SEVEN

My baby is SEVEN.

My BABY is seven.

"I always wanted this scooter."

 Drew's cousin: "I want to eat the baseball that's on the cake."

Disappointment

Saturday afternoon I came home from somewhere, and upon greeting Drew, I noticed that he had a fairly fresh cut below his eye and scrape above. Apparently, he had a run-in with a shovel while shoveling snow. Little did I know that when I said, "Oh owie! It looks like it could turn into a black eye tomorrow." that I was echoing what Megan and Mike had already said to him.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon and evening, I overheard Drew more than once speculating about whether or not he would have a black eye upon waking up on Sunday morning.

Sunday morning Mike and I were laying in bed when Drew came to us and lamented, "I don't have a black eye." JOKING, I asked him, "Want me to punch you and give you one?" I guess fearing my punch wouldn't be strong enough, Drew VERY SERIOUSLY asked, "Can Dad?"

As soon as Mike and I stopped laughing, Mike immediately replied, "I'd go to jail if I did."

Seriously.
I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Let's recap.
Drew was disappointed he didn't have a black eye.
I JOKINGLY asked if he wanted me to give him one.
He SERIOUSLY asked if Mike could.
Mike told Drew he couldn't (and wouldn't).

Drew was disappointed.

I considered going into his room Sunday night while he was sleeping and using make-up to give him a black eye. But then I thought about HOW excited he'd be about a black eye when he first saw it, and then how disappointed he would be when he realized it was fake. We have enough teasing around here. I don't need to add to it.

I remember as a child being soooo disappointed I never ever got a bloody nose. Even after once laying in bed smacking my nose against my bedroom wall in an effort to cause one.

So it only seems fair Drew never gets a black eye.

My Hands, My Children, My Job

*I'm setting a mark for myself to blog on here at least once a week. So many happenings are going unrecorded, and though I'm doing it entirely for myself, I know there are a couple of readers still out there that miss me. So let's see how this goes.*

During late December, my hands finally succumbed to the cracking and dryness that often happens during the winter months. My right thumb had a significant, painful crack on it and no matter how much lotion/ointment I applied, it wouldn't heal. I dealt with it for a few days, and was hopeful that a week in the Caribbean humidity would cure it. That Caribbean humidity worked a miracle on my skin, although a havoc on my hair. (It's rare I can empathize with my mother-in-law about hair issues.) My thumb healed perfectly, and my hands spent a glorious 8 days rarely needing lotion.

Despite going on our cruise earlier than usual this year, I returned home optimistic that the softness of my skin would last throughout the rest of the cold, dry weeks of winter we have yet to endure, as it has the past couple of years post-cruise.

My visions of smooth skin for the rest of the winter didn't take into account the fact I'd be washing my hands 4,073 times for a couple of days last week, and now this week.

You see.
We have a new identity (hobby?) around here.

The Sowby Family is perhaps now better known as Public Vomiters.

Meet Joshua, third grader that spewed his breakfast, including a red berry smoothie (TMI?) across his third grade classroom last week.

And this is Drew. 1st Grader who five days after big brother's debut, decided to match him by throwing up on the school bus yesterday afternoon.

And this is Ellie. 6th grader who I kept home thinking she had a mild case of I'm-sort-of-sick-but-really-I-just-want-a-day-home-from-school. But the fact a few hours later, a bathroom rug was thrown away instead of washed, confirmed my earlier ambivalent feelings of keeping her home had in fact been the right choice.

Despite Ellie being home sick yesterday (her throwing up didn't start until after lunchtime), I decided to do Cookie Day. Every so often, I greet the children at the bus stop with a container of cookies, and I hear reports of children spying me from a few houses down as the bus approaches with chants and cheers of, "Cookie Day! Cookie Day!" I love the enthusiasm and cheers that greet me as I stand there with my blue lid container full of cookies.

Except yesterday, as I stood by while the bus doors opened, intermixed with chants of "Yay! It's Cookie Day!" and "Cookie Day! Cookie Day!" were more loud and overpowering voices yelling, "Drew threw up on the bus!" and "Drew just barfed!"

Rarely am I at the bus stop to greet my children, but the bus driver knew I was Drew's mother, so I didn't really  have an escape. I wanted to stand there passing out cookies like normal, or even run home to help Drew, but more accurately, I daydreamed for just a moment of running home, hopping in my car and escaping to a hotel for an undetermined amount of time.

I didn't.

Instead, I passed the cookies to a neighbor boy to give out, and turned to the bus driver (who had just retrieved the emergency 'Body Fluid Cleanup Kit') and I said, "I am so sorry." And then quite insincerely added, "Can I help you clean it up?"

(For the record, I asked GENUINELY at the elementary school if I could help clean up Joshua's and they told me, "Oh, the janitor's got it taken care of.")

A part of me thought the bus driver would say, "Oh no. It's part of the job, go home and take care of your child." or even, "Oh, it's no big deal. Keep passing out cookies." Instead, I somewhat stumbled into the bus as he said, "Yes. I think I will let you."

I have cleaned up a lot of throw up in my life. I'll spare you the details of some of the worst (my BFF's teenage brother throughout his whole bedroom, mere weeks after their mother died is likely still at the top), but the floor of a school bus, mixed with my child's lunch remnants come in as a close second.

Wondering how my soft hands relate to all this?

Ellie and Drew threw up more times yesterday afternoon and evening than I can count. I washed my hands more times yesterday than I have in my entire life combined.

By yesterday evening, I could feel the annual crack on the side of my thumb beginning to make a second appearance of the season.

So last night, when a child started spewing in their bucket as they walked to the bathroom, and Mike continued eating his dinner, I said, "That's fine, I'll help AGAIN. But don't be surprised when I HAVE to go alone to the Caribbean next week for medical reasons."

I'm a nice, compassionate, serving mother and wife like that.

Drew's Last Ride

When Megan was 3 years old, Santa brought her and Luke (6 weeks old) a red Power Wheels jeep. That jeep got years and years of love and use out of it. Except by the time Joshua was old enough to play with it, it was old and had been thrown out. Around that time, we inherited a pink hand-me-down jeep from somewhere, and though it barely worked Joshua discovered he loved it, but the frustration of it never working drove us all crazy.

Our neighbors at this time had a 4-wheeler Power Wheels that rarely got used. It sat in their garage in almost pristine condition and really the only time it was ever ridden was when Joshua would wander over and ask to play with it. Instead of Joshua constantly borrowing it, I offered to buy it from the neighbors, and for a pretty decent price my two younger boys have had hours and hours of play with that thing.

My children have worn the tires bare, Luke once used the seat to cut a piece of leather on, leaving some nice cut marks on it, the trailer has hauled children, hay, candy, and I'm quite sure even Hank the goat once rode in it when he was a baby. I'm fairly certain that little 4-wheeler has logged almost as many miles on it than some people's vehicles.

Except for the last several months the 4-wheeler has mostly sat in our garage in a fairly difficult to get to location. The battery didn't last as long at a time as it once did, and the speed of the 4-wheeler was getting slower and slower even with a "full" battery. Every so often I would think about selling it, but I just couldn't, and neither could Drew or Joshua if they heard me talk about it. We all felt sort of endeared to a silly toy taking up way too much room in our garage, but was so often forgotten because BMX bikes and bike jumps came first.

There are so many "lasts" we never know will be lasts. Which I am actually very grateful for. I know my heart would break far too easily if I knew each last was indeed a last. I'm glad I didn't know whenever it was that Megan grabbed my hand to hold in a store for the last time. Maybe I'm glad I didn't know one time laying in bed with Luke that it was the the last time I was telling him a Little Green Helicopter story. I don't remember knowing whenever it was that Ellie was sucking her thumb for the last time. I don't remember knowing Joshua's last time riding Ellie's hand-me-down pink tricycle that he loved to ride would have been his last.

But for whatever reason, I want to remember today. I want to forever hold in my mind, the picture of Drew climbing on the 4-wheeler and riding it for the last time. Drew rode it from our garage out to the cul-de-sac to a waiting car. And in all honesty, I thought I was going to cry.

I know it is only a 4-wheeler. A tangible, well-worn object that likely doesn't have too many more months of life left in it.  My baby rides a BMX bike and daringly jumps off of jumps. The 4-wheeler is no longer his transportation of choice.

But this morning, Drew's last ride was the end of a long era.

This morning as I was gathering up the charger and battery in anticipation of the "online-yard-sale-site-buyer" coming to purchase it, I remembered the experience buying formula for the last time for Drew that I wrote about HERE. And I knew, I needed to give the 4-wheeler away instead of selling it. My older children thought I was crazy not to get "something out of it" and were all quite willing to take over the transaction, so that I didn't give it away. But I told them they didn't understand. I had to give it away. My mother heart didn't care about making any money from my memories.

As long as the younger-than-me-mother who I gifted the 4-wheeler to this morning gets even an ounce of satisfaction and memories watching her children play on the 4-wheeler, I will always hold dear the memory of Drew's last ride this morning.

(Joshua and Drew--August 2011)

Enjoy the little things in life. One day you'll look back and realize they were the big things.

Warning: May Cause Disease

In this day and age, my parenting peers are discussing the effects of screen time on their children, how to manage it, how to work around it when parents aren't home, what time restrictions to place on it, etc. etc. etc. I always assume that people think I am exaggerating when I tell them that we really don't have any rules or regulations about screen time. (Duh-of course we do about appropriate sites, etc.) But time limits? Not at all necessary. We have the absolute opposite at our house. We have to set limits and regulations on their imaginations. 

While I ran a billion after-school errands with Megan for her upcoming Carnival Fundraiser this Saturday, I returned home to this:

"We're making home-made rafts." ~ said one child

"Did Dad give permission for the wood to be used?" ~said the parent

"It's old wood." ~said another child

"What exactly do you need rafts for?~ said the parent

"To play in water." ~ said a child

"What water?" ~ said the parent

"Water in the pasture. And when that dries up, we'll take them somewhere else to use." ~said the same child

"What is going on?" ~ said the other parent who arrived home minutes after the first parent

"Did you ask permission for the wood?" ~ said the other parent

A short time later, we could hear laughter and happy squealing all the way across the field to our pasture. Megan, being the first to ascertain where the laughter was originating from suddenly declared, "They look like neglected children."

To which my eyes wander to where she is looking and I behold this sight.
Neglected children?
Not really, they actually get a lot of attention.

Imaginative children?
Yes.

(See the broken wheel on the red wagon? That would be from it being used to descend the hill and ride into the water.)

I walked over to get a closer look, and though all my responsible, clean, uptight personality traits wanted to yell and tell them to get their clothes on and get OUT OF THE MUDDY WATER immediately, the part of my personality that understands they are only young once, and the soft, motherly part of my personality that heard, "Mom! Are you mad at us? This is the best day EVER." simply took some photos, and told them to come home in 10 minutes.

I didn't get any "after photos" of the mud strewn across their faces and bodies, or of them standing in their underwear in the back yard while I hosed them down with a hose. To which they complained about the temperature of the cold water. To which I responded, if you can play in mud puddles, you pay the price of a cold hose squirted at you before you're allowed into the house to shower.

Megan is concerned they are going to catch cholera. My BFF is concerned they are going to get ticks. My only concern is what will they think of next!

Six Forever and Ever

Stating the obvious...I haven't blogged as regularly as I have in years past. But I didn't realize that I haven't even mentioned birthdays lately. In fact, I didn't even "review" the photos I took on Drew's birthday until last night, Joshua, Drew and I found ourselves scrolling through several weeks of photos. When I came to the ones of Drew's birthday, specifically of his birthday cake, he sighed, "My birthday was the best day ever. I loved it."

Drew's best day ever, and I hadn't permanently recorded it. Point taken.

A few things not to be forgotten about March 30th, 2015:

For months, Drew has taken to frequently calling Mike, "Mike Wazowski with One Eye." Additionally, as mentioned before, Drew has a unique love of stuffed animals. So when I saw this at a store several weeks before his birthday, I knew I needed to make the $5 purchase for Mike to gift to Drew.

Drew really only had one request for his birthday. BMX clothes. Wish/request granted.

The morning of Drew's birthday, I taught him the poem "When I am Six" by A.A. Milne. I adore hearing him recite it. Even weeks since his birthday, I hear him repeating it, and when he gets to the part, "Now I am six, I'm as clever as clever. I think I'll be six forever and ever" he gets a giant grin on his face and I wish in that moment time would freeze and there was a way to slow my baby's age. There isn't, so instead I smile and bask in the moment of his innocent childlike pride.

In the days leading up to Drew's birthday he couldn't decide what exactly he wanted to do; Something as a family, or a party with friends. Something with family AND a party with friends AND then go to a restaurant to eat dinner.  All seemed options to Drew, despite him being told repeatedly it was a party with friends, or something as a family.

Within just a few days before his birthday, Drew opted for a party. But then what type of party became an issue. (Because birthday parties have to have a theme???)

A football one or a Curious George one. I knew what I was hoping for, but I kept my mouth completely closed and let him choose. Finally he announced, "I want a George one." I was thrilled! As this is probably his last year to get away with a Curious George party, but he can have football ones for years to come.

(Sidenote: My children LOVE Curious George. Even Luke during one of his recent strep episodes laid on the couch watching hours of Curious George over a couple day period.)

We had big plans for a giant "Man in the Yellow Hat" to be printed with Mike's large printer for a "Pin the Hat" game. The morning of the party, the printer didn't work, but as I hung up the phone with Mike I saw hanging on our pantry door this portrait drawn by the birthday boy himself just days before.

I copied it and made extra hats and had our own personalized game. Which really, this little portrait attempt far exceeds any printed Google image I found.

(Too bad that at the party, Drew decided he didn't want to play this game after all.)

Drew had a fun party with a handful of his little friends. I didn't take photos, I enjoyed the moments instead. But I do kinda wish now that I had photos of them playing Curious George Character Chardes, Pass-the-Parcel, or Dance Like George.

I've always felt a sense of pride about my efforts each birthday to make home-made birthday cakes in the shapes, patterns and designs my children request. We've had a few good ones, intermixed with some truly terrible ones, but they have ALWAYS put a smile on my children's faces. (Well, except for the infamous Barney one I made when Megan was two and she looked at it completely straight-faced and asked, "What is that?") 

A couple days before Drew's birthday, Joshua and Drew were home sick from school. Joshua had been throwing up, and I had NO IDEA what or who was next for our family. (We had a bad 2-3 week  sick period around here.) I detest store bought cakes, especially for children's birthdays, with the exception of ice cream cakes, which I cheated and did for Ellie a day late last year after she'd spent her birthday in LA with Mike.

I mentioned a Dairy Queen cake to Drew and told him, perhaps we could go and see if they had a Curious George pattern they could make for him. Drew was soooo excited, that he requested we go right then and there. Which we did. Him in his pajamas, with a pale-sick face, (I'm a good mom like that.) and me feeling relief at the possibility of not having to make a birthday cake.

Lo and behold, there in the freezer of Dairy Queen was a Curious George cake made up, ready for sale. I think I felt such exhaustion at the previous few weeks of my life (remember post-surgery, two cases of strep, couple cases of stomach flu, etc.) I may or may not have started crying when I saw the perfect George cake staring back at me.

Drew loved it. I loved it. And I felt zero guilt the morning of his birthday not having a birthday cake to make.

We ended up the day as a family enjoying a picnic at a park.

According to the newly turned 6 year old, "It was the best day ever."

I loved Luke's sentiments on Drew's birthday when he exclaimed, "I love birthdays at our house. Even when it isn't mine. I just love birthdays."

I do too.

PS-I really should do a whole blog post about Megan's new vlogging hobby. She recorded a lot of great highlights of Drew's birthday, including Mike and me on a teeter-totter... Her vlogs will surely be treasures one day.

A Pum

I keep thinking about all the things I should blog about but instead for now I'll share with you Drew's "pum" that he memorized. Not sure what is more darling, the way he says "pum" instead of "poem", or the actual video...

Permanent Records

From a fairly young age I have loved writing in a journal. I wrote my first journal entry when I was 4 years old in my green hardback journal. I wrote on and off for years growing up, and then when I was about 13, I wrote faithfully daily up until the day I got married. It's been spotty for the past 18 years, but lately, I've been rededicated to writing regularly in my personal journal. (There's just soooo much I don't want to forget about life in all of its ups and downs.)

Every so often I do my best to get my children to follow suit and write regularly in journals too. Ellie is the only one that does it on her own, and I LOVE IT!! Luke is asked to do it every so often, and it is probably one of his least favorite things to do. But like I told him a couple of weeks ago, when there was apparently "nothing to write about." "Just write about ANYTHING!You'll be happy you have recorded the daily stuff of your life."

He must have got the idea, because he proceeded to write about an incident that will likely be fun (for some?) to remember one day. Luke gave a brief synopsis of the event (he is required to do at least 6-8 sentences!), but instead of taking a photo of his version (privacy?), I'll share briefly my own version of it.

On a pleasant Sunday afternoon two weeks ago, Joshua walked into the house from playing in the backyard wearing only his underwear. Of course I was immediately alerted to something being wrong and I asked him what in the world he was doing, and WHERE. WERE. HIS. CLOTHES?!?

As I looked at the family room window to the trampoline, and listened to Joshua's version of the incident, it all fell into place. Luke, Joshua, Drew and a couple of neighbor boys were jumping on the trampoline, when Luke thought it would be funny to chain Joshua to the side of the trampoline and see if he could get himself free. Which Joshua was able to do...but he had to leave his clothes chained to the trampoline in order to gain freedom.

I didn't laugh (at the time). I went outside, yelled at Luke, sent the neighbor boys home, and instructed Joshua to go back and retrieve his clothes. Luke's defense was, he wouldn't have done it to anyone but his own brothers. Mike laid on the couch throughout the whole incident trying not to laugh.

Someone asked me the other day, why I don't write blog posts as much anymore. She complimented me on being funny and writing well in the past, and asked why I stopped. I didn't really have an answer, except to say, that maybe as my children get older, they do less funny things, or more accurately, they do things that are sorta funny/sorta questionable. Such as chaining a brother up to a trampoline and him having to strip down to his undies to get free. Perhaps good judgement would say to keep it in the personal journals only. But here we are. (Which really, now that I think about it...sharing the yellow snow incident a few years ago was questionable too.)

(Joshua drew a picture of the trampoline experience in his journal later that evening to go along with the above entry.)

It just so happened Drew chose the exact same thing to write and draw about that Sunday evening too.

And now I have a whole blog post about an incident I had no intention of recording. I was going to write about journals and how much I love Ellie's journals that she always invites me to read. (I'll give her privacy and won't take a photo of them.) I love how much she writes about herself. Love it! She'll surely treasure those written monologues one day.

Megan on the other hand, has discovered a new way to record her life.
Oh boy.
Megan's biggest fan is herself, and her newest hobby is perfect for her.
Vlogging.
She can talk all she wants to a camera and nobody has to interrupt her to get a word in, or tell her to stop talking.
And she gets to edit the hours of her chatter to her greatest priority. It's quite a good hobby for a self-proclaimed narcissist. (insert winky face)

You can watch her introductory vlog here. (And if you really love it...there's more on YouTube!)

Now. Go record something permanent yourself!
You won't regret it.

Crocodiles in Africa

Beginning a few months ago, Drew has had a fascination with Africa. For a good two weeks, he asked questions incessantly about Africa. "Why don't we ever go to Africa?" "Can we go to Africa this summer?" "Is it scary in Africa?" "Do they have cities in Africa?" "What?! People live in Africa?"

I'm quite certain Drew's love of Africa comes from his deep love for monkeys.

Drew's obsession with Africa has lifted over the last few weeks. Well until last Sunday that is. Since then it's been rekindled, but with a depressing twist to it.

Crocodiles eating animals and people.

Megan was in charge of our weekly Family Home Evening this last week. She pulled out an old (LDS) church video, titled, "Spiritual Crocodiles." Mike remembered seeing it during his youth. I, on the other hand had never seen it before. (Or perhaps I would have questioned the appropriateness of it for a child that loves Africa!?)

With genuine apology for the spoiler alert, the video shows an antelope being eaten by a crocodile, and then without showing it, the viewer realizes a man is also eaten by a crocodile.

The analogy is very good. I loved it...

For my older children.

But for Drew?

He didn't get the lessons of "temptation" or "avoiding bad things." Drew didn't comprehend mud-waters and traps being likened to sin and wrong-doing. All he could think about was crocodiles in AFRICA eating animals and people. In the short six and a half minute segment we watched of the video, Drew's romanticized fascination with Africa was tainted with crocodiles not only living in its waters, but eating its animals and people!

When the video ended, Drew sat on the couch trying hard not to cry. We cajoled him along in participating with our "hunt for crocodiles" activity Megan had arranged, and before long it seemed the video was forgotten.

Or so I thought.

The next morning, Drew enjoyed a very full bath alone. As usual I was nearby, but not close enough for Drew's liking. He exclaimed aloud to me, "Mom! You might want to come watch me be a crocodile." So I moved closer and observed a crocodile-like-child making his way through the tub water. Quickly, Drew arose from the water, and with a serious and sullen face voiced, "I am so glad I was not that animal that got eaten by a crocodile."

And with his announcement, Drew was finished being a pseudo crocodile in the water. He immediately wanted to get out of the tub. I was irritated he didn't stay in there very long for how full the water was, but the look on his face, though completely irrational, was enough for me to give in and allow gallons of warm, soapy water to be wasted.

His obsessive questions have ceased from being about Africa, and he is now completely obsessed about crocodiles and the danger they impose. ("And are there alligators in Africa too?")

I've decided to institute a new rule. Family Home Evening lessons and church video viewing now has to be approved by me.

PS-It's unfortunate that a couple of Drew's favorite people at our office happen to be the son and grandson of the "Spiritual Crocodiles" author. Usually my children love recognizing and reminding each other "that's so and so's"dad/grandpa. Except now for Drew. Right now, Drew can't believe someone's grandpa and dad would tell such a horrible story. (Even though Drew is mightily impressed that Jeff's grandpa has been to Africa and seen a crocodile. Never mind the fact that Drew's grandparents have been there too. Ho hum. )

Megan and Drew

Though there is some definite musical talent with each of our children, the first and the last have a love for music that goes far beyond talent alone.

Megan and Drew will often be found in the piano room singing, playing the piano, playing the harp, conducting music, etc.

This little duet they did yesterday afternoon made me teary for so many reasons.

I don't think you have to be LDS and/or recognize the song to appreciate the tenderness of the singing. Megan will be less than thrilled that her singing has to be heard first, but Drew's part and then the duet part is too tender not to share.

And I know I'm biased, but seriously, take the almost two minutes of your day to enjoy it.

PS-And who can't love almost 13 year old Luke's enthusiasm for his little brother's performance at the end of the video?!

Drew is FIVE and a HALF

A half birthday according to Drew...

"Aagh. I have to do homework? Well, it's my half birthday."
"Why are we having tacos for dinner? I should pick dinner. It's my half birthday."
"Can I not do my spreadsheet today? It's my half birthday."
"Luke! I get the first piece of cake. It's my half birthday."
"When are we eating the cake?" (repeated 3,473 times)

Coming Home

I'm home! Even though I have only been home about 36 hours, I'm worried my trip across the pond will fade from my mind. When I talk about it with Mike or my children, I tear up and have a difficult time expressing my thoughts and feelings from the time I spent in Paris and London. At this point, it stands as one of the greatest highlights and events of my adult life.

I have so much I want to say about the trip, and yet, so much I'd rather keep to myself. I kept a very accurate and thoughtful journal throughout my time away, and I think a lot of my thoughts will stay in that leather bound white journal that has a gold embossed Eiffel Tower of the front. However, the fact still remains that I am a journal fanatic and feel so much desire (and obligation to my posterity) to record my memories in detail and picture too, and it's here at this blogspot address I choose to do that.

Be forewarned if you are reading this, that the next several days may seem like Paris and London overload, but it is my blog and I guess I make the rules, but proceed with caution.

As for returning home...
Several have asked how the first day home was. I'll be honest...it was a little bit brutal. I forgot exactly how many children talk over themselves to talk to me at the same time, and when they hadn't seen me for 9 days, you can imagine the state of bombardment I received. I also hadn't cleaned up after anybody for 9 days, and spoke only with adults for the duration of my time away. (If you don't count the two children on the Paris street I used a little of my sparse french skills (What is your name? My name is Tiffany) on while Laurie was receiving instructions from their mother about how to get to the taxi pick-up. Their names were Louis and Ava.) I digress. Within hours of my arrival home, my normal life routines here at home fell quickly into place and I filled my day with meal prep, grocery shopping, car-pooling, errand-running and the likes.

It wasn't long before I was back in the realities of motherhood when I began unpacking souvenirs and realized every child got a London t-shirt or sweatshirt, except the child that got TWO and the child that got NONE. Poor Luke. And I was reminded that motherhood is a lot more challenging than traipsing around foreign countries for 9 days.

But on the brighter side, while shopping at Costco with Drew, he stopped in his tracks and declared, "I am so happy. I like when you are home." He further spent the day spontaneously at my side with his arms around my neck and saying, "I just have to keep kissing you" and high numbers of kisses would touch my cheek. In my absence, it was his little schedule that was the most misplaced, the other children kept their regular school day routines and not as much changed for them. But dear Drew's regular little life with mom was uprooted, and as well as he did spending his days at the Sinc Constructors offices, I think he missed me the most.

It is good to be home.

(I called Drew a walking souvenir yesterday.)

The Ordinary

One evening in late March, Drew ran an errand with Mike over to our office. I'm not exactly sure why Drew was wearing his swimming suit, and I'm pretty sure the temperature wasn't any higher than the 60's, but nonetheless Drew went. Turns out they made an unexpected visit to The Chief (friend in the next office over), and Mike captured this beauty of Drew deep in conversation. I think I should begin a scientific study as to why Drew's little bum crack is more often than not...exposed.

Unfortunately, Mike and I are not the kind of parents to laugh at all of our children's antics. Too often we're irritated about the children's poor timing and/or lack of judgement to give into the capers of youth. It seems they always attempt their comedian acts right around bedtime, when Mike and I are not typically in easily entertainable moods. However, one particular night when Ellie stalled the bedtime routine to return downstairs to show us this hairstyle, we couldn't help but laugh.

My in-laws are great to invite my children to their house to sleep-over. Apparently, Joshua and Drew put on quite the "Pirate Show" for them.

You'd think perhaps I should let this next photo be a blog post of its own, but not this time. There's getting to be too many...Meet Packer, (as in Green Bay Packers) Luke's newest goat. Which I will take 100% responsibility for adding to the family. Hank was getting to be lonely, and Luke felt badly for him, which in turn made me feel badly for both Luke and Hank. Luke kept saying he wished Hank had a friend, and I would think, "Oh dear! How lonely for Hank not to have a friend!" and Mike would roll his eyes and say Luke has enough animals and tasks to keep him busy, and then Luke would look at me and I'd think about lonely ole Hank outside all day by himself, and so I, yes, I took Luke to get this new goat. It is actually Dudley's brother from the same litter, which of course endeared him to me even more. What?? Why oh why are goats endearing themselves to me?????????????

(Mike rolled his eyes when I told him I teared up while taking this photo of Packer and Hank meeting for the first time. Or maybe he was rolling his eyes because I was tearing up about it still hours later when telling Mike about the meeting. Roll your eyes if you must, but I see the beginning of a tender goat friendship here.)

When the stomach flu went the rounds of all seven of us last week, I tried not to mentally blame Joshua for being the first to get it and thus pass it all along to us. But then I see his sad, sick face in this photo and wonder what kind of mother was I to think it was his fault?

(Yes, we use empty ice buckets as throw up buckets around here. In fact, Ellie returned from somewhere recently and was describing the ice cream they had at the event: "It was the ice cream that you get in throw-up buckets.") 

Megan thinks she is hilarious and wanted to trick everyone into thinking this was jello in the glasses. Upon the "fool" lifting up the glass it was discovered it was nothing more than colored water and we had quite the mess to clean up.

Such is life around here.

“You need to let the little things that would ordinarily bore you suddenly thrill you.” 

― Andy Warhol

Being FIVE

There's something about Drew that just makes me smile. Of course all of my children make me smile, but there's just something about Drew at this stage in his little life that has all of us wrapped around his little finger. He endears himself to all of us in a way that I suppose only the youngest of a family can.

I was surprised how much I didn't tear up today thinking about my baby turning FIVE! I so love the little boy he is becoming, and maybe I'm doing better at embracing and accepting what is.

Although having said that, as I tucked him into bed tonight, and kissed his little cheeks, I did blink away a tear at how quickly FIVE years have passed. I reminded Drew that even if he was FIVE years old now, he was still my baby and always will be. I told him he'll still be my baby at 55 to which he replied, "Will I still be alive when I'm 105 after I'm dead?" The moment was over, and so I planted a kiss on his big FIVE year old cheek and wished him a final Happy Birthday greeting.

Celebrating FIVE is a lot of work. Especially when the birthday was on a Sunday and it got spread out over two days. Ugh.

Dance games and pirate games, treasure hunts with bandanas, swords and gold (and a pinata) and cake and ice cream for a group of children made up his simple "Pirate Party" that he had been anticipating for weeks. (Man have my party-doing skills gone down hill over the years...)

My cake skills on the other hand have not decreased. They really couldn't get any lower. But Drew and Joshua were mightily impressed with my efforts, and everyone else gave polite compliments.

The real birthday on Sunday brought presents, a birthday breakfast with grandparents and cousins, church (supposedly a prayer in his classroom that included him praying for, "Bless we can all be happy on our birthdays."), and a birthday dinner with grandparents.

In Drew's words, "I liked my birthday."
That's what matters.

Happy Birthday Drew!