A Hole in Our Hearts the Shape of a Paw Print

Before Michael and I got married, we had agreed we would wait a few years before we started a family.  It was only a month of two when I announced that I wanted a dog or a baby.  (I hated being alone at night if Michael was working late or out at the farm.)  Michael choose dog.  Our first dog was a black mutt that we rescued from the Humane Society.  He was shy and did okay with me, but that was about it.  I don't know if he had been beaten by a man, but he never warmed up to Michael.  After a year, he started growling and even nipping at not only Michael and other men, but even children.  This wasn't something we felt we could deal with so we said goodbye to Opie.

A month of two passed and I was ready to give it another shot.  This time, Michael wanted to try the puppy route.  I had a golden retriever named King growing up whom I had fond memories of so when we saw an ad for some golden retriever pups south of town, we checked them out.  Now I know puppies are all sweet and adorable and I am probably biased, but Jaxson had to of been one of the sweetest and cutest puppies ever.  He was the runt of his litter, had such a sheen to his coat and was a snuggler.  I love snuggling.  We knew we had found our new pup.

Jaxson never outgrew his sweet, good tempered personality.  If anything, he grew sweeter with each passing year.  He welcomed all three of our children to our family and protected and loved them with such loyalty we couldn't have designed a better dog.  Jaxson was everything a dog should be to a family with small children.

This last June, Jaxson turned 9 and was beginning to show his age but only in the subtle grayness of his muzzle.  He was still relentless when it came to playing fetch.  He moved with such grace and beauty that we often had people comment to us on how beautiful our dog was.  We knew our days with Jaxson were limited, but thought we still had several wonderful years to enjoy his presence.

This past December we were proved wrong.  Our time with Jaxson ended way to soon.  What started off as something we thought that made his stomach sick (he was always getting into things that made him throw up running outside), turned into something that left him unable to walk, we rushed him to the vet.  When I walked out of the vet that Sunday morning, I had no idea it was the last time I would see Jaxson alive.  I wrongly assumed the vet would start him on a treatment and he would be bounding back up the stairs to our bedroom the very next day.  When my phone rang that night, my heart caught in my throat.  I eyes filled with tears as Dr. Williams told me Jaxson had passed that evening.  It wasn't possible, was it?  And what about the boys?  Telling them would be even more impossible.  And it nearly was.

That night and the day following were very very difficult for us.  I woke at night wondering where he was only to realize he wasn't here.  The days were still hard, but became easier with each passing day.  The jingle of his collar and the thump of his lying of the floor after patrolling the house to make sure all were safe are still sounds missing from our house.

We pondered where to lay Jaxson to rest.  Neither Michael or I could handle the thought of having him out in the pasture away from our home and family.  We settled on burying him in along side our deck so he could watch the comings and goings of our house, a favorite pass time of his.  My friend had her sister make a stone nameplate for him.  Rob's only request had been that we have a stone for him like great-grandma.

I realize Jaxson was a dog, but please do not ever tell me he was "just a dog" because that only proves to me that you never spent any time with him and have never let a dog into your home or life.  Jaxson was as much a part of the Wx family as any of the humans who have lived in our house.  After all, "no home is complete without the pitter patter of puppy feet."  Jaxson helped make our house a home and he will be forever missed.

How the Lost was Found

I have a personal faith story I would like to share with everyone.  It's all about a set of lost keys.  I know that seems like a small thing to lose and not very significant, but hang with me.  It gets better.

Let me begin by saying it is very common for me to lose things.  I'm quite gifted at it actually.  If there was an Olympic event for lost keys and phones, I'd be in the running for gold for sure.  So when I noticed my school keys were missing last Friday, I didn't get too worked up about it.  I just assumed they would resurface in the next day or 2, probably somewhere obscure, but I would find them.  When I still hadn't found them on Monday, I was becoming flustered.  Tuesday I called places I had been on Thursday.  Still no keys.  Tuesday night, Michael looked in every crevice of the Yukon and I searched every article of clothing I had or might had worn.  Still no keys.

I had been praying on and off throughout my search process but had not felt any pull from God in any certain direction.  I had been leading myself through the search the entire time.  Tuesday night I decided to give up.  I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and spoke with my God.  "God, I know it's just a set of keys.  I know it's not that big of a deal, but it has been weighing on me.  No more.  I give up.  It would be awesome if you would reveal the keys to me, but if you don't, I'm done allowing it to bother me.  I give it up, to you."  It felt good to let it go from my shoulders to His feet.

When I woke Wednesday morning, I recalled a dream I had had while I slept...  I was in the gym with the fifth graders.  I was telling them about my lost set of keys and if they should happen upon them to let me know.  As I was speaking, I was pulling the parachute out of the box when my hand felt something among the nylon.  As I looked to my hand, one of the girls pointed and said, "Mrs. Wicks!  Are those your keys?!"  When I looked to where she was pointing, I saw a green lanyard through the white nylon.  My hands parted the slippery surface of the parachute and clink! My keys fell to the wooden gym floor.  Hmmmm....  Made me think, but really? Maybe, but doubtful.

Later that morning I was telling the account of my lost keys, prayer and dream to some co-workers.  When one laughed at me I responded with, "Hey!  Don't laugh at me.  I'm going the gym right now to look in the parachute box!"

I headed off across the street to the gym.  As I made my way to the gym closet, I wasn't sure what to think.  Was I crazy?  It's not like God would speak to me.  I hushed my mind as I opened the supply closet, located the box and began pulling the parachute out.  Clink!  Keys fell into the box.  My jaw nearly hit the floor and my eyes had to have been the size of saucers.

As I began to leave the gym, I had to share my story with the other PE teacher.  "You'll never believe what just happened to me" I began.  She listened in awe and then told me, "You know Billie Jo what's really bizarre?  That box fell over yesterday and I scooped it up, pushed the parachute back inside and never saw a key."

Say what you will about the power of the human mind, but I firmly believe this is a testament of the power of God.  (Like Pat said, "You're blonde, it's not like your mind could have known the answer the whole time!"  Thanks Pat, thanks.)  To know that God knows me, hears me and loves me enough to not only help me find the lost, but also to speak to me and in such a clear manner just leaves me in lovestruck wonder I can't even begin to describe it.  How great is our God?  Pretty great and then some.

Another?!?!

Robby shocked me yesterday.  (Yes, that is a frequent occurrence, but this time, he really got me.)  I was making dinner when out of nowhere I felt a tap on my rear end (gotta love preschool height).  When I turned around, Robby's big eyes looked into mine and he asked, "Mom, can we have another baby now?"

I must have fluid in my ears and not have heard right.  "What?"

"Can we have another baby now?  Sam's not a baby anymore and I really, really want one.  I love babies.  Can we have another baby now?"

I replied as any good mother would, "Um, go talk to your dad."

Robby set rounded the corner, found Michael and repeated his request.  I eavesdropped curious to how Michael would gently let him down.  Imagine my surprise when he responded with what other than, yes, you guessed it, "Go talk to your mom."

So Robby turned right back my way with those pleading eyes that scream "Please, please, puh-lease?!?!"

"Go talk to God.  But if you do, ask for a sister.  Tell him Mom really likes pink."

And he did.  He put himself straight into a corner, folded his little chubby fingers around one another, squeezed those big eyes and began to pray.

"I did it Mom!  Now we have to wait and see!" announced Rob a few moments later.

I looked at Michael and smiled.  "Remember what happened last time one of our children prayed a prayer like that?"

"Yup.  We got Sam."  Ray's prayer for twin sisters and a mini-van may not have been fulfilled but Sam and a Yukon are close enough for me.  I wonder in what mysterious way God might respond to Rob's request...

A Twinkle in His Eye

My expecting sister-in-law was chuckling as she told me that Ray had been educating her.  I had to ask, "Oh boy.  About what?"

"About where baby's come from.  It's quite the story."

"Oh yea?  What exactly did he say?"  My mind reeled trying to remember how much information we had provided Ray with on this topic.  Not a lot, but nothing too humorous either.

"It's a very detailed story so I thought you must have told it to him.  It had to of come from somewhere."

I must have had a puzzled look on my face so she went on to recount Ray's story of how baby's come to be...

The baby starts as a twinkle in the Daddy's eye.  (Thank you Grandma Cookie for that...)  Then the Daddy has an invisible tube that he uses to get this twinkle to the Mommy's belly.  Then a baby grows in the Mommy's tummy.  When the baby is ready, she goes to the doctor who helps her get the baby out.

Hmmmm.... Not quite the same special seed version we told Ray, but I guess I can live with that explanation for now.  Not sure where the invisible tube part came from though.

Tooth Fairy Trouble Adverted!

Confession:  I am a poor Tooth Fairy Assistant.  If she had anyone else to do the job, she'd fire me, for sure!

Saturday night I had the dollar in my pocket and the tooth was right there ready to be swapped out.  The problem?  Ray was still awake.  Sigh.

I went to my room, got in my jammies and snuggled into bed planning to creep back down the hall after Ray was out for the night.  I'm sure you all know what happened next.

So the next morning I thought I was soooo sneaky when I slipped the dollar out of my robe pocket and switched it for the tooth on Ray's night stand while he was reading and never even looked up.  I sat on the foot of his bed and we chit chatted a little bit.  I got around to slyly asking what the money on his nightstand was for.

Ray's eye lit up and he about gave himself whiplash turning his head to check.  "Wow!  How long has that been there? It wasn't there 10 minutes ago!  That Tooth Fairy is good!"

"I don't know.  I just saw it there..."  (I am a HORRIBLE liar!)

"You know Mom, I must have been her last stop for the night.  She must have been really busy!"

Hmmm, guess so.  (Or really blonde!)

When Ray recounted the story to his Aunt Nicole later that day, he had last checked the tooth and clock at 2 a.m. and at 2:15, the switch had been made.  Wow.  I'm even better than I thought!  Or the tooth fairy helped me out with a little memory charm.  Either way, childhood safely persevered for the time being.

Tooth Time!

Ray has lost three teeth.  And each and every one has hung in there by the final thread until the adult tooth literally pushes it out of the way.  (Which makes for crooked adult teeth growing in!)  He won't let anyone pull at them.  So when he came into our bedroom Saturday morning wiggling his most recent loose tooth and allowed even allowed Michael to wiggle it, I thought, "Here we go again...  Another crooked tooth!"

When Michael wiggled it and commented, "That tooth is coming out today," Ray's eyes got huge and I thought, "Even if it was, it's not now."

I asked Ray if he would like me to try pulling it.  He clasped his jaw tight.  Michael assured him, again, loosing a tooth doesn't hurt.  It feels different, but it doesn't hurt because the nerve endings are all severed.  Ray didn't seem to care or believe him.  Then I asked if he'd like to pull it himself with the aid of a remote control car.  I knew it was a long shot, but worth asking.  Imagine my surprise when he agreed and ran to find one!

While Ray made his car selection, I got a string of dental floss ready.  Ray settled on Toy Story rocket ship and I carefully tied a knot around his loose tooth (easier said than done by the way!).  WAIT!  I want this on video!  I handed the floss off to Michael so nothing would happen while I ran for the iPod to record Ray's bravery.  I was walking into the room and about to give the all clear when Sam came flying between Michael and Ray.  He reached up, yanked the string and POP!  "My tooth!"

Amazingly my knot held and there was Ray's tiny tooth hanging from the floss in Michael's hand.  Ray's look of horror changed to one of amusement as he started laughing and said, "You were right Dad!  It didn't hurt at all!"

Of course I managed to miss all of it on video.  One might have thunk to at least take a picture or two after the fact, but I botched that too.  Sigh.  Oh well.  Maybe next loose tooth!

We Are Fun People

Our neighbors are on a streak lately.  We keep noticing lots of cars at their home, but can't locate the invitation in our mailbox.  The first time, I assumed it was an oversight.  The second time, I convinced myself it was a family only party.  But this last weekend, my boys took notice.

"Mom!  Look!  Tom and Mary are having a party.  AGAIN!  And they forgot to invite us!"  said Ray.

"Yea, we are fun people.  They must not know it," agreed Rob.

"Maybe we should tell them," continued Ray.

"Maybe they think you are a party pooper Mom.  Do they even know what a party pooper is?" asked Rob.

"You are NOT a party pooper Mom.  You are like the opposite of a party pooper," declared Ray.

"Yea, you are the oppostie of a party pooper.  You are a fun person.  We are a fun family!" exclaimed Rob.

Could someone please send the FYI to our neighbors now?!?!  ;)  But I guess I'll forgive them for not inviting me the family bridal shower after all...

Part-Time Slave???

You know those conversations children have when adults aren't around?  Or at least our of eyeshot...  Those are my favorite ones to eavesdrop in on.  My boys talk about some of the most interesting stuff and I get such amazing insight into the ways their minds work.

If you follow my blog at all, you are well aware the Rob is fascinated by presidents.  Abraham Lincoln is a true hero in his eyes and he and Ray both think the Civil War is a fascinating piece of American History and so it and relevant aspects are frequent conversation pieces in our home.

As I made lunch the other day, this is a bit of their conversation...

"You know Rob, Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves with the Civil War."

"Yea, I know that."

"You know, you probably would have been a part time slave if it wasn't for Lincoln."

"Yea probably."

"And Papa too.  His skin is a little bit darker too. You and Papa both have darkish skin.  It's not really black, but it's not white like mine."

"Yea.  I know."

"But you are only a little bit dark so you would've only been a part-time slave.  That means you'd work for someone in the morning but then you would've had the afternoon off to do whatever you want.  Papa is a little darker than you so he would've had to work longer."

"Yea."

"Part-time slaves were easier to free that full-time slaves.  I bet Lincoln was able to free them first so you would've got to free early in the war."

"YEAH!"

"They had to fight the war a long time to free all the full-time slaves."

"But he did it and now all the slaves are free!"

Hmmmm....  Something tells me we have some details to smooth out here...

Goodbye Grandma

The last few weeks have been difficult in the larger Wx family.  We have had to prepare and finally say goodbye to a staple of the family.  If we are the bread, she was the soft butter that she always kept on the table.  Grandma Wx was an amazing woman and she will be greatly missed.  Michael and his siblings were fortunate enough to have grown up across the road from their grandmother.  With her farmhouse directly across from theirs, there was a great deal of work and visiting to be done with her.  When I joined the family 10 years ago, there were a lot of things that made me feel like an in-law, but Grandma was never one of them.

My children also loved the woman they called Great Grandma so you can imagine that it was with difficulty that they said goodbye.  Ray had experienced a funeral once before with the passing of my grandmother a few years back, but it is a vague memory for him and not a memory at all for Rob who was just a baby at the time.

Grandma lived a full 87 years.  Her love of life affected the lives of her 4 children, 15 grandchildren, and 29 great grandchildren.  (And that doesn't even count the children and grandchildren she gained by marriage!)  One thing that amazed everyone was when she decided in her 60's to go take care of old people at the nursing home.  She never missed a day of work in 16 years and retired in 2003.

In the last few years, Grandma's health was not what it had been.  Two weeks before her death, she fell and broke her hip.  She did well through the surgery but the complications of pneumonia and blood pressure fluctuation proved challenging. As she tried to rally, her family gathered around her bedside and Michael and I tried to explain what was happening to our children.  When we would leave them with my Mom or Sue because family said it might be tonight, Ray and Rob would get wet eyes because they didn't want Great Grandma to die.  In the morning they would climb into my bed and with sad eyes ask if Great Grandma had died.  When I would say no, she was still alive, their smiles and cheers always lifted my spirit.

 Last week, family gathered at Grandma's bedside daily as the end become more and more evident.  I will never forget sitting there Thursday night into the early morning hours of Friday watching her children and grandchildren gathered around her, holding her hands, stroking her hair, telling stories, singing songs and reminding her she had nothing to fear.  Grandma knew Jesus and with that, we all knew where her place in eternity lie.  The love in that room was so powerful and such a testimony to the woman she was and the life she lived.

When Michael and I left at 2:30 a.m., we truly expected to wake up in the morning and learn she was gone.  But she wasn't.  We went off to work and school while her children and some grandchildren stayed at her bedside.  Close to noon that day, we learned that Grandma had left her pain and sorrows behind to join her husband and other family on the other side of the pearly gates.

I didn't plan on telling the boys until we were home and all together, but insightful and sensitive Rob asked when I picked him up from daycare, "Mom, is Great Grandma still alive?"

I looked into his big blue-green eyes and told him the truth.  "No honey.  She died today.  But that's okay, because do know where she is now?"

"She's with Jesus," Robby replied with a sad smile.

"Yes, she is," and I swallowed back my tears.

We gathered as a large family that evening for dinner and fellowship.  Some of us found our way to the floor surrounded by years worth of photos.  As we pointed and laughed, told stories, and remembered, Sam walked up to my mother-in-law, pointed at her and in a puzzled voice said, "You dead?"

"No honey, Grandma is not dead.  GREAT Grandma is dead."

"Great Grandma dead?"

"Yes, Great Grandma is dead.  The only who lives across the road."

"That chair?"  Sam asked pointing the rocking chair where Grandma sat nearly every Sunday and for any other family gathering.

"Yes.  Great Grandma who sat in that chair is dead."

"Oh.  Where she at?"

"She's gone honey.  She's in heaven now."

"She on the roof?"

"No, she is in heaven."

"She in the basement?"

"No, she is in heaven, with Jesus."

"Oh, she with Jesus."

As the time for the funeral drew near, Michael and I discussed if the boys should go and what they should wear.  We decided it would be good for them to go and have the experience now rather than wait and have it for the first time with someone they are even closer to.  When Rob heard Michael was wearing a suit, he got his own ideas about what he should wear.

"Can I dress like a president for Great Grandma's funeral?"

"Sure," I replied too quickly thinking a shirt and tie would suffice.

"I wanna look like George Washington!"  Rob said motioning near his neck,  "I want a fluffy white thing!"

Uh-oh.  "I don't think we'll find a shirt like that."

"Adams?"

"Hmm, no."

"Jefferson?"

"No."

"Jackson?"

"No."

"Who can I dress like?"

'How about Obama?"

"Okay.  Or what about W. Bush?"

"Fine."

The shirt and tie were not enough and my quest for a sport jacket only found one: a Calvin Klein version at the cost of $90.  But Rob was relentless.  We wanted to wear his tuxedo leftover from Ray's ring bear debut.  As I thought about if I should let him wear it or not, I finally asked myself what would Grandma say?  She'd surely say, "Yea, sure, whatever you got it fine."  I smiled as we compromised by letting him wear the jacket.

Word got around throughout the day that a future president was in the midst.  It was nice to see people smile as they told Rob they would be sure to vote for him someday.  I'm sure Grandma would have agreed.

When I Grow Up

Rob has a fascination with presidents lately.  The first presidential incident that I can recall was back in February this past winter.  President's Day was approaching and Ray, 1st grade at the time, was researching James A. Garfield and creating a presentation on him.  I remember our whole family driving down 4th street in our Yukon and Rob inquiring if Washington was dead.

"Wahsington?  George Washington, the president?"

"Yea, that's the one.  Is he dead?"

"Yes honey, he's dead.  He's been dead for a long long time."

"Oh."

We drove on further down the road while Rob apparently continued to ponder this.  A few minutes passed and he said, "What about Log?"

"Log?"

"Yea, Log."

"Log?  Like Lincoln logs?"

"Yea.  Lincoln Log!  Is he dead too?"

"OH!  You mean Abraham Lincoln.  Yes.  He is dead too."

"AW MAN!  ALL my favorite presidents are dead!!!"

As adorable as this was, I never dreamt it would be the beginning of a full fledge presidential fascination.  Rob colors pictures (which he hangs in chronological order), borrows books from the library, listens to videos on YouTube, sing songs, and spots president pictures everywhere.  I have to admit, he has taught me a great deal of history this summer.

The other morning Rob woke up way to early so as is customary in the Wx household, he curled up in bed with me.  He fell back asleep and woke up again at a more reasonable 7ish.  He barely peeked through his sleepy eyes and anxiously asked, "Mom, what do presidents eat?"

"Well, they eat food just like you."

"No, I mean, how do they get big and strong.  What do they eat?  What does Barack Obama eat?"  His voice sounded genuinely concerned and on edge.

"They are people just like you and me Robby.  They eat foods like fruits, vegetables, meat, just like you."

"Oh."  This time Rob sounded very relieved.

The relief didn't last for long because soon he was fighting back tears as he rubbed his sleepy eyes, looked at me and said, "Mom.  When I grow up, I want to president, but I don't want to die.  I don't want to die when I'm president like Lincoln.  I want to president and die when I'm done like Washington."

What was I to do?  I scooped him up, hugged him tightly and said, "I think you'd make a great president.  I'd vote for you.  And don't worry.  Now the president has lots of people to keep him safe."  As I squeezed him a little more I thought to myself, "And until then, I'll do what I can."

Things I Never Knew I'd Have to Say (Part 2)

We recently had an addition to our family.  Ewok (I know you are all shocked by the name!) is now 10 weeks old and a little tiny ball of fluff.  With this ball of fluff, there have been more things I find myself smirking as I have to say them to the boys...

BTW, This one's for you Nick J!

"Don't put the leash around your brother's neck."
"Don't put the leash around your neck!"
"Don't put the leash around your neck, tie it to the tree and try running around the tree!!!"
"Don't drag the puppy by the leash."
"Don't pick the puppy up by the leash."
"Don't pick the puppy up by her neck."
"Don't carry the puppy upside down."
"Set the puppy down, don't let go till her feet are on the ground."  (Sam is rather good at releasing 2 feet above ground level.)
"If you don't like you nose bitten, don't put it next to the puppy's mouth."
"Don't chew on the puppy's toys."
"Don't put your brother in the dog kennel."
"Don't LOCK your brother in the dog kennel."
"NO BOYS in the dog kennels!"
"The puppy should not take a bath with you."
"Puppies do not take baths in the washing machine."
"Get the dog out of the washing machine, NOW!"
"I think the poor puppy needs a nap."  (and so do I!)

Hungry Hungry Kiddos

My kids may appear small, but don't let that fool you about their appetites!  I have NO idea where they pack the food away, but somehow they manage to eat and eat and eat.  I can't imagine what our grocery bill will be by the time they are teenagers.  YIKES!

On a campout a few weeks back, my long-time friend Caroline was in charge of bringing the hot dogs and brats.  She thought she brought extras.  My boys fooled her when they ate 2 a piece along with plenty of other sides.

The other evening, Michael was working on a vehicle which left the me and the boys on our own for dinner.  Since we had returned from camping earlier that day and were low on groceries, I had no issue caving when Rob requested cereal for dinner.

Here is what they managed to shove into their hollow legs:
Sam: 2 bowls of cereal
1 apple
1 piece of string cheese
and several crackers

Ray: 2 bowls of cereal
1 piece of string cheese
 and a half sleeve of crackers  (come to think of it, that wasn't very much for Ray; maybe he was too tired from the campout)

Rob: 3 bowls of cereal
2 pieces of string cheese
an apple
and some crackers

I can honestly say they all out ate me, but that really isn't anything new these days...

Well, I think we're out of cereal. And fruit.  And granola bars.  And orange juice.  Guess I better make a trip to the grocery store.  Again.

EVERYone???

We all have memories from childhood of saying things like, "But MOM!  EVERYone has one!"  To which parents across the world respond, "EVERYone???"  While we knew in our heads what our parents were saying, it wasn't what we wanted to hear it it certainly didn't help us move past the feeling we had in our hearts.

Yesterday Ray and Rob were in the swimming pool and I was walking around the yard watering my flowers.  As I water petunias near the pool I heard Ray and Rob working on their rendition of Kung Fu Fighting.  "You sing the first part and then I'll do the HUHs," Rob instructed his older brother.

"Everyone likes Kung Fu Fighting!" sang Ray. (He had already decided EVERYone was not fighting but more people liked Kung Fu Fighting.

"Huh! Huh!" chimed in Rob.

On and on they went switching up parts and adding actions and jumps into the pool.  When they got out Ray was following me around the yard continuing to sing to himself and then began to think aloud.

"Hmm.  I don't think EVERYone likes kung fu fighting.  90% like kung fun fighting!"

Pleased with his modification, he continued on with his new lyrics for a minute or two before he must have decided while that was an improvement, maybe that it was an accurate reflection of how people felt about kung fu fighting.

"98% like kung fu fighting!"

I don't know which part of me was more amused and pleased: the mom who was happy to have him think past the idea that of EVERYone else or the math teacher who has thrilled to see him playing around with ideas of mathematical concepts in a real world situation.

The one in the middle: 24 hours in the life of Rob

Life with Rob can be interesting to say the least.  He is most defiantly a middle child.  I guess that's bound to happen when you have three kiddos.  I think the fact that they are all boys only amplifies that situation at times.  It will never cease to amaze me how he can be as good as gold one minute and have his head spinning the next.  I am also perplexed by the fact that it seems that if there is screaming, yelling or fighting in our house, Rob is almost always involved in some way, but you can be sure, it is NEVER his fault...

Don't get me wrong, I love the little goose to no end.  He makes me smile multiple times a day. I often find myself even laughing out loud at his antics, even when I maybe shouldn't.  After all if I didn't laugh, I might cry.  Actually, sometimes I do cry; sometimes I'm crying because I'm crying because I'm laughing so hard, and sometimes I'm crying first and then laughing.

I think Michael and I are able to laugh about it more than others might because we are both middle children ourselves.  We know what it can feel to sometimes feel like you are lost in the middle with an older sibling who knows more and is allowed to do more and a younger sibling who is inevitably the family's baby in every way.  That internal struggle with striving to be older and wiser on one hand, but wanting the attention and coddling of the baby on the other and feeling either way, it doesn't matter because you're always just the one in the middle.

To help illustrate this point let me share with you a few of his attention seeking antics in a 24 hour window...

It began in the morning when Rob decided he needed breakfast and he needed it now!!!  This isn't exactly out of the ordinary for Rob.  I asked him what he wanted and he choose toast.  So I made toast.  And he ate toast right?  Wrong.  He decided he didn't really want toast he wanted something else.  Too bad.  You picked toast, you got toast.  Eat it.  Screaming, stomping and a whole fit resulted.  I shrugged my shoulders and continued on with my day figuring if he's hungry enough, he'll eat it.

The toast became cold and Rob became hungry.  He made his way back to the table and a whole new tantrum erupted when he discovered his toast had not been kept warm for him.  His demanding that I warm it up RIGHT NOW of course only resulting in my taking my time to make my way back to the kitchen.  In the meantime, Rob grew impatient and decided he could resolve the situation in his own way.  Michael entered the kitchen to the smell of something burning in the microwave.  When he pulled the now badly burnt toast from the microwave, he saw it still had 7 minutes left in the display.  Thank goodness he pulled it when he did!  I can only imagine what horrific things might have happened if it continued charring the toast.  As it was, our house smelt like burnt toast for days!!!

Due to the unpleasant aroma that filled our house, we made a family outing to a local retail store looking for a deodorizing product among some other household necessities.  As we stopped to look at lawn furniture Rob yells out, "I need to pee now!  Didn't you hear me?  I said my penis is ready to pee!!!"

And when I say yell, I mean yell, volume all the way up.  Even though we were at the back of the store, I'm sure some kind little old woman at the front stopped to raise her eyebrows at Rob's outburst.

The day continued and so did Rob, melting over this and that and us trying to muddle through it, making it to bedtime.  Ah, sweet, sweet bedtime.  Well, at least once you manage to wrangle all the little munchkins into their pj's and hog-tie them to their beds.  It seems though, that someone almost always manages to wriggle free and find their way down to our room for one reason or another.  Tonight, it was Rob.

"I don't want to go to bed.  I'm not tired."

"Too bad.  It's bedtime.  Go to bed."

"No.  I don't want to."

"Robert.  It's bedtime.  Now."

"No."

I got up off my bed to steer him back down the hall to his own.

"But I have to pee."

"Okay, then go to the bathroom and go to bed."

"But I'm peeing right now!!" Rob declared as he glanced down towards the floor beneath him.

My glance dropped too and sure enough, there was a puddle forming under him.

"Robert!  Then stop!  You are old enough to know better!  Stop peeing and go finish on the toilet!"

After getting him to the bathroom, mopping up the floor and getting Rob cleaned up and in clean pajama's, I tucked him back into bed and went back to my bedroom confident we were done with the boys till the morning.

My confidence was shattered a few minutes later when I heard Rob's distinctive footsteps making their way back down the hall toward the master bedroom.

"Mom, I have an owie.  I need a band-aid."

Ray had managed to get quite a scrape on his side climbing a tree earlier in the day.  In order to make him more comfortable and protect it while he slept, I put a gauze pad on it and held that in place with roll of self-cling wrap.  This apparently left Rob feeling left out.  He came hobbling into our room because he had an owie that needed to be wrapped.  Hmmmm....  Where exactly is this owie?  When asked Rob, pointed to a his foot.  Easy enough.  I tied a bandana around his seemingly fine foot and sent him back to bed.

"Mom, I have another owie too."

Sigh.  Really?  I was tired.  Physically and emotionally.  I knew I had a choice to make.  Rob needed attention.  I could give it him in the form of yelling or in the form of a few kisses for boo-boo's and bandanas.  I laid my bandana collection out on the bed and said, "Okay Rob.  These are all the bandanas I have.  Where are your owes?"

He pointed.  I kissed and tied bandanas.  As he scooted down the hall, I smiled at the sight of him with bandanas knotted in various locations on his body.  "Hey Rob.  Let's go downstairs real quick."

This was one of those moments I wanted to be able to remind myself of years from now.  "Say cheese buddy.  No wait.  Show me your best pout face!  That's it!"

"Now go to bed!  I don't want to see your cute little face again until the sun is shining!"

It's All in the Family

Kudos to my cousins Aimee and Jen who recently graduated high school.  I've always been amazed by the fact that they share a birthday and a set of grandparents, but have different moms and dads.  Very early on I dubbed them my twin cousins.  Both are amazing young women with much to offer the world.  God's blessings on them both as they forge into the lives that lay ahead of them.

Jen lived a little further away growing up so I don't have as many stories to tell about her, but Aimee...  Aimee lived a mere 40 miles away and I was old enough to babysit her and her brother.  During their annual daycare vacation week, I would go up and stay with their family and help out with the kiddos.  I have fond memories of making mac and cheese with PBS children's programming in the background, putting Aimee's hair into adorable little piggy tails for the first time and her face lighting up as she flicked them back and forth with her fingers because she liked them so much, playing in the backyard, going for walks, and so much more.

I was preparing my children for our summer vacation plans and mentioned that we would be traveling around the area to attend a few graduations, including Aimee's and Jen's.  My boys love try and figure out the connections within our extended family so they immediately tried to start to figure out "who" Aimee belonged to.

"So she's your cousin, right Mom?" asked Ray.

"She is my cousin, which means she's your 2nd cousin."

"So Grandma Cookie and New Grandpa are her grandma and grandpa too?"

"Yup."

"So one of your uncles is her dad!"

"OH!  Does she go with the uncle who gave us the four-wheeler?"

"No, that's Uncle Bob.  He is Alyssa and Jen's dad."

"Does she go with the uncle who took us to Chuck E. Cheese?"

"No, that was Uncle Dan."

"Is it the uncle who let's us camp in his yard?"

"No, that's Uncle Tony."

"The uncle who gave us the toy motorcycles for Christmas?"

"No, that was Uncle Bob too.  He gave you the four wheelers, and train set, and motorcycles, and bunk beds, and swing set.  Aimee is Uncle Scott's daughter.  Scott and Laurie gave you guys all the games and big bag full of bats and balls and outside toys."

"Oh yeeeeeah!  I guess that's why they're called GREEEEAT Uncles!"

I had to laugh.  I also had to realize how blessed I am to have an amazing extended family who loves their great nephews so much, even if they do spoil them immensely!!!

What to write about???

I haven't been as diligent in writing this summer as I had been.  Often times, I think I should write a post but can't think of anything note worthy to write about.  It's just been a typical plain Jane, ho-hum kind of day.  However, when I pause to think about it, even out typical days are rather amusing around the Wx house.  Take today for instance.  

Our day began with Robby insisting on watching presidential videos on YouTube.  The child is obsessed lately with presidents.  Good ol' George and of course Log remain his favorites.  Although, he is also rather fond of Garfield too.  And he is still greatly perplexed as to why Lafayette was never president; Rob is certain he would have been a great one. 

Time to get dressed.  Rob uses his powers of persuasion to get dressed as George may have.  Huh???  How exactly is he going to pull that one off?  He comes down in jeans, a white undershirt, and informs me that he will be wearing his jean jacket on top.  

"Don't you think that it's a little warm for long pants and a jacket?" I ask.

"George always wears pants and a jacket Mom," is Rob's response.

Whatever.

Next point of insistence: ponytail.  Rob is quite adamant that he needs a pony at the base of his neck to complete his replication of George Washington.  The problem is that Rob's hair is a bit on the short side in that location.  I do my best, but it's not good enough.  After several attempts, I secure a rubber band at the base of his neck, but the problem now is that he can't see it.  Angling mirrors is to no avail, so we abandon that plan on move on to plan B.  A pony on the side of his head.  

Whatever.

I manage to shoo the boys outside on the beautiful sunshiny day.  Where do they land?  In the tent.  They haul arm full after arm full of stuffed animals and plastic weaponry out to the tent for their army in case of battle.  

Whatever.

When I step into the tent to check on them, it's blistering hot in there.  Amidst the scorching heat, I find Ray curled up on the floor of the tent.  Can't say I blame him, but what on earth is he doing under not one, but 2 fleece blankets?!?!  This is the same child who had to come inside from the deck during lunch because it was too hot outside.

Whatever.

"Time to come back inside guys.  It's rest time,"  I tell them.

"No!  We'll just sleep out here."

"I don't think so.  It's waaaaay to hot and you need to come in for a bit."

"No!  You're not nice!  You're not my friend!" is Rob's rebuttal.  

"Oh well.  I have other friends, I don't need to be your friend.  I need to be your mom and sometimes that means telling you to do things you don't want to.  Come on.  Let's go now."

Guess who won THAT battle?!

Force Sensitive

As most of you are aware by now, my boyz are a bit on the fanatical side when it comes to all things Star Wars.  Ray is honestly and truly convinced he is "discovering the force."  It is quite common to hear something that has moved or is missing explained by no other than the force in our household.  Michael and I tend to roll out eyes and nod our heads.  We've more or less given up on trying to explain to him that "the force" is fiction.  Anyone who thinks we are corrupting our children by not better explaining this to him is MORE than welcome to come give a shot at it, but trust me when I say it's falling on deaf ears.

Ray is very much aware that his vast knowledge of all things Star Wars greatly exceeds our own.  (I'm not sure if it is the way I constantly mispronounce the names or the way my eyes glaze over when he talks about the difference between the planets Naboo and Earth.)  However, there is one adult in his life that he highly regards as an expert in this field, Uncle Mikey.  Frequently Ray tells me how Uncle Mikey is a Star Wars expert and probably even knows....  To which I respond, "That's great Ray.  I'm glad you and Uncle Mikey can share that," while I think, "cause now I don't have to pretend to care."

The other day, Uncle Mikey and Cal stopped by.  (And in case you were wondering, yes, Cal has also been infiltrated by Jedi Alliance and as a youngling, is working on wielding some mean lightsaber skills all his own to the dismay of his mother.)  I'm not sure who or how the discovery was made, but Uncle Mikey and Ray noticed they both have moles on their necks.

Ray's eyes lit up as he made a connection and shared it out loud with everyone, "Hey!  I know Uncle Mikey!  Maybe having a mole on your neck is a sign of being force sensitive!!"

We all had a good chuckle, but what Ray neglected to notice is that I too have a mole on my neck, (What can I say, I come from a long line of moely people) and I am anything but force sensitive.

"But maybe you are Mom and you just haven't discovered it yet?  And it takes training to know how to really use."

Maybe, just maybe.

Happy Father's Day 2011

The beginning of this week marked the annual tradition of Father's day and of course it did not go unnoticed at the W-x household.  Rob was anxious the night before to give his gift to Michael and Michael had to cover his mouth on more than one occasion to stop Rob from spilling the beans.  We remedied the situation by promising Rob that he could give his gift to Michael first thing in the a.m.

As almost every parent of young children will concur, what you REALLY want for a holiday is the ability to sleep in, but Rob stuck to his end of the bargain making sure Michael had a bed full of boy by 7 a.m. will presents to open from all.  Ray and Rob were both so proud to present Michael with the "plaided" shorts they had each picked out.  I'm pretty sure Michael made a sly comment about wishing he had some a month or so back.  Ray and Rob did not pick up on his sarcasm and now he has two pairs!  Styling!  I just told him to be thankful I had led them towards the more neutral colors and less bold patterns.  He's also lucky Sam is still only 2 and so his gift was a polo, which of course coordinates with the stylish 'plaided' shorts so he has complete ensembles to wear.  (My gift?  I opted for a photo poster print of the boys, it's pretty cute if I do say so myself.  It's the boys all wear different shoes of Michael's and captioned with 'We want to follow in our Daddy's footsteps, but he has some BIG shoes to fill!)

I then ushered the boys out so Michael could go back to sleep for a bit and that he did.  By the time we started functioning and getting ready for church, we realized we were a bit behind schedule.  Commenting that we were going to be late, Rob responded with "Oh no!  Pastor's gonna be mad at us!"

I think it had less to with the wrath of the pastor and more to do with fact they were already 10-15 minutes late by the time we loaded everyone in and still had a 10 minute drive ahead of us that led us to opt for a stop at Donut Connection in leu of church.  (Great example to set huh?  I guess we're all entitled to an error here and there....)

The afternoon entailed a visit with Michael's family and some quiet time.  We planned to finish out the evening with a nice dinner out with my mom and grandparents.  That didn't go exactly as planned...  To put it bluntly, by the end of the meal, I was being approached by others telling me "We remember these days, but really they do pass."  We knew one family who has a daughter a year older than Ray.  They mentioned that they've always wanted a little boy and I was ready to give them one.  A 4 year old specifically.

I left the restaurant carrying two screaming and kicking children to the Yukon, Rob broke away.  I sternly said, "Get in the truck now."  A man was leaving his own vehicle popped his own tailgate and said, "Here you go.  You heard your mom.  Get in the trunk now."  You have to love when a stranger can help you smile through the grim circumstances.  Rob wasn't as sure.

When we got to the Yukon he informed me that he did in fact want to go with that new family.  "Okay then, would you like carrying your lightsaber to their car?"  He changed his mind real fast.

The drive home proved interesting as well.  Rob decided to unbuckle himself and unlock his car door.  He was pretty sure he was going to get out and go live with Nana.  We pulled over, re-buckeled and relocked.  The second time I was even smart enough to move the child lock switch up making it impossible for him to open the door from the inside.  He continued unbuckling more times than I can count.  It was a long drive home with us pulling over every 5 feet...

Happy Father's Day Michael!  Happy Father's Day!  At least we got you this nice story to remember forever right???

Splish Splash!

So last night, I had 3 very grubby looking little men.  Maybe it was from playing the sand table.  Maybe it was from jumping on the black trampoline tarp.  Maybe it was from digging in the mud.  Maybe it's simply because they are boys and it's summer.

Irregardless, I have come with a stellar bath routine at our house that seems to please all.  Sam is as happy as a clam to get the tun in the boys bathroom all to his lonesome.  Ray and Rob think it's super sweet that I let them lounge in my big corner tub down the hall.  I adore that they are all getting clean at the same time without the fight of who goes first or has to get out so someone else can get in.  (We've had more than occasion of a dry and pajama clad child climbing back into the tub as he thought he was missing out on all the sudsy fun.)  I can flit and float down the hall between the two to keep an eye on all the splashing and make an attempt to keep the majority of the water in the tub.

Last night, I was on my back from the master bath to the boys bathroom to check in on Sam.  Sam LOVES bathtime.  Getting him in is never an issue, but out is sometimes a challenge.  As I rounded the corner, I was surprised to see Sam half in and half out of the tub.  I rushed over to assist him and asked, "Sam, what are you doing?"

In his perfect 2 (and almost 1/2) gibberish he said, "I get out.  Water Mama!  Water got me all wet!"

Um, well, yeah.  That's kinda how it works.  I was confused momentarily.  After all, Sam is a fish in the tub.  As he began swiping at the bubbles on his tummy, I realized it was more of the soap bubbles that he was having issue with, but still thought his kid quote of the day was pretty priceless!

I did manage to wrangle him back into the tub long enough to give his knees the scrubbing they had coming.  As I dried him off, I noticed his feet were still not perfectly clean.  Sigh.  Oh, well.  It's not like they'd stay clean for long!

Slipping and a Sliding

The weather earlier this week was, well HOT.  Welcome to Minnesota.  One day, you're wishing for some spring like weather as you zip up your fleece, and the next day, you're doing anything you can to cool off during a 105 degree heat index.  (By the way, I wore a fleece again yesterday.)

To keep the kiddos cool, I let them run through the sprinkler.  What child doesn't love streaking through a freezing cold spray of water?  (I know that sounded rhetorical, but Sam.)  After an afternoon of sprinkler fun, I thought it might be fun to getting an upgrade.  We went to Target and perused the aisles looking for some form of water entertainment while still maintaining my need for frugality.  When Ray spotted the tunnel of water slip and slide contraption on sale for $4.99, how could I resist?  I had fond childhood memories of slipping and sliding on cold wet plastic so why shouldn't they?

The next afternoon, the boys and I donned our swimwear, opened up the box, unfolded the tarp, staked it into place, stretched out the hose and connected it.  Ray raced over the spicket, eager to turn on the water and have a wet and wild time.  As the water began flowing through the hose and into the thin plastic tube on the slip and slide, my mom's voice echoed into my head.  "These things are always junk!"

And junk it was.  The plastic tubing burst open and instead of water streaming into the slip and slide and up over it in an arch, it gushed all around my feet in a sloppy mud puddle.

"Turn off the faucet Ray!"

"Why?"

"It's broken."

"What?!?!  We JUST got it!  How can it be broken already?"

"I don't know hun.  I guess it just isn't very well made."

Ray started stomping and pouting and looked rather pitiful.  I looked at the things lying around our yard and decided we might as well still have some fun.

"It's alright bud. We still have the plastic spread out and we still have a hose.  I'll spray the tarp and you boys can still slip and slide."

I did not get the response I imagined.  Instead, I got continued stomping, pouting and carrying on.

"Ray, what's wrong?  I said we can still make it work."

"It's just that I wanted to use it properly.  Is that really too much to ask?"

"I would rather use it properly too, but it's broken, so that's not an option at this point."

"I mean, we spend good money on something.  It was a lot of money Mom, and then it just goes and breaks like that?  It just ins't right!"

I inwardly smirk but outwardly show sympathy and agree, "Yes, Ray, I understand, but it really wasn't that much money for this and we can try and exchange it later, but since it's already out, we might as well try it and see if you even like it."

"But we CAN'T use it THAT way.  I am suppose to slide through a 'tunnel of water.'  That's what it said on the box."

I think but don't say, "Ray, your aspergers is showing."  Instead, I glance around the yard, spot the sprinkler and suggest we hook it up next to the slip and slide and we can still have a 'tunnel of water' to slide through.

Ray's face lights up at this suggestion and we are set.  After some fun in that manner, Ray relocates the sprinkler to the swing set slide for some new fun.  I then relocate the tarp to the end of the slide for a longer pathway.

Ray and Rob have a blast with water and plastic without any further major incidences.  I smile to myself watching them from the swing and can't help but think, "THIS is the stuff fond childhood memories are made from."

Won't You Play With Me?

One would think that having two brothers you always have someone to play with.  Or maybe it's because he has two brothers and ALWAYS has someone to play with.  Whatever the reason, I had to laugh out loud today when I saw Ray setting up a game of battleship and telling his brother that it was NOT intended for him.

"WHAT?!" was Rob's stunned response, "How are you going to play battleship all by yourself?"

I also wondered the same thing, but Ray obviously had it all planned out.  He didn't hesitate for a minute when he said, "I'm gonna play the game Bobby Joe Pickler.  It's Bobby Joe versus Bobby Joe Pickler."

Huh?  Don't worry, that was my thought too.  Ray set up the game with battleships on both sides and smiled a smug grin as he told me that he was on Bobby Joe Pickler's team.  "We have a massive fleet and they have a really small one."

I guess that's one benefit to playing with an imaginary opponent and you set the board up yourself!

Peas in a Pod

We are enjoying our lazy days of summer vacation.  After a nice quiet morning at the library, we ran a few errands and played outside for a bit before lunch.  As I am finishing getting lunch on plates, the boys are circled round the table munching on slices of tomato and cucumbers and gabbing a bit.

Honestly, I'm only half listening to the conversation, but my ears perk when I hear "P."  With having all boys, they find bathroom humor VERY funny.  Pretty much anything can be made in a gut busting joke if you insert a word like pee, fart, poop, potty, well you get the idea.  Now I'm an advocate for free speech and all, but some things do not need to be discussed in certain places, like around the table.  I also know that attempting to abolish something altogether often times only amplifies the desire to do it.  That is why we make it very clear that you are welcome to discuss these natural body occurrences all you like, but you must do so in the proper place: the bathroom.  So as I was saying, I perked up my ears to hear the context of their conversation.  From my vantage point near the stove, I hear some giggling and "P" continues to surface.  I begin to prepare myself to invite the boys to continue their discussion in the bathroom when I hear this.

"P.  Rob.  It is a letter too you know."

"Yea, I know.  I am four!  It looks like the letter at the end of my name."

"No, your name has a b.  Not a p.  R-o-b. Not R-o-p."

"R-o-p?  That sounds silly!!"

"Huh.  I never thought about how much p and b sound the same.  Well, their names, not their sounds.  And they do look a lot alike too, but b's line goes up and p's line goes down."  As a reading teacher with my almost master's in literacy, this conversation was melting my heart! Talk about metacognition at work!  Do you think I could find a way to squeeze this into my capstone project?

Ray continued on, "Rob, did you know there is another kind of P?  There's the bathroom kind, the letter AND the one we eat.  And they are all spelt different!"

Rob finds this humorous and starts giggling.  "I like to eat peas."  (I can't help but wondering if he's really thinking of the vegetable pea or still stuck on the idea pee as in urine....)

"P!  P! P!" chimes in Sam.

"UH!!!  Sam is saying P, P, P!" Rob alerts everyone.

"He's talking about the little green kind.  Right Sam?"  Ray scrunches his forefinger  into a small ball and peers through it at Sam.  "You mean the little circle peas we eat right Sam?"

"Yup, uh-huh," nods Sam enthusiastically.

"Whew," says Rob.  "Mom, is our macaroni ready now?"

"Yes sir.  Here it is.  Let's eat!"  I grab the plates and forks with a smile on my face thinking that I am so blessed to have these three little peas in a pod.

My 3 peas in a pod

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...