Ben's Circular Logic??

Me: Ben, where did you put the key?

Ben: I don't have they key.

Me: Ben, I need the key.

Ben: I don't have the key.

Me: Benjamin. I NEED that key. Where did you put it?

Ben: I don't have it.

Me: Of course you don't. Where is it?

Ben: What?

Me: Ben!

Ben: What?

Me: The key!!!

Ben: I don't have the key.

Me: Ben, go downstairs and get the key.

Ben leaves. Comes back.

Ben: I had to go pee.

Me: Where is the key?

Ben: Huh?

Me: Ben, I'm getting tired of this. What did you do with the key?

Ben: I didn't do anything with the key.

Me: Ben.

Ben: Wait... What?

Me: Ben.

Ben: I don't have the key.

Me: Ben.

Ben: I wasn't playing with the key.

Me: Ben.

Ben: It wasn't me.

Me: Ben.

Ben: Huh?

Me: The key. Now.

Ben: Uh...

Me: NOW.

Ben leaves. Comes back.

Me: The key?

Ben: Huh?

Me: I NEED THE KEY!

Ben: I don't have it.

Me: BENJAMIN GOTTLIEB!!!!

Ben: Oh, the key?

Me: The key.

Ben: The gold key?

Me: BEN!!!

Ben: Oh, that. It's on the sink.

Me: Will you PLEASE go get it and bring it to me?

Ben leaves. Comes back.

Ben: This key?

Holds up missing key.

Me: Thank you. Please don't take things that don't belong to you.

Ben: Huh?

Me: The key, Ben. You shouldn't take things that don't belong to you.

Ben: Oh. Um...I don't have the key.

Me: *sigh* Good night, Ben.

Ben: Night, Mom.

I turn to leave.

Ben: Mom?

Me: Yes, Ben?

Ben: If you don't need that key, can I have it?



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Retreating to the Bathroom

I opened the bathroom door. They heard the door. FOUR of the NINE raced to see who could reach me first.

"Mom! Mom!" they shouted as they ran. A sudden cacophany of questions flew at me.

"Mom, can I have an apple?" (Take ten if it will make you hush!)

"Mom, where's my other shoe?" (I have no idea. In the alternate reality you just returned from?)

"Mom, the dog needs to potty." (Sorry...the bathroom is taken....oh wait....she said the dog....)

"Mom, please can I let dog out potty?" (This last is from Mary, who has a pretty good command of the English language even though she's only been in the country for a year and a half.)

Andrew (our little Russian Stink Bomb--what he calls farts) isn't quite as adept with the English language as his sister. You could tell he really had nothing to say....just ran with the crowd so he wouldn't miss anything, I guess. LOL.

Anyway, in amongst all the questions that immediately flowed from their lips (to which I actually replied, "You have a father. He is capable of answering questions. Go ask him!), Andrew obviously realized he needed to have SOMETHING to say to justify his presence at the bathroom door. So he held up his Hot Wheels car and said, "Mom? Ambulance?"

"Yes, Andrew....an ambulance would be very nice right now. It could give me a ride."

I don't think he understood the irony.
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Choices

Choices.

We make them every day. What kind of cereal to eat for breakfast. What brand of toilet paper to buy.

Most choices are insignificant ones that really don't have that much impact on you. I mean...come on....what is going to happen if you buy 2% milk instead of skim or whole?

But some choices matter.

Some choices have an immediate and life-changing impact on you and those around you. And sometimes the right choice isn't clear.

First, we look at what logic dictates. "Well, that's crazy! I'd never do that!" may be heard from well-meaning friends and family. And they're right. I guess that's where the heart weighs in on those choices. Some of the choices we make ARE crazy. But sometimes those crazy choices are still RIGHT. I KNOW that.

It was crazy for us to leave our jobs and move to Illinois. It was crazy for us to adopt three kids at once. Then we were REALLY crazy for adopting three more. All of those crazy decisions have led us to where we are now: a fun, insane, aggravating, scary, awesome, and hopeful place.

Soon we will be acting on a decision that we have already made. I guarantee that there will be MANY people who think we are crazy for what we are doing. They might be right. However, at least it's OUR kind of crazy. We're moving to the country to raise chickens, goats, vegetables, and most of all children.

And now we are faced with yet another decision. Without going into specifics, I can say that this decision is a life-changing decision for us and others.

How do you make decisions like that?

How do you deal with the fact that the lives of others will be affected by your choice?

Do you make the choice that pleases others? Or do you make the choice that your heart screams for? And once that choice is made, how do you reconcile that in your daily existence?

For me, things get really complicated when one choice impacts another. It weighs heavily on my heart that a previous choice essentially limits the choices I have now.

What it boils down to is this: I don't regret the first decision. I think it was the right one. However, I'm human. I don't like the fact that I'm not exactly free to make my own decision now.

Honestly, I don't know what my decision would have been. I know what I WANT to do. But I really don't know what I would have CHOSEN. And I suppose I never will.

It just really hit home that for our family every decision after this point will be impacted by another decision that we made. Every. Single. One.

For someone who has experienced several years of having no control, that thought is very scary to me.

I am plagued with doubts and questions.

What if I mess up?

What if I let everyone down?

What if I let myself down?

What if I regret the decision that I made?

What if I regret giving away my right to actually make a choice?

I teach my kids that life is all about the choices we make. We ARE the sum total of our choices.

What would my choice say about the current situation? I don't know. I gave up the right to make this particular choice. And I'm sorry, but it sucks. (Like I said, I'm human.). I didn't foresee having the opportunity to make this particular choice. It hurts to not be free to make it. I'm not angry. I'm not bitter. I'm just aware of what could have been.

Don't get me wrong: I understand. But even though I understand, it still sucks. I'm not sure, but I don't think this is the choice I would make if it were truly my decision.

I'm sure I'll get over it with time. That's what I do. I accept what is thrown my way....usually with a smile. To be honest, I'm having a hard time finding the smile right now. However, as I tell my kids, "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit!" I'm trying very hard to follow my own advice.

Regret is an unwelcome bedfellow. I don't want to live with more. I have far too much of it taking up space in my brain as I try to sleep at night as it is.

Unfortunately, I see many more sleepless nights in my near future. Logic dictates one thing. My heart cries for another. How do I choose?

The stinging reality is that in this instance, I don't. Maybe that's a blessing in disguise.

Maybe.

Either way, I'll get what I get, and I won't throw a fit. Although I may need to retreat into the shadows to lick my wounds a while. Thanks for being patient with me as I wait for the wounds to heal.

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Why You Should NEVER Buy a Brown Toilet Seat

Okay ladies....I'm sure all of you with boys (or maybe even husbands) at home know how disgusting it is to sit on a toilet seat that has been...um.....shall we say christened.

I've always thought that there is nothing quite so icky (yes, I said icky) as sitting down and feeling the wetness. Ugh. It's just nasty. That's why we teach our boys to lift the seat. That's why we encourage them to aim true.

With five members of the male persuasion in my home, I've learned to check the seat for those tell-tale little droplets. It's second nature. I see them. I clean them. My behind sits on a dry seat.

Well, today, I went into the bathroom to powder my nose. (Work with me people. This is a public blog. Let's just say that's what I was doing.)

I looked down at my pretty wooden toilet seat. The white ones always look so plain. My behind prefers to sit on oak, thank you very much. I checked for droplets, saw none, and happily sat down.

There was an unmistakable squishy feeling as my nether regions came into contact with the oak seat.

Acting on instinct, I jumped up very quickly, turned, and looked at the seat. I didn't see anything. I thought maybe it was my imagination. So I did the only reasonable thing I could do. I sat down again.

Yes. Again.

And it squished. Again.

This time, I stood up, leaned down to get a better look, and that is when the smell hit me.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the brown oak seat was not quite uniform in appearance. There seemed to be a slight discoloration at the back of the seat. Frightened of what I would discover, I got some toilet paper and wiped it across the spot.

It came off. Well, some of it came off. Quite a bit was still firmly attached to the seat. Except now, it was smeared across the back.

Fighting the urge to gag, I tossed the toilet paper into the toilet.

Then it dawned on me. I sat in that. Twice.

I have never in my life reached for a washcloth, lathered it up, and scrubbed any part of my body so quickly or so thoroughly in my life.

The moral of the story?

NEVER buy a brown toilet seat.

The Fluochian Maneuver

I'm a big fan of the placebo effect.

For example, Kim used to have horrible nightmares. She would cry and scream and just be absolutely terrified. She started fighting sleep because she was afraid of what she would dream.

One night, in sheer desperation around 3:00 AM, I grabbed a bottle of Tums near my dresser, got one out, and gave it to her. I told her I had found some new "Nightmare Pills" and that they would help her sleep without nightmares. (Yes, I lied. Sort of. Calcium actually does help you sleep more soundly. Tums has calcium in them. It's a stretch, but it was enough to sooth my guilt.)

She took the "Nightmare Pill" gratefully, chewed it up, and went to sleep, thoroughly believing in the power of the new medicine. When it became clear that this was helpful, I spoke to the doctor about it to make sure it was safe (It was!) and I bought a gigantic bottle of Tums at Sam's Club. We used this method for several years before I bought a bottle that had new flavors that she didn't like. She weaned herself off of them because of the yucky flavor.

I've come up with several "cures" like this throughout the years. One of the most useful ones was "Splinter-Proof Lotion." CJ, who has Sensory Integration Disorder, will often feel like he has splinters in his hands. He would often become obsessed with trying to dig a non-existent splinter out of his hand while sitting in school. This also would happen to him at night when we were all trying to go to sleep. I lost count of how many times he woke me up to ask me to get a splinter out of his hand. I never could see any.

I finally decided his hands were just too dry. However, I knew CJ would never believe that, so I got some lotion (a new kind he hadn't used before) and told him I found "Splinter-Proof Lotion" for him. I helped to rub it on his hands (because Mommies give out medicine, you know.....) and sent him to bed. It worked like a charm! We finally got some sleep!

When I attended his next IEP meeting at school and discovered that the "splinters" were still bothering him at school, I bought some super extra heavy duty "Splinter Proof Lotion" and gave it to his resource teacher to keep in her room. We explained to CJ that this new lotion was good for an entire week. He would go to her room on Monday morning, get a "dose" of the lotion, and he was pretty much splinter-free until the following Monday morning.

This brings me back to our current placebo cure: The Fluochian Maneuver!

You know how sometimes kids tend to eat a little bit too much and then will complain that their tummy aches a bit? Well, several of our kids do this at every meal. They seem to do this even when they don't eat too much. It's a weird phenomenon. Last week, Zach ate a bit too much. Then followed it up with dessert.

He had heard about his buddy, Brandon, performing the Heimlich Maneuver on his brother when he was choking on a piece of candy. Zach decided this would help him. He asked me to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on him. I explained to him that the Heimlich Maneuver was for when someone was choking...not for when they were a bit of a gluttonous pig. He sighed and said that he wished there was some sort of maneuver for that.

Almost instantly, I said, "Oh, you mean the Fluochian Maneuver!"

Mike looked at me from the other end of the table. He had that look on his face, with one eyebrow slightly raised, that said, "What the heck is she doing now??"

Zach said, "Yeah. Do you know that one?"

Ha! Do I know that one? "You bet I do," was my response.

I motioned for him to come stand next to my chair. He did. I turned him around and wrapped my arms around his stomach. I decided it needed to seem official, so I started poking around a bit on his stomach and explained to him that I had to find his fluochian before I did the maneuver. I located the bottom of his right ribcage, went down about two inches from there, and gave a little smoosh. Not too hard. After all, I didn't want to rupture his fluochian. I made sure it was hard enough so that he could feel it, though.

He turned around, looked at me with amazement, and said, "Wow. That worked."

Wow is right.

Suddenly, Gabby needed a Fluochian Maneuver performed. So did Ben. And Kim.

By the end of the meal, the Fluchian Maneuver was well-known by everyone. I reminded the children that only people trained in the Fluochian Maneuver could perform it safely. Otherwise, they could rupture their fluochian. Zach said, "Would you have to get a donor one, then?"

I said, "Well, either that or get hooked up to a fluochinalysis machine for the rest of your life." I could tell from his expression that he did not want to do that.

Dinner ended. Everyone's fluochians had survived without being ruptured. Mike and I just looked at each other from across the table and chuckled. This part of parenting is kinda fun. Hey...we have to get our laughs where we can....

Jump ahead to dinner at the Chinese restaurant the other day. With friends.

This time it was Ben who ate too much. He got up from the table where he was, came over to ours (Yes...our family is too large to sit at one table.) and said, "Mom...I need the Fluochian Maneuver." (Can I say how impressed I am that he actually remembered the made-up nonsensical word?)

My friend, Lisa, glanced at me with a confused look. I can only imagine that she was thinking something like, "What the heck is a Fluochian Maneuver?!"

I decided that the easiest thing to do would be to demonstrate on Ben and explain later. So, in the middle of the Chinese restaurant, I fluochianated him.

"Thanks Mom!" He happily went back to his seat.

After a quick, quiet explanation to Lisa, Zach needed to be fluochianated too. Then, believe it or not, Lisa's kids asked to be fluochianated. I performed about five or six Fluochian Maneuvers that day in the Chinese restaurant. (It's okay. They like us there.)

Part of me thinks it probably would have been a better idea to just tell my kids to stop eating so much, but that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun. And what would that blog have looked like?

"My kids ate too much. I told them to stop." Yeah...not so funny, is it? With my life, sometimes I have to create the laughs.

Fluochian Maneuver, anyone?

Coming Out of the Pit

My first husband was abusive.

After we split, life became very difficult. He stalked me. He would somehow get into my house when I was gone and steal pictures of our son off of my walls. Sometimes, I would be sitting at the dinner table with my son, and he would call and say, "How is that spaghetti you're eating?" It was really scary....especially since my blinds were CLOSED. He would say, "That's a nice pink shirt you have on....is that new?"

It was horrible. And so very frightening. I also worried about my son, and I feared that somehow he would take him from me.

For years, when he would call on the phone, I would hear his voice and my hands would turn ice cold. I would shake all over. Sometimes, I would curl up into a fetal position and just sob.

But God is good.

One day when he called me, I started falling into the same pattern of fear and oppression. Then, it was like God just gave me a boldness that was truly from Him. I spoke with power and conviction....no fear....and said, "I am no longer under bondage to you. God has set me free from that prison, and I come against you in the name of Jesus."

For the first time since I'd known him, he was speechless. God took the wind right out of his sails.

It took me FIVE YEARS to climb out of the pit enough to be able to be that bold....that SURE of the grace of God....to say those things to him.

There were times that he tried to intimidate me after that, but MY reactions were never what they had been before. God had set me free from that overwhelming sense of fear and oppression.

Today, I am married to a wonderful man. I have six more children (adopted) and although life is hard sometimes, I am so utterly blessed.

That doesn't mean I never feel fear.

That doesn't mean I don't ever get stressed or depressed.

It DOES mean that I have come out of THAT pit I once was in. I sometimes start to slide into another pit, but God has been faithful to send people my way when I need a helping hand to climb out.

The ironic thing is that quite often, we are the ones who are digging these pits.

We MUST stop digging these pits for ourselves. It only adds insult to injury to realize that WE are the ones responsible for digging these terrible dank, dark pits that we find ourselves in. Our decisions--our choices--are ultimately what bring us to the brink of the pit.

After all, the view is amazing from the edge, isn't it? Who can resist peering into the depths below? However, just like curiosity killed that unfortunate cat, all it takes is one slip--one misstep--and over the edge we go. As we are sliding down the slope, we realize too late that we got too close to the edge.

Stuck in the mire and muck, with the top so far away, we ask ourselves, "Why did I get so close? Why did I tempt fate? Why did I stray from the path that I knew was safe?"

It's simple. We did it because we are human.

We are fallible. We make mistakes. Big ones. Sometimes, the mistakes seem so HUGE that we can't see a possible way out. However, as I heard so many times growing up, God can make a way out of no way.

And you know what? He created us, so He knows how screwed up we are! It's a good thing He loves us enough to stand at the edge of that pit and reach down for us.

That's one of the wonderful things about God: We can't slip so far into that pit that He can't reach us anymore. We might not be able to see the top. We might not be able to climb that slippery slope. But God...our All-Knowing, All-Powerful Father...the King of Kings...the I Am...the Light in the darkness...His reach is infinite. He knows no bounds.

When we can't reach the top, He CAN reach the bottom. I believe that one day YOU will be able to look back at this time in your life and declare that you have climbed--or been lifted--out of this pit.

You will be able to testify to someone else to give them encouragement.

You will be able to boost them during their climb.

Hang in there. Trust in God. He is there....even when you doubt it. His presence will become evident with time. Not our time, but His.

More than once, I thought about suicide because I thought it was the only way to be free from the the pit I was in. However, I couldn't leave my son with my ex-husband as his only parent. I am so thankful that I didn't give up.

To come from that dark, forboding place to where I am now.... Well, it's like going from the longest, darkest, and coldest winter night to a beautiful, sunshine-filled warm spring day with blooming flowers and singing birds.

Remember that sorrow may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning. You may be in the middle of your night right now....but morning will come. The sun will shine.

And along with that sun, joy will arrive also.

As odd as it sounds, I think I am writing this to myself as much as I am writing it to you. I have been feeling down lately....and a bit sorry for myself. I needed a reminder of where I came from so that I can open my eyes to see the blessings around me.

Wishing you all comforting peace.

You are not alone.

I'm Here Because She Got Drunk

As I have mentioned previously, dinner conversation at our house is interesting, to say the least. Tonight's conversation was no exception.

Kim: A mom had octuplets today.

CJ: What's that?

Kim: Eight babies.

Zach: All at once?!

Gabby: Wow! They must've done it a long time! Like eight hours!

At this point, I heard a little alarm going off in my head telling me to take control of the conversation. Unfortunately, my mouth was full of food, and before I could swallow.....

Ben: Did what for eight hours?

CJ: Sex.

Gabby: Yuck!

Zach: Well, that is where babies come from.

CJ: Not me.

By this time, I had swallowed my food, so I tried to step in. Mike's alarm system was apparently not functioning at all.

Me: Well, yes, CJ....even you. All of you are here because your birth parents had sex.

CJ: Nope, not me. I'm here because she got drunk!

It's a Colorful Life

As a white woman who is a mother of one bio white kid and six adopted black kids, the topic of skin color is no stranger to me. My hubby and I learned several years ago that tip-toeing through these discussions wasn't going to cut it.

It hit home for me when Kim (then 4, now almost 10) was shopping with me one day. We were walking through the toy aisle looking at dolls. She looked at two dolls and commented that "this doll matches me, but that doll matches you." Then, in her very honest 4 year old way, she said, "Mommy, we don't match."

What could I say?

"No, honey....we don't."

She said, "Well, we should match. Maybe we can buy something that will make us match."

Intriqued by her thought process, I asked, "Like what?"

She responded, "Brown paint. We can paint you."

I said, "Hmm.....that's an idea."

Kim, who was a very bright 4 year old, said, "Of course, the paint might crack, and then it would look ugly."

I said, "Yeah, that wouldn't be very good."

"Then what are we gonna do?" asked Kim. "We don't match!"

I gave it a moment of thought, then I said, "Well, honey....why do we have to match? Why can't I be the color God made me, and you be the color God made you?"

Kim took all of this in and then sighed very loudly and said, "Okay....but we're never going to match this way."

The following year, we were doll-shopping yet again. She wanted a water baby....one of those dolls that you fill up with water so they jiggle. Everywhere we went, we found WHITE water babies. I felt very strongly that she should have a BLACK water baby. Because, after all, her baby doll should match her. Right?

After the fourth store we went to, I was ready to give up. I looked at her and said, "I'm sorry, Sweetie. I'll look online and see if we can find you one that way."

She picked up a white, blonde haired, blue-eyed doll and said, "Why can't I just get this one?"

Honestly, I was taken aback. I thought, What kind of mother would I be? What would other people think if I buy her a white baby doll?

I said, "Kimi....honey.....don't you want to wait and get a black baby?"

In her matter-of-fact way that always brings things very clearly into perspective for me, Kimi said, "Why can't I have the little white baby? I have a white Mommy. You're white, and you have me. I'm black. I thought it's okay if we don't match?"

Point taken. I bought her the white baby doll.

When our first sibling group of three kids came to live with us in 2003, I knew NOTHING about African American hair care. However, I knew that I didn't want people to look at my kids and KNOW that they had a white Mom.

So I began to educate myself.

I found a book on Amazon called "It's All Good Hair" that was a life saver for me! I am very proud to say that now I know how to braid, do twists, put in extensions, and even how to perm (straighten) hair.

However, when our other three kids (sibling group #2) moved in very unexpectedly with only about 5 hours notice, I started to really struggle with the time factor. Kim, forever my fashion forward child, decided she wanted to lock her hair.....so I researched it, and we did it. It took a year for her hair to lock, but it is beautiful and healthy....and now my other two girls and one of my sons have decided they want their hair locked, as well.

I must admit, I take a lot of pride when someone comes up to me and asks me who does my girls' hair.... I love saying, "I do their hair."

I'm a southern girl with a DEEP twang in my voice.....a combination of growing up in West Virginia and living for many years as an adult in South Carolina. That twang will never go away. It's part of me. I grew up in a predominately white area....there was only one African American student in my entire graduating class. Although I did not realize it at the time, there was a lot of racism all around me. My parents sheltered me and my brothers and sisters from that.

However, racism does exist. And just as my parents couldn't shelter us forever, neither can I shelter my children forever. I know that. Which is why we do have a LOT of discussions about race in our house. I have learned, however, that refusing to admit that there are differences is just as bad as refusing to admit that there are many similarities.

I can't care for my girls' hair the same way I care for mine. It would damage their beautiful hair. My adopted children need more lotion for their skin than my biological son needed. To ignore these differences in hair and skin care would be neglectful. I must acknowledge the differences in order to be a good mom.

But I'm okay with that.

I have seven children, and they are ALL unique. I never fully appreciated the subtle variations of skin color and tone until I became aware of how beautiful Kim looks in bright turquoise and how beautiful Rhiana looks in moss green. It sounds a little ridiculous and cliche....but really....the differences create the beauty.

The world would be very boring if we were all the same.

The quilt on my bed would be very plain if it were all one color.

I am thankful for the beautiful colors that surround me.

Kim is our gifted child

The other night, while we were having dinner, Kim told us that she had gotten stung by a bee earlier at school. This started a big discussion on who had been stung where by what.

Of course, MY terrible bee sting story involved a wasp (I know...that's not a bee) that flew up my shirt and stung me 5 or 6 times before I got it out of my shirt.

As I told the kids this story, they all sat with alternating looks of fascination and horror. Except Kim...she just stuck with horror. Finally, when she was able to speak, she asked the question that was weighing heavily on her mind.....

"Mommy...you got stung 5 or 6 times?"

"Yes," I replied.

With a very serious expression on her face, she said, "That's awful! Did you die?"

Hmmmm...........

When I Grow Up, I'm Gonna Have a Uterus!

As some of you know, the NBC Nightly News crew came to our house yesterday. They were doing a story on Generations of Hope that focused on the relationship between our family and one of the "grandparents" in the neighborhood.

They decided that they wanted to get a "Norman Rockwell" shot of our huge family sitting around the dinner table. After the prayer and our "Best Part of the Day" routine, they decided they had enough film, so they turned off the cameras and left.

Finally.

Good thing.

Right afterwards, the conversation took an...ummmm.....interesting turn....

I'm not sure how the conversation started. Maybe we were discussing the birth of my new niece, Abigail. Whatever started it, the conversation ended up being about babies.

I believe that if kids are old enough to ask questions, they are old enough to get honest answers. We always try to answer their questions honestly, without embarrassment, and using proper terms.

I'm glad the cameras were no longer rolling to hear me discussing sperm, eggs, fallopian tubes and the uterus over our meatball stroganoff. I don't think that is what they had in mind when they said they needed a "Norman Rockwell" moment.

However, I must admit that I *almost* wish the cameras were still rolling to get Gabby's next statement on film for posterity....

With a determined look full of wonder and excitement, she exclaimed, "When I grow up, I'm gonna have a uterus!"

Things I Learned Today

Taking "stay awake" meds too late in the day makes it very hard to fall asleep at night. (Don't worry...they're MINE...prescribed by a doc for the Chronic Human Parvovirus B19.)

Lying awake until 4:00 am makes it VERY hard to drag yourself out of bed the next morning at 7:00.

Completely forgetting to take "stay awake" meds after being awake until 4:00 am enables you to fall asleep just about anywhere and anytime.

Sleeping on newly pierced ears is a bit uncomfortable.

If you wait until you are 38 years old to get your ears pierced, you wonder why you wanted so long.

Conquering your fear of getting your ears pierced at the age of 38 makes you feel brave.

It might be better to feel cautious instead of brave when you decide to go for a new haircut.

Showing the hair stylist a picture of the cut AND color you want does not necessarily make it fool-proof.

When you show the hair stylist a picture of the cut and color you want, you should make sure that she is looking at the CORRECT picture on the page.

When your vision is as bad as mine, you don't notice that you're getting the wrong color and cut until you put your glasses back .. the color and cut are finished.

It is VERY hard to NOT show surprise when you are expecting a brown bob with blonde highlights and instead you get a dark auburn shag with dark brown AND blonde highlights.

I am far too polite in circumstances like above.

When the manager is your hair stylist, there isn't really anyone left to listen to your complaint.

Tomorrow is another day...and hopefully another hair stylist will be on duty when I return to the salon to have my hair color corrected.

When you spent three hours in the chair at the salon, forget to take your stay awake meds, forget to eat, AND get the wrong color and cut, the bed looks very inviting when you see it.

Lying down for "just a few minutes" tends to stretch into several hours.

Sleeping while Mike is at work and six kids are at home is NOT a particularly smart thing to do.

Ben thinks maxipads are big band-aids.

When Ben is sent to his room for stealing his sister's pads, he pees in his old Easter bucket. (To be fair, I DID tell him not to come out of his room. It's just my luck that THAT is the direction he chose to obey.)

Pee in an Easter bucket doesn't really affect me that much anymore.

The fact that pee in an Easter bucket doesn't really affect me anymore is a bit scary.

Even THAT is not as scary as my current shade of hair color!

Good night everybody......

RAD Parenting Gone to the Dogs

We recently got a new dog. Bailey is a six month old Labrador Retriever/Rhodesian Ridgeback mix that we were fortunate enough to find at the Champaign County Humane Society. One look at those amber eyes and we were hooked.

Bailey has been a wonderful source of uninhibited energy and joy. She's a great dog. She's not Sophie....but she's not supposed to be. As a matter of fact, I think I would be hard pressed to find two dogs that were more different.

When we took her to the vet for a check up, the vet told us that although she already weighs 38 pounds, she probably has another 40 or 50 to go before she reaches her full size. That's quite a bit larger than Sophie. She was ten pounds soaking wet.

I decided that some really good training was in order. I borrowed a copy of Be the Pack Leader by Cesar Millan and started reading up on how to get control of your dog. Here are some of the very important lessons I have learned so far:

You have to be in charge. The dog can't be the pack leader. YOU have to be the Alpha.
If the dog senses weakness, it may try to take over. It's not good to be sick or tired when your dog wants to be the pack leader.

You need to maintain YOUR personal territory. If the dog is having an attitude problem, you should not let the dog sleep in your bedroom. (I made this mistake once a long time ago. I woke up with that dog standing over me growling....)

It isn't good to play tug-of-war with a dog who wants to be the Alpha. If the dog wins, you are in trouble! The dog will see you as the weaker animal and will start to fight harder for control. Once the dog knows it is stronger than you, it probably won't back down easily.

Always walk in front of your dog. It's YOUR job to lead the way. The dog is supposed to be subordinate and follow your lead. The dog can walk beside you as long as you are still deciding which direction you are heading. If you slip up and let the dog lead the way, you'll have a hard time getting the dog to follow you again.

Rewarding positive behavior is more important than punishing negative behavior. Dogs are strange creatures. Negative attention is a reward to them. The best thing to do is to ignore the behavior as long as there is no safety risk. (Easier said than done....)

When a dog wants to claim personal territory, it usually pees all over the place. For some reason, even really smart dogs can have problems in this area. Peeing on things is their way of saying, "This is MINE." You basically just have to hope that if you have TWO dogs, they don't get into a peeing competition to see who can spread their scent the farthest.

If you don't supervise your dog at all times, it may destroy lots of stuff. Shoes, remote controls, couch cushions....pretty much anything within reach. You really have to work hard to keep the dog from destroying things that are important to you.

A dog needs to have respect for you. If the dog doesn't respect you, it will NOT obey you. And no one wants a disobedient, wild, uncontrollable dog around for very long. They might look cute, but cuteness wears off after a while.

Now, if you want to know how to parent a RAD kid, simply go back and read these directions again, replacing the word "dog" with "child."

For years, I searched for a good parenting manual for kids with Reactive Attachment Disorder. Little did I know it was available at Petsmart the entire time.....

Brown Goo

This morning when I woke up Ben, I was surprised and disgusted....well maybe not so surprised, but definitely disgusted....to see brown goo smeared all over the bed sheets and pillow. Ugh. I was thankful for my stuffy nose as I roused him from sleep.

When he rolled over yawning, I was even more disgusted to see the brown goo smeared on his face...and concentrated around his mouth. Oh....surely not! I know he eats some weird things, but come on! Surely not..... Even Ben isn't that "hungry" is he?

Giving him a shake, being careful not to touch the brown goo, I said, "Ben! Ben! Wake up! You need to take a bath and get that stuff off of you!" Groggily, he opened his eyes and looked around at the bed. Suddenly, his eyes flew open and he said something like, "Aaaahyiya!"
He scrunched up in a ball as far away from the brown goo as possible and said, "Mom! What is that?"

I said, "What do you mean? You should know! You're the one who put it there!"

He said, "No, I didn't!"

I thought this was a little weird, considering the fact that it was smeared all over his face. I said, "Benjamin Gottlieb! You get up right now and get this mess cleaned up!"

Ben carefully maneuvered himself around the brown goo and climbed down off the bed. As he stood up, I noticed something sticking to the butt region of his pajamas. I reached over and peeled it off.

A chocolate doughnut wrapper. The remnants of his secret midnight snack.

Thank God.

Ben's Latest Referral

Ben got another referral.

Surprised? I didn't think so. However, the reason for the referral *might* surprise you. It says: "During reading group, Ben told another student, who is white, 'I don't like white people.'"
When Mike and I read this, I looked at Ben and said, "What about us?" Ben's very thought out answer was, "Huh?"

Mike said, "Well, Ben...you said that you don't like white people. But what about us? Mom and I are white."

Ben said, "I forgot about you."

I said, "You forgot about us? You forgot you had parents?"

"No!" he said, as though this was the silliest thing I could have ever said. "I just forgot what color you were!"

Oh. That explains it.

Skipping School

This morning, Josh seemed a little tired, but otherwise okay as he got ready for school. When it was time for him to leave, Mike and I were upstairs, so he went out the door and yelled back, "Bye Mom! Bye Dad!"

Deep down inside, I knew that was a little weird. Usually, he just sort of grumbles as *I* tell him goodbye. But not today! Today, he was very chipper as he went out the door for school.
A little too chipper, it turns out.

Around 2:30 this afternoon, I decided that I needed to vacuum the living room. I went down into Josh's bedroom (in the basement) to get the vacuum cleaner. Imagine my surprise when I walked down into the basement, turned on the light, and found Josh sitting there on his bed.

I looked at him.

He froze.

It sort of reminded me of when a deer gets caught in your headlights and just doesn't move. Did he think if he sat very, very still, I wouldn't notice that he was sitting on his bed in the middle of the day?!?

I was very proud of myself for remaining calm. Our conversation went sort of like this:

Josh, what are you doing home from school?

Uh...I didn't go to school.

What do you mean you didn't go to school? You left this morning.

Uh...I went out the door, then came around and came in the basement door.

Why?

I don't know.

Don't tell me you don't know! WHY ARE YOU HERE?

I just wanted to see what it was like.

See what WHAT was like?

This.

Sitting in your room?

Well....yeah....when I'm supposed to be in school.

It feels just like it does when you stay home any other time!

Not really....

What do you mean, not really?

Well....when you know I'm home, I can talk, have a light on, come to get something to eat, and go to the bathroom. It was kinda boring.

Well, Josh...you didn't think this one out too well, did you?

No...it was kinda spur of the moment. And the adrenaline rush only lasted about five minutes.

Anybody wanna tell me when they grow out of this craziness???

I guess hiding in your bedroom while you're skipping school is a lot better than being out somewhere getting into trouble. Of course, he will be in trouble at school tomorrow when they hear the message I left telling them exactly where Josh was today. LOL. Natural consequences....gotta love 'em.

I have such weird kids.

The Prodigal Purse Has Returned

The Prodigal Purse has returned.

Although the purse was definitely NOT under my bed earlier....somehow it mysteriously appeared under there a little bit ago. Ben also had the sudden inspiration to look under the bed *again* to see if he missed it earlier.

Unfortunately, the purse has returned too late for us to make it to the movies....and too late for a McDonald's lunch....but at least it made it in time for Ben to be able to go to his friend's birthday party this afternoon.

That darn purse. What was it thinking?

I sure am lucky to have a little boy like Ben to find it for me. What do other mothers do without a Ben to find their Prodigal Purses?

I can't even imagine......

Here Pursey, Pursey....

My purse has disappeared.

It was here yesterday. I gave all of the kiddos their allowance while sitting on my bed. My purse was HERE.

Right after that, Mike took four kids to the camper. They cannot be the guilty parties.

Josh was in his bedroom, didn't even get allowance because he hasn't done any chores, and he wouldn't have taken it anyway. Josh is not the culprit.

Rhiana got her money. Granted, she asked for more money because she was going to Chicago today, but when she was given an opportunity to earn more money, she decided not to take it. Although a few years ago, I would have automatically thought it was her, thankfully, we are beyond that. She is not the culprit.

Maybe Sophie? Hmmm....although she does have an extraordinary sense of fashion for a dog, since the purse is heavier than she is, I'm thinking not....

Baxter? Nah. The only thing he would want to do with the purse is use it for a scratching post.
Paulie? Well, considering he's stuck in his birdcage, it makes it highly unlikely that he would have absconded with it....even if he *could* lift it.

Who does that leave? Let me think.... Thinking.... Thinking....

Well, really, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who is left, does it? Anybody want to say it with me? Benjamin!!!!!!

I refuse to obsess about it at this point. Hopefully, it is somewhere in the house.

So how am I handling this?

Well, I called a friend of mine (with Ben in earshot) and told her what a shame it was that my purse is missing. I pointed out to her how sad it was that without that purse, our plans for the day have to change.

Without the money in that purse, I will not be able to take Ben to the movies today. Awww.....such a shame.

Without the money in that purse, I will not be able to go to the store to buy a birthday present for Ben's friend today. I'll have to call the little boy's mom to let her know why Ben won't be able to be at the birthday party this afternoon. So sad.

Without the money in that purse, lunch at McDonald's is definitely out. Bummer. And I was really looking forward to lunch out with Ben. *sigh*

Man....what a bummer.

You know what we *can* do without a purse?

We can clean the house. We can do laundry. We can sweep, and vacuum, and scrub the toilets.

We can go through Ben's clothes to pull out the ones that are too small now. We can pack up the winter clothes and unpack the summer clothes.

We can make tuna for lunch. I *love* tuna. I don't think Ben is real fond of it though.

Hmmm.....I wonder where that purse could have gotten to? Maybe it's a magical purse and it walked away on it's own? You think?

We shall see how long it takes for the purse to magically appear again. In the meantime, I will enjoy my time here with my wonderful little boy. I would much rather spend the day here at home with Ben anyway.

With the price of gas these days, maybe I have just discovered a new way of saving some money....

Seven Year Old Boys

When seven year old boys don't get boiled eggs when they want them, they get very angry.

When seven year old boys are angry, they take it out on the eggs.

Eggs make a huge mess when seven year old boys smash them onto the metal shelving of a refrigerator.

When eggs are smashed onto the metal shelving of a refrigerator by a seven year old boy, they fall through and make a mess on the bottom of the refrigerator.

If you don't discover these smashed eggs until after the seven year old boy has left for school, they start to get really nasty.

Seven year old boys get suspended from school when they get into fights before school has started.

When seven year old boys get suspended, they get to clean semi-dried egg goop from the bottom of the refrigerator.

Seven year old boys that enjoy smashing eggs do NOT like to clean up semi-dried egg goop.

Seven year old boys who throw temper tantrums because they have to clean semi-dried egg goop are sent to their rooms for naps.

Seven year old boys do not like being sent to their rooms for naps.

Some very unique seven year old boys show their displeasure at being told to take naps by pooping in the cat box.

When seven year old boys poop in a cat box, it stinks badly.

If the seven year old boy poop stinks badly enough, the ten year old family cat will bury the poop.

Although seven year old boys may get some weird satisfaction from pooping in the cat box, they do NOT like scooping the poop.

Mothers of seven year old boys who smash eggs, get suspended for fighting, and poop in cat boxes get gray hair, need naps, and frequently question their own sanity.

Pee Wee Lemonade

Tonight, the boys decided to camp out in Zach's room. I went to tuck them in and they told me that I had to see the new game they created. I stood back and watched as Ben got up and left the room. He started counting.

I thought they were playing some sort of hide and seek. Zach and CJ both dived onto the bed and pulled covers over their heads. When Ben counted to 20, he ran into the room and jumped on the bed and started pulling at the covers yelling, "Who can I find???? Pee Wee Lemonade!!!"

He found Zach. Zach laughed and said that he was "it" now.

I asked, "So are you Pee Wee Lemonade?" He said, "No. That's Ben. I'm Poo Poo Fruit Punch!" CJ said, "And I'm Watermelon Juice!"

Since it was Zach's turn, he left the room and counted to 20 while Ben and CJ hid under the covers on the bed.

I said, "Isn't he going to know you're there?"

They said, "Yeah....he's supposed to!" I was NOT understanding this game.

Zach came running into the room, jumped on the bed, yelling, "Who can I find? Pee Wee Lemonade!!"

Confused, I said, "I thought you were Poo Poo Fruit Punch?" He said, "Yeah...I am."

He found CJ and yelled, "I found you!!! You're it!!"

So, then CJ ran into the hallway, counted to 20, and ran into the room to find Ben or Zach, yelling, "Who can I find? Pee Wee Lemonade!!!"

He found Zach.

Suddenly, the game was over. Ben was yelling, "I won!! I won!!"

I stood there confused. I finally said, "I don't understand. How did Ben win?"

CJ said, "Oh Mom....we know how to play. We made it up!"

Okay....I give up. At least they can keep themselves occupied.....

Benjamin's Referral

Ben got a referral today. This is nothing unusual. As a matter of fact, he's had a referral every school day for the past 7 or 8 days now. But this referral....well, it was something special. It said:

"Ben told another student he was going to pinch her nipples. When another student asked him what those are, he told him they were 'titties'."

His vocabulary seems to be growing by leaps and bounds. Quite advanced, wouldn't you say?

He's even defining difficult words for other children. I think they should give him a special award for being the vocabulary helper.

I am such a proud, proud mommy.

I know you're jealous. Eat your heart out. He's all mine....