little miss smarty pants

When I was a kid, I struggled in school. I was convinced I was stupid and I refused to ask questions in class because I just knew that everyone else got it. I was constantly frustrated and teachers did not like me. At all. Partly because I had a problem with authority, and partly because I spoke my mind. Not necessarily bad attributes. . . in the right context.

It wasn't until I was a senior in high school that I realized that I was, in fact, not stupid and that low and behold there were a few teachers out there who actually liked me! My whole mind set changed. Suddenly I studied harder, I tried harder and I completely blew off the counselor who told me "maybe college isn't for you". Um, two degrees later I beg to differ.

So it beyond thrills me to no end that my kids are smart and that they excel in school. I never want them to know the pain of looking at every other kid and thinking "I bet they got an A. I bet they're smart, I bet they get it." Or to sit next to someone in a challenging class only to have them state "I'm just here for the easy A".

So now to my bragging point. Aliya, for the second year in a row, is being honored at academic night. Only students with all A's are invited to attend. I want to jump up and scream, "that's my girl! The little miss smarty pants on the end"! My momma heart is over flowing with pride. Each time they bring home a paper with a good grade or a smiley face or a cute sticker, proclaiming "great job" I swell up a little. And each time I have that twinge of mom guilt about the years I spent in nursing school, studying when I wished I could have been playing with them, I will remember that I hopefully taught them perseverance and the value of education. And here's to that guidance counselor. Because without her "advice" I may not have pushed myself as hard as I did to prove her wrong. And man, did it feel nice.

Little Man

Hubby took Dylan hiking for some one on one time. At dinner he asked Dylan "what do you think it means to be a man"? Dylan wrote out on a napkin what he thinks. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. 1. Be good to your wife

2. Face your fears

3. Pay your bills

4. Feed your family

5. Do good on your work

6. Do what God said

7. Love God

8. Love your neighbor

Hubby is setting a pretty good example. If I do say so myself.

guest post

Ailya gave me her permission to post some of her journal entries. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I do.
I just hope I can get the charisma from her page onto mine, because although I will copy word for word, she has some pretty incredible font size changes and lots of underlining. I will do my best to do her justice.

This is one she wrote about Fathers.

Fathers

1. a male parent

2. a male guardian

Is that all the dictionary can come up with??! This is what my father means to me.

Fathers are incredibly fun, loving, disciplines me, hilarious, will do whatever it takes to protect me, cares for me, there for me, will forever and always love me. My father, although I can not come up with all the words to say, here is a summery. I LOVE YOU DADDY.

Today I'm wearing a neon pink tutu, black boots, Jeans and a funky tank top. All the girls love it, but the boys just keep asking why I'm wearing jeans AND a tutu. There's two lessons we can learn is that girls have GREAT taste in fashion and boys don't know ANYTHING about fashion!

Okay, about a month ago we took tests to see what we knew and I asked Ms. Pardy on (literally) EVERY QUESTION if we had already learned about it.
On a lot of them I guessed.
Today we were answering ones that most of the class got wrong and at the end Cassie said "did anyone get an A"? Ms. Pardy said that ONE person got an A. They whole class asked who did. "Jacob"? "Cassie"? "Orson"? We all predidcted. (I knew it wasn't me). No, it was ALIYA! The whole class turned to me. "WHAT"! They yelled. I could feel my face turning pepper RED. I had TONS of tears in my eyes. My stomach shrank, my shaky arms SQEEZED my tummy. I was SO shocked I can't even tell you! AAAHHHHH!

Man, does that bring back fifth grade or what. Just wait until we get into the drama of who likes who. It's better than a soap opera.

{briefly}

you sit, swinging your petite legs

back and forth

brimming with news about your day

excitement spilling over onto your

freshly painted pink nails

my emotions threaten to steal this moment

I resist the urge to smother you with an embrace

that will not let you grow up

you speak with the promise of boys on your glossy lips

cherry, vanilla, strawberry creme

and push stubborn loose hair out of your face

not able to contain your delight at their teasing

you say you are annoyed by those

immature creatures

but your eyes betray you

this moment is perfect

I relish it

swim in it

my senses taking in every detail

before you are swiftly stolen away

by a knock on the door

an invitation to play

and you're gone

the promise of tomorrow

softens the sting

and I'll wait

patiently for those little moments

when you unlock your heart

and I get a glimpse of unfathomable beauty

those moments when you're still mine

Sheila Corley

nom, nom, nom

I'm an ice chewer. It's sort of an obsession. At work we have the perfect ice, like the stuff you get at Sonic. I eat somewhere between 8-13 cups a day. So when I'm home I fantasise about the ice I could be having. This obsession may or may not be annoying to those around me. I can't hear you, I'm crunching ice.

Hubby is a smacker. He chews his food loudly. Rather. Loudly.

I remind him of this in between chomping my cherished ice. I know he's glad I do. We need someone in our lives to show us the light when we just can't see it ourselves.

But then he's all, um, hello, I can hear you chewing ice in the next room { look of "Duh" on face}

And I'm all no, only I can hear it in my head. I'm sure you can't. {return look with own look of self-satisfaction}

But he insists he can.

So I'm thinking because I'm a girl that makes my chomping adorable.

He disagrees.

We are at a stand-off. And it's loud.

Hello. . .is this thing on?

Me: Dylan, buddy, it's time to get in the shower.

Dylan: {look of pure bewilderment on face} Why?

Me: Because you've been outside playing all day and you stink and you're filthy. Go.

Dylan: {smells self} I don't stink.

Me: Trust me you do. Go. Now.

Dylan: Why don't Aliya and Daymon have to take a shower?

Me: They will, where you're done, seriously go.

Dylan: But I don't stink!

Me: Sometimes we shower even before we stink, it's called good hygiene and if you want a girl friend someday, you'll learn to like showers.

Dylan: I'm not stinky.

Me: {holding up his arm so he can see it in the mirror} Are you kidding me? Your arm is black.

Dylan: Yeah. . . but it doesn't stink.

There are things I've learned being the mom of boys

Their bathroom will smell oddly and I will have to clean it way more often.

To them, burping is an art form.

They treasure things I don't and I will accidentally throw them away.

They are fiercely protective of each other, but only when someone else is bothering them. They try to make the other one miserable on a daily basis.

Their shoe laces will only come undone with the jaws of life.

They could care less what they wear and would probably be okay going to school in Jammie's.

They can navigate through distant worlds in a video game but can't seem to find the trash can.

They will eat us out of house and home.

They can climb things that should only be accessible to spider man.

They can take rocks, sticks and leaves and make magic.

Aaaannnnndddd. . .

Things will get broken.


That's our sliding glass door. Well, it was. Until a hand weight that was meant to land on the couch veered a little too far to the left. The number one thing I've learned with having boys?

Life is never boring.

....

Coffee is liquid joy.



The end.

{Um. . .aliens have abducted my kid}

What is it about our kids, or maybe just mine, that totally make a liar out of you? You know what I'm talking about, they are hacking up a lung so you rush them to the Doc only to have them breath perfectly without so much as a gentle ahem when you get there.

You rant and rave about how your child is brilliant and already potty trained and you're not even finished with your sentence when they waddle up soaking wet and smelling a little like sewer.

You gush about how they do the cute little wave good bye and yet give a blank stare as everyone around them is saying "bye bye!" wave "bye bye!". And right when everyone has given up and walked away, out of earshot, your child says in the most adorable voice ever "bye!" while waving a sweet chubby hand. Sigh.

So you would think I would be used to this after years of it happening, yet I still find myself frustrated. Case in point.

My middle child, Dylan, is amazing. He's handsome, sweet, loving, hilarious, witty and very charming. But not if you're our babysitter/nanny. To her he is cranky, disrespectful, emotional, sometimes rude and thinks he's a victim. He doesn't like to obey her and will cry at the drop of a hat. And Dylan doesn't cry. Ever. She asked me "he's not always like this"?

I've been trying to get to the bottom of it, seeing as how it's really getting old to hear about how bad he was every time she's over and that she had to call Hubby to get him to even remotely do what he's told. What. The. Heck.

So last night, after many tears and lots of threatening on my part, I would not let him play until we figured out what was going on. Turns out it boils down to food. That's right. I've mentioned before about how he never stops eating, so he said he's only allowed one snack after school and it's simply not enough, he just might die of starvation and it's the worst rule ever and holy crap he's going to freak out again just talking about it.

I really hope that's the bottom of his issues and that it will be that easy to rectify. Because it would be super awesome if he would stop making her life miserable. I really want her to get to know the Dylan that I know.

Because that kid is awesome.

And has a full tummy.

{Charging. . .Clear!}

Dear husband of my patient,

You seemed like a nice guy, good sense of humor, but I would like to take this moment to inform you of when an April fool's joke is funny and when it is not.

When I'm checking bands with you and your wife and your baby to make sure they all match so that you can go home, it is not the time to tell me they don't.

I will not remember that it is April 1st and I will have a heart attack. Because believe me when I say, it is not funny. At all.

Your loving nurse,

Sheila