The Artists

Recently, I have started a new painting... in oil. This plight is extremely more daring and dangerous nowadays because I have two young boys who want to be with mommy... always. Oil paint and children is worse than a bull in a China shop. Way worse... in fact, I once saw a show, "Mythbusters" and they actually put a bull in a China shop. The bull avoided the shelves and was actually quite agile in manuvering his mass around the delicate porclein. Not so with a young child and paint. Oil paint is magic: even when I paint, it magically gets all over the place regardless of the care I place in keeping it restrained.
Enter small child #1: Heads right for the wet oil on the palatte. Mom miraculously swoops down, percariously balancing paint brush and paint tubes, to intercept budding artist.
Enter small child #2: Heads for the paint brushes soaking in the turpintine.
Mom swivels and grabs up the small child, holding a paintbrush in her mouth and the palette of wet oils just out of Small Child #2's reach.
Barking orders to Small Child #1 through teeth clenched down on her paintbrush, #1 just stares... unable to understand what all the fuss is about. "Get out, please... mommy's working."
"I work too." Grabbing a clean paintbrush, #1 begins to "paint" the wall.
Small Child #2 is now fighting his way out of his mommy's arms to get a paintbrush for himself. Putting #2 down, mommy picks out a nice clean one and hands it to him. He too "paints" the wall.
Admiring her adorable artists, mommy soon realizes she has gotten paint all over herself. Her shirt is ruined. Oil does not wash out.
Oh well. At least her kids are spotless.
And that painting... well that painting will get done the day I put a dead bolt on the door.

A Story of a Butterfly

There once was a caterpillar

Who ate day and night

But no matter how much he ate

Could not curb his appetite

He went from here to there

Munching away at the flowers

at the leaves and the grass blades

He devoured for hours

What could stop his hunger?

This yearning inside?

He just felt empty

With nowhere to hide

Until one day, as he sat all alone

Pondering life and the whys

He overheard a butterfly pray

It brought tears to his eyes

“Thank-you, God, my Lord

My strength and my shield

To you be the praise and glory

For whom my will yield

There is none greater than you

For you, my broken heart, healed

I used to be such a selfish bug

Keeping my hurts and sorrows concealed

But you made me a new creature

My new heart has been revealed

By your grace alone, the gift of your Son

His death on the cross in a field

You gave me new life.”

Prayed the butterfly as he kneeled

When the butterfly was done

Praying to the Lord

The caterpillar asked him

To share some wise word

“I have hurts and I have pains,”

The caterpillar cried,

“I have such empty loneliness

Consuming me on the inside

What can I possibly do?

It would be better if I just died

I’m so awful and ugly

My soul has been dried.”

The caterpillar wept

As the butterfly took him under his wing

“I want you to listen

Because I will tell you something:

My God is a God of love and of grace

He wants to save you

He wants to change your heart

And there’s only one thing you have to do:

Believe in Christ

That he died for your sins

When you do this

Your new life begins

I too was selfish and weary

Feeling lonely and sad

I hurt so much

It got really bad

But then a butterfly told me

How God had changed his heart

And now, here I am

Playing a new part

Instead of devouring

For hours and hours

My new form is this:

I now can bless the flowers

God has transformed me

It did take a while

But look at me now!

Look how I smile!

I am transformed!

I am new!

I am changed!

Look what God can do!”

So the caterpillar inched off

He found a quiet place

He quieted his heart

And sought God’s grace

When he opened his eyes

He could hardly believe

The love of the Lord God

Caused ALL his burdens to leave

He felt completely different

And then he knew why

The transforming love and grace of God

Had turned him into a butterfly

Spread your wings

Go and fly

Let the Lord God

Turn you into a butterfly

--By a Butterfly in Training

When I Laugh at Myself, to Myself

I admit, I often find myself laughing to myself about myself. Mostly obscure thoughts I've had, like slapping a large woman's butt when she bends down in front of me at the grocery store. "Move it, Ol Bessy," I think to myself," your butt is blocking the entire isle." Cracks me up. Not that I can't get by her McDonald's endorsed rump, but that I am actually resisting the urge to spank a complete stranger.
I'm so rude.
Does anyone else have thoughts like this?
Here's another:
A bratty little girl was mouthing off to her mother by a fountain. She was bending over the edge, trying to get the pennies at the bottom. I wondered if I'd be doing her mother a favor if I bumped her daughter right in the water. She was teetering anyway... the wind might just pick up suddenly. The thought of this little wretch soaking wet and in the fountain made me start laughing. And when the mother glanced up at me to see what was so funny, I had to pretend it was own children who were just over joying me.
This made me laugh at myself even harder. Jude didn't know what was so funny and Rocky just went along with it. Poor kids!
So, the next time you see me, if I begin to break out in laughter and you can't figure out why... know that it's a crazy, twisted mind.
And if you happen to ever come visit me at a home, I'll be the one they've put in the corner because I just couldn't stop giggling to myself.

The Flinstones Were Onto Something...

Family road trips are... interesting... especially with young ones. The baby doesn't understand why he's got to be strapped down for eternity, the toilet trainee always wants to stop to pee off the road, either my butt or my feet are asleep (strangely never simultaneously), and my husband turns into some kind of endurance athlete.
My wonderful husband is the endurance driver. He keeps his blood stocked with plenty of caffeine and sunflower seeds. I guess the work to get the seed out helps him stay awake... and my yelling when he spills them on the floor of the car. So if anyone wants some fresh cut sunflowers, they'll be ready to harvest out of my car in a couple weeks.
What someone needs to invent is a car with a removable floor. Easy to clean. Easy to find things. Like that cell phone that fell out of your pocket between the seat and the console. You call it and you hear it ringing. But for the life of you, you don't see it. Where is that darn phone? You empty your purse, the diaper bag, your kid's backpack, the pockets on the backs of the seats that magically collect cheerios and french fries. You are getting desperate and start picking up the papers strewn on the floor: coloring pages, oil change/tire rotation documents, registration forms... that's where it went... you'll have to fill that out later. You discover scrolls written on papyrus... And then, your phone rings. You remember your quest is to find your phone, not an archaeological dig of your back seats. Your phone is so close. You wedge your face to the floor and see it! You reach for it, but your hand is too big. You take another route on the other side of the seat adjuster, you got it! Unfortunately, your hand is now stuck.
Not to worry, if the floor of your car is anything like mine after a road trip, you will be sustained on goldfish crackers and raisins for months... not to mention sunflower seeds.
Now, just imagine how much more simple it would have been to just remove the floor, retrieve your phone, shovel everything else onto the compost pile, hose it down and put it back. Wasn't that easier?
Course, now you won't have fresh cut sunflowers every time you take a drive.

Children Are Hazardous to Your Health

Children do get their fair share of owies and boo-boos. Unfortunately, so do their parents because of them.
For me, there's the everyday head bonks that come from Jude, who in his excitement, forgets his head is hard as cement and bashes it into my face. Then there's Rocky, who is teething. Enough said.
But every once in while along comes the rare injury, like when Jude dropped a heavy wooden block on my foot and broke my toe. Granted it was just the little toe, but that incident sent me to the next room (hopefully out of earshot) with a mouth full of F's and SH's.
Most recently, however, I was awaken by a framed poster crashing down on my face. Thank-you, Rocky.
How did it happen? How does any of this happen?

Here's the recipe:

1 part curious child
1 part sleeping, distracted or otherwise non-suspecting, never-think-it's-gonna-happen parent
something(s) hard (preferably with sharp edges)

Cook for .000000001 second

Viola! Injury a la mom.

26 Things Learned the Hard Way

1. Remember to put the seat down after your older brother just used the toilet (age 2)
2. I don't like lamb chops (age 3)
3. Putting your finger down your throat WILL make you throw up (age 4)
4. Don't put the mixer on "HIGH" when you've just added flour (age 5)
5. When your uncle tells you grasshoppers are delicious, don't believe him (age 6)
6. Don't try to catch grasshoppers in your mouth on your uncle's motorcycle (age 6)
7. Uncles are mean spirited and enjoy laughing at you (age 6)
8. When you play in the sandbox of someone who has cats, be extra careful (age 7)
9. When a rooster runs at you, he does not want to be friends (age 8)
10. Feed your pet rabbit (age 9)
11. Pet graves are hard to dig in winter (age 9)
12. Boy are gross (age 10)
13. I really did like that boy (age 14)
14. Don't offer to help just to be nice (age 15)
15. Move your foot slowly off the clutch (age 16)
16. Those lamb chops were OUR baby lambs (age 17)
17. College exams are easier if you go to class (age 18)
18. The "courtesy flush" is a courtesy to yourself (age 19)
19. Maybe that wasn't such a great idea (age 20)
    
20. "That Boy" really did like me too (we got married) (age 21)
21. When your midwife says,"Don't push,"... DON'T PUSH! (age 23)
22. Tuck the baby boy's penis down in the diaper (age 23)
23. Newborn boys have surprising accurate aim (age 23)
24. Pick up the dog poop in the yard BEFORE your toddler goes out to play (age 24)
25. Don't assume your 9 month old can't climb out of the shopping cart (age 25)
26. It is by the grace of God that I am alive to celebrate another birthday (age 1-26)

"Mommy, I drink water..."

Sometimes kids say things and you say, "Great... good..." not paying attention and keep doing what you were doing.  No need to be alarmed.  Kids say a lot of things and, "Mommy, I drink water..." is not a statement that is cause for alarm.  Until you turn around and see that your child is drinking the water out of the fish tank.  What does one DO after such a moment?  Of course you take the air filter tube out of his mouth that he is using for a straw.  Of course you tell him, "never do that again," as you reattach his straw to the air pump.  

But then what?  Wash his mouth with anti-bacterial soap?  Pour iodine on his tongue?  hydrogen peroxide?  bactine?  

You do nothing.  Because there is nothing you can do... nothing but pray he doesn't catch some deadly bacteria.  And then give him a glass of water and remember not to let him drink out of your glass.

The "BUMP!" in the Night

If you've spent more than 10 minutes ever talking to my husband, you know that I talk in my sleep.  I even sleep walk.  Have for years.  Don't know when I do it or what causes me to get up in dream sleep and incorporate waking life.  

Strange.  

For those of you who suffer from "vivid sleep" as I do (I made that up... you won't find that on Wikipedia) you know how awful it is... you can't help it! 

During pregnancy was the worst.  I could swear there were bugs and spiders crawling and leaping at me in my sleep.  When I tried to show Eric they were REALLY there and not just a figment of my imagination, they were gone... but ready to come out again as soon as Eric rolled over back to sleep.  

Poor Eric.  

Many a night he has awoken to my screams and scrabbling out of bed to avoid a figment of my imagination.  

 

Just the other night Jude came into our room in the middle of the night.  Not so much as a peep out of him... course I wouldn't be able to hear him over my talking.  He climbed up and snuggled down by our feet.  

What's the dog doing down there?  He's not supposed to be on the bed.  My feet... I can't move my feet.  My legs are aching... I need to stretch them... but that stupid dog is laying right there... 

BUMP!

What the h--- was that!?

Eric and I both shot up in bed.  For once the figment of my imagination was REAL!  Sort of.  

Poor Jude.

He was crying... jerked awake from a sound sleep by getting kicked off the bed.  

Oops.

 

Don't Spill the Beans!

I never truly understood the meaning of "Don't spill the beans" until this morning. My husband starting roasting me coffee. It's delicious. It's fabulous. It's the best cup of coffee you'll ever have. Every bean is cherished. Every bean.
These beans are to me as the lost coin is to the women (as repenters are to God: Luke 15:8-10). There was rejoicing at finding every last bean that had spilled. A whole lot of rejoicing because there were a whole lot of beans... a whole bag to be exact. And Jude reenacting "Woody-walks-across-the room-through-a-mindfield-of-cheese-puffs" scene (Toy Story 2) did not help.

Oh well. All the beans were found... rejoice with me: come over for lattes!

Oops... Hope No One Heard That

The cardio equipment at our gym have individual TVs attached. You bring in your own headphones and zone out in your own little world of cardio fitness. Unfortunately, while in my zone, I sometimes forget there are others around me.
If I see something funny on TV, I laugh. If I agree with something someone says on TV, I say,"That's right... so true." To me, my commentaries are appropriate. To others at the gym, I am sure they are annoying.
Annoying, I know, because I am annoyed when I hear someone hooting away at Comedy Central while I'm trying to watch the Food Network. If my souffle sinks, it's the fault of that loud woman on the bike.
As hard as this is to admit (because no one but me has EVER done this): I fart. And for some God forsaken reason I do it the most when I work out. And I am sure they are audible. Loud maybe. I wouldn't know because I have my headphones on and I am in my own little world of cardio fitness. All I know is there is some kind of invisible button that goes from the soul of my foot to the release valve of my colon. I can't explain it. It's biology.
And I am so sorry if you ever have the misfortune of passing behind me at the gym.

10 Things I Didn't Want to Hear

1. My baby teething on wrought iron
2. My cat shredding upholstery
3. My dog gagging on my hand-woven wool rug
4. My husband asking,"Is this a tarantula?"
5. "Uh-oh, Mommy"
6. Thud!  Followed by a cry (followed by silence= fine)
7. Glass breaking
8. "Ladies and gentlemen, there is a three hour delay for this flight..."
9. "We need to talk..."
10. "Look, baby climbing"

Kitty Roll

I have a house full of animals: two fish, one dog, one cat, two boys and a husband.  Being that they are all mine, it seems I am solely responsible for their upkeep.  The fish are the easiest: food and water.  It's the critters falling into class mammalian that demand the most attention: food, water, grooming, health care, exercise and affection.  With 1 of me and 5 of them, it keeps a homosapien busy... and exhausted.

That's why, at the end of the day, I just want a good nights sleep.  Ha ha.  Fat chance with a little one.  

So on those rare nights when the youngest creature doesn't wake for a snack, I relish my side of the bed and uninterrupted sleep.  

In comes the cat.  He knows tonight the baby won't be waking me.  The cat will.  He'll wake me to tell me he loves me by purring on my head.  He'll wake me to tell me he needs me to change his water or that his food is running low.  He'll wake me to tell me there's a flying insect that amuses him and it will amuse me too or he wouldn't be standing at my bedroom door mewing like a wounded demon.  

I bury my head deep in the down on the cool side of the pillow: my happy place.  The cat jumps on the bed, eager to rouse me.  Finally, he gives up and snuggles next to me for the night.

That cat is a furnace.  So when I feel his scalding body on my back, I smile; not because I like it... it's because I like what comes next: My side of the bed and uninterrupted sleep.

I roll over onto that beast.  Cats don't like that.

He bounds away, never to be seen or heard from again... until the next night.      

  

What the Neighbors Think

My toddler is toilet training.  Being a little boy, he came prewired with the inclination to pee outside... "like a doggie."  This technique was mastered the other evening while I was visiting with an elderly couple walking their dog past our house.  To say I was embarrassed is an understatement.  There isn't a word in the English language to describe the emotions of a mother who witnesses her child using the lawn in suburbia USA as a toilet.

Fortunately, the elderly couple could empathize.  Having been reminded of their younger years, and seeing that these moments happen to the best of us, they both threw their heads back and laughed.  What else could one do?  They had steered through these tortuous waters of toddler-hood years ago and made it through... alive.  

So, what do the neighbors think: "That's FUNNY!"

The Gym and "80's Haircut"

My husband, Eric, and I have recently gotten membership at a local gym. We take turns going in the evening, usually after the boys are in bed.

The one who goes first is obliged to give the "heads up."

For example, if I go first, I like to give report on the "grunters" and the "exhalers." You know them: usually men who flaunt themselves like roosters, are always seen wearing lifting belts and gloves and drinking out of a 10 gallon bucket of protein powder with a straw. They reek of Old Spice and the locker room floor (or is it the locker room floor that reeks of them).

Eric keeps his eye out for "80's haircut." It's one particular man; his small head adorned with plumage somewhere between a mullet and a Farrah Fawcett. He also falls into the category of "grunter." Whereas most "grunters" and "exhalers" exert themselves under 100s of pounds, "80's Haircut" pushes his limits with the elastic bands. Internal laughter ensues at such a sight.

But, then again, what do I know about the level of difficultly of the bands?

I'll have to ask grandma next time I see her at the gym.

My Husband is a Middle-Schooler

Intellectually, my husband is brilliant.  However, mentally, he's still 13 years old.  He still giggles about balls, nuts and boobies.  His idea of fun is pushing me out of bed onto the floor or taking all the towels out of the bathroom while I'm in the shower.  I married a comedian, folks.  

My only method of retaliation is to become a fifth grader (since girls are more mature than boys, I don't actually have to be 13 to stoop to his level).

Some nights, as he's trying to fall asleep, I implement "Baby Brontosaurus" or "Dancy Hand." These characters are nothing short of genius.  

Baby Brontosaurus gets a long, sniffing snout from my extended middle finger and the other four digits fall into place as legs.  Baby Brontosaurus crawls up my husband in search of "buttons."  Baby Brontosaurus doesn't have to trek very far to push them.  

My husband pretends to be asleep.  Then, without warning, Baby Brontosaurus is captured and squashed by the dreaded "Rock Hand."  Baby Brontosaurus retreats to the safety of the bed sheets.  

This calls for the second wave of assault: Dancy Hand.

Dancy Hand loves to do the can-can.  The upside-down peace sign step kicks to a remarkable rhythm.  She prances and leaps, enjoying the ability to effortlessly dodge the Rock Hands.  

Now my husband's eyes are open and glare at me from their corners.  Smirking, he grabs me at the elbow and rolls over.  Baby Brontosaurus and Dancy Hand have been captured.  All hope is lost.  Or is it....

"Toe General" sneaks up for the rescue mission.  

Restaurants

I hate spelling "restaurant" because in my brain it's spelled "resteraunt." What a stupid way to spell it "restaurant." My way makes more sense: you get more "rester" when you don't have to cook it yourself.

Here's some of my favorite places (in order of which-popped-into-my-head- first):

1. Sushi Caliante, Cedar Park TX- LOW prices, great rolls and the best blackberry green tea I've ever had
2. Which Wich, Nation wide- Cute idea for ordering: write your name on the bag. I highly recommend getting "wicked" with gardinara.
3. Mimi's Cafe, Nation wide- GREAT FOR FAMILIES! Kids get a plate of snacks at seating, and the kids meal includes drink, entree, side and dessert at a low price.
4. Thunder Cloud Subs, Texas- The best sub is the "Austin": smoked chix, avacado, cheese, veggies... and don't forget the "Thundercloud" sauce.
5. Rudy's, Texas/New Mexico- Only the "Wurst Bar-b-Que" could be a favorite place to take out of town guests. Pinic table seating at a gas station... love the "hotties"
6. K's China, Boulder CO- The BEST PAD-THAI I have ever eaten ANYWHERE
7. Chik-fil-A, Nation wide- BEST FASTFOOD. The food actually tastes fresh and chemical-free and the chains in our area give out free cherrios to babies.
8. ZuZu's, Austin TX- Great fresh Mexican flavors. I love the Mahi-Mahi Salad and homemade sour cream.
9. Saccone's Pizza, Austin Area- The white pizza is really unique... a little on the expenisive side, but the pies are 18"
10. Dunkin' Donuts, Nation wide- Just on the rare occasion, I love the chocolate glazed cake donut and a cup of their brand coffee... yuck and yum!