I'm so hungry it don't even feel like I'm hungry

After a week of running back and forth from soccer camp to jui jitsu and back to camp again little boys get grumbly and hungry and if your Elijah creative with words.

This time around the table we heard, "I'm so hungry I don't even feel hungry." As he crammed another spoonful of pasta with marinara into the food cave.

Bite after bite he eventually slowed enough to take five minutes rest. It wasn't till his third bowl of pasta that we heard, "mmm that's good food."

Finally toward the bott of his fourth bowl of pasta we heard the words, "I'm full!"

These words only to be nullified by the sight of brownies five minutes later.

Ah! Life with boys!

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Don't talk to srangers!

You've either heard it from a parent or you've said it to your children, "Don't talk to strangers." I couldn't obey this rule as a child, ever, never, I simply walked up to people introduced myself to them and started up conversation; I know their name they know mine so we're no longer strangers.

This frustrated my mom and grandma who were cautious and worried I'd be kidnapped by someone I had been 'too' kind to. I could understand why you wouldn't want to meet people. It was all I wanted to do.

I wanted to make sad people smile and took it as personal challenge to create this upward crescent on the faces of everyone I would meet. In grade school I wanted to know why the kids in high school never smiled. It was as if growing up meant losing joy and I didn't want that.

Then came the day I had a son old enough to go out and play in the yard while I supervised through the kitchen window. This was the moment I was supposed to tell my son not to talk to strangers. At the moment I was about to I realized I wanted him to be a communicator who didn't fear speaking in public to people he didn't know. So now what? What do you say if not "Don't talk to strangers."

You say, "If someone you don't know comes over to talk come get me and we'll talk to them together." It was freedom for him to talk to adults we know and trust and permission to run inside if he didn't. Plus it has been a freedom to meet new people with a safety net.

I'm older now and have three sons who all talk to strangers. They know how to join an adult conversation without interrupting, most of the time. They are sometimes bashful in new situations but they can usually overcome it and meet people in five minutes.

So if a little boy walks up to you and starts up a conversation be forewarned he may be mine.


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I'm A Bird!

As life would have it the frugality which I have been imbued brought me once again to my local co-op to lay claim to the perfect packing boxes. As I am leaving the store with the first round of thick pressed cube russet paper a small voice tweeted up from a rainbow of color.

A bright blue, red, white and green adorned smile caught my attention with her song, "I'm a bird!"

Indeed this amber locklorn child flew from one plant to the next waving her feather about, happlily singing her own unique song.

Her mother gleamed at the dancing bird which she was raising and tentatively replied to my questioning grin, "She picked them herself.". I smiled at the flitting birdie and whispered, "your outfit is lovely."

The little bird was delighted that I should think so highly of her markings and chirped back the tiniest of thank yous.

One proud little bird pleased her momma with her independance and courtesy and provided us with a tale of triumph.



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Think about it but not too hard

Avery had us working on a proposal he made last week. He wanted to make us aware that our soda on the weekend rule was cruel. Inevitably Ave goes about sharing this thought by advertising his future plans for his children.



Picture a nine year old with scruffy blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes. The white T-shirt blondie donns is dirty taupe from his hard outdoor play and his insistance that it's his favorite allows it to remain. While his denim bears the truest of all boyhood markings thread-bare knees. Now, with this vision firmly in your mind's eye listen for the tiny voice of a boy with 60% 'R' production...

"Dad, Mom, when I have kids I won't be cruel [pronounced cool] I'll let my kids have a soda in the middle of the week too. Cause it's hard to go all week long and not have a pop."

With this statement he rose to his feat and starred for the back door proclaiming, "You should think about it but not too hard."

Juggling boys and time with hands full...


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Sand, Hot Wheels, and Diapers

Cats love it and so do children of all ages. What is this amazing thing that brings machinations to the forefront? Sand.

Ethan's first exposure to sand was His first birthday when his aunt and uncle gave him a bulldozer sandbox and his grandparents filled it with sand. He had the usual reaction that a one year old would have; he tried to eat it. This brought us to the next reaction crying and spitting.

After the first experience trauma was behind us he quickly learned that sand falling through his tiny fingers tickled and was thoroughly entranced with the process of letting sand fall through a funnel onto his fingers and back into the sandbox. This simple pleasure was greatly increased when he discovered some of his other presents; tiny little cars and trucks that go by the name Hot Wheels.

Rolling up and down the hills mom and dad made in the sand brought that sweet little squeal and the cute little squint-eyed smile that always brings folks to say, "Oh, isn't he adorable!" Soon the family went home and I picked up the toys and put the lid on the sandbox. Only one thing left to do now, clean up little Ethan man.

Sand + baby = scary diaper rash. Simple math problem brought about by the application of fun to a one year old. One fun experience led me to the discovery of the most wonderful product of all Boudreaux's Butt Paste!

Since the sandbox was so much fun and the scratchy sand lent itself to bad rash we devised a plan; must wear pants in the sandbox and no throwing sand. Instant fun and safety, hooray!

Grand Opening!

As a twenty-four year old walking through Wal*Mart with my newborn I heard the infamous phrase the very first time, "Honey, you've got your hands full!" It wasn't five minutes before I heard it again and spun on my heels to see who was saying it this time. A package of newborn diapers and some baby wipes in my basket and its time for those trying words to leap from yet another person's mouth, "You've got your hands full."

It seemed strange to hear this phrase; I just had one child and didn't think that I was too overwhelmed by my situation but I continued to hear the phrase over and over again. You've got your hands full has become a phrase that has been the song of my life; its my intention to sing this song in words for you.

Ethan is my firstborn, an adorable little boy with a cowlick that swirls on the right side of his forehead. He would cry like a wolf at the fullest of moons whenever he was overstimulated, which was quick and often, the only way to console him was to place him in his pumpkin seat with a 2 pound buckwheat hull pillow on his tummy. His cries were so intense that a trip to the store meant earplugs for me and a baker's dozen you've got your hands full.

Once we discovered his sensitivity to stimulus we were able to work with nursery staff and others to keep him calm, but before long we were looking at crawling and walking and talking and his very first birthday. Oh the joys of that first cake and digging in with your bare hands scooping cake into your mouth like the finest of bulldozer buckets; not for this little guy.

No that first hand full of cake was me placing his hand in the cake and bringing it to his mouth only to have him scream and cry and throw his hand about wanting, hoping, praying that somehow he could shake free from this icky frosting torture to which I had thrust him.

Moments later frosting cleared from hand and fork taking up residence in its place he was thrilled to eat his birthday cake. After cake we arrived at present time and yet another interesting opportunity to engage his senses in a new and traumatizing way. The paper was too loud and crinkly and was everywhere and before we were two presents in he was out and thoroughly disturbed by the sensory input that was so outputting.

Until next time, I've got my hands full!