Jumping on the bandwagon

Where I'm from

I am from iron skillets black from years of use, from glass bottled Coca-Cola and Magnolias blooming sweet and thick.

I am from a house with a window fan with chicken frying in the kitchen and a dish towel calendar hanging on the wall and a dirt swept path from the backdoor.

I am from flower-covered Azaleas, tall Southern Pines, and old Hydrangeas dug up and moved from one house to the other.

I am from Easter Egg Trees and big rabbit cakes and stoic, hard-working women who never complain, from Esther and Uncle Earl and Aunt Ora laughing even though it wasn't proper. I'm from yes ma'am and yes, sir and not touching the shot gun behind the door because Daddy said not to and not because the gun might hurt you.

I am from big family Sunday dinners, tending to cemetery plots, stepping up to help out family without ever being asked, and knowing that nothing ... nothing can ever mean more than family.

From the man who could wish away your warts if you just believed and growing a watermelon in your stomach from the seed you swallowed.

I am from every church in town: Catholic, Baptist, Pentecostal Holiness, and occasionally Methodist. And knowing that God didn't care how you worshipped or where.

I'm from the Olde South, from the place the family has just always been. From grits with salt and butter. From fried bologna and hot boiled peanuts.

From a Southern Matriarch grandmother who claimed “I’ve whipped all my grandchildren.” and a father who taught me to love “The Man in Black”, I’m from folks who pick up stray animals and give them a proper home.

I am from ‘forgetting’ the bad times, embellishing the good times, and knowing that I whole slew of people have my back if I need them. I’m from knowing that no matter what I do…no matter how bad or good…I will always be loved.

A Series of Interesting Events

Wednesday my Mom said cryptically, "Bill*** wants to talk to you about something" Bill is my nephew-in-law if there is such a thing. He's married to my oldest niece who..Thanks to Southern peculiarlarities...is only 4 years younger than me. Her children are actually older than my children.
Anyway, I had a feeling about what the "something" was.

Last summer, their middle child, was trying to recover from a particularly bad year in public school. He had a bad teacher. He got left behind. He fell through the cracks and nothing Niece and NIL did made that any better. NIL had mentioned me possibly tutoring him during the summer but baseball took precedence and I tore up my ankle and had therapy and kid therapy.

Yesterday, my niece called instead of NIL. She's a tender-hearted thing and loves her children. She struggled in school, pitifully. Barely graduating after 2 summer school sessions and five years in school. She wants so much more for her kids.

Her oldest is a star. I mean really. Straight A's, beautiful, great athlete, polite, and gracious. Her second is struggling and it breaks his mother's heart. The school had contacted her. He was in danger of failing. (Yes, first school meeting...with 2 weeks left in school. Draw your own conclusions but I know NIL and Niece are good parents so it isn't them.)

So we talked.

She brought up private school but I know they can't afford the 5K+ a year the a mediocre private school in this area, which, as niece put it, might end up the same for T (her son) as public school. Too many kids, no time for him.

I knew where she was going but she couldn't get the words out.
So I said them for her.

"What do you think about T joining us next year and homeschooling with the boys?"
She started crying.

So we talked and we planned. She's going to talk with NIL. (who has also been called up for Active Duty and ships out for sandbox Duty in early June) I talked with ZooDad last night. (Who is still at the God-forsaken "Camp" doing training so he can also do Sandbox duty though not in the same unit/area as NIL.)
ZooDad is fine with the idea, just as long as it is legal; (I think that part is easily taken care of.)we're not liable for accidents; (I think that's a moot point but I'll humor him.) and they pay for curriculum. (I'm with him on that one. I'm skimping with my own.)
I also can't be responsible for transportation to and from my house and T has to be subject to my rules during his school day. He's just going to be part of the family school.
thankfully, T is a real sweetie. He's a grade ahead of J officially but I'm sure he's not working on that level. He and the boys are tight cousins and play great together. Plus he's blonde and blue eyed so he matches the rest. Most people confuse him with J anyway. No one would believe he wasn't one of the brothers.

So at least for the summer, the Zoo will have a new boy. If things go well, he'll join our little kitchen table school and hopefully flourish with the rest of the Zoo children.
Just wait until he finds out he has to diagram sentences. He's never had Grammar before. Shocking huh? Finishing 5th grade and no actual grammar. (sigh)


***Names changed to protect us from all the internet creeps and freaks.

Another day bites the dust

Today was pretty much a repeat of yesterday. School, therapy, baseball.
School work was finished early. We finished listening to Ginger Pye on CD and started Five Little Peppers and How They Grew. No one made any math mistakes and there was much sentence diagramming. M started a new A to Z Mystery and extolled the wonders of audible books.

M and A got the results from their OT assessments. (sigh) Not as much progress as I expected and some regression. A has gone from 3% on the Peabody preschool test to 1%. It's hard to accept that. He's so smart and clever and funny. But he just isn't catching up in motor skills. He may "fail to make progress." That's the first step to a PDD label (Pervasive Developmental Disorder) and will mean a lot of intrusive tests that I really don't want to do. It also brings up the big "A" word which like a bullet through the heart for me.
M is making progress in some areas but not in others. He even went down in a few areas. Gross motor and writing skills. His speech therapist says that she doesn't know what to do for him. That's nice to hear.
What a downer! At least they are brilliant.

From there we went to the commissary to buy food. The prices are so good. At least we will eat well while ZooDad is gone. The little zoo kids kept parroting the que prompt. "Next please...Next please...Next please." They thought it was hysterical.

From there was baseball for J. To keep s busy this year we have two sessions of baseball. Upward ball ends this Saturday and Y-ball started tonight. J is on a machine pitch team for 10 to 12 year olds. We have a good team in the making. We also have three very involved dads coaching. J will need that this summer.

ZooDad called. Tomorrow is his birthday. He's getting ACU's and some cool Army stuff. M created a picture book for him. It is hysterical. It's called Army Dad and ZooDad has apparently been promoted to General. On one page, ZooDad is commanding an army (all in green) who have slain an entire enemy army (all in red.) Both armies are stick figures except for General ZooDad who is decked out in camo and a battle helmet, smiling over the carnage.
M has no issues with war at all. As long as no one is shooting at his Daddy.

Tomorrow is pretty much a repeat of today except with no baseball. The school therapist comes to the house, so I have to tidy up. Instead of baseball, I have a co-op organizational meeting.

SSDD here in the Zoo.

I guess they are motivated

All year, the boys have been...well...reluctant to do school stuff. Well, that's not right. They are happy to do the work, it just takes them a fair amount of time to do it. Some of it was dawdling. Some of it was ease of distraction.

Whatever it was, now it is over.

The boys are doing work that used to take them four hours....in about 2 and half hours.
Not only to they finish everything, but they start suggesting assignments that are normally done on other days.

Odd huh?

Another unusual thing to note is M's math. Normally, he pouts through his math, missing a few but getting most correct, with his normal terrible handwriting. (He has motor skill issues.)
That is until I started assigning just the odd numbered with the treat of doing all the problems if he got one wrong.
Guess how many problems he's missed since the new way assigning math. Guess. Yep...none. Perfect score.
And his handwriting is no nice and neat too.

Today he even voluntarily read a book. For M...that is massive news.
For J, not so much. He's finished both Ginger Pye and a Time Warp Trio book since Sunday night. That boy goes through books like water.
J has also been extraordinarily motivated. He did a week's worth of geography today because he'd "just have to do it eventually and might as well do it all today."
Not only that...he did an extra lesson in English because...get this..."diagramming sentences is kind of fun."

If it weren't for their continued forgetfulness to unload and load the dishwasher, I would swear they had been replaced by podpeople kids.

Mild Support, Moderate Support, Full Panel Very Firm Support

I wish being a wife was as easy as picking out pantyhose.

The being a supporting wife is tougher than it seems. Last night I told ZooDad to just be truthful when filling out his medical stuff. I then informed him that there were three kinds of truthful, Unbiased truth, positive spin truth, and whinny truth and told him to pick which truth would help him achieve his end goal. (Whatever that might be.)

Well, that's positive spin truth.
I do know what his end goal is. He wants back in. He doesn't want to be rejected. So I'm here trying to be supportive and unbiased. I'm trying to be encouraging and not freaking out at the fact that if ZooDad does get this goal that he will leave us for quite a bit of time.

I find myself being uber-wife and positive spinning everything in my head thinking..."My God WOMAN!!!! If he gets this, he's going to leave the freakin' country and spend two months in a "Camp Crystal Lake" in Mississippi." (How odd that I find the Mississippi camp as frightening as the Kuwait option. But I was less than impressed with the place I dropped him off at yesterday. The other camp can't be much of an improvement.)"How in the world could he do this to us. 12 months BOG! 12 months not even counting the time in SC and Mississippi. What the heck is he doing? Is this some midlife crisis!!"

But then the next moment, I am beaming with proud that he's back to being a soldier again. That we are back to that ridiculous life that is the military family. Look at my darling ZooDad. Isn't he so majestic in his ACU's. Who wouldn't be proud to be a an Army wife?

You see. Crazy like Sybil.

Some of it might be denial. Some of it is just blind patriotism. Most of it is just trying to support this man I married who above all else loves God and country.

I think I need the Full body, uber-firm support with steel rod inserts. Does Hanes have that option?

He's my Cosmo!

Cosmo: "I married the smart one."
Wanda: "I married the....Well, he is cute."

Not only are the kids funny but the Dad is too.

Yesterday, ZooDad called me on my way home:
ZD: It's Ceso Demile Day, Friday.
Me: What? (Seriously, what the heck.)
ZD: They are celebrating Ceso Demile on post Friday.
Me: (Incredulously) Cecil B Demile? They are celebrating Cecil B Demile on post?
ZD: Whatever? Anyway, that's why the fair rides are set up. Do you want to take the kids?

Now the gears in my brain are revving. What the heck does Cecil B Demile have to do with fair rides?
Lightbulb moment

Me: Do you mean Cinco de Mayo? That's Mexican Independence Day.
ZD: Whatever. Cinco de Mayo....uh...just whatever it is. That's why they have the stuff set up. Do you want to go or not?
Me: Sure but Cinco de Mayo isn't on Friday. It means 5th of May. That's not until next week.
ZD: They don't seem to have that information. The email says it is on Friday.
Me: Well that's just false advertising. Friday is Veintiocho de Abril.
ZD: That must be the day the Mexican army had a big fair.

It's a whole lot better than Cecil B. Demile day. I had to call my sister so we could laugh over this. I swear he's a brilliant computer person.

It's time for Lynard Skynard to write a new song

Or maybe they should just start playing the old one and just alter the lyrics a bit.

Well I heard mister young sing about her
Well, I heard ole neil put her down
Well, I hope neil young will remember
A southern man don't need him around anyhow


The entertainment people (which includes most of the MSM) are just so jolly over the idea of turning all this into "another Vietnam." They can barely contain their giddiness.
Of course since they created the last Vietnam, they already have the experience to make that happen.

Can you tell I spent the week watching DVR stuff from the Military Channel? The report of the Tet Offensive was particularly informative.

Grateful Dead Sea Scrolls

Yep, the sacred scrolls are touring the country.
Last weekend, Me and the rest of the Zoo went to Discovery Place in Charlotte and lo and behold...the scrolls were there. And there wasn't a bit of tie dye to been seen anywhere.***

Well not all the scrolls but there were a quite a few of them and a very nice display of other artifacts. Including some bona fide Sumerian seals. (For the rubber stampers, just think of them as ancient SU stamping wheels.)
ZooDad and I did the tour separately so we wouldn't have to pay $11 extra for each kid. It was a self guided tour with these little hand held digital players which were far too much for us uncivilized Southerners. I couldn't handle the narrators lack of discernible accent, so I just read the placards on everything.

ZooDad was a smartass as usual. Afterwards he told my sister that not only did we see the scrolls, but he also deciphered them. That's right. He said he saw the meaning in both Hebrew and English, illuminated in white light right there beside the scrolls. A Holy Vision.
When I explained to my sister that there were strips of cloth hanging from the ceiling by each scroll case and the writing on and translation of each scroll was projected onto the cloth...ZooDad replied, "You mean everyone saw that?"

Dy, you thought your man was a lightening rod. Mine is perfecting his own brand of blasphemy.

I didn't get any pictures of the scrolls. (It was forbidden.) But I did get some shots of the boys in the science halls.

Here's the whole gang in front of a brown bear. I didn't know they were that big. This particular stuffed guy caused about 30 minutes of "Brown, Brown Bear jokes." (I see a shellacked octopus looking at me.)
















Here's M using a double pulley to pull himself up. We spent an inordinate amount of time playing with these pulley things. The giant eye was also a big hit but it didn't photograph well. It was a really big eye.













More pulleys and Frick and Frack with their matching heads. People ask if they are twins. Yeah, it was a 32 month pregnancy.
Monster boy S is pulling the heck out of the fixed pulley. While A is taking it easy with the compound pulley.

We also got to see an IMAX movie. Journey down the Nile or something like that. It was wicked. The little guys kept pointed up, out, down...all over. They'd also cover their heads when the water splashed.

Charlotte is one of those hip urban areas where having 4 children borders in irresponsibility. The place was full of older people and professionals that came to see the scrolls. We got lots of Stair-step handmotions, (Those of you with 4 or more know what I'm talking about.) double takes, rubber necks and at least three "Are they all yours?"I always look around when someone asks me that. I assume I must have picked up a couple of strays. I did get one "You're my hero!" when I made A stop touching the seat in front of him and I got a whole bunch of hugs.
But I get those everyday.





***We didn't go to Carowinds. But ZooDad did pitch a high holy duck fit and call the cops on them for gross mismanagement and endangering the public. Then we went to Discovery Place.

What she's been doing Part 1: Da Wild, Da Crazy, Da Vinci

Apologies first. Sorry I just dropped off there. I've been a bit busy with all this "back in the Army" stuff. But that's not what this post is about.

This post is about what I've been reading while waiting in the endless lines. Wait, that's not right. I've actually been knitting in the ques also. In fact, I usually bring both the book and the knitting so I can be prepared. Long, take-a-number lines are for sock knitting. The wait-step-forward-wait-read lines are for the book.

I'm a total Type A personality. Down time annoys me.

So, I'm finally getting around to reading The Da Vinci Code. I'm only, what, two years behind the times on this.
I haven't gotten very far yet, I've had more knitting lines than reading lines. But I have read enough to wonder why anyone ever thought this stuff could possible be "real." I actually said to ZooDad at one point, "Holy Moley...who in the world would be so hare-brained to think this is plausible."
If you haven't read it, the first few chapters are pretty. far. Fetched. You can't even view it as an attack on the Catholic Church because it is so "Out There Flapping."

Then I caught an interview with the slick, camera friendly, Opus Dei spokesperson that admitted that some members actually did do the whole self flagellation thing as a method of purification.

um......huh? Wha? Whoa.

Hmmmmmm...... I thought that part had to surely be made up.
And they also trotted out a non-albino Simon. ("Yeah, some of us beat ourselves but the albino guy part is totally wrong. Our Silas is black.)

Now, I'm a fairly tolerant person. I really don't care about who and how you worship or who you sleep with or what you do. I don't mind what individuals do in the privacy of their own homes, I just don't see the need for the rest of the population to be forced to accept un-natural things as normal. Or to bend over backwards to accommodate your chosen needs.
Tolerance doesn't mean that I accept and respect your beliefs. It just means that I don't stop you from doing them if they don't involve me watching or joining in.

But I draw the line at any religion or sect that preaches the literal beating the hell out of a person. I'm sorry, but I don't care what you call your God...if you require a person or a child to be physically harmed in order to remove sin or guilt...you are way off base in my book.

Now, I'm not talking about the individual following the "spare the rod, spoil the child" verse. I myself will swat a child to reinforce a idea, like Do not run out into that parking lot again young man. But there is a difference between the parent deciding to spank and a religious leader saying that you have to wail on your kids (or yourself) in order to make sure your children (or self) is pure of sin and can enter Heaven. (Nirvana, spiritual oneness)
That's just wrong. It's an abuse of power.

The self punishment is especially wacko to me.
So some Opus Dei whack themselves with a rope cat-o-nines and wear that ring thing with hooks on it. Some Muslims in Iraq have that parade where they whip themselves to bloody as they march along the street. (Kind of makes you understand why Hussein banned that particular holy march.)
I can't even respond properly to the thought. It's just wrong on a gazillion levels.
It's not something I can put my mind around.

But it does make me read with a little less skepticism.
I'm not going to see the movie though. I'm in this anti-hollywood frame of mind right now.
It goes back to that "do what you want to do but don't be mad when I don't accept what you have to say" thing from above. Plus Tom Hank's hair in the previews is skeeving me out.

Update on the van

Our insurance guy came by to assess. The guy's insurance didn't know about the accident until ZooDad called them just a few minutes ago. (This is deja vu.)

Anyway, Our insurance guy deemed the van unsafe to drive. The rear door is unlatched and won't lock. So if I was hit again, the van could not absorb the additional blow or the rear door cold fly open endangering the children back there.

It was towed to the repair shop and now I start gathering police reports and arranging for a rental.

We already have tickets to go to Carowinds on Friday.

I need my van!

CRASH!!!!!!

I got rear-ended.

I stopped fast at a red light because I couldn't see that it was red. (West bound traffic with the sun right at light level.) When I stopped, I looked in my rear view mirror and watched the truck coming closer and closer, without slowing one bit. Then I saw the guy's expression when he finally realized that I was in front of him and not moving.
(I need a little "EEEEEEEEEeeeeeeekkkkkkk" smiley.)

I took my foot of the break and turned my wheel to keep him from knocking my into the intersection.

boom

Scared the boys to death. The driver was scared to death too once he saw that there were lots of little kids in the car. He was such a sweet guy.
The 911 operator was idiot. Way too many irrelevant questions.
The police officer was great too and we all made jokes about hammering the dent out and using a little Bond-O and spray paint to fix it up.
The other guy's car was barely hurt. His bumper just rode over mine and into my trunk. He did lose his front tag...somewhere.

As for us, it wasn't bad as wrecks could go. The guy was traveling 35 MPH and I was sitting at a stop. It could have been worse...as I have pointed out to ZooDad who feels the fates have bestowed us while an unreasonable amount of misfortune.

No one was hurt.
The van still drives.
The lights still work.
The read door stays closed, though it won't open.
The window didn't break.
The guy is insured.
Only the rear door and bumper was damaged.


All that dirt is where my read deck cover was. That part is supposed to be covered by my rear door. The black foam stuff is actually the inside part of my van trunk. The paint cracked all the way down to bare metal.
A police officer friend said that I did exactly what I should have done and the van did just what it was designed to do.
That's a blessing.
My windshield wiper still works too. So do the interior trunk lights.
Weird huh?


Oh...and I finished some socks and our foyer tile. For a peek at both, click on the link to my knitting blog over there on the right.

I've been putting this off

Because seeing it in print makes it looks so much more real.
Here's my news.

On April 30th, I will once again be an Army wife.
My sweet husband has been involuntary activated from the Individual Ready Reserves (IRR) and most likely will deploy to Iraq.

We've been out of the Army for 7 years and ZooDad is 40% disabled, so this was quite a surprise for us.
His deployment is for 18 months with an option for extension up to two years.

My family is running out of men and we didn't have that many to begin with. My nephew is already in Iraq as a contractor. My niece's husband reports for deployment in early June.

Nine children whose fathers are away from home fighting.
Three wives worrying about their husbands.
One family who has had solders/sailors/and airmen in every war this country has ever fought in.

No one can say we aren't dedicated.

Running Commentary and an Active Imagination

Do any of you have that type of child?

The type that has creative make-believe play with a running commentary through out the whole scenario.

I've had 2 of them.
J, our oldest is now 10. But when he was smaller, we loved to play with toy figures, Winnie the Pooh characters mostly. He would spend hours in his own tiny little world carrying on conversations between the brightly-colored plastic critters. He never needed a playset for his creativity. The arm of the couch could easily be a mountain ridge. A pile of pillows was a cave to be explored.
I don't remember when he stopped doing this. I guess it was about the same time that his younger brother got old enough to play with.

S is almost 3 now. He has that same sense of creative play. Since he's the baby, he gets left out of the "big boys" play. It doesn't bother him. All he needs are some of those miniature Rescue Heros and he's away in his own little world.

Usually that little world is located right beside the chair I am sitting in.
While I'm typing, surfing, knitting or reading...he's acting out a multi-character play in several scenes. More often than not these plays involve shooting bad guys and blowing up space ships.

I try not to laugh as I'm taking in these litle scenes. I don't want to interfere with his intimate play. I also don't want to risk running him off to some other location. I like being part of his sound stage, his scenery for his imagination. It gives me insights on the values he has picked up and the way his little growing brain is shaping up.

"We'll make it work!" said the pilot of the one man space ship to the alien he was trying to rescue but had no room for. "I won't leave you behind. You're my friend."

He'll be a good man someday.

In which the poor girl's head explodes

Well, almost.

Last night, while sitting at the kitchen table, I looked up.
Then I immediately yelled for ZooDad.

ZooDad came running like the wonderful and concerned husband that he is to find me looking at the ceiling.
"(Gasp) How long has that been there?"
"I don't know. I'm short. I never look up. How long do you think?"
"I don't know. I'm tall. I never look up. The real question is where did it come from?"

Well the "it" wasn't a bug or some alien species that had chosen to take residence on our kitchen ceiling. (Unlike the snail that really does live on our stairwell ceiling.

It was worse. far, far worse.
Aliens or bugs would have been good news.
Much better news than......dum, dum, DUM...A waterspot.

Yep, a brown, wet, and growing water spot.

Near as we can tell, and we have no contractor or plumbing experience, the spot must be coming from the overflow pipe in the upstairs bathtub.
I sure hope so anyway because that part can be accessed through the drywall in A and S's closet.

I was supposed to call the plumber today but I forgot. Instead I hung out at my Mom's after my ophthalmology appointment and knitted all day. (The eyes are fine. No eye lasering needed. I go back next year to check again.)

So tomorrow, I call the plumber.
In the mean time, I'm checking all the ceilings.

ARRRGGGGGG!!!!

That's the sound of me pulling my hair out.

I was trying to do the 3 needle bind off on my second sideways sock and I totally mucked it up. Well, I mucked up the third stitch.

Now, I start the great debate. Do I pull it out and start over? OR do I take it to the LYS on Saturday between baseball games and beg the sock class teacher to help me fix my colossal mistake?
And if I wait until Saturday, should I start a new project or go ahead and pick up the stitches for my first sock's gusset. (I had wanted to knit both feet at the same time to make sure they were even.

I an a stinky knitter. This is so discouraging.

Hmmm, I do have some nice lime and white yarn for another set of sideways socks....

Funnier than cable TV

Me and 4 year old A in the kitchen.

A: Mom, when you a little girl, what you costume on Halloween?

S: What were my costumes? Let's see. I was a witch once and black cat. I was Princess Leia too.

A: What about Darth Vader?

S: Well, I'm a girl. You have to be a boy to be Darth Vader.

A: You have to be a maaaaaan to be Darth Vader.

S: Nuh-uh. You were Darth Vader last year and you're not a man.

A: Well, I do poop in the potty.

Sadly for some "men" in society. It takes more than pooping in the potty to make you a man.

Check that box

One less thing to worry about thanks to BJU.

I am the Achievement test coordinator for our homeschool support group. It's not a bad gig. I just have to collect orders, round up test administrators, run the whole dog and pony show, and do some private testing and...oh...order $2500 worth of tests in one pop.

Then I sit back and worry until they get arrive. I'm always scared that they won't get here in time for the scheduled test date.

Well, now I don't have to worry. I placed the order Friday night and this afternoon a nice box of tests arrived on my front porch.

I can just sit back and wait until the end of April.

Thank you BJU.

I ain't dead.

Nope, I'm still around. Sitting on my fingers. Waiting for the 31st to arrive when I can spill the beans pretty openly. Though in real life, I'm already spilling the beans. Oh well. I have to get things done and I can't wait for the 31st to get this party planned.

I'm knitting and planning school stuff for next year. And it's baseball season. So that is keeping me fairly busy.

I'm trying not to cry every few hours. As long as I don't think about "it" in great detail, I'm ok. But the minute I start thinking about how this will affect us, especially the boys, I get all upset.

I keep praying for God to make me open to his plan and to remind me that his is there when I forget.
I'm trying to not be bitter.
I'm trying to keep ZooDad from getting bitter.
I'm also trying to project an air of confidence and competence. I don't need ZooDad worrying any more than he already is.
He needs to know that his wife and family is not going to fall apart.

It's not fun though.
Denial helps. ;)
ZooDad and I have developed a code. "It ain't just a river in Egypt." means, "I'm handling it, just barely..but only because I'm not thinking about it in full detail."

The full details are just too hard to think about.

Great day in the morning!

Sasquatch Jr. is alive and well and living at the Zoo.

That's right. He lives right here. Apparently, I birthed him.
My oldest boy-child. The one who is just 2 months past his very first decade. The one who is 5 foot 1 inch and weighs 107 pounds. That boy went to get a new pair of shoes today.

I had thought that he old size 7.5's were looking a little tight and filthy. They were quite filthy and they were even tighter.

My 10 year old has a new pair of Nike's sized 9 and a half. That's right 2 full sizes larger. The guy was going to suggest getting a 10 but they slipped a little on the giant feet. I felt like such a bad mom. Geesh, no wonder he was blowing holes in the sides of them.

Salesguy said, "When that boy is 14, you'll be buying shoes off the internet."

He didn't get it from my side of the family. My little elf dad wore a size 7.

Still making phone calls

I think I have spoken to half the free world in the past three days.

I'm still trying to get stuff squared away. We're digging through old files and boxes. My ancient vocabulary has risen from some dark, and dusty corner of my mild. I find myself a little shocked when the old acronyms and vernacular spill from my mouth like I've been speaking them for years.

It's amazing how it all comes back to you.
Kind of scary too.
I got my first shock on caller ID yesterday. I did a double take until I realized that it really was who it said it was.

(sigh)

Some of you know. Some of you might guess. But I have to wait to post it here until everyone has been notified. Until then just pray that we, and our family, will accept what we've been given.
As I told MIL last night, "No change at all would be better but that's not an option. Now I just have to get all I can out of what we are getting."

My plain, old, normal,life is not an option anymore. I either accept it and ride the wave or fight it and get crashed against the rocks.