Some questions just need to be asked

I just came in from outside and I'm laughing. . . not the tra-la-la kind of laughing, but the shaking-your-head-slowly-back-and-forth-while-looking-down kind of laughing.

My boys--age 5--have recently proven to us that they can ride around our block by themselves on their bicycles. *pause*

Did you hear the great news? Simon learned to ride his bike while we were camping! I love it. He is so very proud and he learned the same way his big brother did. It makes me happy too because I learned to ride my bike while I was tent camping--the same as my son. "mmmm a little hug to me" I neglected to post about it as I'm hoping to post pictures of said camping trip.

Anyway, as the rain let up this afternoon, Garrison asked if he could ride around the block and I agreed and suggested Simon join him. Simon paused from his creation of a zoo (They are making a zoo in the basement and have even made tickets for us to come and see the animals. It WILL cost real money!) and ran outside. We reviewed rules of riding a bike and they were off. I came inside and since the ladies are sleeping. . . I finished the dishes and did come computer work. I realized after about 15 minutes that I hadn't heard my boys yet. "I'm a little concerned" I said aloud to myself. I began to think about what I should do. Just leave the ladies and look for them? Ahem--way to get your children taken away from you Shanda. Wake up the ladies and go in search of the boys? Ahem--crabby ladies, but safe none the less. I decided to walk outside for perhaps they had returned and I had just missed them. Their bikes were not in the garage and as I stood at the end of the driveway, they came peddling up--each from a different direction. Here is our conversation.

"Hey--I was beginning to get concerned. It shouldn't have taken you so long to go around the block. Did something happen?"

"Mom, we just had to stop and then I had to push Simon to get him started."

"Why did you have to stop?"

"We had to look for cars and then we just started asking questions."

"You asked someone else questions?"

"Nope, we just asked each other questions. Simon came home the other way."

"Simon--how are you buddy? (Simon had pulled up toward the end of the above conversation.)"

"Good. I came the other way because I didn't see any cars that way. I stopped to look mom."

"Great. Thanks for being so safe."

Are my boys 5 or 85?

I still don't know what they had to talk about, what questions needed to be asked, or what philosophical issues were pondered. I do know they are home safe. I do know that I'm often perplexed by them. I do know that I adore them. I also wish I could have been sitting with them during question time.

Thanks dead skunk

On the way home from church yesterday we passed a dead skunk. We had passed by it on the way to church. . . and we made a mistake. Gary and I mentioned the dead skunk. :) No one had seen it and yes, they did remember.

So, we pass the dead skunk again. . . only another problem. They still can't see it very well. We are almost home, questions are reverberating all over the car, and I give Gary the look. Let's go back to the skunk.

"Seriously?" Gary responds incredulously.

"Can we?" I reply.

We turn around. "Where are we going? Did we forget something? How did the skunk die?"

"We are going back to look at the skunk." "Yeah!!!!!!"

We make another drive-by the skunk and once again due to the laws in Michigan regarding transporting children in car seats. . . not everyone can see. "I didn't see it. How big was it? Are there more? Is the skunk in heaven?" etc.

Gary turns around again, we pass by the skunk again (#4) and he pulls over. "We are going to look at the skunk." And what do I do? I fall in love again with this man.

I stay in the car as my guy gets out of the car along with the three oldest ducks. They fall behind their daddy and make their way to the dead skunk. I remain behind with Penny and I watch and begin to cry. I will never forget a dad on the road with his kids, bending over a dead skunk and pointing out. . . I'm not sure what he was pointing out. I couldn't hear him. I did see three kids peering down at an animal, and then peering up and listening to their dad teach and explain. After they climbed back into the car I learned all kinds of things about the skunk and what "daddy said". Sometimes my heart just is filled to the brim that it hurts. Of course when we got home we found well. . . .whining, complaining, disobeying, whining, fighting, hitting, and some whining. We did not find any more dead skunks and for that I am thankful.

Ah, I love my life.

Really?!?

"WHO TOOK THE SAND FROM THE SANDBOX AND MADE A DAM!"

I was a bit. . . ahem. . . hot. Is that a nice way of saying it? This is recording #35 "Only play with the sand in the sandbox."

I thought I was being a wonderful mama by letting/encouraging my kids to play in the rain. Get your suits on! Jump in the pool! Have fun!

Selfishly, I was enjoying time in the house with just me. Penny was sleeping. Ah, time to blog (see previous post).

Then, the check-up on said angels. . . ahem. . . children. I checked on them because they had been fighting longer than one minute (which is an eternity in kid fightland) and it was time for mom to help with the issues. For the record: the issue was a cottage cheese container. "I had it. It was just sitting there. Well, I was just using it." Blah blah blah. . . same old reasons. I entered the rain and then I saw it. Sand. "Mom, we are building dams!" Squeals of laughter from soaked children.

Not only had they brought sand up on the deck, not only had they put sand in the pool (we had reviewed pool etiquette yesterday) but they had built sand and rock dams in the new landscaping. Sweet.

I raised my voice (sorry neighbors), I sent said children in, and I dealt with the one child, Pat*,who insisted that they had not played in the sand. The other two both incriminated Pat. While two scurried to their rooms in an attempt to escape the wrath of mama bear, Pat stayed and keep insisting.

"Did you move the sand?" "No."

"Did you touch the sand?" "No."

"Did you help to build the dam?" "No."

"Did you in any way transport the sand." "No."

"What is this?" "Sand." I held Pat's hand.

"Where is it?" "I did not touch the sand."

"Where is this sand?" "I did not touch it."

"Where is the sand on your body." looooooong pause. "On my hand."

"How did you get sand on your hand if you didn't touch it?" loooooooonger pause

"It got dribbled on me."

It is a wonder that I still have my sanity, although that is questionable.

*In and effort to protect the identity of said child, I have given them the name Pat for this post seeing as I have both an Aunt Pat and an Uncle Pat on my mom's side of the family.

Food law

I'm thinking I should have taken some extra science classes in high school. Perhaps I missed some valuable law of Newtons--although he wasn't a mommy and mom's everywhere know about this.

If you make one box, you'll need two. If you make two boxes, you'll have only needed one.

Macaroni and Cheese

Rice

Cheesey bacon Noodles (yuck, but the kids yummmm)

Cookies--oh wait, you always need two batches of cookies. Never mind this one.

Last time I made mac-n-cheese--one box--complaints "I'm still hungry! Can you make more? Why did he get more than me? Mom, this is the best lunch ever! (it happens sometimes)"

Today--two boxes--so many leftovers--more than one box worth. Monday night for supper: two batches of rice and we ended up dumping so much!

Mamas--do you hear me?

Since this is a law, what to do? Leave em wanting more or have tubs of leftovers in the fridge?

Dutch Feet

I'm a low fashion kind of girl. . . ahem. . .lady. I don't do skirts/dresses (yet I signed a contract and taught for four years at a school that required their female teachers to wear a dress or skirt every day. . . interesting). I rarely wear heals. I wear my Chaco sandals every single day--just check out my tan lines. I'm a t-shirt person. Sweatshirts--love them. Give me a hoodie baby!

I just returned from a shopping trip extravaganza from Kohl's. I'm not a huge fan, but I do love when they send me a 30% off coupon. My head starts spinning at all the possible deals. Gary, the true deal maker in the family, sent me off even before the kids were in bed. "Have fun!". I did.

Generally, I'm not a shopper, but hey--30% and I can return anything. Rock-n-roll. I tried on shirts. I looked for swimsuits for Garrison (there are none--BOO!), I wandered through the kitchen gadgets section and dreamed for a little bit. I even looked at a crock pot. (You have three Shanda--no more for now!) Then, I made my way to the shoe section. Why not? I have a coupon. I have no children with me. I have feet.

Size 11 is not a popular size. Even when I discovered shoes that looked attractive and comfortable (these standards knock out most of the shoes in that place!) I couldn't find size 11. No wonder I wear Chacos all day long--they are mens and in my size. Part of me is thankful for these big old Dutch feet and of course to Garrison who pushed me from a respectable size 10 into the size 11 camp during my pregnancy--you are grounded when you are 11 just because!!!! I'm thankful because I'm not tempted to buy many shoes. I can't find any that fit. Perhaps in heaven I'll be a size 6 all around. . . nah. . . I think I'd fall down all the time.

Little treasure

While camping at the Conference Grounds, we were excited to hop on the information highway Friday night. Gary and I sat at our picnic table and chatted while I quick checked my e-mail. . . the first time in five days. We were re-entering life the next day. I saw. . . well you know how you see an e-mail and know that something isn't right. It was from my friend Becky informing me and other Camp Roger friends that we needed to band together again and pray for and support our friends Ben and Laura. Their baby, the one they had prayed long and hard for, that we had learned about in January while dining together at Little Mexico, that we had celebrated at a shower, that we had already come to love as one of our own. . . their son had died. Gary and I cried together and then bowed together at our table. I thought of four precious treasures that I'm honored to raise who were all sleeping right next to me. My eyes are teary now as I type.
Their son was born last week-end and then we gathered together again on Thursday night for the visitation. I saw pictures of this big chubby baby and I saw a long line of folks waiting for the chance to hug Ben and Laura. I cried often and freely. I hugged so many people. I gave and received support.
Why did God take this little one? Why did He wait so long--this baby boy was nine days away from making his appearance? Why couldn't He have chosen a baby from a family that already has children? Why Ben and Laura?
I have hugged all of my children many times in this past week. I've prayed fervantly for my friends. I've prayed fervantly that God not take any of my kids before He takes me home. I've cried over and over again.
Yet, my questions go unanswered. I'm thankful that I rest in a God who grieves with us, a God who wraps His arms around us, and a God who holds that sweet boy in heaven until Ben and Laura are called home and can join him. We too have a child waiting for us in heaven. We miscarried our first pregnancy. Questions again unanswered, but a faithful God who also gives comfort.
Hug your kids. Praise God. Pray for my friends.

Missing the mark

Ah friends. . . .

I'm still learning, still trying to get it right. I heard a sigh. Are you sighing with me? I can't seem to get beyond some of my struggles. Some things--I'm good at. I taught last night at VBS that God created us so very amazing and gave us all wonderful things that we enjoy and are good at. I interviewed kids with my magic wand (thanks Noel) and we celebrated swimming, singing, fishing, drawing, playing soccer, being nice to my little brother. . . and so much more. I shared that I enjoy cooking. I'm glad God created me that way. I did admit to the kids that I am not good at jumping. Kids love to jump. What happened to me? I think the teaching time went great.

Still--I also failed last night. I didn't communicate well. I didn't let the folks at church know what I needed for my teaching night. See, I changed the curriculum that was given to me. I was allowed to do so. . .yet I didn't tell them and they. . . I should say Kathy. . . worked so hard and spent time trying to get everything ready for me. I blew it. I didn't use one thing that she had put together. Not one. All that work, all that time, wasted.

I seem to do that often. I forget to send a card. I don't respond quickly enough. I forget birthdays entirely. . . don't get me started on anniversaries. I drop the ball again and again. Sometimes there are good reasons. . . that is really a bad reason.

Yes, I have four kids.
Yes, I am a busy mom.
Yes, I have four kids.

I'm not sure how to get better about this. I feel terrible, I beat myself up, I make apologies. I tell my kids when they apologize about something that they really aren't sorry unless they try to change. This girl needs to change. I need to be so sorry about this that I make some changes.