A Moment Captured

I found a picture of you.

You were maybe four or five years old, I'm not sure. You're holding a water gun in your hands, and the look on your face is so serious. I wonder what you're thinking about? Your mouth is open, just a little. What were you about to say, buddy?

The sun is shining on your soaking wet hair - I'm not sure if it's wet from sweat or the water gun battle - or both!  I see your little-boy-dirty-streaked face, with your eyes shining.  I remember that brown and blue shirt that you're wearing - how many times did I wash that thing?

I can even recall the smell of that little boy, with his ever-present wiggling, moving, noise, and sweetness.

I remember that day - it was warm, the sun was shining on us, out in the backyard. I look at that picture and it was only a handful of years ago, but so long ago, really.

 

You turned 11 a few days ago.  Eleven, my little boy with the bluest eyes.

 

I'm so proud of you!  You make me happy, and I have been incredibly blessed to be your Mom.

 

Happy Birthday, my sweetest boy.  I love you.

May 31st, 2014

Sheesh!  It's been forever and a day since I've been on here.
We've been crazy busy with school, church, work, soccer, and life in general that I haven't even thought about posting.  But now, it's Saturday, the boys are gone for a little while - how 'bout a little review and a few random thoughts?  Don't mind if I do.

It's finally summer and my favorite time of the year!  Ben is out of school; he finished fourth grade and leaves his elementary school for a new intermediate school next year for fifth grade.  Fifth Grade!! Unbelievable. 
As we went through visiting his previous teachers on the last day of school, I snapped pics of him with each of them and gave hugs - I never once thought I'd get teary-eyed, but I did!  He had such wonderful teachers there - I'm going to miss the family atmosphere.  The school he's heading to is muchmuch larger, they'll have sixteen 5th grade classes!  I'm already overwhelmed, I can't imagine how he'll feel.

My 'baby' turned 10 the first of May.  TEN!  We celebrated with a birthday party in the back yard. We called it the "Food Fight Rematch" - called a rematch because 2 years ago I lost my mind and had the first birthday party + food fight.  That party was such a hit with the boys that I thought, heck, why not do it again?!  This time, we invited 10 boys (and they all showed up! eek!).  I made sure to have lots of stuff for the boys to throw - Jell-O, mashed potatoes, flour, whipped cream, cheese puffs and pork n' beans.  We also had lots of silly string and I'd made 25-30 sponge bombs and put them in tubs of water in the yard. Now, when I had the bright idea to make them for the party, I thought the boys would use them sort of like water balloons; they'd throw them at each other, and the water would help wash off some of the yuck.  Uh.  Not so much.  They got downright violent with them!  I made sure to stay far away during the melee, but they had a ball.
I made Ben's birthday cake and if I can figure out how to post a picture, I'll do so.  He wanted a Minecraft cake, so I hit the internet looking for ideas.  I found a wonderful YouTube video and followed it exactly - it was awesome if I say so myself.  He was so excited to show it off to his friends.  Am I a cool mom or what?  :)
After dark, we roasted marshmallows over the fire pit and made s'mores, then went inside for showers and to cool off a bit before bed.  Oh, I didn't mention it was a sleepover?  Yes. Another brilliant idea on my part.  Ha!  Greg had the camper and tent all set up and ready to go earlier in the afternoon, so at bedtime the boys drew straws to decide who got to sleep where.  (the camper has AC and actual beds......the tent?  Doesn't.)  A good friend (and Dad to one of the kids) slept in the tent with half the boys and my sweet husband slept in the camper with the other half.   Not sure how much sleeping went on out there, because I slept in blissful peace and quiet inside ~ that's the advantage of being the only girl!
The zombies started peeling out of their caves at around 7:30am,  ready for breakfast.  We formed a buffet line for them after making approximately 750 pancakes, 245 pieces of bacon and 22 dozen scrambled eggs.  Give or take.
They fueled up and then headed back outside.  They ran, they screamed, they used anything and everything as weapons, they hollered, they ran some more, they went out in the woods and built forts, they explored, and they ran and ran and ran. 
When it was time to leave, we handed them over to their parents tired and filthy, eaten up with bug bites and scratches from running through briars in the woods.  Just the way boys are supposed to look. 
After the dust settled, we pronounced the party a big success and I vowed to never do it again.  :)


We're gearing up for vacation in a couple of weeks - I think we're all more than ready for a little R&R.   We'll be spending a week in Orlando with a few hundred thousand of our closest friends.  Can't wait.  :)   Then later on in June, Ben and I will be headed to the beach with Mom, Toni and the boys. That's always a fun trip when my sister and I get together.  Silliness abounds. 


Ahh.  Summertime.  I'm actually sitting on the back porch right now ~ ceiling fan is on, feet propped up on the table.  Greg and Ben came back earlier, now the hubs has started demolishing the deck and I'm supposed to be supervising. 
Guess I'd better go make sure everything is up to snuff.  

Have a wonderful summer!




 

Dread.

 The definition of dread, according to Mr. Know-it-all Google:

      Verb - Anticipate with great apprehension or fear.

 

 

Oh, it's not something that I've thought about every waking moment, or even all that frequently - but when it would pop into my head, dread would be the perfect word choice. 

 

The question I've dreaded for 8 years has finally been asked.

 

We were driving home from somewhere last weekend, and for whatever reason, we were in two cars - little man rode with his Dad, while I drove alone.   As we gathered our things from the cars to go in the house, Greg pulled me to the side and told me that Ben had asked who his Birthparents were.  My first thoughts were:  Ooh, thank goodness he asked his Daddy and not me!  And, oh dear Lord, what brought this on??  Why now?  What do we say??

We huddled in the garage for a minute, deciding finally that:  if he asked, he's ready to know.

(nobody asked me if I was ready!)

 

We've had the adoption conversation before - he knows he's adopted, we use the word adoption freely - but he's never asked about Birthparents.  My baby is somewhat naive about the whole birds and the bees thing; he hasn't been around many pregnant women, so the whole idea of where babies come from is waaaaay off his radar.  Thank goodness.  So, for him to ask - out of the blue - about Birthparents?  (we found out that he'd watched an episode of Wizards of Waverly Place featuring an adopted character, who referred to their Birthparents....go figure.) 

 

So, we put all our things away and called a Family Meeting.  Ben hopped into my lap, happy-go-lucky, while I felt my stomach start to digest itself.  My sweet husband took the reins and brought the subject up again. {Because of privacy, I'm not going to go into specifics  - the folks that read this blog (most of you, anyway) know us and our family story personally, so specifics aren't necessary.}  

 

After a few minutes, with all his questions answered, the subject was closed and he was satisfied.  That, which I'd dreaded for so long, was much easier than I could have dreamed. 

I know this won't be the end of the questioning, but I think the groundwork has been laid nicely. 

Now, I'll have to find something else to dread.....
 

 

 

Eight

8

Eight. 

EIGHT!!


1) What can I give you to make you as happy as you have made me? Years and years we waited for you - praying, hoping all along. You were - and are - truly a gift from God.

2) Your energy is off the charts and I'm so envious.  You are always up for the next adventure; always ready to gogogo, run, play, and fight bad guys.  Keep fighting those bad guys, baby.  Always have fun!    

3) Try your hardest. Don't give up after stumbling. You'll truly learn from your mistakes - no matter how bad you may feel.   Don't stop trying - and don't stop learning.

4)  Those blue eyes just kill me - do you know how powerful they are? You'll probably break a thousand hearts with those baby blues.   Right now, though, you can just use your powers on Mom and Dad....

5) Be good.  Be kind.  Be strong.  Stand up for what is right, don't go with the crowd 'just because'.   Make up your own mind about what you will and won't do, don't allow someone else to change what you know is right...listen to the feelings in your heart and you'll always know you've done what is best.  

6) Do you have to grow up? I know, in just a few short years, you'll be driving. Driving!
Every year I think, oh I love this age - but every year it gets better. I can't wait to see how you change into the man you are meant to be. Just don't do it so fast, k?
7) Trust God.  He always knows what's best for you and loves you more than Mommy and Daddy ever could.

8) Eat your vegetables.  :)



Happy birthday my sweet boy.  I will always always love you, no matter what. 

Growth.

Sheesh.  My baby is growning up and I'm not too sure I'm all that happy about it! 
The boy has just about outgrown every pair of jeans that he owns!  This morning, I helped him get his clothes out for school -  as he pulled the jeans on I could tell they were a bit snug.  He couldn't snap them...."Mom, can you get this for me?".......let's see.....ok, suck it in......uh, no.  Too short and too tight!
To make matters worse, they were semi-new!!  (read: they didn't have holes in the knee)
Did he have a growth spurt that I missed?! 

Speaking of growing up.....

We took our new camper out for our inaugural camping trip this weekend!  We didn't go far, just up the road 20-30 minutes to FDR State Park.  Lovely place, lovely weather.  We hiked, biked, fished and roasted marshmallows over the fire.  Oh, and the boy found a girlfriend. 

Our campsite was across from the play area, so my Social Butterfly son spent a good bit of time over there playing with the other camp kids.  When he wasn't at the playground, he was whining that he wanted to go play with his new friends at the playground.  We soon found out why. 
Her name was Abby.  Or Addie.  Or Allie.  Something like that.  Anyway.  I believe it was love at first sight.

After breakfast Sunday morning, we heard the sound of kids on the playground, so he asked if he could go over to play.  He got dressed, then asked if his hair was still sticking up (he had a bit of The Bed Head going on).   I told him yes - did he want me to fix it for him?  Yes, please.
So, I moistened it a bit and tried to make it behave, which led to nice flat wet hair.. 
I asked him if he wanted me to dry it a little with my hair dryer.  Yes, please.
A few knowing looks over his head to the Daddy and we were done.
"Is it ok, Mom?"
"Is it flat?" 
Yes, baby.  You're perfect.

And just like that, my baby grew up.  He wanted to be sure his hair was ok before he went out to meet his 'friends', particularly, one girl.  As we watched through the camper screen, he walked toward the playground and the kids flocked to him.





We were thinking, though.  Our Social Butterfly who worried so much about whether his hair was flat, never thought to brush his teeth. 

Maybe I've got a few more years yet?

Finally!

Well, it finally happened.....

Ben lost his first tooth yesterday -  at church.  Pulled it himself, and boy, was he proud!
On the way out, as we were visiting with folks in the lobby of the sanctuary, he had to tell everyone!!   (And thanks to our sweet church family, they acted properly impressed with the show and tell! )   :)  

I wondered if he'd ever lose the first tooth, to be honest!  Most of the kids in his class have already lost several teeth - they started in kindergarten or first grade - and here my sweet boy is, with all his baby teeth intact, nearing the end of second grade!   Our crazy dentist told us last summer that the permanent teeth were there, and they'd come out when they were ready, but sheesh! 

So, he's a snaggle-tooth monster now.  Oh!  Almost forgot!  We had a visit from the Tooth Fairy last night too.  We weren't too sure of the 'going' rate for her services, but it seems that $5.00 is pretty popular around here, so that's what we did.   We put Ben to bed last night with his tooth safely on the bedside table so she'd be sure to find it.....the kid can NOT be still when he's in the bed and I could just imagine her search and rescue mission in the middle of the night looking for a lost tooth!  

He was thrilled with the surprise this morning.  I think he's already wiggling the next tooth so he can get another visit from the Tooth Fairy! 

What a kid.



Question:   Um.  Where does one store a slightly used tooth? 

Melancholy

Feeling a little melancholy this morning, maybe it's the season?  The leaves are changing, it's getting cooler outside - Fall is here.  Soon, Thanksgiving and then all too quickly Christmas will be here and gone.  Another year, passed.



Where has time gone?  Maybe it's because my days and weeks are spent the same - I treasure the quiet of my days off work, with time to myself to spend as I wish.  My work days are made better because I get to see my friends, not because of any great feeling of accomplishment anymore.  When did that change?  Am I making a difference there?  Occasional glimpses of a higher purpose appear, but they're few and far between. 

I got to spend some time with Mama last week when she and Dan-man came to stay with us while Greg was gone on his annual fishing trip.  I don't know how good my company was, but I really enjoyed her visit.  (Thanks, Mama for taking care of me!) You always amaze me with how you never complain about doing something for one of us.  Well, maybe you do, but I never hear it.  I know very few people who would make an apple pie at 10:30 at night just because.  If the grand kids want pizza, and then want something else, and then something else...you're on it.  And the #1 rule: 'Grandma overrules the Mama' stands well and true.

My memories of my childhood are fleeting - I don't remember many day to day events, and as I get older, even things that I thought I'd always remember at the time, are gone.  That makes me sad. 
I allow things to come and go, moments that I think to myself, "I need to go write that down" only to be distracted by something - the moment passes, along with the memory.  

I want time to stop sometimes - or at least slow down for goodness sakes!  Maybe it's me?  Maybe I need to savor each moment as it comes a little more.  Allowing the moment to sink in a little deeper, grow roots...so that when I want to re-visit that time, I'll be able to remember. 





photo credit: Shari Weinsheimer

A day or three in the life of a boy

This n' that.  Bits n' pieces.  Here n' there over the past few days.



Thursday:
Little man piped up from the back seat to tell us that he'd volunteered to be on the Student Council at school. (2nd grade student council??) He said that when his teacher asked for volunteers,  he and two other boys stepped forward. He said if he wasn't chosen as a representative, he might still get to be the alternate when the rep wasn't there. 
So proud he wants to help!   Now, my question is, what kind of decisions will second graders be making? I can just see it now......Recess! Candy! No school on Mondays! Hamburgers every day!   :)

*update:  found out last night that Ben was not chosen to be on the SC.  They had three volunteers but only two positions, so somebody had to be the losing candidate.  Broke my heart when he told me that he didn't get enough votes.   He did tell me: "I voted for myself, is that ok?"     :)
Maybe next time, sweetie.  



Sunday morning:
A friend from church passed on a little tidbit of information to me from Children's Church.  During the lesson, the leader asked the kids what their feelings were when they saw a homeless person.  Obviously, each child gave a different answer - feel sorry for them, or wonder why they're homeless, etc.  Ben's answer?  He said he thinks, "maybe they could come and live with me".





Sunday night/Monday morning:
At bedtime last night, I asked Ben what he'd rather do in the morning:  ride the bus or be a 'car rider' to school.  (On Mondays & Fridays he has a choice because I don't work on those days.  FYI - there's a BIG difference in the time he - and I - have to get up depending on which mode of transportation he chooses.)  His answer last night was to ride the bus.  Joy.  Not the answer I'd hoped to hear.....that meant we'd have to be up by 6am. 
Goodnight kisses given, I head off to the kitchen to get the coffee pot ready for my bleary-eyed-morning-self.  Then it was off to bed for me.
Fast forward to this morning.  Awakened by the alarm, I stumble my bleary-eyed-self into the kitchen to the coffee pot.  Pour myself a cup, take a few sips (ok, half a cup) to clear the cobwebs, then head in to wake the child. 
Let me just pause here to ask, is there anything sweeter in this whole wide world than a sleeping child?  Even this wild, loud monkey boy that smells like a billy goat most of the time is a vision of angelic peace when he sleeps.   Ok, picking up where we left off....
I crawl into bed with my sweet sleepy child,  say his name and tell him it's time to get up.  He stretches and then doesn't move again.  Has he gone back to sleep?   I remind him that if he wants to go back to sleep and just let me take him to school, that he could sleep for another hour - but if he planned to ride the bus, he needed to get up now.  
My sweet baby then turned to me and asked me if I wanted to go back to sleep.  When I told him no baby, I'm ok - he said he'd go ahead and get up too. 
We headed to the living room couch where he joined me for an early morning snuggle.  40 minutes later, we were still there as the schoolbus stopped out in front of the house. 
We ignored it. 

I love that stinky, wild, billy-goat-smelling, monkey boy.

bad dreams

Alarm clock read 7:00am.   Little man was already awake, but not out of bed yet.  Kisses and good morning hugs given, then he told me he'd had a bad dream.  When I questioned him about it, he told me that there were three 'bad guys' in the garage and he couldn't get away from them.  Their crime?   They "had written on Daddy's truck with a crayon".
  
He was very brave though, he said he'd kicked them in the face and then closed the garage door. 
When we told Daddy about the dream, he and Ben went out in the garage just to make sure they were gone for good.  Nope, no sign of them! Guess they knew not to mess with my little man anymore!

9/11

Earlier tonight just before little man's bedtime, as we were watching the beginning moments of a show remembering 9/11, the footage showed one of the poor souls who fell or leapt from one of the towers.  I quickly put my hand over Ben's eyes and ushered him out of the living room to his bedroom - all the while listening to: "What was it, Mom?", "What was that falling?"
I told him that there are some bad things in life that I feel like I have to protect him from, and at this point, I didn't think it was something he should see.  He's 7, I'm....um, not....and I have a hard time watching it and wrapping my brain around the horror - how is his little mind going to process something so terrible?  

My baby is still my baby - at least for another day.

First Day of School!!!

Today is the day.  I have your clothes all ready.  I've packed up your backpack with your bright, shiny new school supplies.  I'll pull the camera out in a few minutes so I'll be sure to have it for the required First Day of School Pictures.  After breakfast, we'll get ready and I'll take you to school. 

I'm going to walk with you down the long hallway and insist that you put your hand in mine.  When we get to the door of your new classroom,  I'm going to kneel down (not nearly as far as last year, you're getting so big) give you a big hug and a kiss...if you let me.  Be prepared:  I know I'll try to sneak in another hug before you escape.   Then, I'll tell you to have a great first day of school. And remind you to be good for your new teacher.  And I'll miss you!  Another hug?  Maybe. 

You'll go in to your new adventure.  I'll smile and turn away, but my heart will still be there.   My baby is in the second grade.  

Seven

Dear Ben,

You, my little man, are now seven years old.  Seven.  S-e-v-e-n!!  Oh dear. 

To top that off - in just a few short days, you will be finished with first grade!  Now wait just a dang minute.  There's no way you're already seven and finishing first grade?!  How is this possible?  

Your feet are almost as big as mine.  I know: I tried on your flip flops. 

You're getting taller by the minute!  All of your jeans have obviously been stolen and replaced with another child's much shorter jeans (who also have the propensity to rip the left and only the left knee....amazing coincidence, yes?)

You're getting stronger and faster every day.  We wrestle on the couch and I have to remind you that I'm a girl, and we're more gentle with girls!  Then you whack me on the head.

You have your own crazy sense of humor.  You kill me with your booty-shaking dance moves.  Everything is better loud and fast.   And loud. 

You're hungry ALL THE TIME.   My ears bleed from hearing, "Mama, can I have a snack?", or after supper: "I'm still hungry".  

You have amazed and astounded me with your mad baseball skillz this season.  To see the difference over such a short period of time - what a change!  All in stride for you though. (I love watching you play!!)

You're open and honest.  A true friend and social butterfly: you've never met a stranger.

Your laugh is still as infectious as ever.  Your energy is non-stop.  (And loud.)
You meet life head-on, and wide-open, bubba!  Your sweetness is over-powering.  You grow more beautiful each and every day.  You still allow me to hold you and snuggle from time to time;  these are among the minutes I treasure.  

You are and always will be a very special little boy.  You were my gift from heaven,  I am blessed beyond measure to be your Mom.   Happy Birthday, my sweet baby boy!

me:  "I love you."
you: "I love you more."
me: "I love you most."

With all my love,

Mom

Unhappy Yellow Jackets

I don't think I've mentioned the fact that the little man started playing baseball in the spring,  if I have, I don't remember and I'm too sleepy to click over to check and then click back to come back here: it's 5:30 in the mornin' here, people.  I don't have near enough coffee in me yet to do a whole lot of serious thinking.  Forgive me.   
We've had maybe 4-5 games (again with the thinking problem...maybe I should wait to finish this post when I'm more awake) and, until last night, they've won every one!!
Some games were a little closer than others; had a couple of real nail-biters and a few down-right blow outs.
Last nights game was a wringing-hands-ulcer-inducing-pacing-the-fenceline-screaming"Yayyyy!!"  then groaning inside (and sometimes audibly) kind of game.  When the boys made a mistake or someone who normally can just about hit it out of the park struck out, the moms sitting near me in the crowd felt it as sure as if we were playing right alongside them.   Ben had a pretty good game, all in all.  He went 2 for 3; only had one ball get past him in centerfield and got to be catcher for one inning.  I lovelovelove to watch him play.  
We had a few tears from some of the players and even a couple of bad attitudes; Coach had to give them the post-game talk about being sore losers. 
We'll be back at practice on Thursday night, and we have another game on Saturday; we'll see how it goes.   I'll be watching from the fenceline, as always, cheering my little player on. 

Sweet dreams, little man

At some point last night as I sat on the couch, mindlessly watching Cupcake Wars on tv, I had a visitor make his way into my lap.  He didn't say a word, just walked over and crawled up and sat down.  I covered his legs up with the ever-present fleece blanket, but didn't say a word.  For once, he was being quiet and still, so I just sat there with my 50 lb baby in my lap and breathed him in. 

A little while later,  I whispered a "thank you for coming to sit with me" in his ear, to which I received a whispered, "you're welcome". 

A little while later than that, I noticed my visitors breathing had started to change.   I peeked around the head resting on my chest to see his eyelashes make one last effort to stay open and then close softly;  revealing the peaceful face of an angel. 

I could have gotten up at that point to carry him to bed, but I didn't.  These sweet moments are not as common any more.  No, I savored every minute of it.  My visitor stayed, sleeping peacefully on my lap.  My sweet baby boy, sweet dreams. 

of chivalry and oral hygeine

While visiting (and enjoying every minute of it!) a friend's blog this morning, I came across a sweet post she wrote about her Gentleman-in-Training, Jonathan.  It reminded me of my little man and his first demonstrations of chivalry yesterday.

We were leaving for church; just the two of us -  Greg had gone earlier; and, as usual, we were running late.  Most of the conversation consisted of:  "hurry up....go brush your teeth!....why aren't you dressed?......shoes?...where are your shoes?.....no, you can't take your DS to church.....did you brush your teeth?....please brush your teeth!......did you brush all of your teeth?.....let's go....let's goooo!"   You know, a typical Sunday morning. 

I grabbed my purse, keys, etc.  Ben got his little bag that holds his Bible, and a straw.  Yes, a drinking straw.  I don't know why, he just did.  Into his mouth it goes.  (maybe I should afix a brush to it so I don't have to remind him forty times to brush his teeth)

As we walked out to the car, he's his usual chatterbox self; but as we made our way around the front of the car, he paused at my door, shifted his bag to his other shoulder, and opened the car door for me!  Then he proceeded to his door, stopped and smiled at me - complete with the straw sticking out of the corner of his mouth.  What a gentleman!  I gave him a quick squeeze, kiss and thank you, snatched the straw out of his mouth, and away we went to church. 

When we got there, we gathered our things and walked (somewhat) together to the door.  Reminders of: don't run in the hall, don't forget to give your tithe envelope to your teacher, be good in class, etc.  We get almost to the door, when my little gentleman rushes ahead, opens the door and holds it for me!  Another quick hug and kiss for my sweet boy - who is immensely proud of himself, by the way. 

Looking back over yesterday morning, after typing this out;  I see that an awful lot of the morning was spent with me saying "don't do this...don't do that....behave....remember not to...."   I should temper my reminders with a little more praise.  He didn't have to be told to open the doors for me, he just did it, out of the kindness of his heart.  All the correction and rushing and do this! don't do that!....was it needed?  Is that what he's going to remember?  Mama was always harping on me to do something or other? 
He was just being himself, a little boy.  I wouldn't want it any other way.

And besides, these baby teeth are all gonna fall out anyway, right?

Five + One = Six

I'm learning.  Slowly, it seems, but I'm learning.  I chose to not make a comment the other day when every fiber of my being wanted to!  We'd been working on little man's 100th day of school t-shirt project; we'd discussed what he wanted to decorate his t-shirt with, and we made the trip into town to Michael's to get the things.


His decorations?  Balls.  100 of them:  baseballs, footballs, soccer balls, and basketballs.  His favorites. 


As we stood in the aisle, I tried to use the occasion as a 'teaching moment'.   (The balls were actually stickers, probably made for scrapbookers, but I figured they would stick to a t-shirt well enough to work...maybe not for long-term use, but they'd last through the day!)
The stickers come packaged in a cellophane sleeve in groups of 5, so I helped him count out 100.  He can count to 100 easily, but I wanted to help him do it by 5s, and then (making it quicker for me) 25s.   I showed him that 25 + 25 + 25 + 25 = 100.   We went over it several times.  And by, "we went over it several times", I mean:  I went over it several times.....to his lack of interest.  Next, after many many minutes of arguing and whining discussion, we decided on a black t-shirt for the ball stickers.  I paid for the items and off we went. 

We spent a good 45 minutes a couple of nights later working on the project.  More arguing and whining discussion about how the items should be placed on the t-shirt - finally, we grouped them in the simplest of ways - chaotically: no specific pattern...completely random. There were balls everywhere!   It actually turned out pretty cute, even if it was a little harum-scarum.
Sent the t-shirt and the little man off to school the next day, hoping for a good grade for our his project.

That afternoon on the ride home from school is where I had my little lesson on keeping my mouth shut.  I asked the little man how his presentation went (oh yeah, forgot to tell ya they had to "present" their work....explaining how they'd come to choose their objects, and how they'd grouped their objects on the shirt.  I'm sure that was entertaining.)
He told me it went "good", but he'd had too many balls on his shirt; the teacher counted them and he'd had 105.  I was immediately on the defensive, because I knew I was right and she was wrong....I mean, we counted the wrappers over and over and over!  Remember my 'teaching moment'???  But for some reason, I kept my mouth shut.  We got home from school, he parked himself in front of the tv, I went to quietly dig through the garbage.  

I found the cellophane wrappers that had held the stickers and sure enough, for whatever reason, the basketballs were packaged in groups of 6.  Why?  I have no idea.  But I missed it.  Completely.   And because I missed it, I never even thought of counting the stupid balls as we stuck them to the t-shirt.  Because of my mistake, he probably won't get the best grade he could have gotten. 

Now, did I come clean?  To him, yes.  I told him I'd missed the fact that the basketballs had more than 5 in the package.  

To his teacher?  No.  Maybe I should have, I don't know.  It was supposed to be his project.  I'm a rotten mom - I let the 6 year old take the heat.  Would it have done any good to tell?  I don't know.   

The kid?  Completely unfazed by the whole thing.

Me?  Going back to elementary math class.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.....

These are the facts:   The little man came home yesterday afternoon with a bag full of gifts purchased from the Santa Shop at his school.  Knowing good and well that I hadn't sent any money to school, I asked him where he'd gotten money for gifts.  He responded that he'd found $10 on the floor at school, and used that.  I told him he should have returned the money to his teacher or another adult, to which he said he had.  Now, we'd probably been talking about this for 5-6 minutes at this point and this was the first time he'd mentioned giving the money to anyone .   So, I tried to get him to backtrack and tell me the whole story again.  I had a feeling we were jumping into something I didn't want to think about:  outright lying.

He re-tells the whole incident.  This time, of course, adding the fact that he'd given his teacher the money.  I stopped him mid-story and asked him if he'd told her he'd found it:  "No."    Ok.   Then, what did she say when you handed her the money?  "Nothing."  
Hmm.  She said nothing when a 6 year old hands her a ten dollar bill?  (I said I thought we might have a case of lying going on, I didn't say he was very good at it.)
I told him I would be seeing his teacher in the morning (today) and I'd find out the truth, and gave him ample opportunity to come clean.  Nothing.  He stuck to his story.   Fast forward to this morning, on the way to school.

Car:  I have a crisp ten dollar bill in my pocket and a bunch of questions for the teacher.  I ask the child in the backseat if there was anything he wanted to tell me before we got to the school and I spoke to Mrs. H?   Nope.  Nothing.  

School:  Money in hand, I say good morning to Mrs. H.,  then start to say,  "Ben told me he found...."  But before I could even get the sentence out, she had a smile on her face and was holding out a piece of paper for me to read.  It was an email from another parent in the class.  Needless to say, the story my child told me and the story related on the email were not the same. 

The truth:  The other child was sent to school with $20 to use at the Santa Shop.  He made his purchases, and should have been given $11 back.  The money was given to Mrs. H. to be returned to the child.  Mrs. H. confirmed that she'd given the change to the child with the instructions to put it way deep into his pocket, so he wouldn't lose it.   This is where my sweet child comes into the story (and this is also where the story gets a wee bit confusing).    According to the email, at some point during the day, the little boy gave my child $10 to "rent" a book. (?)  Not one to let money sit around for long, Ben went on a shopping spree at the Santa Shop.   I don't know what else the little boy told his mom, but I do know now that the story we got was a complete falsehood.  

Where do we go from here?  When given multiple opportunities to redeem himself, he wouldn't.  I understand that maybe he thought since the little boy had given him the money, he felt like he could use it as he wished - but why would he make up a story about finding it?  And then,  knowing I'd find out the truth, he doggedly stuck to his story?!  

Well, hopefully, there will be no bad feelings between the children, his parents and our family.  I don't know them at all, I don't even know which child it is in the class - but we've returned the money, so I hope this is over and done with.  Mrs. H. said she'd go over the incident with both boys today and see what she could do to straighten things out. 

What's next? 

Good morning

Woke the little man this morning with a kiss and a back scratch. 
The usual: "up, down, over" directions started long before all the cobwebs were cleared. 

Scratch.  Direct.  Rub.

"No, Mom!  Scratch!"    Oops.  Pardon me, sir.

More directions:   "down, down, down".   Down to the perfect little boy bottom covered in tighty whities. 

"I am NOT scratching your bottom, mister!"  as I poked it with my finger. 

Giggling, he said, "That's not my botttom, Mama, those are my bottom boobs!" 

No, that's not a word we normally use. I've heard him say it before referring to my, um...lady parts....and have corrected him immediately, but this morning I didn't.  I laughed. 




I'm probably gonna regret that.

Change a life

   


 Spent a bit of time away from my guys this past weekend - first time ever being away from them both (at the same time) that I can recall!  Went to Atlanta with a group of 50-something gals from church to the Women of Faith Conference, where we heard several wonderful speakers:  Patsy Clairmont,  Andy Andrews, Anita Renfroe and MaryBeth Chapman to name a few.  Oh!  And music.  MUSIC!!  Oh my!! 
Mandisa - girl!  She is full of awesomesauce! 
Sandi Patti - no words can begin to describe the talent. 
And best of all:  Steven Curtis Chapman.  Oh my goodness....my heart just breaks with the beauty of the words and music he makes.

While at the conference, I learned about a program called World Vision.  We saw a very moving video about a woman who, through WV, had sponsored a child in Ethiopia.  This video and the words spoken afterward led me to make the decision to help out a child too.  I made my way to the World Vision table.  There,  I stood for a few minutes looking at the many, many photos of children from all parts of the globe that so need our help.  Many had eyes that were much older than their age.  In those eyes, I saw hopelessness and fear;   things no child should ever have to experience.

I asked for a child near Ben's age because I can't bear the thought that there are children out there, not much different than my baby, who are hungry or scared or hopeless.   So, after a few minutes of searching, I found our sponsor child.  He's 6 years old; he lives in Brazil with his mother and 4 siblings.  His name is Ruan.  

I came home with his profile in a folder, waiting for the right time to bring it up.  I want this to be something that I can do with Ben, to teach him how very blessed we are (he is) and so that he will know that not everyone is as fortunate.   Greg went upstairs to play his guitar (probably looking for a little down-time -- being the only entertainment to a very active son for the weekend will certainly wear a guy out!!)  I sat my sweet little boy next to me on the couch and told him I wanted to talk to him about something very important.  He sat still, listening as I told him about a little boy named Ruan that lives in Brazil.  We read his profile together.   We looked at his picture and we talked about the fact that Ruan and Ben are the same age, and probably likes to do some of the same things he does; but the big difference is that where our family has so much, his family has very little.
  
I asked him, "You know how when we go to the store, you sometimes say, 'Mama can I have this toy' and most of the time, I'll say yes?  Well, Ruan's Mom - even though she'd love to - probably can't do that."  

Then, after reading in the profile about Ruan's lack of food, I explained, "You know how when you ask me if you can have a snack after school, and I say sure?  Then you go to the cupboard and get whatever snack you want?  Well, Ruan isn't able to do that either because his family isn't able to afford much more than rice and beans."

I know that he probably doesn't entirely comprehend why he's able to have everything he needs/desires, when this little boy isn't,  but I know he got it.   As soon as I told him we were going to be sponsoring Ruan by sending our money to help, he got up and ran to his bedroom.  He went to his piggybank and brought back a handful of change and a dollar.  He said, "Can I send this?  Will this help?" 



I'd told Ben that one of the great things about sponsoring Ruan was that he could write letters and even send pictures to him.   So, we got out paper and pencil and these are the words Ben wrote to his new friend:

     Dear Ruan,
          My name is Ben.  I am six years old.   I live in Georgia.  That is in the United States. 
     We want to help you.  God loves you so much.  Please write me back.
     From:  Ben

Words written from my little boys heart, to another little boy half a world away. 




If you'd like to know more about World Vision, here's the link:   http://www.worldvision.org/
I can't wait to get started.  



"And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me."  Matthew 18:5 (NIV)

Needed

There will come a day, I know, where I won't be as needed as I am now.  I see glimpses of the future from time to time:  Mr. Independent has been showing up more and more frequently at our house of late.   But occasionally, I'm still needed. 

My schedule at work allows me to be off on Monday and Friday (yeah, I know:  how awesome is that?) so, those days I get to take the short one to school.   I really enjoy being able to do that; I get to talk to him about his day, make plans for the evening, and most importantly - get a last minute hug and kiss that, I hope, will go with him all day.  

This morning was no different.  As we broke several speeding laws drove to the school, I told him I wasn't sure if I'd be able to walk him in (because we were running a little bit late and I'd have to find a place to park and I just didn't know if we'd make it in time, and, and, and!)    As it happened, we made excellent time driving like a bat out of hell.  As I was about to turn into the school entrance, he asked me if we were late.  I said no, we've got plenty of time (booyah!).  Then, the sweetest question:  Do we have time for you to walk me in? 
Oh, absolutely, sweetie!  

I'm still needed.  Whew.



"In all our contacts it is probably the sense of being really needed and wanted which gives us the greatest satisfaction and creates the most lasting bond."
Eleanor Roosevelt