Funniest Joke Ever

One of my favorite jokes goes like this:

A turtle and a snail got into a fight. When it was all over, the turtle was dead and the police were questioning the snail. “What happened?” They asked. “I don’t know,” said the snail, shaking his head, “It all happened so fast.”

That makes me smile every time. Go ahead, read it again. You know you want to.

Ethan says the darndest things

Kids say the darndest things. They really do. Over the past four years, Ethan has really cracked me up. Like when Ethan used to call birds “boobies” and he called Big Bird from Sesame Street “Big Boob.”

Or when Tom asked him, “Ethan, what makes you happy?” And he answered, “Women.”

Ethan’s asked some silly questions like “Do turtles have butts?”

Then there was the time when he said, “I need to put on my underwear because my penis is cold.” Yeah, that was a proud moment.

He’s also melted my heart with his words. Once, when he was two he said, “Mommy, don’t go.”

“Go where?” I asked.

“Anywhere.”

We were talking about prayers once and he said, “Mommy, when I say ‘Thank you, God’ does Jesus say, ‘You’re welcome’?”

Sometimes, like last week, you can get small glimpses into how they view the world. Ethan, out of the blue, came up to me and said, “Mommy, when you laugh, it’s letting out chunks of your smile, isn’t it?”

Oh, my sweet Buddy. I love you so much! I thank God every day for the privilege of being your Mommy!

It figures

Have you ever sat down to relax with the windows open, a nice breeze blowing in, the kids sleeping and a good book waiting for you? The moment you take a deep breath to relax, the neighbor (not the annoying mowing neighbor, the one across the street) starts weed-whacking. At that point, you have two choices. One – close the windows and commence reading without the nice breeze. Two, sit and fume at the neighbor, plotting the untimely demise of the aforementioned weed-whacker. Well, there is a third option – the one I chose today. Trying to concentrate on my book despite the noise. After I’d read the same paragraph three times, I gave up and got my laptop to do bills. I opened the checkbook, got the bills laid out, opened my online banking windows and got started. That’s when he stopped whacking the weeds. Sigh. At least I got the bills done.

What do I smell?

Ethan has a nose like a bloodhound. I always call my kids turkeys, but now I’m thinking he’s actually part bloodhound too. I ate one Dorrito a few days ago when we’d had a party at our house. As far as I was concerned, the whole house smelled like food. I sat Ethan on my lap to read a book and before I’d even opened my mouth, he said, “What do I smell?” I tried to give him all sorts of options – brownies, macaroni and cheese, pulled pork, even asking him if maybe someone had tooted.

“Nope,” he said. “I smell chips.”

Tom got me chocolate for Mother’s Day. I ate a piece in the other room, waited until I had swallowed it and then went in to where he was. Again, I hadn’t even opened my mouth to talk when he said, “What do I smell?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “What does it smell like?”

“Something yummy. Chocolate, I think.”

And today. I made popcorn – I know that popcorn makes your whole house smell, but he was upstairs and the popcorn hadn’t even finished popping when he came over to the stairway and said, “What do I smell?”

Perhaps I should start using him like one of those pigs that sniff out truffles. He could sniff out chocolate for me. “Hey, buddy, Mommy’s hungry. Find me some waffles.”

I can’t wait to find out what his next hidden talent will be!

On Mowing the Lawn

Our neighbor is outside mowing. In the rain. He is also the neighbor who has mowed in the snow and who pulls BY HAND weeds out of his yard. I have even seen him mow twice in the same day. His yard is perpetually green and weed free, except where our dandelion forest manages to overcome the odds and spread into his chemically treated lawn. (Ours would be treated, too, but the bag of weed-n-feed is still unopened in the garage.)

Talk about feeling inadequate.

We are surrounded on all sides by neighbors who are my parents’ age. They have expensive, huge riding lawn mowers that turn on a dime and pay people to come and treat their lawns for weeds. It takes them about twenty minutes on a bad day to mow their lawns. One neighbor typically enjoys a beer while he’s mowing.

We have a push mower – as in you use your own muscles to start it and make it move across the lawn. Nothing automatic about it. Sometimes it feels as though it’s mowing swath is only six inches wide. We also have three kids aged four, two and two. We live on a single income – which is plenty, but not enough to hire people to do work we can do for ourselves. On a good day, it takes me more than an hour to mow the weeds – er, lawn. When I have to do it while the kids are out with me, it gets closer to two hours.

The lesson I’ve learned? That kids are a good excuse to ignore your lawn. Yep, this is a good season of life to be in – my kids are growing like weeds and my weeds are growing like weeds. Someday, my kids will move out (right???) and I’ll be relegated to pulling weeds in my lawn and mowing in the rain. I can, however, pretty much guarantee you that I won’t ever mow in the snow. I draw the line at snow.

But you can hug and kiss with us around!

Ethan fell asleep on the floor in the doorway of his bedroom last night. He must have fallen asleep trying to listen to his Daddy and me talking. Earlier in the day, I had told him that we are changing bedtime – no more repeated requests for more stories or games. Lately, we’ve been in his room until almost 9:00. Our rule is that he may play quietly by himself until 9:00 and then he has to turn out his light and go to bed. We are supposed to go downstairs and have some time to ourselves before we go to bed. It used to work, but in the past few weeks, we’ve spent more and more time with Ethan and less and less time with each other.

So I explained to our buddy that Mommies and Daddies need time together without kids. “Why?” asked our ever-inquisitive little boy.

“Because it’s important for Mommies and Daddies to be able to talk without little ones interrupting. And to hug and kiss.”

“But you can hug and kiss with us around, Mommy.”

“Yes, but Mommies and Daddies like to be able to kiss and hug without being interrupted. And to talk. And other things.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s important. If Mommies and Daddies don’t get time alone together, they might not get along very well.”

“Oh. Why is it important?”

I couldn’t figure out how to explain it so I changed the subject.

I hope he heard us talking while he was falling asleep on the floor because we were just catching up on our day and connecting with each other for a few minutes before we could barely keep our own eyes open. It’s those times that keep me sane – that remind me that there is life going on outside our four walls. It’s those times that help me to see myself as more than just a booger-wiper or spaghetti maker. That’s why it’s so important. How do I explain that to a four year old? I’ll let you know if I ever figure it out.

Something old, something new

It’s 1:42pm. Do you know where your kids are? I do. Well, at least I know where Kaylee and Sienna are. They are jumping up and down and screaming in their bedroom instead of napping because Mommy, genius that I am, thought it would be fun to see what they would do if I gave them the pacifiers they haven’t seen in nearly a year. Yeah. I know. What was I thinking?

It was fun, though, at first. I even told Ethan where his pacifier was and the three of them spent the morning chewing on them and trading them from mouth to mouth to mouth. It wasn’t long after I gave the Soothie brand pacifiers (you know, those green ones they get in the NICU at the hospital?) to them that Sienna informed me, “This one’s broken, Mama.” Yep, it is.

Ethan gave up his pacifier with zero reluctance. He was just under two years old and had a terrible head cold. He knew that he couldn’t breathe with the pacifier (his “wah-poo”) in so he gave it to me and never used it again. The girls, especially Kaylee, were quite attached to their pacifiers, though. They had these cute little stuffed animals (Wubanubs, highly recommended!) sewed right onto the pacifier and the girls never went anywhere without them. I got tired of the binkies one day and snipped the end of the nipples right off. I’ll never forget my sweet Kaylee’s heartbroken wails, “It boken, Mommy!” She tried to no avail to suck on the thing; it just kept falling out of her mouth. I asked her if she wanted me to take it away and she said yes. So I took both hers and Sienna’s pacifiers and put them in the cupboard above the refrigerator. They’ve been there ever since.

It’s now 2:31pm and I’ve just threatened to throw those old ratty things in the trash because they are still not sleeping and have been chucking them across the room at each other. I could never throw them away, though. I’m just too darn attached to the things.

Let the Musings Begin

So I’m sitting down with some creamy milk chocolate and a glass of vodka that is so clear it could be tap water. Ok, it is tap water. But vodka sounds so much more… adult. Then again, it wouldn’t sound overly grown up if I weren’t trying to hearken back to my youth.

Hearken back. That’s a good one.

But I digress. I’m starting a blog. It’s about me as a mom, a wife and a scared little girl trying to find her way in a huge, frightening world. There I go hearkening again. Perhaps it would be best if I just introduced myself.

I’m first and foremost a lover of God. I believe He created me and loved me so much that He sent His only Son to die for my sins so that I wouldn’t have to spend an eternity without Him. Second, I’m married to Tom, the most wonderful gift God has ever given me here on earth. Without him, I would be lost. Third, I am a mom to three beautiful and uniquely individual kids. Ethan, the oldest, is four years old and is a certified genius. His sisters, Kaylee and Sienna are two year old twin girls that look – and act – nothing alike.

That’s about it in a nutshell. I’m just a woman like any other woman – struggling to find her identity amidst potty training, being a short order cook, and trying to keep her home from looking like Mt. Vesuvius erupted in the living room. I’ve lost myself a few times along the way, but with luck, and maybe a few sips of vodka, I will find my way back home again.