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!
Friday, May 6, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
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:
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.
view other blog about Bin Laden's death
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.
Happy Star Wars Day!
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.
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.
Monday, May 2, 2011
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.
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! :)
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! :)
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