of that by his shrieks and by slithering into the sanctuary. The only child in the sanctuary. Like, duh.

I'll end this by saying that My Little Johnny has been sick with a cold, which prompted another *famous* question.....or should I say two questions:

"Mom, do germs get fevers? Do they get sick and throw up?"

I apologize to those who do not find his questions funny. However, since this blog is my only method currently of recording some of his sayings, I will be posting them. I happen to find most of his questions side-splittingly funny and I really do want to remember them.

So now I sign off........to prepare for boot camp.

Five Important Qualities

I have recently completed the book To Train Up A Child, by Debi and Michael Peart. I hope to blog about this common sense advice on child rearing at some point. What prompted this post was found in the last pages of this book. Michael Peart wrote a letter to his two sons, who were then 17 and 15 years of age. Paraphrased, these are the qualities he advised his sons to look for in a Christian wife, in order of importance:

1. That she love the Lord and be His true disciple. That she knows how to pray. No argument there from any Christian.

2. That she be cheerful. A girl who is unhappy and discontent before marriage will NOT suddenly change afterward. No man can make a discontented woman happy. A woman who does not find joy from a wellspring within will not find it in the difficulties and trials of marriage and motherhood.

3. That she is thankful. When a young girl is unthankful toward her family or her circumstances, a change of environment and/or relationships is not going to make her thankful. Avoid a moody, unhappy, unthankful girl. If she is not full of the joy of living before marriage, she most certainly will not be afterward.

4. That she be a creative, hard worker. This speaks for itself. She should not be lazy or slothful.

5. That she love children. Needless to say, raising a family will be extremely difficult if the woman does not have a love for children.

Lest one thinks he is being too critical of women, he did go on to admonish his sons on the proper care and nurturing of their wife, which was true and excellent advice.

I think most of us {old married women-folk} would have listed some of these. What struck me the most, however, was number 2 and 3, and the fact that they were in that order. It's not that I didn't think these qualities were important, I just didn't think they would have made the Top Five list of so many things that "seem" important.

But I think I've just changed my mind. I want my home to be full of joy and cheer. And I never want to lose my thankfulness.

Most of all.......if I want my daughter to have these qualities, I must lead by example.

Dramatics At It's Finest

My boy is sick. Translated that means the world is ending.

He has a simple cold. It started with a sore throat and has gone full blown into his head. He has nasal congestion and is coughing because of constant post nasal drip. The problem is that neither of my children will BLOW THEIR NOSE. I am at a loss to understand why. They would rather NOT breathe through their nose then blow it. I have never met any other kids their age who do not blow their nose.

I'm pretty much tired of his whining.

This afternoon we were waiting in the car while Hannah was at her piano lesson. Seth whined.

And whined.

And whined.

I ignored. And ignored. And ignored. I am determined that even though he is sick, I will not give him more attention when he whines. I must break him out of that nasty habit once and for all.

Because I was ignoring him, he decided to try harder. He turned to me, and in all seriousness said:

"Mom, I'm pretty sure I have cancer." {bottom lip quivering for full effect}.

I'm glad he told me. At least I'll have time to prepare.

Which Do You Prefer?

(Picture taken over two years ago.....my how they've grown up!)

Anyway.......tonight I had a little snuggle with my daughter. And played a game of "Which Do You Prefer?". In Which Do You Prefer, a silly game we started years ago, we give each other two things and ask which thing we prefer. Simple.

So tonight I asked her the usual. Which do you prefer.....roses or tulips? Gumballs or cherry candies? Lime green or orange? The rules are simple....if you can't answer then the game is over. After tiring my brain out trying to think of more unique things to pin her on, I finally told her it was her turn to ask me which I preferred.

What does the turkey ask?

Which do you prefer.......Hannah or Seth?

The game was over.

The imp.

Just Words About My Girl

Let me tell you a little bit about my girl.

She is very serious-minded. Yeah, she laughs and gets goofy like any normal eight-year-old child, but when it comes to important things, she is very serious. The more I see this trait in her, the more I appreciate it.

She is so serious-minded that she won't even sing a song if she knows she cannot apply the words of the song to her personally. For instance, there was a song playing today about having the Holy Ghost and being baptized in Jesus name, so she stopped singing when those lines were sung. She then explained to me that because she couldn't claim that to be true for her, she felt she shouldn't sing those words.

She is taking very seriously her decision on whether to live for God or not. This used to trouble me because I would see other children, even younger than her, get into the "groove" during church, worshipping and even receiving the Holy Ghost. She did not. She took everything in, thinking about it deeply, and getting upset at someone who tried to push or prod her in that direction.

But underneath it all, God has been talking to her heart. And in the way only a loving Father can do, he has been gently coaxing her to trust in Him.

She has been slowly opening up to me as well about how God is dealing with her. She tells me how she talks to Him. She tells me what she is afraid of, but then also admits that when she tells God about it that she is comforted.

Like a flower, she is slowly blooming. She is slowly trusting God. And because she takes this decision so serious, I am hopeful that when she does receive the Holy Ghost, she will also be a serious keeper of that precious gift.

One last thing.......she also has such a sweetness that I just love. We were at her grandmas and great-granny's house today. While they weren't looking, she wrote them each a personal note (telling them how much she loved them and that they were the best grandma/great granny in the world) and snuck it into each of their bedrooms to put on their pillows.

How I wish I could have seen their faces when they found the note......

Hannah's Poem

There once was a girl who sat on a log.

She sat there quite a while when out jumped a frog!

Hello, said the frog do you want to play?

No, said the girl. Just go away.

So the frog went away and made the girl sad.

Not like the frog, he was mad!

And she sat down and began to cry.

She sat quite a while and along came a fly!

Hello, said the fly do you want to play?

Yes, said the girl. Do not go away.

So they played all day and the girl did say.

I will never again say just go away.

Written by: Hannah, age 8

(Original and unedited)

Hannah's First Composition

Hannah began her piano lessons with her new teacher last week. At her first lesson, her teacher challenged her to find some Japanese piano music on YouTube and write down the titles of the songs she had listened to. Today, her second lesson, she challenged her to write her own composition, of any length, Japanese-style.

When Hannah told me this I must confess to having my doubts as to Hannah's willingness to complete this assignment. This is a girl who is very creative "in her imagination" but struggles putting that to paper. However, she surprised me.

This is her written composition. Below is her playing it. Keep in mind that she has only had one year of piano, has had most of the summer off (because her first teacher moved away and her second teacher did not work out). Additionally, the piano is out of tune (yes Mrs. Wizzle - we will be looking into it.....:-). And, she does play more complicated pieces, this is just very simple because she composed it herself.

Maybe I'm just a proud mama, but I do think it has a Japanese sound to it (having listened with her last week).

I am very, very proud of my daughter.

Future Plans

I just received a job offer to work in a doctor's office for a doctor I worked with in my early 20's. I'll be working a few hours in the evening twice a week, and on Saturday. Dave will be home with the kids (VERY important).....and also of extreme importance to me.....I'll be home to tuck them in bed at night (I couldn't have done it otherwise...).

Because of this, I had to go looking for a uniform for work yesterday. This is when my son found out that I was going to be going to work. He was devastated.

"You mean, you are going to work and leaving Hannah and I at home?" was his first inquiry.

I explained to him that he would be home with his dad - "won't that be fun...being with daddy?" - and that I would be home to tuck him into bed. He still would not be comforted. He walked around for at least an hour, very quiet, occasionally bringing up the fact that "he did NOT want me to go to work!" He also got it into his head that I was going to be a doctor (don't I wish...) and that I was working in a hospital, although I tried to correct him about this.

He is very concerned that I will not be around for him. This has become an obsession with him. He mentions regularly the fact that he doesn't want me to die.....thankfully just last night for the first time, I believe I really got through to him when I prayed for him that it is all in Jesus' hands, and that Jesus was there to comfort him. I can't give him false reassurances, I don't know the future. But I do know Jesus is the Comfortor, and thankfully, he was comforted. I believe his not wanting me to work is part of this separation-anxiety he is experiencing.

Anyway, this morning he woke up and made it his mission to please me. He even vocalized this. He is not always *bad*, but I am not sure that he always obeys me just to please me, either.

He was so good this morning that he even informed me ahead of time what he was going to do to be *good*. He did MORE papers than his sister (on her flyer route). He sat quietly while I cleaned the church (instead of running around like an orangutan). He walked quietly beside me at the store. He didn't have the "galloping greedy gimmies". I was so happy with this lad of mine and told him frequently. He wore a constant smile.

During lunch he informed me of the change in his future plans. Yes, he still wants to build tables and chairs (on Saturdays, to be exact). He wants to be an ice cream maker (on Sunday, to be exact). He wants to build roofs on houses - why NOT the house itself is a good question - and use bricks as well in his building (on Monday mornings, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays).

On Monday afternoon, however, he informed me that he was working with me at the hospital. Giving up on trying to straighten the location of my employment out, I asked him what job he would be doing.

"I'm going to be a doctor, mom," he answered.

Alrighty then. He's going to be a doctor - one afternoon a week - so he can work with me. I wonder what he would have done if I told him that I don't even work on Mondays? And that by the time he's a doctor, I would be looooonnnnng retired.....

To end this post.....completely unrelated......he kissed me on the cheek last night and told me that I was "the best great aunt he ever had!"

As long as I'm the best...I guess that's all that really matters....:-)

Reflection of Eleven Years

At some point in the middle of the night, on the eve of our eleventh wedding anniversary, my husband managed to yet again surprise me. Traditionally, he is a *gifted* surpriser. He enjoys very much thinking up new ways to surprise me on my birthday, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day or our anniversary. The most common thing he does is awaken me at some ghastly hour when I'm barely cognitive. When he does this, it's usually the gift that surprises me.

Last night I thought I had it figured out. I was expecting an early start. However, I awoke - on my own - at around 4:00 a.m., to find the shadow of this in the corner of my room:

(Note the perfect place for my children's art work.....)

My heart was glad and I smiled. I realized that he must have snuck out in the middle of the night to his *secret hiding place* in order for me to see this when I woke up. I found out later that his *secret hiding place* was out on the deck. Since it had rained nonstop for two days, the deck was left vacant and thus a safe place. I smiled as I imagined him creeping out onto the cold deck in the middle of the night to retrieve my prize.

This trait is one of the sweetest things about my husband.

While driving in the car the other night, I told both of the kids that daddy and I will be married eleven years on Saturday. My ever-inquisitive son piped up and said:

"Then Hannah came along? Then me?"

Tears came to my eyes. "Yes, Seth. You and Hannah are God's gifts to daddy and I," I answered.

I sit in awe of the last eleven years. There has been some extremely tough times when I didn't know if we would make it, as I am sure there are in most marriages. But tonight I have a grateful heart. I am married to a man who wasn't raised to have kindness. I am married to man who was taught to fight back hard or else you would be trampled on. I am married to a man who didn't have birthday parties and where birthdays were more of a verbal comment than anything else. Yet, through eleven years, I have seen him strive to be kind, because it's not his natural tendency. I have seen him learning to bite his tongue and not fight me back when I wanted to do nothing but fight.

And I am married to man who makes national holidays out of every special occasion in our family and perfected them to a fine art. He could actually teach seminars to other men on "how to make your family supremely happy on their special days". He could show men how to make their wive's day on a very limited budget.

My husband is NOT stingy. He puts my wants before his needs. The other day I called him to ask him if I could buy this couch (pictured above), which our neighbour was selling for $80.00. (Pretty good deal if you ask me......my couch of 16 years was starting to fall apart). Without hesitation he said that I could. When we are not budgeted for a couch AT ALL, $80.00 is a lot of money out-of-budget. He shops for his kids when he has a little extra - for no reason at all but that he loves to surprise them.

So, eleven years later, we are both still growing. Still striving to improve our relationship and our walk with God. We are not stagnating.

And I am so very thankful for this man that I married.

Getting Old

I had a serious conversation with my son tonight. It went like this:

"Mom, when I'm old and grown, will you have any more kids?"

"Uh, no Seth. I won't." With a straight face.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll be too old to have any more babies," I answered.

He pondered this while I read to him. I thought the conversation was over, but really, he was brooding during the whole story because as soon as I was done, he turned to me with tears in his eyes and said:

"Mom," {lips quivering} "I really, really don't want you to get old."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I don't want you to be old and wrinkled," was his reply. He was fully crying by this point. I know where these questions are coming from. We have been spending a lot of time with his great granny and, unfortunately, the fact that she is failing a little is an ever present part of conversation in our household.

"Seth, when I'm old and wrinkled, you'll be a grown man and you will feel differently about your mom being old and wrinkled then," I tried to explain.

"I will not! I will NEVER want you to be old and wrinkled!" he adamantly stated.

"What is it about being old and wrinkled that bothers you?" I asked him.

"Cuz when you're old and wrinkled, you'll likely get killed in a car accident!" he replied.

How do I get that out of his head? When I'm old and wrinkled I will die, but not likely in a car accident.......but that will not be any more reassuring to him. It's the whole death, dying and getting old thing that is pressing most on his mind. So we prayed. I asked God to comfort him. Then it was time for bed, so I told his dad about his concern so dad would pray for him as well. Before we all prayed, his dad's conversation with Seth began like this:

"Seth, don't you want to grow up and be a man? And do grown up things?"

"NO!" was Seth's reply.

"Don't you want to ever drive a car?" his dad asked.

"NO!" was Seth's reply.

"Don't you want to build buildings?" This hit the jackpot, because that is Seth's passion.

"Yes..." very quietly.

"Don't you want to go on a long walk in the woods, all by yourself?" dad asked.

"NO!" Okay then........

"Don't you want to go on a walk WITH A GIRLFRIEND?" dad asked.

"I already have a girlfriend," he said with a sigh. (Like, why would I need to be grown up if I already have a girlfriend, dad?)

Like duh. Of course. (She is 13 years old and goes to our church and he has had a crush on her since the minute she stepped in our door. She is also the sweetest girl in the world fortunately).

And even though we didn't quite convince him that it was okay to be old, it did get his mind off of the subject somewhat.

Oh the methods parents must take......

Squishy Cheeks And Other Things

Notice all the animals on my son's bed? Every night, he has to lay them in this EXACT order beside him. EVERY NIGHT. If he can't find one (which happens often enough) I have a hard time settling him down enough to go to sleep. I think he has a teeny wee bit of OCD.

He was such a wonderful little guy at church tonight. He snuggled down in my arms, turned my ear to his lips so he could properly whisper:

"Thank you God for giving me such a wonderful mom."

How simply sweet and heart melting is that? To top it off, he stroked my cheek and said:

"Mom, you have such squishy cheeks," (like squishy cheeks was a wonderful trait - and actually the first time I didn't mind having squishy cheeks) and "your cheeks are so kissable." Yes, he actually said that to his mother. Can you imagine how on earth I'm going to cope when he's older?

We are currently looking for a home on a deserted island.

He had two new questions for me as well.

"Mom, how do you know when dogs are laughing?" (which I think I know the answer for) and,

"Do fish have hearts?"

We haven't searched out the exact answers yet, but I find myself thoroughly enjoying his questions.

Today, my mother's heart is mush for my boy.

Fireworks And Such....

{Photo courtesy of my niece, Rachel}

Tonight we went to the fireworks. We had *front row* seats on the roof of a high rise condo. My kids were pretty excited when they heard we were going. However, we discovered that my poor son did NOT like the fireworks, at all. It has been a couple of years since we've been anywhere near fireworks and I honestly thought he would have gotten over his fear. He could not be convinced that they weren't going to land on us. Neither was he impressed with the noise.

Earlier today, this son-o-mine spent quite a bit of time constructing a new building. He then called me to come into his room to see the finished product.

"Do you know what it is, mom?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "Why don't you tell me."

"It's a saloon," he answered.

Oh.....

"What is a saloon?" I asked.

"It's a place where you go to relax and have a drink," he replied.

OH......!!!!

"Where did you hear about saloons?" I asked.

"On Freddi Fish and the Hogfish Rustlers," he explained. (One of his favourite CD's).

Later on, after talking about his newly constructed saloon to my niece, I asked him to tell me exactly what drinks were served in a saloon.

"Coke. Water. Orange juice. Strawberry juice. AND Banana juice," he answered.

Then my heart was comforted. His innocence wasn't shattered after all.

Until my *stinky* niece told him to make sure he told our pastor about his wonderful saloon.......

Looks like I'll have some 'splaining to do.

Awesome Girl

See this girl to my left.

She's my girl.

She is VERY sweet.

She helped me with all my work today, asking me WHAT she could do.......

AND....all on her own.....without my prompting....

She brought out her school work and completed THREE subjects!!

How awesome is that? I have been telling the kids that we were getting back at school AFTER Labor Day. She decides to pull a fast one on me today and pulls out her books, much to my unprepared (although very impressed) self. Mule-headed as I am, however, I told her that I wasn't going through her work until AFTER Labor Day (what can say....I'm a person of my word). I have to totally prepare myself mentally when I start what I know to be something big. And starting the next school year is a BIG DEAL to me. And I am not prepared to begin until after the long weekend, plain and simple.

I know this much, Seth ain't starting until AFTER Labor Day......

A Tale Of Two Sisters

I have a little story to tell. It is a true story.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

There were two sisters who lived in the same apartment. The older sister was named Rachelle. The younger was named Jennifer. Rachelle was known to be serious and scholarly. Jennifer was outgoing and hotheaded. Generally, she was afraid of very little and was known for fighting battles for her older, more *dignified* sibling.

They both had one, very important thing in common: Their total, absolute, FEAR of eight-legged creatures.

They happened to be born into a family with strong genetic arachnophobia. In fact, their two *elder* aunts, Darlene and Alana, also possessed this strong genetic predisposition. In their younger days, they were known to damage walls and waste entire cans of hairspray on these critters. However, it was thought that the gene must have mutated a hundred fold because nothing and no one surpassed the fear that these two sisters, Rachelle and Jennifer had.

One dark, lonely night, these sisters were home alone. They were having a......disagreement...(they were known to have a *few* of these). The older one decided it was time to get into the shower. She grabbed a couple of clean towels, and with her glasses off - and thus half-blind state - noticed something black underneath one of the clean towels she had just dropped on the floor. To her dismay, it was a spider (although it looked like a dead spider). Totally freaked out, Rachelle jumped onto the toilet lid, because we all know that dead spiders are known to occasionally come back to life. She pounded the poor sucker with a broom (although how she got the broom while on the toilet seat remains a mystery.....), and then decided to spray it with half of a can of Raid. Just in case it was miraculously healed after the beating.

She then called her sister (whom she wasn't on the best of terms with at that moment....remember) because she needed moral support as well as a second opinion as to whether this was a dead spider or a fighting-for-life spider. And, whether it was the dead spider that still lay in another area of the floor of the bathroom (because dead spiders are just as intolerable as live ones and proper burials were not always given) or whether this was a second spider they were dealing with. Jennifer concluded that it was a SECOND spider, it's sibling lay in death elsewhere, and that she thought this spider looked dead to her (although she had a moment when she had second thoughts when trying to take a picture of the creature - for to her it looked alive through the lens of a camera....). Anyway, the final conclusion was reached that the ugly thing was dead. Five minutes of heated debate ensued as to who would clean it up (although I'm not sure why this one had to be cleaned up since it's sibling lay in another area of the bathroom floor, carelessly disregarded in death..). Rachelle thought Jennifer should since she killed it. Jennifer stated adamantly that she.would.NOT.

So, perched atop a stool (for the toilet lid by this time was becoming unstable), and still a teensy bit afraid this critter would yet pull a Lazarus, the eldest sibling very bravely took a broom and dust pan, put a kleenex on top of the dead spider (viewing of the body was unacceptable), and tried to sweep it into the dust pan. This proved very difficult, however, for the kleenex got soggy because of all of the Raid (literally leaving the floor WET), so the added assistance of Jennifer's flip flop (to Jennifer's SUPREME annoyance) finally put the creature onto the dustpan, where it eventually had it's burial in a sea of toilet water.

The tale does not end here, unfortunately, for just as Rachelle was about to get into the shower for a second time, Jennifer let out a shriek from her bedroom. Rachelle went into her sister's bedroom, knowing full well what the problem was going to be. On the wall in Jennifer's room was a monstrous-sized, fully ALIVE, crawling SPIDER. Totally ticked by this time, both at the offensive creature AND her sister's hysterics, for by this time the usually braver Jennifer was crying......Rachelle took the broom and whaled the living snot out of the spider. When she finally finished swinging, Jennifer had actually gone from crying to laughing hysterically. The sight of her benefactor viciously swinging her weapon was really too much.

Disaster struck again: It was discovered that the spider had gone missing. It was not on the floor or in the broom (although this was observed from about ten feet away, so one could not be totally sure). Jennifer was unsure whether or not it was actually dead or...hiding....and this proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Rachelle and Jennifer stayed that night at their parents.

This is the end of the story. Certainly not the end of *their* story. The question begs to be asked: If this gene mutates yet again, what will their offspring be like?

Note from the author: This account is factual. Anything resembling known persons is *purely coincidental*.

All In A Day

I was awoken early this morning by my happy son, jumping on my bed, trying to shake me awake.

"Mom! Mom! Why won't you and Hannah wake up?"

My befuddled brain thought: "You won't be so chipper when you realize you are going to the dentist today for a filling. I won't rain on your parade yet, however, sonny-boy." It's amazing that sarcasm can come so naturally even when my brain is so tired.

Off to the dentist. I thought he needed one teensy filling, but he needed two. Both were very small, but still required anesthetic. I tell ya, when you find a good dentist, one who knows how to handle kids, hang on to him. He had that needle in and out so slick, Seth chatting up a storm the whole time. The only thing Seth refused to cooperate with was having a rubber-dam. I don't like rubber-dams, so I totally sympathized. Tears filled his eyes and he started to panic and cry. Fortunately, they were very patient and removed it (even though it makes their job much easier using the rubber-dam) and did the fillings quick-as-you-please without it, all the while making Seth feel like a million bucks.

He did deserve it. He was totally awesome today. His parade wasn't rained-on after all.

So, because he was so amazing, his dad and I asked him what he would want the most as a reward.

"Smarties," he said.

I explained (hopefully) that it did not have to be candy. It could be a toy. It could be anything (pretty much).

"Smarties," he repeated.

Even though too much sugar and inadequate brushing (although I am stumped about that one because I have been VERY diligent with brushing) is why he needed fillings in the first place, how could I deny him his one request?

So, tonight we went for Smarties. Him and I. Since it was a gorgeous evening, and I needed exercise, I told him we would walk. He walked his little legs off. Twenty blocks, round trip.

When he got home, he ate smarties, talked, read library books, talked some more, rode his bike, talking the whole time. We ended the evening looking up answers to his questions (since I am trying to take them more serious like a good mommy should).

What do giraffe's bones look like? VERY BIG. Saw some interesting pictures.

Do elephants lie down to play dead? Yep. Even though they sleep lying down AND standing up, it stands to reason that since they would be lying down if they were REALLY dead, that if they were playing dead they would have to lie down, right? Sound logic.

Do bees have a heart? (newest question) Yep, although it looks like the large intestine of a human.

And tonight in bed: Can skeletons lie on their side? Again, yep. Sure. If a person dies that way, why not?

The last two questions are definitely worthy of Chapters 3 and 4 of "The Book". At the current rate of his questions (several a day), I will need enough material to fill A THOUSAND chapters.........

All About My Girl

The day started in the wee hours of the morning at 8:15 a.m. My husband, who had been up for hours (he has formed this terrible habit in his old age of rising VERY early), came to awaken me. Barely able to focus (because I've formed another terrible habit of going to bed VERY late), he told me that Seth had requested some special time with just his dad. So, since I had been trying to schedule a mother/daughter outing anyway, he suggested that we split up and he have a father/son day at the same time.

Even in my slightly half-wit state, I was very happy that my mama's-boy-son made this request. He loves doing things with his dad, but he has never requested having some time just with him. Away from his mom. And so we planned our day.

Once again, I had a superb day with my girl. Besides going for lunch, we went to her favourite store, Michaels, with the intent of picking out another silk flower, which she just happens to love.

It is becoming more apparent that my girl is very indecisive. She took a half hour just in one aisle of the store, staring at the silk flowers on sale, going back and forth trying to make little bouquets, not being able to decide which ones she liked. She finally told me she wanted me to pick them out.

"What if you don't like my choice?" I asked her.

"I don't care. I want you to pick them out because I just can't," she replied. "And, I know that once I pick out one flower and it's paid for, I will regret not picking the other."

Such is her logic. In fact, she does this all the time in a store, in whatever she buys. She quite often picks out what she doesn't want because she "just knows that she will regret buying what she wants".

????????

She has such endearing quirks. Tonight at prayer meeting, she whispered to me that after prayer meeting, before we left, that she wanted to talk to me. ALONE. Alone to Hannah doesn't mean finding a corner of the sanctuary and whispering. It means setting out on an excursion where there is nobody else and no chance of there being anyone else. We thought we found such a place, but someone came in and dared to turn on the light and ruin it. So we ended up going outside, away from the church.

So she could tell me her secret. In private.

And I will 'fess-up to all here and now. Her secret was VERY GOOD. Maybe some day soon I can share it with y'all. With her permission, of course.

No Song And Dance

I've said before that I believe that most of the stories I will have to tell about my son will be about things that happen in church. Well, if that is true, then the second most frequent stories I have to tell are about his tremendous fear of.....BUGS. While driving. In the car.

This time he wasn't singing...yet. He saw the GInormous beast on the roof in the back seat. His brave sister did her best to kill the monster, but missed. I asked her where the offensive critter was.

First mistake.

She told me.

Second mistake.

"It's ON Seth," she answered, without thought.

And the end of the world came. Shrieks and screams. Fits of terror. I pulled the car over, I must confess that I was going to tie him to his booster seat and duct tape his mouth FULLY EXASPERATED, and opened his door.

If you have ever wondered if it was possible for a kid to wiggle out of their seatbelt, I have full evidence that IT IS. Seth was at an angle that put him partially out of his seatbelt.

I never did find the bug, but I checked and reassured my son that it was gone. His sister, trying to make up for her earlier mistake, told him that it "must have flown out when mom opened the door". He believed her. His big sister knows pretty much everything, after all.

I end with one last thing: This incidence sure weren't no song and dance.

Just Thoughts.....

It's 9:30 p.m. My worn out husband has gone to bed even before the kids. My daughter is writing in her journal. My son has been kissed, cuddled and prayed for.

So I'm writing.

As my daughter gets older, I realize I have to be much more careful about what I write about her (thus the lack of blog posts about her in comparison to my son). Even though she is only 8, she really is quite mature and VERY sensitive. I find myself in tug-of-wars with her will about things that I am not prepared to battle yet. She tells me she "feels grown up" all the time (which proves, of course, how not-grown-up she really is - which may seem contradictory to my initial statement about her being quite mature for her age....but really isn't), so even though I am loosening the strings significantly, it is not fast enough to suit my daughter.

{Big Sigh}

Tonight my son told me that we needed to buy a "barrier".

"A what?" I asked.

"A barrier," he told me.

"What in the world is a barrier?" I asked him.

"You know," he said, "it's one of those things that you need to bury people with. So that when one of us dies in our family we can bury them."

How comforting......

I honestly don't know where he comes up with these things.

I find that he asks many of his questions while he's eating, likely because we are trying to get him to stop talking while he's eating - since it's pretty much constant chatter and he takes forever to eat - so when he's not yapping, his little mind is going a mile a minute.

"What do giraffe's bones look like?" he also asked. And: "Why do officers like donuts so much?" (to which I almost choked. Honestly, his dad and I have not made any jokes lately about the police frequenting Tim's or anything....) He comes up with these so out of the blue, that's what makes them so hysterical. And, he'll ask several questions in a row, all about completely different things.

School starts in a couple of weeks and I feel totally unprepared mentally right now.

This is one of those "rambling" posts that I don't have a brilliant ending for. Just my thoughts cuz I was in the mood to write. So good night.

Question Of The Day

My son's question this morning, while eating breakfast:

"Do elephants lie down when they pretend to play dead?"

So, do they I ask?

Definitely will be the title of one of the chapters of their book of life.

Not Wired

My son yelled at me, quite frantically this morning:

"MOM, COME! MOM! THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THIS PLUG. IT DOESN'T WORK AT ALL WHEN I PLUG IT IN!"

I quickly discovered the problem:

He was trying to plug in this white plug protector and wondered why nothing "lit up".

I'm thinkin' the chances are slim that he will be an electrician when he grows up.

Perhaps he'll stick to his carpentry work and tender for that electrician when the time comes.

Whatcha think?

Of Bugs And Praise

Have I said lately that my son hates bugs? I mean the loathe-kind of hate. He freaks out over everything with the exception of butterflies, but truthfully, I'm sure if a butterfly swooped down near him and caught him off guard that he'd freak over it as well. And it's because of his dislike of bugs that I'm telling my story.

The setting: Our car on the way to church Sunday morning.

Seth is sitting in his seat, just building up to a rousing rendition of Send Up Judah, which was the current song playing.

"Send up Judah, send up Judah, send up........DAD!!! THERE'S A MOSQUITO LOOSE IN THE CAR!!!!!" And all through his shrieks, the song keeps on playing.

And he keeps screaming AND singing.....back and forth.

"DAD!!! KILL IT!!!........For everything He has done, for every victory He has won.......DAD!!! I SAID THERE IS A MOSQUITO!!!!!......Lift it up, lift it up, lift it......AHHH!!! THE MOSQUITO IS ON MY WINDOW DAD!!! GET IT DAD!!! Let everything that has breath praise the......IT'S GONNA GET ME!!! KILL IT, DAD!!!! Praise Him, praise Him......."

I was trying in vain to maintain control in the front seat. Spasms of laughter were trying to burst forth. Dad, on the other hand, was unmoved. Bugs loose in the car and his son's wails are a regular occurrence, after all. For me, it was the combination of wails and singing that got me going.

Then all of the sudden there was a big "thud" against the window.

"There, dad. I threw my Bible at the window and I think I killed it. Yup. For everything He has done, every victory He has won, send up.....AHHH! IT'S STILL MOVING, DAD!"

That was too much for me and I could not suppress it anymore. Dad was still NOT amused. I realize that throwing your hard cover children's Bible at the window is really not a good idea and could cause damage, but it is was still really just too much for me.

The story ends with the mosquito NOT dead. With dad unamused. With me finding it all totally hilarious.

And with my son sending up praise while the crippled mosquito hid for dear life.

Questions

"Is there going to be a hole in heaven when you get there mom, so you can come back to me?"

Rather serious, huh? In fact, this evening has been rather different. Seth went from being upbeat and perky, to almost crying in the blink of an eye. He became suddenly concerned about me dying and was literally sniffing and teary-eyed. He has just recently started asking questions about death (I'm not sure why because nobody we know has recently passed away and I'm unaware of the subject being in any books or computer games), so it took some time trying to calm him down.

He wanted me to ask Jesus when I would die. I tried to explain to him that Jesus wasn't going to tell me, so he wanted to know why. Then asked me if I would die in a car accident.

"I have no idea how or when I'm going to die, Seth," I explained. "I may live to be great-grandma's age. She is 89, remember?" I said.

"You mean, great grandma GOT INTO A CAR ACCIDENT?" he asked.

Huh?.......(which proves the theory that boys have hearing defects..)

And my favourite question of the evening? A much lighter one (after the tears and sniffing).......it's one in a million......

"Do bugs eat mini wheats, mom?"

And I think: If I ever compile my stories into a book like I long to, I have found the perfect title.

DO BUGS EAT MINI WHEATS?

And other stories of my kidlets....

by

Darla Hude

I can always dream, can't I?

My Brilliant Husband

I have a brilliant husband. Truly. I am convinced that there isn't a subject that, even previously ignorant about, he cannot master.

The key to his success is that he has learned the true art of studying.

He recently finished his fifth (of a total of eight) correspondence course through the City of Saskatoon. These courses take anywhere from 4-6 months of study, minimally four evenings per week. His ultimate goal is to be well prepared in the next few years when all the "higher paid supervisor positions" become available because of several people due to retire. Having a better position means one job (that means no night work for me as well), home every evening with his family, and a little more breathing space in terms of the future. I truly appreciate his hard work and dedication in this regard.

He got 99% on his latest exam. He has had no less than 95% on any of his previous courses, and I believe averages around 98% with all five.

He has told me that it was a smart college professor who taught him the art studying, and it has obviously paid off.

I am the primary home educator in the family (dedicating much of my time as well to research on homeschooling in general) AND am very outspoken (big shock......) about home education. However, I am convinced that it will be my husband's superior study habits and fantastic teaching ability that will help the kids most in the years to come. Any success they may have with their schooling will most likely be because they have a dad who taught them proper study habits and patiently found ways to help them understand a concept. He excels at both.

And I am more than okay with that. In fact, I'm grateful.

Mini-Copters

Look at the size of this dragonfly, taken outside my window. I love them because they protect me from the beastly mosquitos - which they are having a marvelous feast on this year, judging by the size.

I've extended a personal invitation to this one to stay and bring all of its extended family as well.

Tickle Bug

I spent some time this morning wrestling with my son. His wrestling with his dad is true man-to-man-type, but with me it's tickle-'til-you-puke. Nothing short of that makes him happy. I could tickle that kid for a solid hour and he would still come back for more. I have yet to hear him say, "okay, that's enough now, mom. I'm done tickling". Ever. For six full years (even as a baby it was evident he loved being tickled) I have had to keep his tickle-cup full.

What is even funnier is the places he likes being tickled.

Under the chin.

On the back of the neck. He will literally drop what he's doing if I start "scratching" him there and stand as still as a statue. I've learned it's a wonderful way to get him to calm down a bit.

Behind his ear. He pulls back his ears when that part of his anatomy has been neglected.

Under his arm (which he calls "shoulder" pits). He actually lifts up his arms and waits.

In his "knee pit" (his terminology).

On the bottom of his feet - he'll even put his foot in my face if I've ignored that area too long.

I realize that some of these areas are the more common tickle areas (in the shoulder-pit, for example), but I reckon most of them are not. And I've become convinced of one more thing.

My son really is part canine.