I'm just now starting to see the funny in it

If you've had a great day today, are an optimistic person, or are just feeling particularly chipper right now, consider this your cue to exit stage left and find your funny elsewhere today.

Let the cone of safety descend on me as I commence the whining about my day.

It began with the sound of a much-worsened hacking cough of Ben. Perhaps he'll feel better once he eats, I thought. Preschool wasn't out of the question yet.

I put the bacon in the microwave and turned around to get the rest of breakfast ready. At least I thought I put the bacon in. One minute later, I turn around to see I was merely warming up the microwave. In goes the bacon, minus the forgotten paper towel. Three minutes later, it was ready and the microwave was disgusting, impossible to tell that ten hours prior I had just scrubbed it thoroughly.

After it became apparent that Ben was no longer eating or feeling better, I made the call to preschool to let them know I'd like to flush the day's tuition down the toilet, thanks.

And at that point my thinking took a wrong turn to the decision to go grocery shopping. Not just at one measly store. Not even at two wimpy stores. No, we were hitting Krogers, Sam's, and Wal-Mart. Why not get all your shopping done at just one store, Sarah? you might ask. Well, because that would simply be too easy, my friend.

We hit our first snag in the Kroger check-out line, where an over-eager cashier rang us up without noticing the fistful of coupons I was trying to hand her before the transaction was completed.

"Ooops," she apologized. "You can just redeem them at the customer service counter," she advised.

I got in line at the customer service counter. Except that it wasn't. It was the pharmacy line. Ooops again. I detoured to the correct place, behind three elderly women (did I mention it was Senior Citizen's Day at Kroger today?) with various issues with their purchases. Because I am completely OCD about saving money, we stuck it out and got our $3.50, thanks.

On to Sam's. Cue the doomsday music.

Sam's went totally fine. Until we were ready to check out. I happened to get in a line where an older gentleman was waiting for his wife to bring the last item. After unloading everything on the belt, I started to zero in on the payment options at Sam's. Hmmm... no comforting Visa logo.

"Ma'am?" I asked the cashier. "Do you take Visa?"

"Ummm, we take Visa debit."

Guess what. I don't got one of them. This happened to be my very first time shopping alone at Sam's. We go all the time, but I never stand at the register when checking out because we always buy so much I can't stand to see what the final ridiculous total will be. I would just rather not know. As it turns out, I missed out on the crucial Payment at Sam's 101 lesson.

Sick to my stomach, I started pulling my items off the belt and placing them back in the cart. For one crazy second, I thought What if I just took off with this cart right now? Nah, just kidding. I just cursed under my breath and removed the two very confused children from the cart, dragging them away from the sadly abandoned cart.

"Mommy, why we leaving our groceries?!?"

"I want my blueberries!! NO MOMMY! PLEASE!"

"I want my bacon! Why we leaving it?!?"

It is safe to say we were all traumatized by this incident. They weren't the only ones crying, although I was doing it while also calling and taking my vengeance out on poor Hilton, who never saw it coming. How could he NOT tell me that Sam's doesn't take a credit card?? Furthermore, how was it possible that Sam's didn't take a credit card, period? It must all be his fault, somehow.

Off to Wal-Mart.

Did you know at the Ohio Wal-Mart they have exceptionally small carts? So small, in fact, that if you have two kids that need to ride in a cart, you must push them in one cart and drag another cart of groceries behind you. It's fantastic. Especially when you find yourself trekking all other the store searching for some ridiculously random item like sunflower seeds, finally giving up and just going to check out, angry and bitter. I must add that at one point I had to push the boys' cart a few steps away from the grocery-laden cart to get a better look at something, eliciting true panic in the boys, fresh from their Sam's trauma.

"No, Mommy! Don't leave the groceries again! The groceries!!"

I wish I could say the day went better after that. Unforunately, the only thing that really went up was Ben's temperature, and we ended up at a "Now Care" (an ironic misnomer) health clinic at 4:45pm. An eternity later, we had a $95 Thomas the Train sticker (thanks, Health Savings Account plan) and no real answers.

But I say this with a smile on my face: God is still good, and so is life.

Dangerous Territory

Discussing and explaining the concept of death with your children really isn't something you think about until you're right upon it and you realize you have zero gameplan. My desire to have that conversation ranks right up there with the one about the birds and the bees and the one about why bad things happen to good people.

The discussion hadn't even been on my radar, to be honest, until we received a wonderful preschool-age devotional from the church. One evening in January as I sat down at bedtime to read it, it crossed my mind that the topic would undoubtedly come up in this devotional. As it turned out, it was my lucky day; the topic was heaven and how wonderful it was.

The boys' eyes got as large as saucers as they learned heaven had all of their favorite things-- most importantly, toys and bowling. After saying yes to a long list of questions about what might be there, Jake turned to me, exclaiming, "They have everything we need there!"

"We go there right now?" asked Ben.

Oh geez.

Then there's the bugs/bees/etc that they know are dead... the fact that "kill" is known as a bad word in our house... and the delicate area when the two paths meet. Such as when I stomped a huge black widow-ish looking spider in our driveway and Jake aked me what I did.

"I killed it," I answered triumphantly.

"Mommy, that is not a nice word," Jake admonished.

He was right of course. But so was I. I killed the dern thing.

Most recently they've started wondering exactly what the ginormous cemetery/mausoleum is that we pass when we go to the YMCA. You seriously can't miss it. I'm calling it a flower place until I figure out something better.

They've also asked about the special CD and Mickey Mouse that came from Ben Bowen, who died four years ago and for whom Ben is named.

"Where is he?" our Ben asks.

"Well, he's up in heaven now," I reply.

"With God and Jesus?" from Jake.

"Yes," I say.

"Oh, he's their boy now?" he asks.

See what I mean?


But to inject some humor into it (because you have to), there was this conversation this evening.

When I do bathtime alone (such as this evening), I pull one out of the tub first and put on his diaper in the hallway while I keep an eye on the one still in the tub. Now, I am not one to sugarcoat what happens to little boys when they're not careful. You run across the parking lot, you might get run over. You play on the stairs, you might fall and crack your head open. You're not careful in water, you might drown.

So as I pulled Jake out of the tub first, I reminded Ben to not lie down in the tub while I was away from it.

"Why you tell Ben that?" Jake asked.

"Because I don't want him to drown."

"Why?"

"Because he might die and that would be very sad. He would be gone forever," I answered truthfully, trying to make my point but regretting that I might have gone too far and scared poor Jake. Not a worry.

"Yeah, we get a new one if that happen?" he snapped back with a big smile on his hands, literally wringing his hands with excitement. To be honest, it was totally a Ben move.

I quickly sat him up and firmly had a heart-to-heart about how dying was not a funny thing and that people are very sad when it happens.

And then I walked into my bedroom, shut my door, and had a good long...

laugh.

A Sappy Valentine Poem (I couldn't resist!)

He stole my heart at only fifteen
Before then I only dated boys who were mean

I soon learned what it was to be swept off your feet
Two fools more in love you would never meet

But we grew up and nearly parted ways
Love can be tough, so proved those days

We hung in there with faith and our love grew
Took root even deeper and followed through

A family was next, from two hearts to three – to four?!
We found out there were two, and he almost hit the floor

Our life now a circus, we rarely get to stop
Sometimes it’s all perfect; sometimes we’re a flop

But even on bad days, we know where we stand
Beside each other, hand in hand

He’s good to me in ways that could make only a mother’s heart sing
Laundry and sleep-in Saturdays-- to heck with a fancy ring!

And for Valentine’s Day I am truly blessed
A gift of sprinkled donut holes—he surely does know me best!


I love you, Silly Silly Suntan Man!

Where's Truh?

I will cut to the chase.

Ben has a friend who may or may not be imaginary. His name is Truh (like "truck" without the "-ck" or "Duh" with a "t"). I'm pretty sure he came up with this name completely on the fly when someone called him out on who this "friend" was that he was constantly referring to all the time... and I only wish I was exaggerating by using the term "constantly."

Before I delve further into this subject, I have to say this: I can understand why kids who have no one else to play with would invent a friend. I don't hold it against them or think they're strange or whatever. But a child with a TWIN SIBLING? Their very own personal built-in playmate for life? Is this not enough?

Apparently not.

First, the facts. So far with random questioning we've learned the following about Truh.

- He's really tall.
- He's USUALLY at Grant's house (Grant is a super-cool cousin). However, a visit to Grant's house conveniently revealed no Truh.
- He's nine years old.
- He's really good at lots of sports and games.
- He has blue hair and black eyes.
- He has no parents.
- He lives in a factory in the big city.

As you let these facts sink in, consider also that all of this information was relayed by Ben with no hesitation or reluctance whatsoever, but instead with the absolute confidence and self-assuredness of a self-possessed pathological liar... okay, okay, maybe he just has an overactive imagination.

Whatever the case may be, I'm stuck between thinking this is an imaginary friend and thinking that perhaps he's just made this friend up to enhance his own coolness... "MY friends do this..." "MY friends do that... " Unfortunately, this talk isn't restricted to our house. Preschool, church, the YMCA and who knows who else are subjected to this talk... And it's all said in that snot-nosed-kid-next-door-who-brags-nonstop-about-how-cool-he-is tone.... I'm starting to think it's related to... vanity? At age three?

But I have to consider also that both boys have agreed on another character out there. Cank the Trashman, aka Cank the Junkman. It's been determined that Cank doesn's necessarily come to pick up the trash but he DOES reside in the trash truck. He's also "not very nice." We've also heard muttering about someone named "Dew" who also lives in the big city.

So....a figment of the imagination? A scam to make everyone think they're really cool and popular? Or simply a world of their own that we just happen to be living in?

You be the judge.

I know, I know

Yikes... it's been OVER a month since I've posted a blog. And I haven't even been posting with regular consistency since well before Christmas.

What's my deal? I've been asking myself the same thing. The same sorts of things happen to me as they always do. My days are full of irony. I'm humiliated on a daily basis. My kids are still hilarious. My life is still... my life.

And yet I feel even more drained lately and unable/unwilling to take the effort to post here. All I can figure is that my creative juices are being even more used in my job, and there's nothing left at the end of the day. Or sometimes even at the beginning. The other night I had an absolutely perfect opportunity to do this... . and then I got sucked into the Discovery Health Channel, where they were running a feature on one woman who was 76 years old with a calcified baby in her womb, and another woman who was pregnant with twins AND a third baby growing in her abdominal cavity... I mean, how was I supposed to turn THAT off?

But I digress.

The longer this dry spell does, the harder it gets for me to sit down and just spit out a blog.

This is all just another example of my life cramping my style.

But I've never been one to be submissive to the rat race. Whether it's part of my nature or I learned it in my angst-drenched teen years, I hate the feeling of Rules backing me into a corner. Rage against the machine and all that.

So life, watch out. I'm writing a new blog today. Not because I have the time, but because I'm making the time.

Besides, with quotes like these that literally came from my childrens' mouths just in one day, how can I continue to keep my life from you all?

"Hey! I peed on my face!"

and

"Mommy, are those wipes getting dried out? They hurt my bottom when you wipe. Are you using toilet paper instead?"

and

"God made us to be funny kids, didn't he?"


See?

My New Year's Revelation: It's Not About Me

I've posted two different blogs in the last few months about Michael Angelo, the little boy from the Philippines. Those blogs and that information were not easy reading, and they weren't designed to be. I know it's not fun or appealing to be shaken, even momentarily, from the comfort of our lives. But acknowledging pain and suffering is one thing... doing something about it is entirely another.

For me, it took the face of MA to get to that place. For you, it might be something else... the homeless in your own town.... the child soldiers in Africa... the victims of natural disaster here in the U.S..... whatever it is, I encourage you this year leave yourself open to what finds you and then take it on. This life, this world, is not about us.

The video below is a teaser from an upcoming documentary from the music group Hillsong. Its message is unmistakable, and I can't get enough of it.

And the Award Goes To...

Because I could use a little cheering up right now (and because you might need the same), I'm going to share a story that I've been holding in my pocket for a while now, waiting until I really wanted to post it.

Before I begin, I will preemptively state that I know the words I'm about to write could easily land me a runner-up spot for the Worst Mother of the Year Award. I KNOW. But it's already happened, and I have to share this.

It all actually began several years ago one nice afternoon when the boys and I were itching to get out and enjoy the weather. About a mile from the house was a playground at a brand new elementary school. I'd seen it from the road and thought it was a grand idea to try it out that day.

A word about me and playgrounds that I've learned with time: I don't know what it is, but we tend to not get along. I use poor judgment about the boys' abilities, I often get even myself hurt, and other parents rub me the wrong way. Bad things happen there. But that didn't stop me that day, because the boys weren't really all that old yet and I was just getting started in the world of playgrounds.

After the excitement and anticipation of going to a special new playground, we arrived and I quickly deflated, realizing that upon closer examination, this playground was way beyond what the boys' gross motor skills were capable of. Perhaps it was because it was designed for elementary school age children and not two-year-olds.

But in typical stubborness, I was determined to make the best of it. We were going to play, by golly. I helped and assisted and demonstrated the best I could, but the look on the boys' faces clearly told the story: This sucks, Mommy.

At the end of the playground stood what might have been the redeemer of the afternoon-- a huge (that should have been clue #1, Sherlock), slicky-slide complex. After a long climb up some steep steps (clue #2), you had the option of taking three different slides: one that twisted to the left, one that twisted to the right, and one that went straight down the middle.

As I gestured and enthusiastically guided them to the slide, the boys just kind of looked at me. As if I was a total nutcase. But bless their hearts, they were good sports and I know they trusted my judgment... which was their first mistake. Up the stairs we all went. It wasn't until I watched (from the top) Ben get about 1/4 of the way headed down the middle slide that I realized this was a Horrible Idea.

Perhaps it was because he had no core strength in his little body.... perhaps it was because he weighed less than 25 pounds... or maybe it was because the slide was much steeper than I realized.... but as he headed down the slide, he started to lose control of his body and pick up more speed. As he flew off the end of the slide, he seemed to hang in mid-air, his whole body twisting superfast so that in one motion, he was facing downward, deposited facedown in the mulch.

Thank God for mulch. It was in his mouth, in his shoes, and down his shirt, but it saved us a trip to the ER, I'm convinced. Picking up and comforting the now completely mortified Ben, I first glanced around to see if anyone else had seen this and was dialing CPS. Coast was clear. I then turned my attention to Jake, standing at the top of the slides. Firmly (and wisely) resisting my pleas to slide down the slide and let me catch him, Jake insisted I come up and rescue him, which I did. Tail tucked, we packed up and went home.

Showing the true resilience of children, Ben never really let that experience bother him, and as he got older and stronger, he enjoyed slides of all types. So when we discovered that the great playground at the elementary school right over the hill from our new house had an identical triple slide, I never even thought twice about suggesting he try it out. He was nearly 3 1/2 now, and probably weighed a good, what, four pounds more now? (I wish that was just a joke, but it's probably accurate).

"Come on, Ben! Come down the slide!" I cheered from the bottom. I even had my camera ready to take a picture in the perfect evening sunlight of autumn.

He looked me square in the eye, scooted his little bottom to the top of the slide and pushed off.

I am sad to say that the same exact event occurred. Little Ben was doing fantastic until he got to the end of that slide and did a perfect re-enactment of his past slicky-slide mishap. I tell the truth-- I had no idea he'd bite the dust like that again. I would have gone down the slide with him. Or been there to catch him. Or not suggested it at all. But instead I stood there with my camera ready, like the ignorant, terrible parent that I sometimes am. I was even able to quickly snap a pic of him pre-flight (see Exhibit A below).

There were tears this time around, again, but most of all, he was just mad. And indignant. And clearly in disbelief that he'd been suckered into that one again. But once the mulch had been brushed off, the tears wiped away, and the boo-boos kissed, he got back up and marched to the slide again.

This time with Mommy's help.