{it's for your own good. pass the coffee.}

My Daymon is finishing up four weeks of summer school.

"It'll be so much fun! You get to eat breakfast and lunch there, it's only half a day four days a week and Aliya and Dylan don't get to go. It's really special."

Which is code for "sorry to suck the fun out of your summer, but you're reading skills are really not up to par and I'm hoping with all the hope I can muster that you will enter the second grade and be able to read at that level".

He is so not fooled.

He randomly, meaning at night when he has to go to bed early, slumps to the floor in a snotty, teary ball and cries "why did you sign me up for this? They're trying to ruin my fun!"

I've tried every angle I know to make it look appealing, but nothing is working. Bottom line is, he has to go to bed before the others, wake up ridiculously early, and miss half the day of summer activities.

At least he's making friends.

"See those two boys mom? They keep trying to beat me up. But it's okay, I have my karate moves."

Oh, well, since you have those, no need to panic.

And when I ask him what he's learning?

"That army guys fight in the war. It's across the ocean".

I'm hoping it really means "why yes mother, I'm learning scores of reading skills and can now read War and Peace on my own. That's where I learned about the army guys. While reading."

Someone please tell me all this fuss is worth it. As much as I've enjoyed getting up at 6:30 on my days off, I can't wait until it's over.

I think summer school is trying to ruin my fun.

Or at least my aspirations of sleeping past 9:00.

{boy}

your hair defies gravity

stubbornly resisting your warm pleasant scalp

eyes slightly swollen with deep sleep

you emerge into the sunlit kitchen

the tile cold on your feet

a yawn unstifled

and you reach for the cereal

as the promise of the day stretches before you

like a great story waiting to be told

rocks call to be overturned

sticks beckon to you

longing to become a bow

a gun
creatures scurry at the sound of the

hunter on the lookout for undiscovered species

it is hard to tell where the skin ends

and the dirt begins

you wear it like a badge

it cakes under your fingernails

becoming part of you

and mingled with sweat

it creates the smell of little boy

you are Indian
superhero, bad guy, good guy

wide receiver

explorer, discoverer

warrior

you are mighty

eyes shining with the excitment of

new discoveries

you thrill at regailing your adventures

while looking forward to the next

I breathe in your fragrance

of grass and sun

carefully tucking it away in my heart

for safe keeping

knowing I'll pull it out again when

you're grown

and summer has lost it's magic


Sheila Corley

Pass the drill bits

Hubby has this uncanny knack for making things. Big things. He sketches on a napkin and the next thing I know, it's a reality. I'm in complete awe, as the only things I can make are cute hair flowers and things to hang jewelry on.

We {actually hubby} made our garage into our boys room, moved Aliya over to their old room and my sister, Sheri, is moving into what was Aliya's room. Complete chaos. But it's just about done. You cannot fathom the amount of junk we got rid of. Unbelievable to me how much stuff we have accumulated. Aliya must have had at least forty thousand gum wrappers and a few thousand journals. I might be off on the numbers, I was in a trash pile haze. I removed 8 large rocks from the boys room along with about 20 sticks. And when I say "large rocks" I mean they weighed in at about 4 to 7 pounds each. Small rocks will simply not do for my boys. Some were even painted and had names on them. Ooookaaaay.

We all have war wounds from the drilling/staining/moving/sawing/nailing and while I simply put on a band aide, hubby chose this tactic to his own doctoring. Sweet. If you're wondering where you can get a duct tape bandage, I'm sure he makes house calls.

Father doesn't always equal dad

The difference between a dad and a father can be quite a big gap. Sure I have a father, I don't know him, not really, I have his nose. I'm sure I have other things passed down through genes but that doesn't make me his.

I also have a dad. That word warms my heart and brings a smile to my face. Because my dad is amazing. So many words for my dad, that I don't know if I can fit them all here. Courageous, loving, noble, honorable, Godly, humble, generous and self-less to name a very few. And I know that I am his.

He is the one who hugged me when I fell, who taught me right from wrong, who worried and prayed over me, who made sure that I knew Jesus is King and taught me how to follow Him through his example. My dad loved me when he didn't have to and called me his own. And I adore him.

When I look back at the circumstances of how I came to be, I can see God's hand on my life from the very beginning. He had already picked out the perfect dad for me and husband for my mom. God knew that I would need a strong man who could handle a daughter with a very strong spirit and will and channel that into something positive. He knew that I would need discipline and encouragement and tough love. I also saw in my dad a strong work ethic and family values. He taught me tenacity and that through hard work you can achieve your goals and dreams. I also saw in him the kind of man I wanted to marry and that settling was never an option.

My dad is now a grandpa or a papaw as we like to call him, and it brings pure joy to my heart when I see him interact with my kids. He has so much patients and love that just pours out of him. Our boys love to get dirty under a car with their papaw. He is quick to laugh and eager to teach and he is never harsh with them. If they step out of line he will discipline with a gentle hand and even use his "dad" voice if I plead with him and Hubby's not around. Although I'm pretty sure it's not quite the same one he used on me.

I am thankful and blessed to have the dad I do and nothing makes me happier than when people say "you look just like your dad!" Because there is no one else I would rather look like, inside and out.

You can never be too specific

At our memorial day BBQ I asked Daymon what he wanted on his burger.

Daymon: ketchup, pickles and lettuce.

Me: Anything else?

Daymon: {looking at me like I've lost my marbles} um. . . buns.

Did you all have a nice Holiday?