Here birdie, birdie

Some of you may remember that my middle son wanted a grappling hook for Christmas. And he got it. So far so good. No injuries yet.

He also got a BB gun that he refers to as his "sniper riffle". Again so far so good. No injuries to speak of unless you're unlucky enough to be a bird in our neighborhood.

Our neighbor to the back of us stopped by to kindly say that she and her husband didn't like picking up all the dead birds he keeps shooting out of their tree, so if he could pick a different one that would be great.

Now, honestly, a part of me thinks it's amazing that he can even hit them. I don't think I could. But then again, Aliya and I are the ones inside saying "please don't kill the sweet, cute little birds!"

A couple of days ago, Aliya saw one he had shot and was sad. And by sad I mean devastated. So he quickly defended himself saying it wasn't dead. He then got on the ground, made some labored breathing sounds and said "it's just doing this".

Somehow I don't think she thought that was any better.

All of his friends think it's so cool that he has a "sniper riffle" and cheer him on as he takes aim at poor, unsuspecting little creatures. I wonder what they tell thier parents when they go home.

And I'd like to issue a warning to my sweet sister-in-law Sarah who's littlest one just may be following in his older cousin's tracks. You can see him hunting birds on her blog here http://hallfamily42.blogspot.com/. But consider yourself warned, it's pretty graphic.

So I guess I need to be okay with his desire's to hunt, he is a man in training after all. Just as long as he doesn't shoot any dogs or cats. Because dogs and cats don't poop on my windsheild. But if they ever do, I might borrow his riffle and become a sniper myself.

There is no charge for awesomeness

As we sat around the kitchen table eating and chatting, Daymon says "know what's the best about being the youngest?" He then launched into all the reasons being the youngest child is the by far the best, including things like getting to stay home with mom longer when the other's went to school, having more toys because of the hand-me-downs, you know the really important stuff in life. Aliya, not be left out, then launches into all the reason's being the oldest is the best. Getting to do things first, having had mom and dad all to herself when the others didn't, having more responsibility {which she see's as a plus, go figure}. Dylan just listens for a while and and then when the other two are distracted and have moved on to other things, he leans over and whispers to me "mom, know why being the middle child is the hardest?" I'm thinking, oh no, he getting middle child syndrome! My poor baby! I calmly asked "why?" With a very intent serious look on his face he responded "Because when you're so awesome at everything no one wants to play with you and being legendary is hard too because then everyone just says 'oh he's so good at it, we won't even try'."

And I was hoping he wouldn't have middle child syndrome when what I really need to be concerned about is his head fitting through the door. But if Junior High is anything like it was for me, then I hope he hangs on to his self confidence because there will be plenty of chances for humility later.

Dear Second Born,

I would like to take this moment to thank you for remembering to bring home your lunch box. I mean it. I know it's easy to forget the huge blue thing you lug into school every day, so I commend you on bringing it home. Esspecially after using a plastic grocery sack for almost two months.

I also thank you for returning my plastic container that held the ketchup I sent along.

It would be so super awesome though if you could put the lid back on next time. I don't enjoy opening it and finding this.

Love ya kid,

Mom

Know what's awesome. . .

hearing my daughter shout "shield your eyes!" while my two boys make throw-up noises as hubby and I kiss.

Humiliating kids since 2005.

I highly recommend it.

Life's questions answered by a seven year old

Daymon: Mom, I know why dogs lick people.

Me: Why

Daymon: Because we're made out of meat.

So there you go. In case you were wondering.

I'd like you to reconsider. {Part one}

Have you ever wondered what causes grown people to do the things they do? This is a question that frequents my mind.

Case in point.



I'm kind of thinking this borders on child abuse.

As a postpartum nurse I see lots of babies and in turn see lots of names. I'm all for "it's your kid you can name it whatever you want" but there are those times when I truly question the sanity of said parents. I'd like to share some of these names with you and hopefully you will validate my opinion. Or not. Maybe I'm the crazy one. So here goes.

Noe {pronounced no-ee}

Thalonius

Rjko {pronounced ry-ko}

Dior

Bannessa

Forver Young

Montana Moon {for the record, this mom was a meth addict}

Atreyu {character from the movie "Never Ending Story"}

Alexus {spelled just like the car}
Nevaeh { Heaven spelled backwards. I have it on here because it's used so much now it's no longer considered unique. According to me.}
Jovi {as in Bon Jovi. The dad was wearing his best Bon Jovi concert T-shirt to the birth}

Dylan {for a girl. I don't like to think that I've named my son a girl's name}

I'm just sayin'. Junior high is hard enough. Perhaps I should start a committee in which no one can be discharged unless I approve the name. I think people would go for it.

{they take after him}

*sigh*

That sigh is because it's January. Know what happens in January? A big, fat, absolutely nothing.

It bears repeating. Sigh.

The kids were off for three whole weeks because we went to Colorado the only time I could get off. You would think three weeks is a really long time. Not to my kids. Getting them back into a routine and a schedule has not been fun. In fact it's been down right awful. Hubby is a night owl so when I would go to sleep at a "normal person time" {he just loves when I refer to things I do as normal as opposed to his "abnormal" activities} he and the kids would stay up. I knew they were staying up late but it wasn't until I suggested they start going bed at 9:00 to get them back into the groove that I realized just how late.

Hubby: maybe instead of jumping right into a {5} hour difference we should ease into it. How about midnight.

Me: {gasp} What? They were going to bed at 2:00 AM?!

Hubby: We were having fun, there were Nerf shoot outs to be had.

You can see my dilemma. Strangle him or find it endearing.

So when my kids come out of their room at 10:30 to tell me they're not tired, I fully believe them. And then I give hubby the evil eye.

It's a good thing I'm all sluggish with the January blues. I don't have the energy to muster up much more.

not in the job description

After a long busy day at the hospital, I sprinted outside to the parking lot because hubby was waiting so he could give me the kids and go to a meeting. Sprinting after a long day is not the preferred activity I enjoy. I'm not sure it is for anyone. I started asking the kids about their day at school and as we're leaving the lot Daymon says "I know what nurses do all day. They watch TV!"

My sore back, tired feet and exhausted mind would argue otherwise. So I inquired as to where he would get that idea.

Turns out they had been looking at the rooms with open windows and could see the patient TVs on.

He also thinks I can take out my eyeballs when I remove my contacts and that I'm beautiful without makeup.

I hope he studies hard, sacrifices, stresses and generally works his butt off so that someday he too can watch TV at work.

Because didn't you know? That's what nurses do.

{yucky}

My thought process when I see a krispy Kreme donut on the ground of the church parking lot:

Bummer, bet someone is sad about losing that. {step around donut}

My eight year old son's thought process at seeing same donut:

Sweet! A perfectly good donut just lying here on the ground! I need to pick it up and put it into my mouth immediately. I can see no downside to this action.

Hubby's thought process:

Hey, at least his immune system is being challenged.

Somehow I don't think we're all on the same page.

Aristotle

When Hubby and I were first married we got a kitten from the pound. He was gorgeous and sweet and I fell in love with him instantly. I guess that's what couples do when they first get married before the kids come along. See if they can handle a pet together without killing it to prove they can handle future children. {As if having a cute kitten even kind of compares or prepares you}.

We named him Aristotle and although I've always loved cats, he was somehow more special to me. We would joke about how he was like a dog trapped in a cat's body. He could not get enough love and would practically tackle you to be petted. Hubby is not necessarily a cat lover. He would say he likes them, he just can't eat one all by himself. But he did love Aristotle.

He has always been in our home and the kids have always known him to be around. They have always adored him as have the neighborhood kids. It was not uncommon to see a child sitting in our front grass with Aristotle lavishing love on him/her. People would stop in our yard and comment on what a beautiful cat he was.

But today we had to say goodbye. We're not sure what was wrong, just that he was going quickly. We hovered around him and had the kids say goodbye while we all cried and loved on him. I knew he was getting old, about 12 1/2 but I guess I just thought he would be around longer. This is the only digital picture I have of him. All the others were taken long ago when we still used film. I was trying to take some pictures of Daymon and Aristotle kept wanting to love on him and wouldn't leave us alone. Funny how things that used to annoy us would make us so happy now.
Tonight when I opened my front door I still expected to see him waiting for me. It's hard to let go. I hope our kids learn about love and loss and appreciating the many ways God reveals His presence. Through a song, a sunset or a kitty who could never contain his joy at having you around.

{count me in}

While perusing through some blogs I like to read, I noticed that all the really cool moms out there have equally cool count down tickers. You know, like "23 weeks and 5 days! Only 17 more weeks to go!" Or "My little angel is 8 months and 15 days old"! And I'm not even kidding that they have "trying to conceive" tickers. Really? Do we want that image in our heads, let alone a daily reminder?
So it got me thinking. Just because I'm not pregnant or lactating {yes they have those}, why can't I have a cool ticker too? I mean I could put one on like "My oldest is 3,900 something days old"! But somehow I don't think people would care. Or "3 hours 9 minutes since I put chocolate in my mouth". Oh, I know, "14 minutes since I last asked one of my children to pick up their crap, I mean toys."

I suppose I could put a pregnancy countdown ticker that just never ends and see if people notice.
But alas, after some time to think, I decided to put a "Days I've been addicted to coffee" counter*. Because if we have to have a vice, why not celebrate it right? Unless that vice is cocaine, in which case, don't.

NowI have a ticker and I'm unique. Just like everyone else.



*See bottom of blog.

Aliya the gymnast

After much ado, I have finally got my butt into gear. Here are some pictures of Aliya and her gymnastics. She received her first award and is so proud! This was a huge deal for her because she intentionally tries to pick activities in which she does not have to perform in front of people. She did a wonderful job and didn't seem nervous at all! Way to go baby!