surprise!!!

I know it's a little unconventional to announce something like this online, but since we're living in the electronic/information age, I thought it would be fun. Also a good way to see who is really reading my blog...


So I guess I should have noticed the signs this past couple of weeks. I've been eating salad peppers and salty things all day long. And I'm starving all the time. I've also been very grouchy and tired...


Do you see where this is going?


So I was at the grocery store yesterday and decided to buy a test just to know that I wasn't "in the family way" again. But guess what...








I wasn't.






EARLY APRIL FOOLS!!!!!
I got the idea from Mega Mom

Ha ha. If my husband faints before he gets to the punch line...all the better.

and on that farm he had a horse

I've been trying to keep the boys busy for Spring Break and we've had a lot of fun. Even though it's a lot of trouble just to get them out of the house, it's usually worth it. A friend of mine from my bunco group invited us out to look at her horses and the boys loved it. Clayton dressed up like a cowboy (unlike his usual routine of Power Ranger or dragon) and really played the part.



This horse really liked Cole...



But Cooper's favorite part of the outing was the dog. I even caught them licking each other. Ewwww.



If only we could live on a farm! With all these sons it seems a waste to be living the "city life"......

reality check

It's only March, but in the area I live in, it's already time to sign kids up for pre-school in the fall. There are so many children here that things fill up quickly and people get very competitive.

My three year-old is not in school right now because we got here so late last year that the pickings were slim and the one I put him in ended up being a bad experience for him. So I pulled him out and have been agonizing for the last few months about where to put him this year. There's one pre-school right up the road that everyone wants to get their kids in. I stood in a line just to get a chance to register and they required everything but my blood-type on the application. Then I had to wait six weeks while they sorted through all the apps with their special little priority list to decide who got in. We actually got picked and they sent yet another packet to be filled out.

I have been putting it off all week and finally sat down to do it today. I almost got a migraine. It felt like doing taxes! There were forms for auto-debit for the tuition, waiver forms for if the media wants to take pictures of him in his class...you name it. And all of a sudden, as I sat there filled with anxiety, hoping I was giving the right answers and signing in all the right places, I realized: this is PRE-SCHOOL. PRE. SCHOOL. What the heck am I doing? Trying to keep up with the Joneses?

I made a couple calls and found a different pre-school, also close to home, that has an opening still. I drove over, picked up the one-page application, came home and called the high-demand pre-school to say, thanks, but no thanks.

I was soooo relieved. It's so easy to worry about giving him the best start possible, and easy to lose track of what's really important. He already has every advantage: he lives in the most prosperous country in the world, in one of the most beautiful states in the country, he has a mother, father and brothers who love him, he's smart, healthy, and so cute. He's got it made.

I'm still resisting the urge to sign him up for all the sports activities everyone else is doing around here. My husband reminds me that we never did organized sports until we were at least eight. I am no soccer mom. When they get old enough to ask to sign up, we'll consider it then, but for now, we'll be the "under-achievers" of the neighborhood, and proud of it.

picture of my youth

Since today is my birthday, it's all about me. So here is my addition to Crazy MomCat's call for a "picture of my youth"...

Here I was at three and a half years-old. According to the extensive baby book my mom kept, I was described as: a "real character", sweet, and hard-headed. My crooked bangs in the above photo were evidence of the hard-headedness. My mom cut my hair herself and I would not cooperate. Things I liked were: cats, the outdoors, swinging, bike riding, the hula hoop, climbing trees, dresses, and keeping my hair neat. Could I have been any more ordinary?

I was in pre-school and I remember I had a boyfriend named Jerry. He would actually participate in mock weddings with me at his house after school. He gave me a kite.

My little brother was brand-new and I remember people were always asking me about him but I didn't really care. Only as he grew older and began tormenting me did he factor into my consciousness.

I was a happy child but had a temper. I guess not much changes in 30 years!

happy birthday to me

As of this morning at 10:28 am, I have lived 12,045 days upon this earth.

I was born in Kentucky to a homemaker and former journalist, and an Army Major and Vietnam veteran helicopter pilot. I had a big sister, three years older and I was to become a big sister myself, three years later, to a brother. I'm a middle child and I have always lived up to the expectations people have for middle children.

I was also a twin. Early in the pregnancy, my mother had a miscarriage. But the next day they ran some tests and said she was still pregnant. When I was born there were two umbilical cords. I sometimes wonder who shared the womb with me for such a brief time. Was it a brother or a sister? Why did they not continue to develop as I did? What would life had been like as a twin? It's one of those mysteries and losses that I'm sure will be explained someday.

So I am thankful for the 33 years I've been given and I hope to live 70 more, at least. I've got a lot to do still. And as Dr. Seuss has said in the Happy Birthday to You book:

Today you are you! That is truer than true!
There is no one alive who is you-er than you!
Shout loud, "I am lucky to be what I am!
Thank goodness I'm not just a clam or a ham
Or a dusty old jar of sour gooseberry jam!
I am what I am! That's a great thing to be!
If I say so myself, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!"

a different kind of spring

So here it is, the 3rd day of spring...

In Texas I would have been wearing shorts and sandals by now. Here is the boys' latest creation. After it was done, my husband panicked and said, "Oh my gosh. Are snowmen allowed here?" Sad, really. Our neighborhood has so many rules and regulations to prevent any renegade homeowners from crazy things like personal expression. Hopefully nobody will report us.

trusting your instincts

Trusting you instincts is the "theme of the week" on my big sister's blog. Here is my submission:

My husband and I had a long history before we finally ended up together. We met through friends and had a class together in college. I was a sophomore and he was fresh out of the Marine Corps. I had a boyfriend and he had a girlfriend. We would study (flirt) together for our class and the go get pizza. It was an affair of the heart if nothing else. A year or so later, I finally dumped my deadbeat boyfriend to give my future husband a chance, since he was also single again.

So we dated for a few months and it was awesome. But it became apparent that we were both not sure what we wanted to do with our lives. We decided, amicably, to part ways. I remember sitting with him in his truck outside our favorite restaurant and saying goodbye. I was crying uncontrollably and telling him how I knew he'd be a wonderful husband and father to someone, some day. He said, no, he would probably never get married. He just couldn't see it. We said "I love you" and drove away in separate directions. It was the weirdest break-up ever.

Believe it or not, I went back to my deadbeat boyfriend and reconciled. But I knew in my heart that it was all wrong. Still, I stayed with him for two more years. During that time, I always had someone else on my mind. I would hear certain songs on the radio and try not to cry. I would drink too much at a bar, tell my boyfriend that I was going to the ladies room, and try to call him, but he was no longer there.

Then one day my loser boyfriend (do I sound bitter?) told me that he'd heard that my future husband had almost died (he was friends with my husband's old roommate). He said he'd fallen off a roof or something. I tried to play it cool. I didn't want him to see how upset I was or how interested I was in the information. Later, I had dinner with my old college roommate who had been with me though everything and had been rooting for my husband-to-be for years. I said I was still thinking about him and wondered if I should pursue it. I knew where his parents lived, but not him. She said I should send a letter. What did I have to lose?

So I did. In it, I told him all about my life and that I was about to go back to school and live on my own. I was in the middle of moving so I told him I could best be reached on a Saturday night around eight at my parents' house. I mailed it on a Friday. He called the next day. I was not expecting him to get it so quickly, so I was not there when he called. My parents forwarded his number to me. I called him back. Talking to him was so easy. It was like we'd never been apart. He kept asking me all about what I'd been up to and where I lived. I finally said, "I told you all about that in the letter already..." And he said, "What letter?"

He had not received the letter yet. He just happened to call my parents' house looking for me at the exact time I had specified in the letter. I almost dropped the phone. "Shut. up. No. way." I knew at that moment it was finally our time.

My instincts proved to be correct. As a husband and father he is wonderful, and the "someone" who got to marry him was me.

cole's collectibles

I remember reading somewhere that children usually start collecting things around six years old. I was a big-time collector as a child. My collections included: rocks, fossils, polished rocks (separate from the regular rocks, of course), frog figurines, stuffed animals, turtle figurines, smurfs, and pretty much anything small and cute.

I was in Cole's room the other day when it dawned on me. It had been developing right before my eyes but I hadn't seen the big picture. Cole has a collection. It's a weird one, too. He seems to have an affinity for things trapped inside containers that are filled with water. I think it started with the "ball bubble lamp" he begged and pleaded for until he got it on his 4th birthday. As you can see, now there are balls, dinosaurs, action figures...all drowning in various bottles and jars. Yes, even a beer bottle was used for one of them. Snow globes and water games round out the group. Interesting....what could this say about his psyche? Makes me wonder. Should I be worried?

happy anniversary

It was eight years ago today that we got married in a tiny little hill country church. It was a sunny, cool spring day and the wildflowers were blooming. I remember walking with my Dad over to the church from the little B&B around the corner where I had stayed with my sister the night before. All of a sudden I was swarmed with lady bugs all over my white dress. We tried to brush them off gently without squishing them but I didn't really mind them. They say ladybugs are good luck. I started to get nervous as we walked up to the church doors but as soon as they opened and I saw him at the end of the aisle, I relaxed. Everything went smoothly that day except that the best man left for New York with our marriage license in his pocket. We weren't "official" until a week later when he returned and everything was signed.

A lot can happen in eight years. Three little boys, a new state. New job. It makes me wonder where we'll be in eight more. Cole will be 13, Clayton 11 and Cooper 9. Mind boggling. Who knows where we'll live. We have a long history of not staying put. Maybe there will be one or two more babies? (Just throwing that out there for a reaction) Who knows what's in store for us? But I'm looking forward to finding out.

our first house

After living in an apartment in San Antonio for a couple of years, we decided we wanted to get out of the city and raise our kids in a small town. So one morning my husband took the day off of work and we drove out to Comfort, just to look around and get a feel for what might be for sale. We went into the local real estate office and told the agent (who happened to be a family friend) what we were looking for. Comfort is a small town (pop. 1600, tops) and there were not a lot of options in our price range. She thought for a minute and then said, "Get in the car, there's one I can show you." It happened to be a house we had just driven by and said wistfully to each other, "I know we could never afford that, but if we could just find something like it..." We started to get excited. It happened to be a rental house that the agent herself owned and was selling. She didn't present it as if she thought it was anything special but we were about to jump out of our skins. It was a craftsman-style bungalow built in 1919. We walked in and there was a beautiful rock wall made of Austin stone and a wood-burning stove on the hearth. The ceilings were wooden. The walls were made of beaded board. I remember grabbing my husband's arm and squeezing it hard to let him know I was freaking out without losing my poker face with the agent. By the time we got to the kitchen, my legs were shaking. We went to the backyard and almost ran into the huge Ash tree outside the door. It was probably six feet around and had the quintessential hole in it for squirrels to hide in. There were also huge pecan trees and a trumpet vine growing on the fence. It backed up to an open space and was on a hill. We went back in the house and she walked us through, apologizing for the messy renters. The bathroom floor was covered in dirty laundry but we didn't even notice. To us, it was a palace. The back room was the clincher. It had six windows and was enormous. The perfect kids' room. At the time Cole was almost one. As we walked out we drooled over the large front porch with two old porch swings. Could it be even be possible that we could afford this place? We had been living on one income, sharing a car and doing anything to cut costs so I could be home with Cole.

We told her, "We want it." She seemed surprised. I don't think anyone saw the potential in that house but us. I remember driving my mom and sister past it when it was still under contract and they said, "Ohhhh." I could tell they weren't enthused but I didn't blame them. It wasn't pretty on the outside at the time. We had never bought a house before and did not even consider things that normal people consider (other houses, potential problems with an 85 year-old house, etc.). We didn't really even have an agent to represent us since the agent was also the seller. We trusted her and she did not take advantage of us. We loved the house so much that we did not even want to get an inspection done. If it had problems, we did not want to know. But since we were getting a VA loan, it was required and they were very stringent in their standards. The inspector gave it a glowing report. We were shocked. No termites, and it had new wiring and plumbing. Who ever had owned it in the past had done a fantastic job maintaining it, even if their decorating abilities were lacking. It was filled with three different kinds of carpet, from orange shag to blue indoor/outdoor. They had also put fake wood paneling over some of the original beaded board.

As soon as we had the keys, the work began. My husband had to excavate through the layers of carpet, linoleum and tar-paper to get to the wood floors. He had to literally pick the linoleum off with a screwdriver one small piece at a time. He then sanded, stained and finished them with a glossy coat. They were gorgeous. He also built a custom china display for the hole in the wall that used to be a window before they had added on. I got to paint Cole's room and since it was already painted white, including the wood floor, it was a blank slate. I painted the floor grass green with a blue pond in the middle, complete with frogs and lily pads. The sky was blue and cloudy and there was a tree on the wall reaching up and over the room. The sun came up over Cole's bed and there was a helicopter with my Dad as a pilot in it. I also got to paint the kitchen floors black and white checkered. That was a son-of-a-bitch. I was on my knees for two days measuring, taping it off and painting. I had always wanted a kitchen with checkered floors.

There wasn't an inch of that house we did not touch with our own hands. We painted, cleaned, and tore out the 1970's "updates". It was like finding hidden treasures. We felt like the house was speaking to us, begging for help. The biggest discovery came when my husband was installing a new ceiling fan in the kitchen. He had the old one out and was trying to put the new on up but it wouldn't grab like he expected. He shined his flashlight up in the hole and, lo and behold, it was a dropped down ceiling. The original ceiling was two feet higher and made of beaded board. They had covered it with acoustic tiles and drywall. He showed me and asked, "What do you want me to do?" Tear it out, of course! So I took Cole and baby Clayton to Austin for the weekend while he tore out all that garbage to reveal what the kitchen should have been all along. He even found a window they had covered up and he popped a new one in. It was transformed from small and dark to bright and happy in a weekend by my weekend warrior husband.

Everything about that house was beautiful. When it rained on the tin roof, it was so cozy. Our front porch had the best breeze and we would always sit on the wooden swings when the kids were asleep and drink rum and talk about how we would never, ever leave that house until the day we died. We brought Clayton and Cooper home from the hospital to that home. Even though we were running out of room, we just made plans to add on someday.

I remember when the first idea came that we should go. I was in the shower one day fretting over bills and debt. Living on one income is not easy. I was praying, "Lord, I am so sick of worrying about money. Something has got to change." And the idea popped up in my head immediately: "Sell the house." I know it was not from me, because before that moment, I would never have considered that we would ever live anywhere else. Since we had never sold a house before, we had no real understanding about how property values can change. Especially in the Texas hill-country. We had only lived there four years. We had the realtor come out to give us an idea of what it was worth. Apparently, we had bought the right house in the right place at the right time. Our dream house became the answer to our prayers.

We put it on the market and waited. We made plans to build a new house. Months went by. Our realtor had a small-town attitude and not much experience. Having to show the house with a newborn baby and two toddlers was inconvenient to say the least. I had to keep it as clean as possible at all times because you never knew when someone was going to pop in. Then, I would have to load up all the boys, usually on a moment's notice, and get us out of there. We finally decided to get a new realtor. I remember having to fire the old one (he was very nice, just not very capable), and going to the office of the new realtor to fill all the paperwork out again, while wrangling the boys at the same time. That night I broke down in tears and cried, " I am so sick and tired of this! When is it ever going to sell?!" It sold the next day. And they were the perfect buyers. They did not ask us to make any repairs and they wanted a 30 day close.

The timing was perfect. We moved into an apartment to wait for our new house to be completed (or to find a house that was already done since we were not too happy with the rate the builders were going) and the first week there, my husband's Colorado job opportunity came up. If we had sold our house any sooner, we would have moved into a house instead of an apartment and would not have had the flexibility we needed. Once again, the plans we had for ourselves could not hold a candle to the plans God had for us. It was a pleasant surprise.

he's one of them now

In the beginning, he was all mine. While his Dad bathed his brothers in the tub, I bathed him in the baby bath in the sink. While his Dad wrestled with his brothers on the living room floor, he would lay on his back under the baby gym and kick his fat little legs. While his Dad read to the older two for bedtime, I would curl up with him on the couch and nurse him to sleep.

Eventually, he graduated to the big tub. Then, his eyes started to light up when he watched them wrestle on the floor and he would scramble down from my lap to join in. I remember the look on his little face when they opened their action-figures for Christmas and he opened his...book. He looked at the book and looked at their toys and dropped the book on the floor. Like, "What the...?"

He is being inducted into boyhood everyday. But I knew it was all over when he came into the room the other day with a little stick saying, "Sword! Sword! Bad guy!" and waving it around like his brothers do, stabbing at his invisible foes. In the car, their new favorite game to play is "Cooper, can you say..." and they run down the list from "eyeballs in outer-space" to the inevitable "poop". He happily repeats everything for them, pleased with himself as they clap for him.

I know that his sweet nature will endure even when the testosterone takes over but it's still hard to see the baby disappearing. They're all my baby boys but he'll always be my baby, baby boy.

i heart wallyworld

I went to Wal-Mart yesterday and hit the jack-pot. They were clearing out all their winter stuff and I found a bin of boys' snow boots, normally $18, for $3. That's right, $3. I bought enough to cover us for the next few winters. I also got some cute boys' shirts, also $3 each (normally $8). Next fall I won't have go out and spend a ton because I'm finally getting the knack for shopping ahead. As I was leaving Wal-Mart feeling oh so proud of my savvy shopping, I thought back to some comments I've heard from people in the past mocking Wal-Mart and the people that shop there. These remarks usually come from DINKs (dual-income, no kids) and usually are along the lines of: Wal-Mart is evil. It hurts small businesses. It is trashy.

Okay. So it's not as pretty as Target, but so what. If you have no kids and money to burn, go ahead, snub Wal-Mart. But when you have 3 kids and are living on one income, you don't have the luxury of throwing money out the window. And as for small businesses, I'm sure it has done away with some, but this is a free market. I've happened to work at a couple of very successful small businesses that were in close proximity to a Wal-Mart. They even sold things that Wal-Mart sold, and at a higher price. But they filled their own niche offering things Wal-Mart doesn't: charm and fantastic customer service.

Since I'm raving about Wal-Mart, I might as well tell you we recently joined Sam's club. And I was almost sick seeing how much money we could have saved if we'd only joined, say, 5 years ago. I mean, I have been paying double for almost everything! My jaw was hanging open as we wandered the aisles and aisles of giant products. I bought enough toilet paper to last us for months! And I am sick and tired of buying toilet paper. It is going to save us countless time and money. I can't sing it's praises loud enough!!!

allow me to introduce my husband

Our 8th anniversary is coming up at the end of this month and I can't believe it. It really seems like it's been about 3. It just so happened that I married the perfect man. If I'd had a catalog where I could have designed and placed an order for the right man for me, I couldn't have done a better job. He's got it all. He's not only tall, dark and handsome, he's a renaissance man. He can build anything, fix anything, move anything and he's the best cook in the world. He can mix the perfect bourbon and coke. He loves to cook, read, fish, play guitar and he doesn't watch sports. Not that he's not athletic, he's a former Marine. And not just any Marine - he provided personal security for the Supreme Allied Commander of NATO. He's the cream of the crop.

He's charming, funny, sexy, sarcastic and brilliant. We are on the same page when it comes to God, children, finances, and the future. His strong character and work ethic have brought him and our family success and security. He honors his parents and mine. He would die for any one of his family and friends. He is loyal and faithful. He is genuine and true.

As a father he is there. He is loving, patient, and involved. He takes it seriously. And most of all, he enjoys it. I am often inspired by his ability to have fun with them as soon as he walks in the door after I'm spent from a day of caring for them. He reminds me that being a parent is about more than fulfilling their physical, emotional and spiritual needs. It is a gift that shouldn't be squandered. And it's a gift that is changing every day.

I can't take credit for finding and "roping in" this amazing person. Actually, I had been on a painful path to marrying the wrong person. I was in a relationship for years with someone who made me feel worthless. He didn't value me or love me for who I was because, at the time, I didn't value or love myself for who I was. But God knew me and He had things in store for me that I never dreamed I'd have someday. I almost settled. Thank God, I didn't.

like mom, like son

My oldest son, Cole, will be six in June. We are really enjoying this age because he is usually very reasonable and easy going. But the other day I saw a side of him that reminded me that he is, for sure, my child. There was no switch at the hospital.

We were walking home from school, which is about a two block walk. It seems close unless you're walking with three people that are feeling a little lazy. Half-way home, Clayton crawled into the stroller with Cooper and squeezed in the back. It is a one-child stroller but, oh well. Then Cole started complaining about carrying his backpack which was oh so heavy filled with...one book. He wanted me to carry it. I said, no, it is your backpack, your responsibility. I kept walking, pushing the 100 pound stroller up hill against the wind.

Just as we were reaching our home, he just dropped it there on the sidewalk and demanded I pick it up and carry it for him. Again, I said no way. I kept walking. His hopes that I was bluffing started to fade as I parked the stroller in the garage and closed the door. I knew him well enough to know that he was freaking out that his backpack was out there on the street. But I underestimated his will power. He still would not get it. He stood by the front door, watching it intently through the window. I mentioned that his school librarian would probably be displeased when he had to tell her the school's library book had been stolen. I could see the urgency rise in his eyes. But still, no budging. He whined, begged, cried for me to go get it. Too late, the line had been drawn. I think it was Dr. Phil who said to pick your battles with your children carefully because you MUST win. Every time. That nugget of advice was my strength.

He started to waver. He stepped onto the porch and said that if only I would go out there with him, he would go get it. Sorry. No deal. You dropped it, it's yours, you get it. He slowly walked off the porch and was half-way there. Hooray! I thought. I won!!! But no, here he comes again. Back to the porch. More begging, more crying. Stalemate.

This had been going on for about an hour. I had to get on with things and headed upstairs to change a diaper or something. Then I heard Clayton's little voice, "Hey Mom! Kaden's Mom has our backpack!" I ran downstairs and there she was. My sweet neighbor had been out walking with her son and new baby and saw the backpack on the sidewalk. Of course, she brought it up to our porch, not knowing that she just saved me from winning. And Cole from losing. We were both so relieved that it was home safe. I happen to know that Bob the Builder backpacks are in high demand around here.

little girls, little boys and the feminist movement

My neighbor across the street just had a baby girl about a couple of weeks ago. I am so excited as I will get to see close up what these things called "little girls" do on a daily basis. Of course, I used to be a little girl myself, decades ago, but memories fade. After being a mom to 3 boys over the last few years, my imagination runs wild as to how a daughter would be different. For example, when people ask their daughters what they want for breakfast, do they reply,"Boogers. Boogers and goo." And really mean it? (Actually happened) I know girls would not participate in "tinkle fights" as I've recently discovered my two oldest doing. It explained A LOT I might add. And they actually have carpet in the bathrooms here. Who ever thought of that idea must have had- daughters. I've had friends with girls tell me they are so dramatic and emotional. They say I'm lucky to have all boys. One friend asked me if I ever talk about marrying my sons as one of her other friends with boys had. And yes, I do propose marriage all the time. Cooper still says he'll marry me but the other two just try to run away (typical). I have always been a tomboy. I grew up with pet frogs and turtles and you'd find me in a tree before you'd find me playing with Barbies. Being the mom of boys was my destiny, I suppose. I appreciate how they are what they are. The other day I told my husband how my MOPS (mother's of pre-schoolers) group was going to have a class called "Understanding the Heart of a Man" and I complained that you'd never see men going to a class to learn about "the heart of a woman." He immediately retorted,"that's because there could be no such class. There is no way to understand the heart of a woman." And he's right. Women=Mystery. For men, there's a one hour class on a Tuesday night that pretty much sums it up. And I like that. I'm glad that men and women are different. And I'm all for the feminist movement as far as it's moved us closer to equal pay for equal work, (and voting, of course) but beyond that, I think it has done more harm than good. It seems to me that women are getting the message that to be "as good" as men, we have to me like men. As if we have to trade in our innate feminine qualities for more aggressive ones to prove we're as smart and capable. That is ridiculous. Of course we are as smart. Of course we are as capable. Of course we deserve to be paid the same. Those are givens. But I like being a wo-man. And I love that my husband is a man. I love that he is a former Marine and I feel safe knowing that he could and would kill with his bare hands anyone that tried to lay a hand on me or our boys. That is hot. He has opened every door for me since our first date, 12 years ago. I take it as a sign of respect and love. It is not condescending. We will teach our sons to respect women and hold them up high. We deserve it. As for having a daughter, I have to say I'd enjoy dressing her in little colorful tights and braiding her hair. I would enjoy having another female spirit in our home to balance out some of the masculine energy. But I love my boys. I am blessed and I couldn't ask for more.

false alarm

Last night I was awakened from deep sleep by the beckoning sound of "mama" coming from somewhere in the house. From much experience, I have found that staying in my warm bed hoping that the person calling for me will somehow resolve their own problem (including but not limited to: being thirsty, throwing up, growing pains, bad dreams, remembering something they are mad about, losing the miniscule toy they went to bed with down the crack between the bed and the wall) will just result in an escalation of the problem and louder plaintive wails that will wake up the entire household. So, I grabbed for my glasses and began making the rounds. Cole, asleep. Clayton, check. Cooper, check. Could I be so lucky as to be able to return to my warm bed without having to negotiate with an unreasonable 3 year-old at 2 am? I headed back to my room when...wait...there it was again. Ma-ma. Ma-ma. It sounded like it's...could it be...coming from my room? I entered the room and waited. There it was again. I quietly approached my poor husband in his Benadryl induced coma who has been suffering from many respiratory maladies as of late (including pneumonia). I stepped closer and discovered the problem. His nostril. Yes, it was actually his nostril calling out in a high-pitched, almost child-like squeal: inhale "ma", exhale "ma." Mama. Thankfully, after many years of conditioning, I am able to go back to sleep almost instantly. I reported the incident to him in the morning but I think he did not believe me. Only a mother could hear her name and be roused from a deep sleep by the call of a nostril. I better get flowers on Mother's Day this year.

meet fangun

This is our (fairly) new cat, Fangun. I picked him out at the animal shelter where they had dubbed him "Bernard". He had been a stray so they had no history on him but he has been the perfect family cat. When I first brought him home, I thought he'd bolt as soon as he saw all the little eyes upon him. But he actually perked up and went over to the boys right away. He has more patience that any cat I've ever seen. He puts up with grabbing, pulling and squashing without even so much as a growl. I catch Cooper pulling on him occasionally and as soon as he sees he's been busted he'll start petting him nicely saying, "sooooft, soooft" with a twinkle in his eye. And he's not even two. "Bernard" did not seem right for him. We went through many names over the course of his first month with us, but none that stuck. Until one night Clayton came up to my husband and announced seriously, "Dad. I have a name for the cat. Fangun. Fans pop soft sings (meaning 'soft things'-balloons to be exact) and guns kill manimals (animals). A dangerous name for a dangerous cat." We have no idea why he considers him to be a "dangerous cat" since he puts up with everything they dish out, but maybe when you're three and you have an animal almost half your own size living in your house and sometimes sleeping on your head, it may seem a little risky. Long live Fangun.