And Then? My Foot Got Barfed On.

My 20th high school reunion just happend. It was... meh.

No. I take that back. It was AWESOME to see some AWESOME friends that I hadn't seen in far too long. AWESOME to promise each other that we wouldn't wait another ten years before we got together again. But, the try-to-hide-in-a-corner-because-I-hate-chit-chat-and-worry-that-people-will-think-I'm-a-bitch-because-of-it sucked. As usual.

But, overall... so glad I went.

Friday night's event was just my high school's graduates (Monterey High School, Lubbock, Texas - GO PLAINSMEN!) at a cocktail party. Saturday's event was a combo reunion with the other two rival high schools in town, Coronado and Lubbock High. It was at a cool new rooftop bar in town. The reunion started at 7:00, but the bar wasn't closed to the public. So, about 10:00 the college kids started rolling in as college kids are wont to do at that time. (Do you remember when 10:00 made you think of heading to the bar, not jammies and the couch?!)

So. The college kids were there. One of my friends overheard one of them say, "I'm trying to get to the bar, but there are all of these old people in the way." Ouch.

But, I headed to the bathroom with a friend. While I was finishing up in my own personal stall I had the disquieting thought of, "Did my foot just get wet?" I looked down and saw... splatter... from the next stall had made its way into mine. And, then I heard it. The distinct sound of barf splashing down in the toilet next to me.

My foot got barfed on.

I ran out of the bathroom in horror (while stopping to wash my hands - I mean I'm not gross. Just because my foot had been dishonored didn't mean I had to sacrifice my hands as well), mumbling to my friend, "myfootjustgotbarfedonmyfootjustgotbarfedonmyfootjustgotbarfedon."

But, here's a couple of things I would like to say to the nameless college beauty that brought such honor to herself and hers last Saturday night. First of all: hit. the. toilet. Gross. And, secondly: Who barfs at 10:00 at night?! What is this? Amateur hour? At least we "old people" know how to hold our liquor!

So, that's it. That's my best anecdote from the reunion. If you didn't go to high school with me, stop here. If you did, or you're just really interested in watching other people's home movies, keep going for some of the pics.

Some of the AWESOME people who made it AWESOME
Friday Night

Mindy, Kelly and me
I went to school with Mindy from FIFTH grade through twelfth. Wow. That's a lifelong friend!
Kelly and I were pretty much tied at the hip during high school (with our other friend Lenna who rudely chose to have a baby a month ago and, therefore, couldn't make the reunion. Geez. Some people just don't think of ME when they are doing things. Do better next time, Lenna.) At one point Friday night, Kelly and I were sitting on a couch together and another friend walked by. She said, "You two. Sitting there. Together. It's like it's twenty years ago!" I love my BFF.

Jessica and Jennifer

Amy and Kelly. The Broome girls. No relation. (I have no idea why I think that's so funny...)

Mikey (you can't call a grown man Mikey. You have to call him Mike. Or Springer. He looks at you weird if you call him Mikey.) and Kim

Saturday Night

Jennifer, me and Cressinda

Um. This is exactly what it looks like. I wanted to have boobs as big as the other girls. Some things you just never grow out of. Or should I say, never grow...
This picture is the most representative of our behavior during the weekend.

And here we are acting respectable.
Cressinda, me, Jennifer and Jill

Jennifer, Kim, me and +1 (I mean, Ana!)

me, Jacki and Anna

Jessica's husband. He took my nametag from Friday night and wore it throughout Saturday's event. Then, he just waited for people to ask. His most common response: Sex Change.

THE GIRLS

The Lost Husbands Club

Very lost...

Hall of Presidents

The second grade presented the Hall of Presidents. Each student dressed as a different president. They wore a picture of that president on their lapel. When the button was pushed, they gave a memorized speech... as the president himself.

And now, without further ado, may I present to you President Andrew Johnson...

Here's the opening parade of presidents. The video I got was lousy, but you can catch a glimpse of FDR in his wheelchair (being pushed by Andrew Johnson), some of the first presidents in their white wigs, Dwight D. Eisenhower in his military fatigues, Lincoln in his top hat, Lyndon B. Johnson in his cowboy wear and Teddy Roosevelt in his rough rider clothes.

The Phone Number Song

We were helping Lulu learn her phone number and address for school. Address? No problem. My mobile phone number? A little trickier. So Shawn and I helped her make up a song for it.

Now a few things you should know: my cell phone is from the "old" hometown, so you have to dial the area code. And, if you have my cell phone number, you may look it up and sing along. If you don't, I really don't want to risk you calling to ask me out on a date, so I've filled in 555s in classic tv fashion (except for the last digits - you need those for the rhyme)!

To the tune of "ABC" (or "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" or "Ba Ba Black Sheep"*):

(555) 555 2... 664 I'm calling you!

Clever! Shawn and I were quite smug about our little ditty. And, it worked like a charm. But, then... Shawn carried on... Whereas his number ends with 2667 while mine ends with 2664, he composed this continuation:

7 is the end of Dad's. I call him when Mommy's bad.

(555) 555 2... 664 I'm calling you!

I'm pretty sure we have a new family anthem.

Awesome.

*They're all the same tune. What a sham!

Boy Wonder

We got Spence's Comanche project returned. Oh, I'm sorry. What's that you say? ONE. HUNDRED? Ka.pow!

And, here's that cover page I told you about.

Oh, stop. You're embarrassing us.

(But, yes. That is my facial masque smeared down the center of his part to simulate the white clay the Comanche would put down the center parts of their hair [or red or yellow - get out of my head Comanche report!] And, do you have any idea how long it takes to help an eight-year-old braid yarn braids down a piece of paper?)

But, Spence knew how hard he had worked on this project and he was proud of that grade. Shawn was out of town when the grades were returned, but we had to call him straight away to tell him the proud results!

Also in school, the 2nd grade wrote letters to Santa. Here's Spence's:

As Shawn paraphrased: "Hiiiiiii, Santaaaaaa... How you beeeeeeen? Goooooood? Gooooood. How's the faaaaaamily? We've got a little something special planned for you when you come on Christmas Eve... BRING ME A TRUCK!"

And, lastly, we had Spence's eight year old well-check with the pediatrician last week. (I-don't-want-to-talk-about-the-fact-that-he-turned-eight-two-months-ago-but-I-forgot-his-appointment-and-they-couldn't-reschedule-us-until-December-so-shut-up-about-it.)

Y'all? It might be weird to be extremely proud of your kid while you're at a check-up. But, I was extremely proud of Spencer at his check-up. I just sat back and let him handle all of her questions... and he did! Even though he was shy and a little timid (and our pediatrician was so kind and friendly, it was easy for him to talk to her), he did it! I didn't have to help "Mommy" him through any part of the exam. Now, I can already hear some of my friends (I'm looking at you, Springer) saying, "The kid's EIGHT YEARS OLD. He should have driven himself to the appointment." But, he's my kid. I want to take care of him. I want to make sure he's comfortable and at ease. But, the fact of the matter is: He is a big kid. He can take care of himself. And he doesn't need me quite as much as I may like to believe he does. I came home and said to Shawn no less than twenty times, "We have a big kid!"

And, speaking of big. She didn't have a growth chart to show me on which our giant man child would fit - for height or weight. But, she said you put them together and he has a BMI in the 95th percentile. She said that's big but it's healthy. Then she looked at me, turned to Spencer and said, "Your dad must be tall?" Rude. And, then, for the rest of the exam, she kept stopping and saying, "Eight years old?!" and "Second grade?!" over and over. And when she tested his strength (made him hold his arms up while she tried to push them down, etc), she got out of breath. So, now. When I call him our giant man child. I mean, our giant man child.

So that's the latest from the Spencer front. Somewhere around here we've had pictures with Santa. And, Lulu wrote a letter to Santa, too. Although, she doesn't have the schmoozing down quite as well as her brother...

Stay tuned. All that and more to come...

Thanksgiving Recap

So. Thanksgiving.

It began Friday when the kids got out for the holiday after the special Grandparents' Day chapel service. Shawn and I started preparing for all the family that was willing to come to us, to come to us.

But, then we realized they weren't coming until Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. And, my step-sisters and their families would be down at my mom and step-dad's come the Saturday before Thanksgiving. There really wasn't anything keeping us from going down for a little visit save a two-hour car drive. But, we can make that interstate drive with our eyes closed by now.

We did have to stick around for Lulu's finger check on Monday. But, come Monday evening, we were a-visitin'! And, Tuesday, we had Thanksgiving. (My mom is so good about "the date on the calendar doesn't matter. We can celebrate whenever we're all together!") And, so, we all stood around the kitchen on Tuesday and cooked a Thanksgiving meal together. It was awesome.

Also, while we were there. We stumbled upon Uno Attack. Do you people have this game?! Well, you should! It's plan ol' Uno but instead of a "draw pile" there is a machine that randomly shoots cards at you - it will give you no cards up to, well, we got twelve cards one time. So fun for kids 6 to 96 to be able to "attack" their loved ones!

Quote of the visit: "Come lick my finger and tell me what it tastes like."

We awoke Wednesday to hit the road home and welcome our own guests: Shawn's cousin, David, his wife, Anna, and their little girl, Cora; Shawn's aunt and uncle, Reda and Bill; Shawn's brother, Will, and his son David; and, of course, Shawn's parents live here, David and Marie. (Notice there are three Davids? One would assume this would cause mass confusion. But, somehow we manage. I guess because there's Little David and the two Big Daves have different last names. Or we, as a collective family, are brilliant and not very prone to confusion. One of those...) Shawn's other cousin (Reda & Bill's daughter) and her boyfriend would have been here but there was a little too much vomit coming out of them to make for a pleasant car trip... wait... I've probably said too much... And, Will's wife and daughter, Cynthia and Kristen, didn't make it this time either. We'll give everyone a pass... this time... but, we expect bright, shiny (vomit-free) faces at the next family-gathering!

This little group of Shawn's family have always been so gracious to come to our house for Thanksgiving the past... four... or is it five?!... years. And, they made no exception this year even though we moved the party two hours further away from them!

They kept saying we were the best hosts. But, seriously. They are the best guests. Case in point: I tried to rescue this mangy, little, mean, rat dog that was wandering the neighborhood one night. But, it wouldn't let anyone touch it, so I just lured it into the garage with a piece of turkey and trapped it there. However, by the time we figured out it didn't belong to anyone to whom we thought it belonged and was really just a mangy, little, mean, rat dog, it had torn open all the bags of Thanksgiving trash that were in the garage with it. However, somewhere in the time that I was told of the mess and turned around to deal with it, Shawn's uncle and cousin had cleaned up every ounce of the mess. Now those are good guests.

And, that's just one example. That doesn't include the hostess gifts, the laundry, the counter cleaner because they noticed we were out, the cooking, the taking us out to dinner, the fun games of Uno Attack (Oh yeah. We bought our own.), the black-Thursday night/Friday shopping adventures, or Anna, the professional photographer, taking our family's picture as a "thank you" again this year...

I'm telling you. Good guests.

And, cute kids.

Quote of the visit:

This one needs a little background.

We needed bread to make sandwiches from the Thanksgiving leftovers. So, after Anna took our pictures, we stopped by Walmart. I ran in while the kids, Shawn and Anna waited in the car.

I came back and announced to Shawn and Anna, "I think I made a new best friend. He was wearing a skull cap, had a crazy eye and I think he was a little bit drunk. But, we had a great time in the check-out line together."

Shawn asked how I knew he was drunk and I told him that he was buying mixer and, when asked (by me) if it had reached the point of Thanksgiving when it was time to start drinking, he replied, "Oh it already reached that point a long time ago."

Spencer piped in, "What's mixer?"

I said, "The stuff you use to make 'grown-up drinks.'"

Spence said, "What's drunk?"

I said, "When you drink too many 'grown-up drinks.'"

And, I truly believe Spence's next statement was meant to demonstrate how he could use his new-found word in a sentence. But, what came out sounded for all the world like he had just figured out his mother. Like all his many, many questions were answered when he looked right at me and said,

"You're drunk."

Whatcha been up to? Well, funny you should ask.

It's been busy around here. What's new, right?

Well, for starters, Spencer had a project due the week before Thanksgiving. It was the student's choice for a subject of Thanksgiving, Indians^★, or Pilgrims. But, it had to include a visual project, a written report, a cover page and an oral report. Parental help was encouraged. Because the teachers hate parents.

Also? I'm pretty sure I didn't do a project with so many components until I was in college.

But, we got it done. We're diorama-making fools around this house.

And, although I didn't get a picture of it (because I was exhausted), Spence's cover page was a Comanche Indian with yarn braids down each side of his head, tied with leather straps and a feather. And the part in his hair was even colored with white "clay." Oh, yeah. We brought it.

But, I think Shawn and I were both most proud of how many times our shy boy practiced his oral presentation until a) he knew it by heart; b) he could speak up; and c) he could look up and make eye-contact occasionally while speaking. Quite an improvement for the boy who hid his face two-inches behind his paper for the entire oral report he presented last year in first grade.

I made a Thanksgiving treat for the kids' classmates. I mean. We all knew I would, didn't we?

That's just a mini Reese's peanut butter cup upside down on a
fudge-striped cookie, stuck down and decorated with frosting.

There was Grandparents' Day at the kids' school. My mom and step-dad drove up. And, Shawn's mom had to jump through hoops to get time away from work. But, she did. So, the kids had two of their three sets of grandparents there. They got to show them around the school, and take them to a reception. And, there was a special chapel service. It was all very sweet and special to the kids.

*We found Lulu's lost splint. In the Barbie basket. Duh. Where else would it be? So now we have a spare (that the darling Occupational Therapist made us for no charge)! This is a good thing. The original splint has been lost again on no less than four other occasions for varying amounts of time on each occurrence.

Speaking of that broken finger and splint: we had a check-up last week on that little ol' bone. It's healing well, the doctor said. But, there is still a missing bit in the center of the bone that needs time to knit itself back together. One more week in the splint. She's such a responsible little trooper about it, though. She's the first one to say, "I don't have my splint on!"

There was Thanksgiving. But, in order to keep this post under a thousand words, that post will have to wait until tomorrow.

And, then there was church yesterday.

Here's what's funny. I can drive myself insane worrying about where we should go to church. We've tried going to a mega-church. But, all of our friends that are members there are a part of a "small group/Bible study" that is "closed." So, we never could figure out how to feel "plugged in" - not that the church doesn't try. They really encourage you to come to a once-a-month "Get Plugged In" meet and greet where they'll match you up with like-minded people so you can start your own "small group." Shawn and I just couldn't do it. It felt like a weird speed-dating session to make church friends. And, Lulu straight-up didn't like Sunday School there. I don't think they did anything wrong. I think it was just huge - four classes for Lulu's grade alone. We never knew who her teacher would be or who would be in her class. She would see some friends she knew... but then they would be assigned to a different room. And she told us she didn't know the songs they sang. But, when Little Miss Congeniality with the most confidence in our family is uncomfortable somewhere... it might not be the right fit for our family. Spence liked it. But, Spence liked it because he had a friend from school who was in his Sunday School class - a security blanket.

And, then my great friend Springer sent me a book by Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies. It was interesting. Clearly Springer thinks I'm a whole lot deeper than the usually fluff I read (Note to self: Send Springer a copy of The Hunger Games). But, it was worth the read for even just this one concept I took away from it. I'm sure I will paraphrase this badly, but Lamott said she was told, when praying to God for the answer to a problem, don't look for the big billboard announcing the final answer. Look at the small spotlight He's shining for you to take to the next step. Then, once there, look for the next spotlight. Just keep stepping from spotlight to spotlight until, the next thing you know, you've arrived at the solution.

So. I took a step into the spotlight yesterday.

We have other friends. (I know. Shocker.) They go to the lost-my-child-church (which we didn't know at the time of the "Lost Child" incident). They were talking about their awesome Adult Sunday school (that's open to new-comers)! They helped us figure out where it was, what time it started and were excited that we were there. And, y'all? The Director of Young Adult Ministry that teaches the class? Amazing. A-maz-ing.

We dropped Lulu off at the playroom - where there is an extensive new check-in procedure complete with sticker identification for each child. Holla! (All of our friends really do say to us, though, "Ummm. So. We hear we have you to thank for this." They don't seem so thankful, though... ;) After Sunday School, we went to ask Lulu if she wanted to leave the playroom to come sing songs with us in Big Church. She did not. She wanted to stay and keep working on crafts.

Spencer has one classmate who goes to church there that he knew of before we arrived. He wasn't there yesterday. But, lo and behold, his very best playmates from down the street go to church there! And, they did go to church yesterday, much to Spence's delight. Then, during the Children's Service portion of Big Church, Spence realized that one of his buddies from flag football goes to church there, too.

The church service was just non-liturgical enough to remind Shawn of the Bible Church in which he grew up, but just traditional enough to feel "like church" to him, too. Shawn does not like "rock bands" in church. I don't mind them. This church has a guitarist with singers. Shawn is okay with that. We both agree that the service really is a perfect mix for us.

As we drove home yesterday, Spence said, "I want this to be our church."

You know what, son? I think I do, too.

^★It seems that we can say Indian again instead of Native American. Who knew?

Halloween Costumes... Halloween Treats... And, it wasn't even Halloween yet!

Today is Halloween, but our past four days have already been packed full of festivities.

There was this:

One of Lulu's classmates had a costume party at her house. Remember how our dancer-to-the-beat-of-her-own-drummer was a Donut last year? Well, this year?

A DANCING SKELETON!

When we got to the party, there was a face painter. All the other little girls had beautiful fairy eyes. And princess glitter. Some butterflies.

Lulu? "I want to be a skeleton face!"

She went from "Dancing Skeleton" to "Día de los Muertos!"

(Not a single one of you better give me a moment's grief about Día de los Muertos or I will sic Señora Cowden, the kids' Spanish teacher, on you to explain to you that it is a joyful day of celebration in many hispanic cultures wherein they remember all the loved ones who have passed before them.)

That said. Our beautiful, darling, baby girl... was horrifying.

And, it took two days to get all of the black off of her eyes. She went from Día de los Muertos to Courtney Love. Equally horrifying.

There was also this:

All of my children (including the 39-year-old one), needed treats today. Spence wanted the Mummy Oreos that Sister took to her class on Friday - as she was Snack Helper:

Found on Pinterest! I *heart* Pinterest.

Sister needed something different since, as I mentioned, she already treated her class to the Oreo Mummies. So, between Google, Shawn and me, we came up with these:

BONES!

They're just snipped marshmallows...

jammed on pretzel rods...

and dipped in white candy coating.

And, Shawn? He got to take both to the party that his office is hosting for the kids of the firm (because his little friends haven't seen either ;)!

And, finally. There will be this:

This afternoon. We get to go to Daddy's office party and Trick or Treating. After we get the flu vaccinations. That I scheduled. For today. After school. Because sometimes I don't have a lick of sense in my head.

P.S. We should all be glad the Oreo Mummies and Bones worked out. Because I had a Plan B. In a moment of frustration, when I wasn't sure I could master the Oreo Mummies, I tried to make a ghost.

It looked like this:

And, his eyes kept falling out.

Fortunately for everyone involved, it never came to this.

OCD, Crafting and Back-to-School

So. After twelve years of marriage, this is how well Shawn knows me.

When I call when he is 6 hours into a 7 1/2 hour drive to say I'll need to be making a back-to-school treat after he gets home that night, he says, "Of course you will." He doesn't even try to confuse me with logic because he knows a confused, obsessive me is way worse than simply an obsessive me. He doesn't remind me that I'm calling at 9:00pm and he won't be home until 10:30pm. Oh no. Indeed, he himself stops at Walmart on his way into town to buy the supplies I don't have.*

But, here's the story. I was asked to be HOMEROOM MOM yesterday at Meet the Teacher Day. That's right. I put it in all caps. I take these things very seriously. I'm thinking of getting a vest embroidered. Or maybe a visor. Or lapel pin. A lapel pin would be classy.

Anyhoo. I have a cousin-in-law. She's like Martha Stewart. Her blog makes me feel inadequate. I usually read it through my fingers while I hold my hands over my inadequate eyes.

But, last year she sent her son to his first day of school with these:

How freakin' cute is that?!

And here are her instructions:

To make your own:

3 1/2 " x 4 1/2 " yellow cardstock

pinking shears

3 1/2" x 1/2" pink cardstock

1" circles pink cardstock

3 1/2" x 3/8" aluminum foil

Rolos

Hershey kisses

adhesive

So. As I sat last night, waiting for Shawn to come home and pondering my newly appointed position (That's right. I said "appointed position." Like the president of the United States himself chose me for this - not like the teacher asked me as I headed out the classroom door), I decided I should make these for my class.** 

It all seemed so very logical. And, simple. *insert delirious laughter*

Except. Walmart doesn't carry Rolos in a package. So, Shawn found these:

Don't tell me he wasn't a little bit into this. He had a "vision."

Except. I didn't have cardstock. I had colored paper. That's right. The package just said "paper."

Except. I don't have pinking shears. So we just had to bunch our "paper" up around the Hershey's kiss.

Except. I don't even know what real crafting people mean when they say "adhesive." I used hot glue, double-sided tape and Elmer's. I'm sure that's probably exactly what they mean.

And, only at this very moment, while writing this very post, did I even see that my CIL's instructions called for aluminum foil. Huh. That would have been a really good idea. Seriously, y'all. I should quit all other endeavors and take up this "crafting" thing full-time.

So. Back to the story.

At 12:45am while we held individual paper pleats around Hersey's kisses and waited for the Elmer's Glue to set (FYI, you can.not. use hot glue on a Hershey's kiss. Learned that the hard way), we may have looked at each other like we had made a terrible mistake. Well, Shawn may have been looking at me like that the entire time... I may have just finally agreed with him.

Then.

I had a sleep-deprived inspiration. Sister's hair rubber bands.

We slopped some Elmer's glue around the kisses, pinched down the paper with a rubber band and went. to. bed.

But, this morning. After I took the rubber bands off, we were left with these. I'll never really understand how. Maybe it was a back-to-school treat miracle. 

I didn't make that cute monkey bag. It was a party favor
bag we were given. But, if you've got some google eyes
on hand, you can go ahead and whip yourself up one.
I'm sure it would just take some "adhesive."

But, you know what? The smile I got from Spence this morning when I showed him. Was worth it all. (And, I even refrained from shrieking at him that he was going to "mess them all up" when he picked one up and pretended to use it like a pencil. I know. I'm all rational like that.)

P.S. Don't think Mommy Guilt doesn't make me know I have to make these for Elizabeth's class, too. Luckily, she doesn't start Pre-K til next Monday.

I need a nap.

ACTUAL INSTRUCTIONS
(although I can't see why you would dare try this at home)

• tube of M&M minis with red tops (although orange will work in a pinch) - slash plastic wrap around  the lid "hinge" so the plastic and your paper will lay flat
• Hershey's kisses with almonds ("because they're brown like a pencil" - Shawn's words, not mine. Seriously. Tell me he wasn't into this.)
• 4 1/2" x 5 1/4" yellow paper (although, I think I would make it longer next time maybe 5 1/2") with "Happy 1st Day of SCHOOL" written along the long way
• 4 1/2" x 1/2" silver or gray paper
• double-sided tape
• hot glue
• Elmer's glue

Hot glue the kiss to the bottom of the M&M tube. Wrap the yellow paper and secure with the double-sided tape, leaving about 1/4" overhang on the kiss end of the tube. Wrap the silver at the other end of the yellow paper and secure with the double-sided tape. Apply Elmer's glue inside the overhanging portion of the yellow paper and pinch around the kiss. Secure with a small hair elastic, if available. Allow to dry. Remove elastic.

*It probably helps my case that Shawn still tells stories about his mom being Homeroom Mom and president of the PTA. (FYI - I will never be president of the Parent Board. I know. I know. Never say never. [Never.])

**I've never been a HOMEROOM MOM, can you tell? I know I'm being pretty cool about it, so you probably couldn't tell...

The Lost Puppy

I'm not ashamed to say that I only just emptied the kids' backpacks from the last day of school. Well, actually, I am. I just thought that if I used a lot of bravado you wouldn't judge me. You should judge me. There were things in there... I had to throw away a lunchbox because... well... it was better that way.

But, I was rewarded for my efforts by finding this little gem.

The Lost Puppy

By: Spencer

(translations follow each page)

There was a dog with its owner and its owner was
talking to some people. And the dog got free.

Should we be worried that the dog was evidently in captivity and yearning to break "free"?

And the dog is gone. And after the owner
turned around the dog was not there.

I'm sad to say that this scenario is probably a representation of some of Spencer's real-life experiences in public places; wherein he plays the poorly supervised dog and I play the easily distracted, talking pet owner.

Anyway. Who are they all waving at? The long lost dog? Bye, dog.

Have you seen my puppy? she asked a man.

I'm starting to think the dog was trying to escape from the trick leash the woman was using. Or she's swinging it in the man's face to prove that she actually has lost a dog. Either way.

And she looked high and low.
But she could not find her puppy!

Notice the exclamation point that escaped from the previous page. This is a very emphatic story!!

Notice, also, the illustrations for searching "high and low." Evidently, when you search high, you grow significantly. Conversely, while searching "low," you get teeny tiny. You should probably carefully consider your surroundings before you decide to search in this manner.

Then she went to the park to play. She saw
a group of puppies. She counted them.

And she took them home. The End.

So the moral of the story seems to be: When you lose something, just find another one somewhere else. And take more than you lost. Because more is better.

Ed note: There was one page of completely erased words. Evidently, there was an initial version that had the girl "earning" one of the dogs. But, the other dogs didn't have a home either. The girl didn't want to take them all, but she did. It seems it was originally a much more altruistic story. I'm guessing it got the Reader's Digest condensed version because all of those words were too tricky to write. That's okay. It's way better this way. I like the thieving, bad pet owner. She's gritty and real.

How to Work Through Bad News with Your Child

We received an email from Spence's first grade teacher outlining the activities for the last week and a half of school. The email ended with this:

"Finally, it is with deepest sorrow that I have to tell you that Tiny passed away sometime during these past few days. He parted peacefully in his little blue home. He was found by Ms. B, Mr. B, and Señora C at 3:35 on Monday, May 16. The funeral was held immediately to help preserve the odor of the classroom. Tiny was a great hamster, and a beloved member of Ms. B's first grade classroom. His remaining family includes Ms. B, F.B., J.B., K.B-R., K.B., P.C., S.E., B.I., T.H., Spencer Johnson, M.M., G.S., and E.W."

It was a cute, little, obituary-type way of telling us that the class hamster had died. My initial reaction was joy that it had waited until after we kept him to die. Then I thought I had better talk to Spence and see how he felt about it.

We sat down to dinner and I said, "Hey. I'm sorry Tiny died."

Spencer said, "Tiny didn't die."

My mind quickly replayed the email I had just read and I realized that it said, "He was found... at 3:35 on Monday, May 16." Then my mind yelled at me, "It is Monday, May 16!" And, then my mind shrieked at me, "You picked Spence up from school at 3:00! He. doesn't. know. yet!"

Ummm... Well... Son? I have something to tell you.

Thankfully, he wasn't too concerned. Maybe because Tiny was a biter. Maybe because he was more fascinated by the fact that dead things stink. Maybe because he had been prepared for this inevitability beforehand - he said, "Eh. Hamsters don't usually live more than a year." I don't know who gave him this shortened hamster life-expectancy, but if it was Ms. B, God bless her.

But, wait a minute... It's awfully convenient that Ms. B doesn't have to find anyone to take custody of the hamster over the summer now. It's almost like she knew Tiny's life expectance wasn't more than a year...

I. AM. KIDDING!

R.I.P. Tiny.

My Daughter Keeps Getting Her Clock Cleaned

The Pre-K had a program Wednesday. They sang songs on which they had been working for months and months. Really quite darling (as long as one of the performers was your kid)…

Unfortunately for Lulu, though, the event took a turn for the traumatic when she got hit by the little boy next to her. (Why did that just make me think of Urban Cowboy? Bud: What happened to your face? Sissy: Got hit. There’s something wrong in my head.)

I have reviewed the video footage (believe me, have I reviewed the footage!) and have come to the conclusion that no malice was intended. Elizabeth got a little, shall we say, effusive with her hand motions and whacked the boy next to her. And, his expression is… joy. Or at least excitement. Like, “Game on! She hit me, now I hit her.” And, that’s what he did. And she started to sob. And then wail. And the whole while she stood completely rooted to her spot – even though I kept giving her the third-base-coach-motion-to-bring-it-on-home while mouthing, “It’s okay. Come here!”

Now I’m not sure if The Bear Went Over The Mountain ends with the brownie-eating bear being sent to his room – but, it did on Wednesday. The teacher/director saw her crying and called her over. Lulu regaled her, loudly, with a recap of the drama. The most offensive thing to Elizabeth was that she had “said I was sorry! But, he hit me.”

And, then she sat with me for the rest of the program.

She rejoined her class for the group picture at the end and walked back down to her classroom with them - none the worse for wear.

As, I walked down to the classroom to say goodbye, I passed the boy and his father. His dad told me that he had already made his son apologize. Everything is fine. Everyone is friends.

And, then… Thursday. I picked her up from school and there was an “Accident Report” in her box. Uh Oh.

It read,

“Explanation: Lizzie [Ed note: How much do I love it that Lulu has somehow convinced her Religion Teacher that she goes by “Lizzie”? I asked her about it and she said, “Yeah. I told her that. I like her to call me Lizzie.” Do you want us all to call you Lizzie? "No." Okay then.] was standing behind two classmates who were fighting over carrying the class cross. During their tug-of-war, before either of us could get to them, one let go and the cross flew backwards, hitting Lizzie on the nose.

Treatment: Lizzie was immediately taken to the office for ice, hugs, and tissues. She went back to class.

Child’s Reaction: Lizzie was very upset, especially when her nose bled briefly, but she soon recovered and went happily back to class.”

So, to be clear, she was hit in the face with a cross? I think I’ve heard of some fundamentalist churches like this! Damn! And, I should say she was "very upset" when her nose bled - I found blood splatter on her shoe this morning.

But, you know? Show me a room full of four- and five-year-olds that aren’t occasionally going to hurt each other accidentally and I’ll show you a room where sedatives are being used. Anyway, the accident report is much less shocking than the words with which Elizabeth greeted me at pick-up: “The boys hit me in the face with a stick and my nose bled.” I’m sorry. Come again?

And, finally, who could possibly argue with the treatment she was given? Ice, HUGS, and tissues. What wouldn’t that fix?!

The Differences are Gifts from God

The weekly school newsletter arrived. Our chaplain described the services planned for this Holy Week before Easter. The Maundy Thursday service was to include the eighth graders washing the feet of the younger children who wished to participate.

I sent this email to the chaplain and Spencer's teacher:

April 14, 2011 Hi Mother J* and AB*,

I was reading through the Holy Week services that are planned for next week. What wonderful things you have planned for the kids, Mother J!

I just wanted to give you both a quick note about Spencer. He was born with fused bones in his feet and webbed toes. It doesn't affect his mobility at all, and we rarely think of or notice it at our house - he even wears flip flops with pride. But, it does make his feet look different. The couple of times in his life he's ever even mentioned it, we just tell him his feet are that way because that's exactly how God wanted them to be made and we think they're even better than everybody else's feet because they're 100% unique.

Shawn and I wish he could go through his whole life as confident and unconcerned about his feet as he is today. But, we're not naive enough to believe that being "different" doesn't get to be an issue the older kids get; or that another child's reaction to his feet won't hurt him someday.

So, just in case he chooses to participate in the feet washing during the Maundy Thursday service, I felt better making you both aware. Thanks for listening to this overly sensitive mom. :) -ali

Spencer's teacher and I received this response:

Dear Ali, Thank you for this information. I agree that being given special gifts by God is a blessing, but I also know that children can be unaware of how hurtful they can be if someone’s blessing is different from theirs. A, I can easily take Spencer to a station for foot washing where the older child is sensitive and understanding. I will be “floating“ that morning and will be aware of when and if Spencer gets up to have his feet washed. I will stand in your section of the nave until your children have had their feet washed. Ali, thank you for contacting us. You’re a precious Mama. Much love, J

Touched? Wouldn't even begin to describe it. When I sent her a thanks, I told her I had tears in my eyes. That wasn't the truth. They were rolling down my face.

The tears?

They were partly for the frustration that we do live in a world where kids can be cruel to each other; and I can't protect my child from it; and to learn to get along in this great big ol' world, he's going to have to learn to endure the injustices of it. I will be able to do nothing more than sit on the sidelines while my heart breaks.

But, mostly? The tears were overwhelming gratitude for the reminder that there are angels that surround my children and love them when I'm not there.

*Names have been abbreviated to protect the angels. ;)

An Epic Quest for Car Keys

"Does anyone see Mommy's keys?"

"No." "I don't!"

"Well. Let's go out to the car and see if Mommy left them there. Surely, Mommy didn't leave them there."

"What? Why wouldn't you leave them there?"

"Because that would mean I locked them in the car and that would be bad. Then Daddy would have to leave work and go home for the spare key and drive all the way to bring it to us...

There are the keys."

Locked in the car.

Spencer: "Mom, the top window is open; we can climb in there."

Sure enough. The sunroof was open.

"Spence? Can you climb in there and open the car?"

"Yes!"

He got one foot on the front wheel and one knee on the hood and he froze. And, I mean, froze. I was behind him trying to help him up and he almost knocked me over coming back down off that car.

"Come on, Spence, you can do it! I won't let you fall."

One more attempt. One more "flight response."

It is moments like this that convince me this cautious boy is an old soul. I mean, what seven-year-old doesn't dream of the day that he is given permission to climb up the car and through the sunroof?

Mine. That's which one.

I looked at Lulu. I considered that for about half a millisecond before concluding that that would just compound the problem. I was pretty sure that she wouldn't know how to unlock the doors; and then the keys and my daughter would be locked in the car. And, as my sister pointed out, it probably would have ended much worse than that. She probably would have started the car and driven off yelling, "See ya, suckas!"

So. That left me.

As quickly as I could, I put a foot on the front wheel, a knee on the hood, and tried to get my foot up to the roof so I could completely bypass the windshield (because that's all I needed - to go through the windshield). This pretty much resulted in me doing the splits over the windshield of the car. I hoisted myself up. Then, holding the edge of the sunroof, I swung my feet under me and into the opening so I could go in feet first  (because that's also all I needed - my feet kicking out the top of my sunroof while I gracelessly flopped into my car).

But, then I was in. I got the keys. I opened the driver's-side door. And, the car alarm went off.

Did I mention that all of this happened in front of the kids' school? At pickup.

I'm waiting to hear the word around school that the new family is a bunch of car-climbing hillbillies.

God Doesn't Like Vacations

And, here's how I know: If He did, life wouldn't be so chaotic upon return. It's like you have to pay for vacation by returning to a home that has completely fallen apart in your absence.

Case in point: the last load of laundry in the dryer that has been "fluffed" about 17 times since it went in last Wednesday.

To be fair, this could have less to do with God's feelings on vacations and more to do with "getting plugged in" to our new town. (I'm suspicious that this might be the case, since I tried to make a dinner date with some of our new friends and the first available date we could find was a Thursday in three weeks.)

Whatever the reason, this is what last week looked like:

Monday and Tuesday were deceptively calm. I took lunch to Spencer for making a 100 on his spelling test while we were gone. We got Lulu's hair cut in the "bob" she has been requesting. (Shawn has been requesting it, too, to be honest. I don't think he could bare to brush one more tangle out of his precious baby girl's head. :) Shawn had business dinners so I had to get the kids to bed by myself. (I really think he just does that so I'll appreciate him more... Ass.)

Wednesday began that elusive laundry. And, then...

Thursday my mom came to town. The kids had Fine Arts Night at their school. We saw their art displayed; Spence's class sang. (Well done. So proud. Got to bed late.)

Friday I tootled on down the highway a couple of hours for a friend's birthday lunch. I got home; took Lulu for a "girls' date" (that means we went to The Discovery Center and walked around the park) while I waited to pick Spence up from a birthday party. We took the kids for pizza for Family Date Night. (Got to bed late.)

The next day (Saturday) we awoke to hit the road back down the highway for a wedding. Came home the same day. (Got to bed late.)

We woke for church on Sunday, came home for some Sunday naps (hallelujah!), worked on Spencer's Flat Stanley project, and raced out the door - again - to get to my in-laws' church for a gospel quartet concert to which they had invited us (leaving the Flat Stanley supplies exploded around the floor and living room).

Last night, as we put the kids to bed (late again), stepping over piles of their toys, shoes, and clothes that hadn't made it to the laundry hamper, Shawn looked around and said, "Well, at least the upstair and the downstairs match."

Elizabeth was showing signs of wear this morning. But, I just kicked everyone out the door to work and school. Now I'm looking around at this house/mess/dump sight and wondering what it takes to get declared a Disaster Zone - I'm not so much interested in the federal funding as I am in the volunteer labor and National Guard forces.

Oh well, I guess I better get started. I need to go fluff the laundry in the dryer one more time.

The Kids and Moving

[Ed. note: I really tried to trim back this wordy, wordy post and I couldn't do it. I guess my kids just make me loquacious. (Yeah. Go look up that word. Impressed, aren't you?) Anyway, sorry to be so verbose. (I know! It's like I'm a freakin' thesaurus!)]

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Kids are amazingly resilient, aren't they? And, I guess ours aren't that different. They've taken our new adventure (mostly) in stride.

SCHOOL
We had parent/teacher conferences yesterday. (Note to self: When attending your first parent/teacher conference as "the new parent," jokes about hitting your child don't fly so well. Noted.) Their inappropriate mother notwithstanding, both kids are doing amazingly well in school.

Spencer:
At the meeting with Spencer's teacher, I had to force myself not to cry when I thanked her for helping him adjust so well (Lulu, we never worried about - as Shawn says, "She's bullet-proof." Cautious, careful Spencer had us holding our breath).

Elizabeth:
We made a big decision at Lulu's conference. Ever since she was born on a bright, sunny day in June, I've been worried about whether she should be the oldest or youngest in her class (Yes. I worried about this the. day. she. was. born). She's always been so bright, though, I didn't want to offend her by making her repeat a grade. Our old school had a Pre-1st in between Kindergarten and 1st grade, so we were going to be able to wait a few years to make the big decision.

Not so at this school. Preschool is really the do or die time for this choice, otherwise they're just repeating a grade - when they're old enough to "get it." Lots of the kids at this school are the oldest in their grades if their birthdays are May through August. And, we can "spin" it for Lulu that we're just letting her get a "full" year of Pre-K since she only got here in the middle of the year.

So, it was a no-brainer today once we raised the subject with her teacher. And, I am so relieved and confident with this course of action (someone remind me I said that when she's 18 and I get to "keep her" one more year)! My biggest concern is that all the things that are challenging to her now are going to become a breeze next year and she'll get a superiority complex - this girl is already the most confident one in the family! 

Anyway, that's the awesome news about school.

HOME
Don't worry. I'm never one to sugar-coat things. There have been some hiccups along the way.

Spencer:

Spence can. not. turn his mind off at night. Like I said, he's our structure and routine child. (Hmmm. Wonder where he gets that from?! Stop looking at me!) We knew settling into a new house, new school and new routine would be hardest on him. God bless his teachers that school hasn't been a problem. Then again, this school is the definition of structure and routine. But, at night... oh, at night. He comes up with 32,000 things he must discuss with us. He gets out of his bed - repeatedly - until 10:00 at night sometimes! But, it's hard to get mad at the kid when you know his whole world has been given a good shake. Unfortunately, I think he smells the blood in the water with our parental guilt and has been using it to his fullest advantage. However, we've had great nights the past few nights, so maybe, just maybe, like all things parenting, this too shall pass... 

Elizabeth:
As for the indomitable Lulu (her teacher said, "You would think she's been with us since the beginning of the year!" and "She raised her hand to tell me she loved me!"), even she has had her heartbreaking moments. Unfortunately, (for me!) hers come right out of the blue.

Like saying, "I bet Miss Zouzalik (her Pre-K teacher at the old school) misses me."

"I bet she does, too, Lulu."

"When are we going back?"

And, "When are we moving back to Lubbock?"

"We don't have any plans to move back to Lubbock, sweetie. What do you miss about Lubbock?"

"Our old house."

"What do you miss about our old house?"

"It had Scooby Doo on the TV for our Family Date Nights."

You can bet your sweet life that we will be featuring Scooby Doo on this television for our next Family Date Night.

AND, THE HEAVENLY...
My in-laws called out of the blue and asked if the kids could come spend the night with them tonight, then stay and hang out for a little while on Saturday. I'm sorry? Did I move to Heaven?! I feel like I should have dressed better.