enough time

Today is Lincoln's eleventh birthday.

 I should say that, "time flies," and wasn't it just yesterday that I labored this plump little eskimo baby into the world? One hour and forty-five minutes in all. From turkey dinner to baby. Jason didn't even make it to the delivery. Our midwife had 15 minutes to spare.  Or wasn't it just yesterday that I was: rocking him to sleep, going on late-night drives to get him to sleep, walking up and down and up and down the hallway in our apartment to get him to sleep, nursing him to sleep, singing him to sleep. (Please baby--sleep!) Cleaning baby throw up. Smelling like sour milk. Waking to his gummy, drooly, s0-hapy-to-be-here smile every morning. Getting him to giggle for the first time. Letting my younger brother feed him ice cream and sour cream alternately--watching him shiver and pucker with the sour cream, but innocently asking for more. Blowing raspberries on his belly. Worrying over his first fever. Fighting over who changed his next diaper. Listening to him wail during the four-hour drive back and forth between Portland and eastern Oregon. Tickling his rolly, soft neck. Listening to him say his first words: ball, Booth (our dog) and dada. Falling asleep with him in our bed, with one little leg and one little arm draped over my huge pregnant belly (hello Jack!). Sometimes feeling totally claustrophobic when his body would marsupial-cling to me, heart thumping against mine, sweaty, sleeping head on my neck--and yet feeling in my gut and bones that this was one of the most important things I would ever do. Watching him sleep.  Watching him sleep-- long eyelashes touching his round chipmunk cheeks,  floppy ears getting squished and red, chubby hands twitching and unclenched, belly full and perfect. Every day filled to the brink with our love, frustration, surprise, weariness and delight over our firstborn son. 

And...it does feel like yesterday. 

However, with every day that goes by, and every birthday that he gets to check off as a milestone in his life. I'm a mess.  I am aware. Ideally? I know he is going to grow up and leave our home.  With every milestone there is a grumbling of sadness. I know that this is part of life. I do want to raise a son who is not afraid of standing alone. 

Jason laughed at me when I cried in our bed after Lincoln's second birthday. "It's going too fast!" He didn't understand. He was so excited with every marker in time. "One step closer to manhood!"  

Then we had our first daughter.  Now, he clenches his jaw when we talk about having teenage girls. Now, he grieves when our girls grow through another shoe size. Now, he feels time passing with a tiny bit of pain.

Consequently, I've been thinking about time a lot lately. 

Instead of, 

"This is your life, it's ending one minute at a time. "

 (Chuck Palahniuk.) 

I'm trying to remember this:

"That in Christ, urgent means slow.

That in Christ, the most urgent necessitates a slow and steady reverence.

That in Christ, time is not running out. This day is not a sieve, losing time.

In Christ, we fill – gaining time.

We stand on the brink of eternity.

So there is enough time."

( Ann Voskamp.)

There is enough time for our children to grow older. There is enough time for their mistakes and mine. There is enough time to be slow. There is enough time to enjoy. There is enough time for him to turn eleven, to sigh and slurp up who he is today, and be fiercely and determinedly loyal to who he will be tomorrow.

"So I am proud only of those days that we pass in undivided

tenderness,

when you sit drawing, or making books, stapled, with

messages to the world...

or coloring a man with fire coming out of his hair.

Or we sit at a table, with small tea carefully poured;

so we pass our time together, calm and delighted." 

My Son Noah, Ten Years Old  by, Robert Bly.

Happy Birthday

Because I still can't believe he's mine.

Because I'm thankful for his friendship these past eleven years.

Because he had my heart the first time he pushed me down in the snow. The first time I heard him call his mother. The first time he met my family and was left for dead with all my brothers and sisters. The first time he laid those stolen tulips on my parent's doorstep when I had cold feet...

Doggedly loyal.

Idiosyncratically intelligent.

Funny. Loud.

Fiercely in love with his children.

Makes his wife feel like a supermodel.

Because I know his parents would be exploding with pride
 at who their son has become.

Just like we are.

Because he never gave up on me.

Because he has anchored his family to something bigger than who we are today.
Because he dreams big dreams with me.

Because he didn't let others determine his path.

Because I'm so thankful for the day he was born,

I wanna say,

Happy Birthday Jason.

We love you and can't wait for you to come home~

                                                                                                                                         

The Problem with Four-Year-Olds

The problem with four-year-olds is that they are so breathtakingly cute one moment. 

And the next moment, one might feel they belong in a kennel. 

In a straight-jacket.

One moment they might squish your cheeks and tell you what a good mom you are, how beautiful you are and how they never want to leave home. And the next moment, they might take advantage of your time in the shower to take a basketfull of your poor woman's no-bake cookies, crumble them to pieces, and then blissfully run through the house throwing those chocolaty crumbs of goodness into the air shouting, "Happy Birthday! You are married now! Happy Birthday and wedding day!" And, even though you vacuum like a mad woman, threaten their very life and pull out your own hair in penance...a fine, strong line of sugar ants will greet you the next morning to remind you of how thoroughly those crumbs were disbursed.

One moment, while walking into the grocery store for a late night milk run, they might comment on how beautiful the moon is. The next moment they might be lying on the floor screaming that it was their turn to sit in the grocery kart and that they never get anything they want. You will once again be the crazy lady with five kids in the grocery store, and why are you out so late anyway? And, are those all your kids? And, *ah* you poor thing...

One moment they will adoringly watch you put those groceries away, jabbering on and on about how thankful they are for the food in their house. The next moment, you might be gathering a search party for said four-year-old because they mysteriously vanished. You will panic. Then you will discover a locked bedroom door, with seemingly no inhabitant. After unlocking the door you might discover that the flattery from before was all a ruse. For all that time they were really planning on sneaking off with a chocolate bar, locking themselves in a bedroom, hiding under a bed and devouring the melting candy in minutes. If only they had thought to rid themselves of incriminating evidence such as the smears of chocolate on their face, hands and carpet beneath their belly. The candy wrapper clutched in their hands...

One moment you won't be able to stop looking at their impish grin and unabashed joy while they, "help" you wash dishes by hand. Cloaked in the apron of honor, bubbles up to their elbows, water haloed around their feet on the floor, absolute happiness radiating from their fingertips and ears, heart-shaped clouds filled with rainbows, butterflies and unicorns hanging over their head. They will assure you that they won't leave until every dish is washed. They will see rainbows in the bubbles and lose their concentration for minutes at a time. "O! There's another one! I see a rainbow!!" They will talk about how happy they are now that they are big enough to help wash dishes. You might laugh to yourself, knowing how long this joy in doing chores will last. But, even you will have to acknowledge  the wonderfulness of a child like yours. And then, the next moment they might fill every cup in a cupcake pan with dish soap, also engaging their younger sister in the experiment. They will tell you slowly  and seriously that they were pretending to be assassin spies, and the soap was poison for their cupcakes. You won't know what bothers you more; the soapy mess on hands, counter and pans or the toddler assassin spies.

And then, one morning you will wake up to the usual chaos and run a load of dishes into the dishwasher.

You might hear an unusual, muted sound. Like water spraying a wet blanket.

Something won't be right.

You will look and see that there are most definitely bubbles coming out of that dishwasher.

You will know how they got there.

You will see the bottle of dish soap. Hear the confession. Hope that it doesn't ruin your semi-new dishwasher.

Maybe stomp your feet.

Maybe laugh.

You will know that this time is short.

And, as much as you rail, "train," "discipline," dole out consequences, and take away *gasp* t.v. for the day.

You will know that this child is some of the best days of your life.

You will know that when this time is over, the moon might never look the same.

That the quiet, empty house with no messes will break you heart.

You will know that going to the grocery store without tantrums will be heaven.

Oops.

Okay, so not everything will lose its luster in life.

You will know that depression, deployments, moves, messes, chaos, sadness, uncertainty. All those things were made worthwhile with the reality of living for something, someone, or someones bigger than yourself.

The problem with four-year-olds is that they trick you into enjoying  life.

They make you see the moon, share your love of chocolate, imagine cupcake assassins,  look for rainbows in bubbles, see washing dishes as an adventure, and view the dishwasher as a machine of wonder.

Real Sportsmanship

Tonight I had been putting off playing catch with Lincoln. Had to make dinner. Had to chat with a friend. Had to clean up dinner...blah, blah, blah. So, I finally got that urgent feeling of inadequacy. That feeling you get when your kid is old enough to remember how you blew him or her off. When you realize they aren't two and incapable of remembering what they had for breakfast. I guess guilt and pride can be good motivators.

That, and I heard him throwing the baseball on the roof. Which was annoying.

So, I headed out to play catch. Something I think I've done maybe three or four times my whole life. He kept giving me  pointers. Which was annoying.

We had been playing for about 15 minutes. Him grinning ear to ear. Me having to run after the ball. Which was annoying. 

When...I heard a little kid saying, "Eh? Eh?"

That's Amharic for, "Hey, I know I'm too little and wimpy to play. But I really think I'd be an asset to your team."

Reagan had been standing there watching us play. Managed to put on Lincoln's batting glove...and stood patiently waiting to be included.

    



 

   

And, yes. I've pretty much given up on braids this past month. This is what her hair has looked like a lot lately. I try to fluff it up when we go out...but a majority of the time she has bed-head fro.

Don't judge me.

I'll get it right someday.

So, Lincoln and I included her in a little triangle of catch. 'Course she was no good at it. She was happily oblivious. Now, SHE was grinning ear to ear. And, if it seemed like Lincoln or I weren't throwing the ball to her often enough...she would emphatically pat her belly and say, "Eh! Eh!" Din-Din! Mah-Maaaah!"

So we played. And...it wasn't very annoying.

It was more...cute.

Precious.

Nice.

While we were outside...some other kid had a bathroom emergency and I had to go be the maid.

When I came out awhile later...they were still playing.

I know it's just catch. 

And, I know that families should love each other. So, I'm not sure I can put into words how good this makes me feel.

My son loves his sister. He loves her a lot. He includes her. She wants to be included. 

We are family. 

Sometimes that hits me randomly and hard. It's mind boggling.

 I get so caught up in the mechanics of having kids. The failures. The getting from point a., to point b. The feelings of inadequacy. Just being plain dog tired and sometimes depressed. Racking my brain on how to work better as a family. To have a home that isn't so chaotic. I start looking for validation ANYWHERE but home. When you are a stay at home mom...yeah sure, you know your job is important. But it's also just A dimension of who you are. I think being a mother will be one of the biggest investments and pouring out of self I will ever take part in. Still...still...it's not ALL of me. It's hard. And, it can seem WAY too big of a job.

 Yet, sometimes, if I would just get up...

Move. 

Play. 

Watch. 

Be humbled.

It would be so much more fun.

My tank was filled to the brim by my children tonight. It cost nothing. It was free. 

Waiting for me. 

I almost missed it...

It's hard for me to imagine...

But there are things in my life that are better than medication (I think). 

Better than organization (again--perhaps). 

Better than chocolate (just slightly).

Better than a nap (usually).

Better than calm.

Those things are...little glimpses of love in its most naked form. 

Oh sure. 

I see PLENTY of ugly, selfish, angry, tattley, lazy..."normal," behaviors, too. Sometimes by looking in the mirror. Sometimes acted out by little people.

But on days like today...they are a drop in the bucket.

Homesick (continued)

Oh, wait. You thought I was done exhaustively detailing why I miss my family?

Only 7 more to go...

 Hannah-Banana. Her name is a palindrome! How can she not be cool? Even though she's married now, and I see her and her husband more than anybody else; I miss my sister, Hannah. I miss living with her while she went to college. Hearing her in her room with my daughter, Kennedy. Painting toenails. Putting on makeup. Child whisperer. Seeing her soft as butter towards my children.Loving them as her own. I miss watching her with any child. She has a way with little people that is beautiful. I know it sounds cheesy; but it's true. I miss getting to know her as a friend...and not as a way older sister babysitting a younger sister. I miss her practicing her ballet positions in the kitchen. I can't name any of them.  I miss her teaching my kids her latest dance routines. I miss feeling peaceful because she was there.  I miss her.

Cole and Hannah visiting Louisiana April 2010.

I miss watching her husband, Cole,  get to know my family! An L.A. kid, navigating his way around eastern Oregon and a room full of 30 people! He's a rare, kind, intelligent, honest, and giving person. It wasn't just Hannah that hit the jackpot when she fell in love with him. We all did.

I miss my little sister, Bekah. I miss her borrowing my clothes...and not telling me. I miss her coming over to cry, or laugh, or talk about Jesus. I miss her heart for God. I miss her social butterfly-ness.  Oh, how I miss that. I miss her awesome-crazy-style that we all make fun of her for. But, that I really think is freakin' cool. I miss her little 4'8" frame always, always, ALWAYS snuggling up for a hug. I miss her playing with my kids. And, selfishly...I miss her watching them while I go get a coffee! I miss how she bubbles with the things she's excited about. How she cannot contain information...that it emanates out of her cheeks, teeth,  eyes and fingertips. I miss feeling happy because she's in the room.  I miss seeing her at church and feeling like I have a connection. I just miss her.

Bekah and her boyfriend, Cam. July 2009.

I miss my little sister, Suzy. I miss her awesome smile. The most awesomest smile on the planet.  I miss watching her grow into a young woman...who constantly makes me scratch my head. "Where'd she come from?" How is she so normal...and nice? What happened to the little mop-head who crawled around on the the floor and pretended to be a puppy?  How did she get to be a young woman? I miss her gentle spirit for others and her passion for God. Watching her be so willing to invest in my kids. Go toad catching with Jack. Let the littles feed her fish. I miss watching her constantly go against the flow of a typical teenager and evolve into a college student who lives at home, drives her little brothers around, and helps with the chores. All with radiance...that you just don't see often. I miss just watching her live her life so differently than me and the other girls. And being in awe of how graceful she is, despite her giggles and goofiness. I miss her.

Ray and Suzy. July 2010

I miss my four little brothers who aren't so little anymore.

I miss David, who is an old soul. Not because he's a know-it-all. But because he watches people...and notices. Because he takes care of people smaller and weaker than himself. I miss watching him play with my babies...and protect Ked. I miss watching him wrestle with my boys, or give them wedgies. I miss watching him at church. Awkward gentlemanly-ness. I miss watching him and Suzy's old couple relationship. "Suzy, you should call mom. Suzy, you should get money for lunch. Suzy, what time are we supposed to be home?" Like an old man who doesn't know where his socks are. I miss his smile. I can't wait to see what he does next.  And, I only hope that the girl he marries knows the kind of protectiveness all his sisters feel for him and the other "little" boys.  They better  be nice. I just miss him.

David holding Ray while she drools and falls asleep. July 2010.

I miss my Sam. The little stinker who organized blocks by color and size right around the time he could walk. He learned to walk before any of us...not because he's one of those hyped-up, super physical kids. But, probably because he thought in his little baby brain, "Walking is a mathematical equation. I see all those chumps doing it. By dandy--I'm going to walk, too!" I miss that he is usually watching the adults and always knows what's going on...but will act too cool to know. I miss our sarcastic interchanges that never seem to hit right...but have potential non-the-less. I miss seeing him with his animals in 4-H, and seeing him carve out his own path in a family that has a little bit of everything. I miss watching him become the tallest member of the family. Something we all knew would happen; he's always been the, "average height" kid. Didn't fall off the growth charts like the rest of us. I miss watching the movies he  directs with David and Suzy. Because, I don't care what you think...they are FREAKING AWESOME!!! I miss seeing their crazy funny sense of humor! I miss watching him change from a kid to a teenager...and soon a young man. Full of dreams, plans for the future. I love him. I miss him.

Suzy, Sam, and Hannah. January 2009.

I miss my little brother, Josh. This kid is FULL of...stuff. He's fascinated by things kids his age shouldn't care about. Watches political talking heads. Builds robots. Thinks outside the box...always. I miss watching him keep up with grown-up discussions on politics, science, or God. I miss his self-assuredness that seems to be a common thread with the men in my family. I miss him explicitly indicating to people...that despite the fact that he has inherited our family's disposition towards smaller statures; he is NOT going to take crap from anyone, any day, anytime. I miss him so eagerly begging to babysit or do something to help. I miss watching him grow up. I just miss him.

Josh getting tidied up before Hannah's ceremony. 2010.

Daniel. I miss that kid!! The fat baby I showed to Jason the first time he met my family. The baby who wouldn't walk down the aisle at my wedding. Who became my son's first friend. Who is still my son's best friend in the world. I miss the way you can ask him to do anything...ANYTHING, and he will nod his head and say, "Yeah, sure." 

"Drive the car to the grocery store and pick up some milk Daniel."

"Sure."

"Daniel! Do you think you could lift this 9000 pound boulder out of my yard?

"No problem."

"Daniel! Can you solve world hunger?!"

"Easy."

He's great. He's a blessing to me as a sister almost two decades older than him. He's a blessing to my parent's as a gift in their oldER age. And, he's a blessing to my children...as an uncle who is real, true, friend.

I miss him.

Lincoln, Daniel, and Jack, Fourth of July, 2009. He's being totally patriotic during the nation anthem. Lincoln...not so much.

I miss them all.

One of my all time favorite pictures of my family. Oregon coast vacation, 2009. Minus all the married kids at the time. Still awesome.

Homesick

(T-shirt design by Jesse Lefkowitz)

Tonight I was going to try and write my conclusion to, "Phone calls..."

But all I can think about is how homesick I am for Oregon.

I want to post a million pictures of the people, and the places that I love.

I miss them all.  I miss it all. 

I miss finally being able to understand where east, west, north and south are. I can't tell here! I got east and that's about it. Plus, the moon travels funky in the sky. It makes a Cheshire cat smiley face, instead of a crescent during half moons. I miss knowing where creeks, rivers and trails are...just minutes from my front door. I miss our old house, the kitchen, the sound of rain on the skylight, the deer, and the creek in the back yard. I miss my friends. I miss the mountains. I miss knowing where to go. I miss faces.

I miss my family...

Me, dad, and Bekah. Thanksgiving 2009.

I miss how my dad will come up next to me and gives me awesome sideways squeezes 

 that hurt my ribs.  I pretended to hate them when I was 13... but they've always calmed something in my soul. I miss him saying, "How's RoRo?" (A nickname I got when my brother Sam was a kid and couldn't say "Sarah.")  I miss his smile and his red hair. I miss his slow, deliberate, sarcastic humor. 

A lot. 

 I miss him stopping by during his lunch break, and, "checking in" on me and my little family.  How he will let about anyone dig their own verbal grave. Just by being quiet. By letting a few moments of silence...go by. I miss seeing him talk to my husband, and giving him the kind of father/son relationship he always wanted--but never had. I miss watching my sons talk to my dad. What a strange thing. I miss him forever working SO hard to take care of his family. I miss watching him show up guys half his age...because that's the way he is.  Strong, capable, young and wise. Watching him be a man of integrity in a world full of lost men. Even though he's been lost, too. I miss the rare moments that he'll open up to me about something personal and invite me in. I miss seeing him around town and being proud that, "Hey! There goes my dad!"  I miss him asking my mom what I said. Because he couldn't hear. He's a little hard of hearing...and he's used to asking her.   Even when I'm right there in front of him.  I miss his wisdom and insight. I miss him eating peanut butter sandwiches and drinking a can of Coke at just about any given minute or hour of the day. I miss his crazy, perfectly timed, spot on encouragement.  
 I just miss him.

Hannah and Dad, at her wedding.

I miss my mom. I miss commiserating about pregnancy and homeschooling. I miss her inviting me to sit and talk on the living room couch. Amidst work schedules, a gaggle of horses, dogs and chickens, her husband, giggling, screaming kids, sulky teenagers, crying babies, my nine siblings, and her 11 (counting baby Audrey) grandchildren; she still makes time for me. I miss getting to be her friend now. I miss her awesome blue eyes and amazingly perfectly straight teeth. I miss her pretty hands. Her cute little feet wrapped up in Birkenstocks. I miss being proud of her freakishly wonderful talent and expertise as a O.B. nurse in a small community. "Yes, she does work there...yes, yes, she is amazing." I miss her giddy about a new horse to take on trail rides. I miss how she lights up when she talks about poetry. Or anything that moves her.  Tangents on politics, religion,  or relationships. I love that she doesn't shy away from things some people are too wary to face. I miss walking around their property and seeing what new projects have taken hold. I miss her gardens and seeing her find peaceful moments wandering around her haven. I miss how she finds special ways to spend time with each of her grandchildren; while she is working so hard to take care of her own home. Even though she's still raising children who aren't grown. I miss hearing her try to recite something fascinating that she just read, or heard... but never finding just the right words.  How hugely intelligent and smart she is;  yet totally goofy and silly. Seeing her  moved to tears over Shakespeare or Monk. Either one will do. I miss sitting on their couch with Jason and the other couples in the family...staying up late and inevitably watching her laugh until tears are streaming down her face. How she searches for and finds meaning in things forgotten or passed by others.
  I just miss her.

July 2009: David and mom. His birthday. Long hair stage. She's trying to embarrass him by oozing cheesy love songs his way.

 I miss my older brother, Joel.  I miss his slow smile, that can never be held back. I miss his ability to sell ideas and projects. That he can fix anything, anywhere, with whatever he has. That he has always and will always stand up for those left behind. That he would and has put himself between me and danger. I miss the crazy things he likes to eat.  I miss the ingenious contraptions he is constantly building. I miss the way he thinks. That he would give me the coat off his back. That he would give you the coat off his back. I miss his ability to tell a story...and make it brighter, bigger and better just because it was told by him. I miss his ability to find unique solutions to help people in pain and hard life situations. I miss watching how God is working in his life...and knowing that it is something special.  I just miss him.

I miss his wife, Shannon, and the way she can turn ON the sunshine in a room. I miss that she has my back. Always. That she thrives on planning ahead. That she will find a deal in the silliest, most run-down, un-likely, ridiculous places. She is smart and very hard working. I love that I knew her before my brother. Hippie, punk kid that she was back then. She was still amazing. I miss talking to her about marriage and babies and God.  I miss that I could say, "Man, if only I had a pink ribbon..." and she would have five pink ribbons out and ready before I finished my sentence. I miss that she is supportive of me and my family. That she makes special events...more special. That she is the most helpful person I've ever met.

Kennedy and Joel and Shannon's daughter.

Hands down. 

Besides my other brother's wife. 

Maybe they're tied.

They are wonderful.

I miss my younger brother, Zach. How incredibly funny he is. I miss waiting and trying to figure out when the punchline is coming...because there is always  a punchline. And, when there isn't...it's fun anticipating anyway.

(Okay. Maybe it's slightly annoying to him that I can't stop giggling around him.)

How he is so much smarter than he thinks he is. That he is wise. Kind. Creative in a way I could never be...and that makes me slightly jealous.
Jealous in the good, "Man. That's cool. I wish I could do that!" way. I miss the beautiful songs he would write  and play on his guitar. Or on the piano...how he would try and get me to, "jam" with him. Even though I was too square and uncreative to keep up.  I miss hearing about his and Joel's adventures; that usually involve someone's car breaking down. I miss eating with him! Because he is a fine connoisseur of...anything that you eat. Believe me. I miss watching him try to be the best dad. I miss watching him evolve into a husband and grown-up man. Not just my baby brother. I just miss him.

I miss his wife, Katie. I miss her because, she's family. I miss her because, even though her and my other sister-in-law married into this craziness.  I realize how amazing they are and how bonded I am to them. How lucky I am to have not three sisters...but five. I miss how freakin' funny she is. In a totally,  *bah-domp-domp-BAM!*    There's your joke!- way.  I miss how supportive she is. That she wanted to be around us all. How she valued our family and showed us all how lucky we were. I miss how she can take anything and turn it into something stylish and pretty.
I just miss her.

Grant and Zach and Katie's youngest son.

To be continued...

Fatboy

Grant makes me crazy.

Tonight he seriously risked life and limb 18 different times by sneaking out of bed to ask ridiculous questions like, "Are we dowing have candy for breakfast tomorrow?"

To try and butter me up, "I dust want to tell you, you are bery, bery bootiful." 

Or because he had to go potty for the millionth time. 

(That's code for him wanting to sing on the pot.)

He is a lot of work.

But, dang if he didn't make up for that by being so stinkin' cute and funny.

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, and I was tired of being in the house. So we decided to load up and drive to post to return library books. I also wanted to listen to a CD of a sermon from our hometown church, my friend had  just sent me.

When your husband's deployed, there is no greater feeling of control and  freedom, than when your kids are buckled in their carseats...and not fighting, whining or crying.

Beautiful, beautiful day. 

Or night.

It was perfect.

The kind of night you would beg to play outside just a little bit longer in as a child. The kind of night you would wander with friends through as a teenager. Having deep discussions. One-upping each other with dares.

The kind that gives hope of spring to people everywhere.

This is the time of year, I find myself thinking, "If only Louisiana stayed like this...I wouldn't want to leave."

But, back to Grant:

After the library, we drove around a bit, and eventually I remembered that I hadn't fed my children. So, we decided to try out a restaurant we'd never been to in town, "Fatboy and Skinny's."

Kinda cheap. Free drinks for the kids. Greasy, good diner.

 Awesome customer service.

While I was washing Grant's hands after he'd gone potty, he looked up into the mirror and said, "I hope dey yike my style."

"Who? The people in the restaurant?"

"Yeah. I dust hope dey yike my style."

I laughed and told him he had great style...and people would be crazy not to like it.

After we sat back down and a few minutes later he said,
 "Oh mom. I really hope dat people call me fat boy. "

"What?"

"I SAID, I REALLY HOPE YOU CALL ME FAT BOY!!!! "

"FAT BOY!! "

"FAT. "

"BOY. "

*Looking around* 

"Hey mom! Dat guy is fat, too!!"

*My arm shooting across the table, over his mouth*

"Okay! Shhh! I get it."

*whispering* 

"Why do you want people to call you a fat boy?" 

(totally forgetting where we were eating) 

"Because he has da best style! AND I dust love fat boys!!!" 

Then I looked down and saw the Fatboy and Skinny characters on the table. *Aaah.*


( A few minutes later, probably because I was ignoring earlier requests to go-- with the logic that he had just gone. ) 

"Oh mom!! Oh mom!! I gotta go to da bafroom again. "

"I have to go NOW! "

"I have to GRAB MY BUTT...BECAUSE POOP is dowing to come out of it. OH my doodness!! TAKE ME to da bafroom!! OH my doodness!!"

 "Shhh! Grant. Calm down buddy. Let's go, I will take you potty again. "

"Please don't yell about poop anymore. Shhh!"

 "OKAY!!! I WILL NOT TALK ABOUT POOP."

"I WILL HOLD MY BUTT WIT DIS HAND, AND YOU CAN HOLD MY 'ODDER HAND TO TAKE ME POTTY!!!!" 

"Oh my doodness mom. I hafta dow so bad...thank-you."

Aww. You're welcome Grant. 

I don't care that this is my third trip to the bathroom.

I don't care that I haven't had a single bite of food yet.

I don't care that everyone is staring in horror at your proclamations of fatness and poo.

Because...

you...

are...

worth it all.