I Never Knew Branson could be THIS exciting!!! Are we there yet??? The 2nd morning

The next morning, I woke up and lay in my bed enjoying the stillness and quietness.  I love those minutes before everyone else is awake and I can be alone with my thoughts.  I considered getting a jumpstart on the day but knew it'd spoil the quiet moment so I continued to drift somewhere between conciseness and sleep, where dreams and thoughts meld until it is hard to separate reality from fantasy when I heard a gurgling noise from the other side of the room.  Was this a dream or reality?  I didn't wait to find out.  I whipped the covers off myself and headed towards the source of the noise: Sam's pack and play.  It sounded like he was filling his pants and it sounded loose and messy.  Sigh.  "Great," I thought, "What a way to start the day."

As I approached the pack and play, I heard a new sound, retching.  Poor baby!  I got the his side as he vomited all over his blankets and jammies.  I scooped him up and went straight into the bathroom.  I held him in the tub as he continued to be sick.  When he seemed to have it, and everything else out of his system, I began the process of cleaning him up.  I don't know if you've ever had the pleasure of cleaning up bodily fluids of that sort in a small motel bathroom with limited resources, but it's not fun, just in case you were wondering.  While I peeled and rinsed Sam, Michael went to the desk to figure out what we needed to do to gain access to the laundry room.   While I left Sam in the tub to soak, I wrote up a list and sent Michael off to the store for some supplies.  Disinfecting wipes, Pepto for kids, Sierra Mist, etc.  We pawned the healthy boys off on the rents while I continued laundry and clean up duties and Michael found a store.

Once I had the clothes in the dryer, I decided to head down to the motel's breakfast bar area and find something to eat.  Sam seemed to be feeling fine at this point and wanted out of the dingy little room as badly as I did so we set off down the hall together.  As I browsed through the breakfast options, Sam kept trying to open cupboard doors or head out into the lobby.  He loves to explore and hide.  I kept asking him if he would like anything to eat and to stay put.  I found a danish for myself and turned to zap it in the microwave and in the instant I turned back around, I noticed Sam's absence.

I immediately began to open the cupboard doors, but he wasn't there.  I walked out into the lobby, he wasn't there.  Every time I looked into a nook and cranny and didn't discover Sam, my heart beat faster and faster.  The woman working asked if I needed anything, I didn't want to say it out loud, but knew I needed to.

"My two year old took off.  We were getting breakfast and the next thing I knew, he was gone.  He loves to hide and calling for him only makes it worse.  You didn't see him by chance did you?"

She had not seen him but joined me in my hunt.  By the time we had searched the whole lobby area and came up empty handed, I felt like my heart was about to beat right out of my chest.

"I'm going to head to our room.  Maybe he wandered that way," I told the woman.

"I'll head down the other hall," she replied.

I tore off down the hallway headed back to our room praying I would see him around each bend or by a door knocking on it with his little impish grin.  As I searched, I kept praying in my head, "God, keep him safe.  Help me find.  Help me stay calm.  Crying isn't going to do any good.  Help to keep my head clear Lord.  Guide me to him."

It was no use; Sam was not in any of the hallways.  I must have look panic stricken because a gentleman in the hallway asked me if I needed help.

"Have you seen a two year old wandering down this way?  My son is missing."

"No I haven't ma'm.  Do you need help looking for him?"

"I'm on my way to get my family, but thank you."

When I reached out corridor, I banged on my parent's and grandparent's door.

"Sam is missing.  I need your help.  We were getting breakfast and the next thing I knew, he was gone!  I can't find him anywhere."  At this point, I was beginning to loose the battle to fight back tears.  I choked back the ones that were pooling in my eyes and everyone set out right away.

By this point, Sam could be anywhere.  Could he have gotten outside?  Not on his own.  But what if sneaked out behind someone with an armload of luggage?  Worse yet, what if someone picked him up and took?  He would scream right?  Surely, someone would have noticed.

By now there were about ten of us hunting inside and outside.  I headed back to ask the woman from the front desk if maybe we needed to call the police.  Sam had now been missing for the longest 5-10 minutes of my life.  Suddenly, near the lobby, I heard a noise.  It sounded a little like a shout or a cry, but it was muffled.  I couldn't be sure what direction it had come from, neither could the woman.  She hadn't even heard it.

"Again Sam!  Cry again!"

We both stood completely still.  Listening.  Waiting.  Holding our breath.

"Mama!"

"Sam?"

Our eyes locked and we both tore off down the hall in the direction it had come from.  We hit a T in the hall.  I went left.  She turned right.

"Mama!"

"Sam?"

I knew I was closing in.  He had to be in one of these rooms, but which one?

"One more time Sammi, one more time!"

"Mama!"  It was louder this time, but still muffled.  I pressed my ear to a door and listened.  I heard nothing.

"Sammi??"

"MAMA!  MAMA!  Help me!  MAMA MAMA!"

"I'm right here Sammi!  Mama's coming.  I'm right here!  I found him!  I found him!  He's in locked in this room!"

The woman came running from the other direction and immediately began apologizing.  "I don't have a key on me!  I'm so sorry!  I'll be right back!" and she headed back toward the desk.

"MAMA!  MAMA!  Help me!  MAMA MAMA!"

"It's okay Sammi.  Mama's right here.  I just have to get this door open."

Anticipation griped at me as my mind began to wonder if he was alone in there.  What if someone had taken him in the room?  What if he wasn't alone?

The woman returned with key and I only thought for a split second if we should open the door or have one of the men do it.  We opened the door and there was Sam.  His face lit up with the grin when he's been hiding and is found.  I scooped him up and there was no holding back the tears anymore, the damn broke free and my wet cheek kissed his.  I looked back to the woman who had helped me find my son and saw her face was as tear stained as my own.

"I have a son too," she said.  "I'm so glad we found him.  I'm so glad he's okay."

I honestly don't remember what happened next, but I do remember feeling like a crushing weight had been lifted off my chest as it became easier to breathe again and thinking that Sam now owned #1 and #2 on my scariest mom moments list.

What's for Dinner?

Having spent most of the day under the weather, I was looking for a quick and easy dinner and I settled on, duh-duh-duh, PASTA!  Now you're a regular reader of my blog, I'm sure you have an idea where this entry may be headed, if you're not, you might want to go back and read about Rob's issues with pasta in a previous entry.  I made sure to have a veggie and breadsticks on hand so there would be SOMETHING Rob would eat.  I also decided to try a different tactic; when Rob asked what was for dinner, I replied, "Um, Spaghetti!" and on edge awaited his response.

Imagine my surprise when he responded, "YUM!  I love spaghetti!"  Really?  REALLY?  Never mind that this was actually rotoni noodles, spaghetti sauce and ground beef, literally the EXACT same meal as the last pasta episode.  I didn't think I could really pull this off this easily.  I figured that as soon as we sat down to the table and he saw the meal, all deals would be off the table and I'd lose.  So when Michael put the food on his plate and Rob began eagerly eating, I was really taken aback.

That's when I had my near fatal moment.  I made the mistake of uttering the P word.  "Sam, sit down and eat you pasta."  Rob's reaction was fast.  His head snapped in my direction, his mouth fell open mid bite and he gave me a questioning glare.  Think fast Mom, and that's exactly what I did. "OH, silly me!  I meant to say spaghetti."  Whew.  Rob went back to happily devouring his dinner.

I'd be sure not to make that mistake again!  But I guess Michael didn't catch on quite as quickly.  When he spoke pasta, my heart caught in my throat.  How long could we get by with this???  Surely we were busted now.  But maybe Rob didn't hear.  No he did in fact hear, but instead of freaking out he calmly said, "Silly Daddy.  He said pasta too!  Dad, it's SPAGHETTI, not pasta!"  and popped another bite into his mouth.

Score
Mom and Dad: 107
Rob: 1,354

I never knew Branson could be THIS exciting!!! Are we there yet??? Night 1

We had decided that we should go somewhere for Easter this year.  We wanted it to be in driving distance, we wanted to use our vacation club, and we only had a few days to work with.  After looking at a few options, we settled on Branson, Missouri.  We also invited my parents and my grandparents along for the ride.  Grandma and Grandpa had been twice before, but I don't think they had any clue what they were signing up for when they agreed to come with the Wx!

We planned to leave after work and school on Wednesday afternoon/early evening.  By the time I got a couple errands run, picked up all three kiddos and made it to my neighborhood, I had already had two calls from my mom wondering when we were leaving and as I pulled into my driveway, I was only slightly surprised to see that my parents and grandparents were already parked there waiting for us.

"Good thing I loaded almost everything in the truck last night," I  thought.  "I hope they will at least let me pee and put on jeans before we leave."  I didn't give them the option, though I did leave the younger two buckled while Ray and I ran into the house to use the facilities and change out of our school clothes into jeans and sweatshirts.  I was also glad to see Michael had made it home, gotten cleaned up and was ready to go.  In next to no time at all, we were on the road and headed south for Missouri.  The plan: drive until we need to stop and find somewhere to crash till morning.

As best I can recall, our first evening of driving wasn't too eventful.  We stopped and had a nice dinner at the Machine Shed in Iowa and decided to keep driving since the boys were traveling fairly well.  We saw small town after small town with motel after motel so we didn't see any reason to stop.

The drive continued pretty well and about 10 p.m., we decided we'd look for a place to stop.  Why is it that as soon as you are looking for a place, they suddenly become very sparse?  And being a Bambrick by blood, getting off the main road for a place is NOT an option.  If it's not visible from the road, forget it and drive on.  Sooner or later one is bound to exist.  Using the GPS, we saw that there was a town about 45-60 minutes out with several options so onward we continued.  I even used the GPS's info to call one and ask about availability and pricing.  It was both available AND cheap!  (Almost too cheap; it was not first choice on my list.)

By the time we arrived, boys were wide-awake, yet dead tired and a wee bit on the whiny side, and by wee bit, I really mean super de duper!!  The place I had called had lights out in their neon sign and lots of semi's in the lot.  I suggested we try the one across the road.  So we did.  They had 1 or 2 smoking rooms only and were way over priced.  Next.  We tried the motel across from that.  They had smoking rooms, so weird hospitality room but would but all 9 of us in one room but 2 adults on a hide-a-bed.  Not exactly ideal.  So on to my last resort.  The small town inn.  Since I just wanted a bed that I hoped was fairly clean without the stench of smoke, two non-smoking rooms were checked out at reasonable rates.  I was pleasantly surprised by the cleanness of our accommodations and shortly, we all dozed off to dreamland.  We're over 1/2 there now baby.

I Live With a Houseful of DORKS!!!

First and foremost, I think it is important that clarify a few things.  In our household, terms of endearment might be a little bit different that the ones you are used to.  I grew up in house where we lovingly and playfully used terms like dork, nerd, goose, and so on a regular basis.  No offense was meant and none was taken.  When my oldest nephew took offense to being called a silly goose, I was taken back.  I didn't mean it in an unbecoming way what so ever, but try as I may to explain it to my very matter of fact nephew, he just couldn't see any value in silliness so I ended up apologizing.  It was the first time I ever really thought about the idea that my values of silliness, goofiness, fun, and being dorky were not necessarily valued by others.  Needless to say, they ARE still values in the WX household today.  So if someone from my family calls you a dork, don't take offense, say "Thank you!"

Which brings me back to my post today.  I was explaining about my houseful of dorks...

My boys have been addicted to computers, books and Star Wars for quite some time now.  Recently, they have added YouTube to their list of things they obsess over.  Gone are the days of encyclopedias for looking up information; they now love going to Google or on YouTube to look for videos to answer all kinds of crazy questions and wonderings they might have.  In the last few weeks, Ray has come to the discovery that HE could make and post videos on YouTube too and he is anxious to give it a try.  

Before school one day last week, I heard Ray and Rob making plans for their first YouTube video.  They would like to make a video to teach other kids about the Civil War, or as Ray says, "the /k/ivil war."  (Who IS this child's reading teacher???  Oh wait.  That might be me.)  They were discussing what they might wear, if they should have a battle scene, what it should look like, what they will say and so on.  I smiled to myself thinking little to nothing will come from it.

After school that day, the buzz continued.  They were anxious to get started on their big project but decided they might need a little more background information.  They wanted to be as accurate as possible.  (Ray's words, not mine.)  When I suggested we bike to the library to see what we might find there, you would have thought I offered them a trip to a water park.

By the time we had the bikes all down and ready to go (first family ride of 2011!) Michael was home.  In his own way, he was also anxious to go to the library to get some Civil War reading material.  "I'd read the books too," was his comment.  Of course he would, and it wouldn't be with any arm twisting.  

Off we set to the library and with a little help from the online catalog I found the part of the library where our treasures could be found.  Scouring through the shelves of books we quickly accumulated a sizable stack of books on the floor around us.  Fortunately, the puppet theatre area was just a few feet to the side so Sam was able to entertain himself too because the boys weren't quick about making their selections.  I waited and made a few suggestions.  I flipped through a book here and there.  I tried not to appear bored, but it was tough.  History, especially wars: it's just not my thing.  I found myself urging the boys to choose 1 or 2 books each for checkout so we could head home.  Of course they immediately responded, sprang up and headed for the checkout right?  Try again.  They didn't even hear me!  IF they DID hear me at all, I'm sure I sounded like the teacher in Charlie Brown.  "Wah, wah, woh, wah, wah."  I got nothing.  No response what so ever.

Try again.  Same response.  Nada.

Third times the charm, right?  Nope.  Nothing.

At that point, I looked at the three of them.  I didn't just see Michael, Ray and Rob reading books on the floor of our local library.  I saw that they had all been teleported to another time period through the pages, words and pictures in the books they were bent over.  I laughed out loud as I looked at Michael and said, "Man!  I live with a houseful of dorks!"

Not being able to make it past the kitchen with his new book, Ray continuing his intent reading on the "K-ivil War" 

Robby paging through Civil War book also on the kitchen floor.

The Robber Did It!

Life at the WX house is never boring.  That statement is an accurate statement without a doubt.  If there were degrees of accuracy, that would be high.  But do you know what would be even more accurate??  Life with Rob is never boring.  Want an example?  Take a sneak peek into a morning at our house last week...

Rob woke up and lumbered into my bedroom where I was finishing getting ready and Sam was already cuddled up on my bed.  At Sam's request, I had turned the TV on.  I mean really, what's the harm in a little PBS kids early in the morning?  It keeps him still and quiet long enough for me to put on a little  makeup.

Well, apparently Rob didn't seem to thin it was harmless.  In fact, he found it quit disturbing and and painful.  He began screaming at me to "Turn the TV off!!!  Why do you always make me watch TV?  It's hurting my eyes.  Owie, owie, owie!  My eyes hurt!  Please don't make me watch TV!  I can't get dressed if I have to watch TV!"  I never knew Martha Speaks could be such a painful experience.  Nor did I know how malicious I was in forcing my children to watch educational televised programming!

On and on he went.  "My eyes!  My eyes!  Don't make me watch TV!  I don't want to watch it.  Turn it off!"  Any passerby would have thought I was doing serious harm to my child.  They would have thought I had him tied to bedposts, forced his eyes open with toothpicks and was forcing him to watch inappropriate content from a blaring big screen television.  In reality, he was voluntarily standing in the middle of my bedroom, fixing his own eyes upon the small screen of my old TV tuned into cartoon focused on expanding the vocabulary of young children.  (On second thought, maybe I should have turned it off.  It's not like he needs his vocabulary expanded!)

Of course, I could have put an end to it by turning the TV off.  But by the same token, he is Rob.  While it would have made peace for the moment, another moment would have been just around the bend.  Not to mention the fact Sam was perfectly content on my bed to cuddle with his blankie while I peacefully (or as peacefully as possible) coated my eyelashes with mascara.

Somehow we managed to get through the trials and tribulations of getting dressed (even with PBS airing), eating breakfast and loading ourselves into the truck to head out for the day.  It wasn't without a good deal of whining and whimpering from Rob though.  That's why when we pulled out of our driveway and he opened his mouth to start with yet another rant, I looked in the rearview mirror at him and said, "Rob, please.  Please, just close your mouth.  I don't want to hear any more.  I'm tired of it this morning."

Well of course he closed his mouth like the obedient, respectful young man that he is.  Oh wait.  That was just my dream version of it.  Reality?  He screams back at me, "You know I DON'T HAVE A MUTE BUTTON!"  sigh.  Yes, I do know.  I know ALL too well.

Somehow I mange to remain composed and keep the us all on our merry little way and pull into the driveway of our daycare.  It's Thursday, which means Sam goes to Becky's and Rob tags along with Ray and myself to school through preschool and then he also heads to Becky's.  "Boys, stay buckled up.  I'm going to run in and drop Sam off and then we'll all get to school."

I dropped off Sam without too much hassle and checked the time as we reverse out of Becky's driveway.  "Whew.  We're still on time.  Amazing!"  I thought to myself as my thoughts are interrupted by a holler from the backseat.

"Mom!  You forgot to buckle me!"

What?  Did I not buckle him before we left our house?  Has he been unbuckled this whole drive?  No.  I distinctly remember buckling him in our garage.

"No.  I DID buckle you.  Why did you UNbuckle?"  I put the truck back in park and open my door to make way to Rob so I can re-buckle him.

"I didn't.  The robber did."

"The robber?  Really?  There was a robber out here while I was inside Becky's house?"

"Yup."

I reach around Rob to click his buckle into place and my hand touches something.  I glance around him to see what it is.  It is a bouquet of flower shaped lollipops that I had purchased to serve as our centerpiece for our preschool concert that evening.  How did these get from my bag in the front seat to Rob's seat?  I confident I know the answer, but I still ask the question.  "Rob, how did these get back here?"

"The robber did it!"

"The robber?  You mean there was a robber here who moved my suckers and unbuckled you but took nothing?  Not my laptop.  Not my wallet.  Not you or Ray.  Not even the suckers. Huh."

"He was going to take the suckers but he dropped them when he unbuckled me and then he just left."

When I got to school I shared the robber story with a co-worker who laughed and said, "Sounds like he got his mama's imagination and story telling skills."  Man, if that's true, I might be in for some SERIOUS trouble!

Turn DOWN the Volume!

This is the shirt Robby was wearing when I picked him up from daycare the other day.  When I got out of my truck and read his shirt, I busted out laughing.  No words can express how true this is.  Anyone who has spent any time with Rob is fully aware of the child's volume issue.  He is L-O-U-D.  He talks loud.  He yells loud.  He cries loud.  He screams loud.  We work on it constantly, but it's just the way he's wired I guess.  (I honestly can't help but think that it doesn't go back to his frequent ear troubles as an infant and toddler.  He did have some hearing loss then, but the tubes seemed to reverse it.)

This past winter, Rob was given another shirt by his grandma that reads "I don't have a mute button."  It is also very true.  It quickly became not only a favorite shirt of his, but also a favorite saying too.  He uses it often when asked to be quiet.  "I can't!  I don't have a mute button!"  Thanks Grandma.

For those of you not familiar with Rob's volume, here's a little sample of what he's capable of.  Keeping in mind, of course, this is him in a good and cooperative mood.  Other moods are a lot louder and a lot less cute :)

Lightsaber Fun is For EVERYone!

So at the W-X house, no one is exempt from the fun with lightsabers.  I am constantly be attacked with a lightsaber of various sizes and colors.  Does that mean we have them all over?  No. And yes.  We do have 2 genuine Star Wars toy lightsabers.  Additionally, we have an orange Power Ranger lightsaber type thing.  We also have a few glow stick flashlights that make cool mini lightsabers.  But most frequently, you will see one of boys wielding a stick.  Or broom stick.  Or fork.  Or any other somewhat linear shaped item.  Yes, in my house anything is game for a duel and any lightsaber will do.  Even 2 year old Sam gets in on the mix.  They all have some impressive skills, but given his age, Sam really takes the show.  Even more impressive are his sounds effects.  He makes this tongue rolling ticking noise that I couldn't make if my life depended on it.  After the loss of two teeth, we were certain his noise effects would be a thing of the past, but I guess no one ever thought to tell him that rolling his tongue should be a challenge now.  Today the boys were at battle and I thought it would be a good time to catch Sam in action.  But of course, catching this on camera is easier said than done.  I got a bit, but I'll keep trying.

You Sexy Rat!

My parents live just a few houses from us; it's about 1/4 mile and on the same road.  It's a very quick and easy walk that our family has traveled countless times in both directions.  So when Ray asked the other day if he could walk home from Nana's while I drove (I had been stopping to pick kids up) I didn't hesitate in answering with a yes.

Apparently, Ray got it in his head that he could beat us if he ran the distance.  I humored him for the most part by slowly loading his brothers into their car seats and pulled slowly out of my rents' driveway.  I drove in an ambling sort of fashion and when Rob caught sight of Ray running and figured out that he was attempting to beat us and succeeding he called out, "That dirty rat!"  (Which is a long standing name in our family lovingly doted out to individuals by my Grandma Billie.)  Robby started to giggle and said in a very sassy voice, "Look at him run!  He's not a dirty rat; he's a SEXY rat!  Roll down my window so I can call him sexy rat mom!  Sexy rat, sext rat, Ray Ray is a sexy rat!"

Good heavens.  As if the child has any clue what he's saying but I have to admit, I couldn't exactly stifle my laughter on that one, which probably didn't help stop him from continuing his chant into the driveway, into the garage, into the house, and even into the next few days.  But I don't care WHO you are, THAT'S FUNNY STUFF!

Thing I Never Knew I'd have to Say

Typical Wednesday afternoon, just before 5 p.m.  I was on the phone with my best bud from college days past while attempting to get dinner started.  Ray and Rob were scampering in and out of the house as they had yet another Star Wars battle.  Sam had fallen asleep.  As the lightsaber duo moved from living room to kitchen to mud room toward the garage, I paused my conversation with Joanna long enough to tell the boys, "Hey, boys.  In or out, but not the garage.  I don't want you to wake your brother up."

As I returned to the phone to ask Jo what else was new, she could help but chuckle.  The realization of what I had said hit me.  I had just my told my children to be quiet in the garage because their brother was asleep and yes, he was buckled blissfully into his car seat as he snoozed.  I'm sure a better less experienced mother would have risked bringing him in the house so he more comfortably slumber in his bed, but he was already sleeping and there was dinner to make and a friend to chat with.  I wasn't willing to take any chances.  I've learned there's a lot of truth in the old proverb, "Let sleeping babies lie."  Or in this case, sit safely strapped into his 5-point harness system.

I joined her in having a good laugh and chalked that one up to things I never knew I'd have to say when I became a mother.  Add it to the list with:
"If you eat more meat, I'll give you another carrot."
"If your baby brother is attacking you, PUSH him off!  Don't just sit there and let him attack you!"
"Yes, I know there is not a toilet outside, but if you are outside and you need to pee, you CAN come in the house and do it."
"Fine.  If it's an emergency, pee BEHIND the tree,  BEHIND so cars on the road don't see you."
"No, you don't poop outside.  No.  Not even if it's an emergency."

"Don't bite the dog."

"Don't hammer the dog."

"Don't light saber the dog."

"Don't use ANY weapons on the dog.  He doesn't have any so it's not a fair fight."

"The dog is NOT a bear.  Please don't hunt him."

"I know Jaxson LOOKS like Aslan the lion, but he doesn't need a shield for the battle.  Besides, I doubt Aslan had a shield either."

"The dog is NOT a horse, he is a dog, get off of him."  (Really, poor Jaxson!)

I'm sure there are a a good deal more quotes of things I've said as a mother that sound quite humorous taken out of context, often even IN context and I'm sure there are a great deal more to come, but I wouldn't have it any other way.  If nothing else, my boys keep me on my toes and keep life interesting!

Power Play

Oh my Robby Roo.  He has so much of me in him, it isn't even funny sometimes.  The other day, about 1 hour into one of his many rants, Michael looked at me exasperated and said, "I don't remember being like this as a kid."

I smirked and said, "I do."

He likes to fight about what to wear, who will dress him, what to play, going to bed, how many bedtime stories, how many bedtime songs, going to sleep.  I've said more than once, "Today, Robby woke up screaming and didn't stop till he passed out at night."  It may be a slight exaggeration, but there is an element of truth to it too.

There was always one thing I never thought I'd have to battle Rob about.  Eating.  He has always been a good eater and has always loved to eat good food.  In fact, this past Christmas, he was ecstatic to find a green pepper in his stocking.  Eating battles with Robby were more about eating his meal in order to get more veggies.  The worst food related battle I could recall involved me running out of carrots.  How could I do such a thing?!?!

The first time I remember Robby turning his nose up to food was this winter when he decided he "HATES ravanoli.  Ravanoli is gross!"  (To which I replied, "Then it's a good thing I didn't make ravanoli and made ravioli instead!")  I've since made ravioli sparingly and have enough other stuff with it that we don't have to argue too much.

Things were moving along well on the dinner front.  (Were being the opportune word.)  I found myself having to tell him more and more frequently to eat a little more of his meat, hot dish, or whatever meal so he could have more carrots, broccoli, green beans, or whatever vegetable I was serving.  Still not too big of a deal in my mind.

And then, one night, I served: PASTA! duh-nuh-nuh!

Sometimes it's like has a switch and one can never be sure what will flip that switch, but that night, it was pasta.  He screamed.  He flailed.  He kicked.  He was carried to his room numerous times.  He demanded to be made a different meal.  He reasoned.  And for the most part, we rolled our eyes, ignored, carried him off to his room, and ignored a great deal more.  But the reasoning what was really got me rolling.

"I can't eat pasta.  I'm allergic!"

"Don't you know I hate pasta?!  I've ALWAYS hated pasta!"

"I can't eat pasta.  It makes me sick.  Do you want me to be sick?  Do you want me to have diarrhea and throw up in my bed?"

"Why do you ALWAYS make pasta?  You made it last night, and the night before, and the night before.  You make a hundred million times!"

On and on he went giving at least 1 dozen different reasons why he can't eat pasta.  Then there was the one that had me literally doubled over in hysterics: "I can't eat pasta!  When I eat pasta, it makes my penis grow in my undies!"

Michael missed that one and was asking me what was wrong.  I tried answering, but couldn't catch my breath long enough to speak a full sentence.  After a few attempts, I managed to relay the kid quote of the day to Michael and then thanked Robby for his constant contributions to my future book.  Now if I only had the time to write it...

TAG! and Happy Mother's Day!

I remember this day, seven years ago, the Friday before Mother's Day.  I was teaching kindergarten at Southgate Elementary School (go gators!).  I had always managed to send home some sweet little card and craft with my kiddos, but that year, it seemed a little more special to me.  I remember saying good-bye to all the lil sweeties clutching their projects to give to their mommy's and praying to myself that they would make it home to mom without too much destruction on the bus ride home.

More vividly, I remember walking down the hallway after school, was all the warm wishes from parents and co-workers.  It caught me a little off guard to hear the first "Happy Mother's Day, Billie Jo!" directed my way.  I even remember looking over my shoulder, to find the other Billie Jo they were wishing a happy mother's day to.  (As if that would ever happen!)  Feeling a bit silly, I tried to quickly recovered, smiled and greeted the well-wisher a happy mother's day in return.  It felt odd to be on the receiving end of mother's day wishes for the first time.

By the time I left school that afternoon, I must have received at least a dozen mother's day greetings.  I also quit looking over my shoulder and responded more quickly with a smile and a "Happy Mother's day to you too," or "thank you".  Driving home that afternoon, I remember smiling and feeling like I had just been accepted into some secret society of mom-dom.  Being a mom was great; I was a great mom.  This must be the best holiday ever invented!

That was seven years ago.  Looking back on that, I was soooo naive.  Don't get me wrong, being a mom IS great, at least most of the time.  ;)  But as moms, we'd be lying to ourselves if we said it didn't have it's moments.

Take the last few days for instance.  It has been a scream-fest.  I know you other mommies have been there.  As soon as one crisis is averted, another arises.  As soon as one child becomes cooperative, another begins his tantrum.  It's like they are tag-teaming you, but you don't have anyone in your corner to tag so you can catch your breath.

Sam screamed for 30-40 minutes yesterday morning about wanting a full glass of orange juice, and not a sippy.  How did I get him to stop?  I pulled up to daycare, slowed down enough to pass him off to his daycare mom, and hit the gas.  Thankfully, he stopped for her, but only so he could come home and pick up where he left off.  No lie, 90 minutes of screaming, crying, and kicking because I would not allow him to have the glass bowl full of cherry tomatoes.  Don't think I didn't offer a smaller bowl with a handful of them; that wasn't good enough for Sam.

I was so thankful when he woke up smiling today, but when I wasn't looking, he must have tagged Robby because Robby started screaming.  He screamed for at least 40 minutes about a worm-like insect that went missing.  He brought home what I honestly never saw, but Michael described as a maggot-like creature in a ziploc.  It's his new friend.  He is going to keep it forever.  Not in my house, I said.  Your "friend" can live in the garden.  Seeing an empty baggie this morning prompted Robby to recall his friend, run outside in his jammies to find his bestest friend ever and scream ridiculously when he couldn't find him.

"But I wanted to keep him forever!  He was going to live in my garden!  Someone probably stole him!  I never even got to say good-bye!"  Slightly irrational.  I'd say so.

After threatening to leave him home with Jaxson for the day and literally loading everyone else into the Yukon, I finally managed to get Rob out the door and off to school.  Whew.

7 years ago, this would have appalled me and sent me to the looney bin.  Even 2 years ago, this would have really shaken me for the rest of the day.   And yes, it does still fluster me from time to time, but I am amazed and how smoothly my day has managed to go after this rocky start.  I could take credit saying, "Wow, I've really grown as a mom!", but that wouldn't be fully accurate.  It would be more true to say, "Wow, with God's grace, I've really grown as a Christian mom."

I've learned this secret weapon in the last year.  I like to call it The Power of Mama Prayer.  When the screaming starts, so do the prayers.  I might look and sound like a crazy lady literally chanting at times, "Patience, God, patience!  Grant me patience!! Grant Robby patience!!" but I'm telling you, it's the only thing that keeps me sane some days!  For me, Mama Prayer is like saying, "I'm tired.  Tag, God!  You're it!"  It's been really nice to have God in my corner.

I smiled today as I watched my little preschoolers scamper out of class clutching their flowers with a little sign that read "Your love helps me bloom!"  I can't help but think that those same words are very fitting not only for the moms out there this Mother's day, but also for my Father.

So thanks to all the great mom's out there and thanks to the One who helps them plant seeds in little hearts and water them with the gifts of patience, kindness and love.

Happy Mother's Day!

Black and White: Explaining the Death of Bin Laden

At the beginning of this week, Michael and I were all snug in our bed as is our Sunday evening tradition.  I have a long-standing Sunday evening date with ABC.  Michael pretends to not enjoy it, but after years of my 21st century soaps, as he calls them, I think he is also secretly addicted.  When the last bit of Brothers and Sisters was interrupted for a news brief I said, "Ugh!  This better be good!"

By now you all know what the new brief was regarding; it was ten years in the making after all.  The announcement of Osama Bin Laden's death at first shocked me.  Then it made me gleeful.  That emotion was quickly replaced with but remorse.  As a Christian, how can I find happiness in the death of another human being?  But then again, one could almost argue that Bin Laden wasn't human.  He was more a monster than a man.  Right?  I kept these thought tucked inside my head as I watched the new brief unfold and tried to make sense of it all.  But still the following verse kept reeling through my head:

Matthew 10:29-31

"Not even a sparrow, worth only half a 

penny, can fall to the ground without your 

Father knowing it. And the very hairs on 

your head are all numbered. So don’t be 

afraid; you are more valuable to Him than 

a whole flock of sparrows."

The next morning, my mom stopped by on her way into work.  She asked if I had heard the good news.  I said that I had and yes, it was a relief to not have to worry any more about Bin Laden.  We then when on to talk about our concerns about possible retaliation attacks against to US by other terrorists.  After all, Bin Laden hadn't exactly pulled off any of his stunts alone.  He had armies of men, women and children brainwashed and trained in his school of thought.

Upon her departure, my ever inquisitive children asked who died.  I got a knot in my stomach and thought, "Okay God.  I could use a little help here.  How am I suppose to explain this one?"

I told them that a really, really bad guy who had done some horrible things had been found after a long time of searching and had been killed.  Seven-year-old Ray said, "Oh!  Good!  They finally got that bad guy who broke into a house over by Blake!"

Hmmmm....  What am I suppose to say to that?  Yes.  That was a bad guy, but this guy was even 'badder'?  Despite the fact that 'badder' is not a word, I knew that wasn't going to cut it.  Kids are kids.  They know good.  They know bad.  They know black.  They know white.  Maybe we as adults are partly to blame.  We put so much emphasis on opposites: up/down, right/left, hot/cold, yes/no that maybe we make it difficult to understand there is a whole continuum; a whole scale of grey in between the black and white.

"No.  Not that guy Ray.  It was a different bad guy.  This man, Osama Bin Laden, has done some really bad things.  Before you were born, he planned for planes to crash into 2 important, big buildings.  It killed a lot of people and hurt a lot of others."

"Oh.  Well.  Good.  I'm glad he's dead."

Hmmmm....  Do I really want my children thinking it good someone is dead?  No.  I don't.  Life is precious.  All life.  But at the same time, IT'S OSAMA BIN LADEN for pete's sake!

"You know, that's how I felt at first too, but after I thought about it, I started wondering, 'I wonder how God feels knowing Bin Laden died.'  I bet it made him sad.  That makes me sad.  I wish there could've been a way for Bin Laden to change.  I wish we could've found a way to help him understand God's love and how God's love can change us."

This conversation has played out in mind many times through this week.  How do I help my children understand right from wrong, good from evil, black from white, but also help them to see that sometime there are some shades of grey?  I can't.  Not alone anyway.  That is why I am so thankful that I have God to help me through this journey of parenthood.

I've kept these feelings to myself all week this week  (I know, so not like me right?),  but I felt that maybe my feelings were wrong.  Maybe others would think I was a freak.  My thoughts even made me feel unpatriotic.  It's not that I'm wish Osama was still alive, but I do wish things could have been different.

A friend of mine posted the blog linked below.  It gave me permission to feel what I feel.  It made me realize that my confused feelings on the death of Bin Laden are not unjustified, un-American, or isolated.  I may not understand God's plan within all of this, but I'm sure glad He is in control.

view other blog about Bin Laden's death

Happy Star Wars Day!

Today is May 4th and "May the fourth be with you!"

 Get it?  Huh?  Do ya?

Maybe it's because I'm a dork when it comes to playing with words, but I thought it was adorable!

Seven-year-old and Star Wars fanatic Ray, not so much.  "It's FORCE Mom!  May the FORCE be with you."

"Yea, I know, but it's May 4th, it's a play on words.  Isn't it kind of funny?"

"No."

A good mom probably would have let it drop there right?  Well, good thing I never said I was a good mom!  ;)

No, I had to keep pursuing it.  Keep saying it trying to help me see the humor in it.  He didn't.  After some foot stomping and pouting (his, not mine), I let it go.

I had to give it just one more shot at bedtime though.  I did manage to get him to crack a smile.  Robby, however, came running in from the room next door to inform me, "Mom!  It's may the FOUR-se be with you.  FOUR-se.  You said it wrong."  Sigh.

But don't worry, next year, I'm sure I will be able to help him better understand!

In the meantime, "May the fourth be with you!"

Staples, Stiches and Surgical Glue: One of those times there probably should have been...

As it goes in the WX household, as soon as one incident is near completion, another one is just around the bend; but then what do I expect living with three young superheroes in training?  Just as Sam's swelling is a memory and the bruise on his face is nearly faded, I hear a scream from outside.

Robby has been on this huge kick lately.  Actually, Ray kind of started it.  Well, I guess it was Michael really.  With the construction of your home (Michael's thing), Ray got it in his head we NEED a treehouse.  (That be Ray's thing.)  I would have never guessed in million billion years that Ray would be the brave one up in the tree pounding nails while Robby keeps his feet firmly planted in the grass.  However, Robby is not one to be left out.  That's when he developed the idea that he needs to build a bridge.  A bridge?  Really?  We have no water or water feature.  Why we would need a bridge?  Well Robby is convinced we do and he is one determined little man who isn't about to let it drop.

I personally think my children with real hammers and nails sounds like a ER trip waiting to happen and of course I've stated my point once or twice.  I guess that's why God gave my children a mother and a father.  If it was just me, there's a lot of experiences they probably would have been sheltered from.  So, I keep myself busy making dinner, cleaning up the kitchen, working on the computer while Michael supervises the handiwork.

Enough background information.  Back to the scream.  I've learned that children often overreact, and my overreacting doesn't help a whole lot.  That's why I more or less ignored the situation at hand and continued on with what I was doing.  Michael carried Sam into the bathroom and I heard water running, more disturbingly, I heard continued screaming and crying.  After a few minutes, I asked if Sam was alright.  "Yea, he's fine."  Okay, good enough for me.  Michael continued on with his daddy doctoring and the screaming and crying slowly subsided.

When the dust settled, Sam was sporting a band-aid on his right index finger, which is a huge feat in and of it's self because he is the most anti-bandage child I've ever met.  Michael explained that Sam's finger had the unfortunate circumstance of being in between Rob's nail and hammer and now had a battle wound to prove it.  I, of course, sighed and once again stated they are too young for hammers and nails, just sayin'

After awhile, Sam is holding his finger upright and whining about it.  I assume he just really doesn't like wearing a the band-aid, but as I look closer I see he has bleed through the band-aid.  He pulls and pulls at it till he works it free.  Now I can see that this is actually a pretty good gash on his finger and it's still bleeding quite a bit.  I undress Sam and put him in the tub to try to get it clean and get a better look at it.  I call Michael in and tell him I think he could use some surgical glue or possibly a stitch or two.

"I've got glue.  We'll just use that."  He claims his bottle of the OTC skin glue is the same as the doctor's stuff.  I disagree, but have no desire to drive to the ER so we give it a whirl.

Sam doesn't care much for the sting of the glue, can't say I blame him.  He also isn't up for another band-aid.  I use a sharpie to draw a dog on a band-aid and he decides that's not so bad after all.

This morning, band-aids off, finger is bleeding and Sam's blanket is bloody.  Sigh.  I refrain from saying "I told you so!"  Oh wait, guess I just did.

Staple, Stitches and Surgical Glue: My Life with 3 Boyz-Chapter 9

Anyone who knows my boys, knows how true my working book title rings true.  I did actually write the first chapter for the book, but Michael read it and informed me no one would want to read it.  (Thanks hun.)  Others have assured me they would.  What's a busy mom to do?  Maybe someday I'll get back to it, but for now, I'll keep some notes on a blog.  That should allow me a creative outlet, a chance to get somethings out in print, and maybe even entertain you in the meantime.

I guess that's kind of the foreword...  Here's what I really came to say.

Today I stopped by to pick up Sammi's 2 year pics.  I expected them to be adorable.  I expected them to make me smile.  I didn't expect them to bring tears to my eyes, but they did.  Why?  Because of his smile of course! 

Cheesy right?  Let me explain a little bit more.  It wasn't so much the smile, but the pearly little white teeth that I saw.  See, last week Sam and I had quite a tumble if you will.

The day started off normal enough.  Managed to get myself up and ready, got the three boys up and ready.  Well, mostly.  Sam didn't want to get dressed and since it was a Grandma day, I rolled with it.  We were following the leader down the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat and head out for the day.  Ray had the lead, Rob brought up the rear and Sam and I were sandwiched in between.  Sam's not a fan of stairs so I loaded my arms up with him, his clothes, a blankie, and a book.  Just a few steps in, I lost my balance, but mid-flight recovered.  Or that's what I thought, but the next thing I knew, Sam and I were going down.  I remember thinking to myself, "Do I hang on to Sam or set him down?  Just hold tight and keep him safe."  So I tried.  I really, really tried.  My efforts were in vain.  While I managed to hold tight, I didn't keep him safe because we were suddenly in a heap at the bottom of the stairs and he was screaming.  Initially, I took the screaming as a good sign.  At least he was conscious. 

After praising Jesus for that, I noticed the blood.  Not just a little, but a lot.  It was all over me and all over Sam.  Have you ever been in that moment?  The one where you see the blood, but have no idea where or even who it's coming from?  Your hands tremble, your heart races but somehow you manage to breathe and tell yourself, "It'll be okay.  What do I do next?"

Well, I reached for the phone and called who else?  My mom!  "Mom, Sam and I fell down the stairs.  Can you come help me figure out where the blood is coming from?"  I tried to sound calm and collected, but I'm sure it didn't matter.  I'm sure my mom had that same trembling, heart racing, remind yourself to breathe feeling I had a moment prior.

Mom arrived within minutes and I had figured out the bleeding was coming from Sam's mouth and nose.  With her help, we were able to peek in his mouth enough to see his front left tooth was hanging lower than the others.  What?!  It was suppose to be a bloody lip, not something like this!  What do you even do?  ER?  Dentist?  I called the dentist.  They wanted to see him, but couldn't for an hour and a half.  Now what?

Disperse the kids.  Thankfully, my mom, Ray and I work/attend the same school so I sent him on his way with her.  Given the impact and the blood also coming from Sam's nose, I decided it was worth getting his head checked by a doctor.  I called my mother-in-law and asked her to meet me at the ER to collect Robby.  (THANK GOD FOR GRANDMAS!!!) 

I was so thankful when the ER doc thought Sam's head checked out okay and informed that I would most likely be more sore than he for the next day or two, but also doubtful.  He was still bleeding and crying on and off.

Next stop, dentist.  The dentist took one look in Sam's mouth and didn't have to say much for me to know it wasn't good.  An x-ray confirmed his suspicion that there was indeed a fractured tooth and oral surgery would be needed to extract the broken tooth.  He also warned that the next tooth over was loose and may also need to be removed.  My heart sank. 

My sweet baby boy didn't like stairs.  He wanted me to carry him; to keep him safe.  And look what I had done!  I had gone and fallen knocking out two of his teeth leaving him with a big ol gap in his smile for years to come!  Talk about Mommy Guilt!  Yes, I logically knew that it was an accident. Yes, I logically knew that they were just baby teeth.  Yes, I logically knew that it could have been a lot worse.  But I'm a Mom, and Mommy Guilt just happens okay?!

The dentist office made the referral and the oral surgeon could see us right away.  That, however, is a whole other post that I don't have the energy for at the moment.

Fast Forward to this afternoon:  Seeing Sam's lil pearly white teeth in his two year pic did make me tear up.  And I allowed myself one lil tear for each tooth lost, but not any more.  I am doing everything I can, including praying regularly, to praise God for His protection and guidance, because I know it could've been a whole lot worse.

Giving it a whirl...

So for the last several years, I keep telling myself I have a "normal" family.  And everyone else keeps telling me, "No, you're not.  You should write a book." 

But I spent a lot of time begging to differ.  My husband and I are normal.  We have a dog, a house, good jobs.  We have nice, average kids. 

However, lately, I've been getting some clues that maybe we're not so "normal" after all.  My son's first grade teacher (jokingly-I think!) laughs and says he uses bigger words than her.  (Apparently not every 7 year old says things like, "Let's examine it over the weekend so we can become experts in how it works.")  We tend to make more trips to the ER in a year than many people do in a lifetime.  We own two TV's, neither of which are flat screens, HD or have more than 10 channels.  These are just a few clues... 

So while it's not a book, maybe through this blog you'll discover a few more clues that have lead us to believe we are not normal after all, and we are totally okay with that!  :)