happy 4th of july!

I'm off to Washington D.C. for the annual Vietman Helicopter Pilots Association reunion - my dad is a pilot, not me ;-) I'll be back next Wednesday...have a great weekend!

mama says om: forgive

We were married on a cool, crisp spring day in a tiny Texas town, at a tiny country church. Our reception was a block down the dirt road from the church in an old wooden school house that cost a mere $35 to rent out. Thank goodness it was cool that day because it was not air conditioned. And in Texas, that's not good.

We did all the traditional wedding things like eating, drinking and dancing, of course. The dance I shared with my father was set to "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. And while we were dancing, my hand in his, closer than we'd probably been in years, his eyes welled up and he said, "Please forgive me for being so hard on you. You were a good kid." I was caught off guard and shook my head, "No, you weren't. I had a wonderful childhood," I reassured him. But I could sense the pain in his voice and could tell how much it meant for him to say those words at that time. It's never easy to ask for forgiveness.

The truth was, we were both right. I did have a great childhood, and he was hard on me. And on my sister and brother. But he and I especially butted heads because we were so much alike. And because of our similarities I was the one who could relate to him more than my siblings, or so it seemed. It was me, not my brother, who usually accompanied him on trips to his ranch down in South Texas. We would wake up before dawn, stalk quietly out to the deer blind and sit there in total silence for four hours. It was a real bonding experience. Once I talked him out of shooting a ten-point buck by invoking his empathy through pure guilt. How can a father resist when his ten year-old daughter looks at him and asks how he would feel if someone shot him so they could hang his ears on the wall?

One time there was a tornado near our neighborhood. The sirens alerted us and we retreated to the basement to wait it out. As we were huddled listening to the radio to find out how close it was, I became distraught and started to cry. I reminded my Dad that he had always said he would bring my frog, Sherman, to the basement with us if there was a tornado warning. He sighed and agreed, and went upstairs to retrieve the very heavy aquarium and very scared leopard frog. Looking back, I can't believe he risked his life to keep his word. But that was the kind of Dad he was.

Yes, there had been hard feelings and maybe some bitterness about how he handled me in my teen years when I was dating a guy I was forbidden to see. But how typical is that? Any teenager who doesn't rebel isn't worth their salt, in my book. And any parent who doesn't fight to hold on isn't either.

Since becoming a parent, it has been much easier for me to let go of past judgments I held somewhere in the back of my consciousness against my parents. Seeing things from this side of the table changes everything. I know that I would throw my body in front of a train without a second thought to save my children or attack an armed man like a mother lion if he tried to bring them harm. I also know that I make mistakes every day that may affect them in detrimental ways. Sometimes small, sometimes big. And as they grow I'm sure I'll make even bigger mistakes and someday I might even find myself asking their forgiveness on their wedding day as I try to make things right before they move onto the next phase of their lives. And I hope they will measure the depth of my love against the weight of my sins and choose to forgive me, too.



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mama says om: saunter

I've always believed that there must have been a reason God thought I could handle being the mother of three boys. Maybe I'm tougher than average women? After all, I'm not afraid of spiders, I love the outdoors, my previous pets have included frogs and turtles. I can handle whatever these people dish out, right? Wrong.

Last night, our cat apparently had some fun and caught one of the wild baby bunnies that lives around here. The evidence of the kill was left on our driveway and my husband was sweet enough to clean it up on his way out the door to work. He almost got all of it. But almost is not quite enough.

Later in the morning my middle boy was hanging out in the front yard when he spotted something in the grass. An ear. And worse than that, an eye.

As a little girl, if I had seen anything like that, I would have cried and cried over the poor bunny and the pain he went through. I would have had a bunny funeral. But not my boy. Oh no. After asking me to pick it up for him, and having me vehemently refuse, he sauntered into the house, retrieved a zip-lock baggie and deposited the marble-like, bluish ball into it.

Excuse me for a moment while I gag from recounting these horrific events.



Okay. So that wasn't all. It had a stem.

I covered my eyes and ordered him to get. it. away. from. me.

Of course, my reaction alerted him to the potential for fun he could have with the bunny eye. I saw the twinkle in his eyes and so I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. A moment later the eye was pushed under the door by a grimy little hand and accompanied by the maniacal laughter of a four year-old on the other side. And the eye was looking at me.

And it gets worse.

His brother, curious about what was going on, squeezed his hand under the door to try to grab it and started squishing it against the floor. I was on the phone with my husband begging for help. But since he works 10 miles away and seems to think his job is more important than my sanity, he was of no use to me.

I finally gathered myself and exited the bathroom with what little pride I had left. I informed him that if he wanted to keep the eye, it must remain out of my sight. If I even caught a glimpse of it, it would be gone. Although I knew I could never actually touch the baggie with the bunny eye in order to get it away from him, he didn't call my bluff and the eye is now out of sight (excuse the pun).

I'm still a little shaken that my sweet little boy who still coos to his stuffed animals would want a real bunny eye in a bag to stare at and squish. I guess I need to finish up the Wonder of Boys book I'm reading to figure him out...



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boy book endorsement

For anyone who has a son, a husband, a boyfriend, brother or a dad, I want to recommend a book I'm currently reading. It's called The Wonder of Boys, by Michael Gurian. Lightbulbs are going off in my mind in every chapter. It's actually making sense of these rambunctious creatures I share my home with!

Since I haven't finished it yet, I'll just briefly sum up what I've learned so far:

Boys and men are "wired" differently. The male brain is actually structurally different from the female brain. It affects everything from how they communicate to how they process their emotions. Their behavior is not taught. It's innate. They are naturally more aggressive because way back in the old days, the survival of their civilizations depended on their ability to be hunters and warriors. In most cultures around the world, manhood and masculinity is celebrated and honored. Ours is the only one that has tried to say that boys are socialized to be the way they are and to say that they need to change their ways. It will never happen because it is biology, not socialization that drives their behavior. We need to recognize that fact and instead of trying to change them, strive to "guide boy culture to its best fruition."

"Once we remove our parental, mentorial, political and educational energy from changing boys, and put it back where it belongs- on helping boys be boys- we will be directing them, supervising them, structuring their lives, disciplining their energies, and loving their society and culture in the ways it needs."

Reading just the first few chapters has given me new insight into how my husband and sons tick and I think it will benefit us all. I need all the information I can get!

finally thinking outside the box

As you probably know by now, we have been fantasizing about moving to the mountains ever since we came to Colorado and we've weighed the pros and cons over and over. And over. But we had an epiphany this week after our recent trip to Evergreen.

We went out there last weekend and to an open house. And it was a virtual deathtrap for young boys. They actually had a cliff in their back yard. All I could see was me driving down the mountain, navigating the treacherous switchbacks on the icy roads, a screaming boy in my backseat with a bone sticking out. And the hospital an hour away. So. We are not moving to Evergreen.

But, until this week we had never even considered other options. There are many small towns just south of us where we could buy a home on some acreage and not have to deal with the mountain issues. The mountains would be visible from our backyard, but we wouldn't need two four-wheel drive vehicles to enjoy them.

Our realtor is out of town this weekend (how convenient) but we're meeting with him next week to talk logistics and numbers. I have mixed emotions. The thought of packing, unpacking, utility hook-ups, new schools...all makes me very tense. But at least it wouldn't be an out-of-state move this time.

But the thought of staying in this neighborhood with three young boys and no climbing trees makes me even tenser. When we bought this house less than a year ago, it was pristine. The people who owned it before had no kids. Since then, here is a list of the damage that has been done:

1. Our hot tub cover is completely ruined. It started with boy #2 poking holes in it with a pen we had mistakenly left out. Then, the cat actually started picking at the loose pieces and tore large sheets of vinyl off. Then, the inner Styrofoam came out and was used to create "snow" in the backyard.
2. The hot tub itself, which we drained last winter and have not refilled per lack of time and interest, is filled with puddles of brown paste of which the ingredients are: rainwater (per broken cover), melted animal crackers, birdseed. Don't ask.
3. The yard, once lush and green, is now matted and brown. Compressed by small boy bodies that are constantly rolling, jumping, and tearing at it. And that's what yards are for! But it looks like crap.
4. The screen on the front door has been torn by the cat and the upstairs window screen (in boy #2's room..hmmm) has a match-box car sized hole in it. Perfect for launching them down to the driveway, but still, annoying.
4. Our banister has etchings in the wood created by boy #2 (of course). It only took a few moments, but it now needs to be sanded down and refinished.
5. The carpet really just needs to be torn out and replaced with concrete.

So, you can see, we are not civilized enough to live in a place like this. We basically need just a two-bedroom house. One for us and one for them to bunk up in. Because once they wake up, they need to be outside. Climbing, digging, building and destroying.

My husband's best childhood memories are of wandering in the woods around his home, shooting birds with his BB gun (we don't condone this, of course), planting booby traps and just plain being a boy.

So we're getting started on the repairs today and driving out to find us a new town to live in.

Of course, we're also doing this just to drive my parents crazy. They've been in the same home for 30 years and think we are nuts. It's so much fun to prove them right!

mama says om: comfort

Over the river and through woods is the road that leads to Comfort, Texas. A town nestled in the hill country, with a population of about 1600, just northwest of San Antonio. As you exit off of I-10, the ramp swings to the left and over the green Guadalupe river that runs through banks of magnificent Cypress trees at least thirty feet tall. During the summer you can see tubers pass by below with their sunburns and beer coolers floating along side their innertubes.

Cypress Creek runs around the edge of town and has taken over now and then when there is an excessively rainy season. In 2002 when I was eight months pregnant with our second son, it started raining and didn't stop for a month. The average annual rainfall for Comfort is 32 inches, and we got that in just three weeks. The river swelled until it looked like the ocean and many people lost everything. My son was born shortly after the waters receded and I was grateful to be able to drive to the hospital instead of being lifted out by a helicopter, as some other expectant mothers were during the weeks of the flood.

We moved to Comfort to get away from the big city and be nearer to family. The idea of a small town appealed to both of us and Comfort didn't let us down. Everywhere we went, we knew people. We could never just run into the video or grocery store without seeing a neighbor or friend and visiting for a while. When I began work at one of the local gift shops, I was surprised at the local customs. Once, a customer called five minutes before we were closing and said she needed some of our coffee beans. She said for me to leave them with her friend down the street and she'd leave a check for us under the door. I checked with my employer, expecting her to scoff, but she said of course it was okay. Since everyone knew everyone, there was accountability and trust.

It really was like living back in time. The barber gave our first-born his first haircut and said not to worry about paying him. He also gave me a free haircut on my 30th birthday. Comfort used to be the home of the longest running family owned general store in the state of Texas, Ingenhuetts, until earlier this year when it was destroyed by a fire. Although we had already moved away when it happened, we were stunned. I still remember taking our kids there for lollipops and perusing their eclectic selection of merchandise. I was a huge loss for the town. I don't think it will ever be the same.

But one of the fondest memories I have of Comfort, and I know my boys do as well, is visiting their grandmother's house. In my mind, I can still smell the flowers and candles and the cool burst of air when opening the front door to her house. She always had jars of candy and platters of fruit and other goodies laid out for anyone who might stop by, and people were always stopping by. She lived on the main street of Comfort and her home was over 100 years old. You could just feel the history in it. And when you visited her, you could always count on an ego boost. She would compliment your hair, your shoes, even your teeth, for heaven's sake. My husband said he'd had a hard transition into the real world after having a mother who thought he was the smartest, cutest, wittiest person ever born (he actually is, though).

We had our rehearsal dinner on her patio with hundreds of twinkle lights strung through the trees around us. She had a natural gift for decorating and homemaking and even designed a "bearcub" room with bunkbeds for the boys to stay in when they visited. Her huge front porch was the place to be for the 4th of July and Christmas parades each year and she always welcomed everyone to come, sit and visit, and watch together. She would prepare so much food, from garlic grits to salads in a wooden bowl as big as a table, and we would all eat and drink and laugh and then head home. But reluctantly. To us, she was the matriarch, she was the nurturer. She was Comfort.




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funny fellow

It's such a cliche that the youngest in a family gets preferential treatment but lately I'm beginning to see why. Maybe it's because he's the smallest. Maybe it's because he's the last. Or maybe it's because his legs still have fat rolls and his cheeks bounce when he runs. But I cannot resist the charms of the little guy.



He is perpetually happy and agreeable. He loves to sing songs and and his favorite is still "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner." Sometimes it's disturbing to hear his baby voice singing about the "muzzle flash of Roland's Thompson gun" or "their fingers on their triggers, knee-deep in gore" but somehow he puts a positive spin on it. He also likes to dance spontaneously and will spin around the living room, his little feet working while singing, "I'm dancin' I'm dancin'!"



Everything he does is so adorable I just want to eat him up. I even tell him, "I'm going to eat you up!" and he'll act offended and say, "NO!" I may not eat him. But we cannot stop him from eating. Every morning at the crack of dawn, I hear him come out of his room, close the door behind himself (why, I don't know) and come our way with his diaper crinkling and fat feet plodding. He shows up at my bedside with his puppy and sippy cup and crawls in with us. His first request of the day soon follows, "Ready lunch," so I hand him one of the boxes of raisins or granola bars on my bedside table kept just for this occasion. Then he lays there between my husband and me and chomps away while we try to catch a little more sleep. When we finally get up, the bed is filled with crumbs and sticky granola, but it's worth it to allow his brothers and us a little more sleep. When he finally outgrows his early rising, I actually think I'll miss it.

He is very polite but some times gets his 'thank you' and 'welcome' switched.

Here's your juice, bubba.
Welcome, mama!
Thank you, bubba.

When putting on his pj's he'll hike the pants up over his belly, practically to his neck, and then clap and say, "Did it self!!!"

He is intuitive and seems to understand me better than the others. Whenever I'm losing it and his big brothers are just standing there blinking at me, he'll come over and say, "Hug, Mama," and put his little arms around me. And then he says, "Welcome," and walks off not realizing he just saved everbody from certain death.

I wish I could bop him on the head to keep him this age and size but I know there's no stopping time. But the good news is that he seems to get even better with each passing day.

a boy, a birthday and a waterballoon sling-shot

My oldest turned six yesterday and it was one of the best birthday parties so far, if I say so myself.



I did the planning but as soon as the party started, my husband and his best friend were in charge. And I couldn't have done a better job! It takes real men to understand the hearts of boys and know that all they need to be happy is a summer day, an open field, and a water balloon sling-shot. We must have had 500 water balloons, which had taken hours to fill, and they were gone in a matter of minutes. But it was 15 minutes of pure bliss and when they were gone the party was not over, oh no, it was just beginning. Because, you see, a water balloon sling-shot is not limited to being used just for water balloons. It also works well for sending hot dogs, which were uneaten by all the kids because of all the fun, sailing 250 feet through the air. Then after those were gone, they began the water gun fight which lasted for another hour.



Meanwhile, my middle boy had fun with his water bottle binoculars:



And my youngest was thrilled by the act of dumping water on himself from a cup. He's so easy to entertain:



By the end, everyone was cold, wet, and hungry (since the hot dogs were long gone). It was a success.



Today, he began his day by asking me how long it will be until his seventh birthday. 365 days, little man. And I hope we'll make them good.

mama says om: yo yo

Here we go again. Just when we were settling down and being practical, that old familiar voice we have tried to ignore has begun calling to us again:

"Move to the moooouuuuntains...you don't belong in the buuuuurbs...you're wasting your liiiives...."

We've been here almost a year now but strangely, this house still doesn't really feel like home. We've had ideas of doing some improvements to make it more our own, but I think we just don't care enough about it to do anything. When we were in our first house, we felt at home and in love with it right away.

This all came up again when my youngest saw a giant tree at a place we were visiting and acted like he'd never seen anything like it in his two years on earth. I told my husband we should think about moving somewhere with a bigger yard and trees. He raised his eyebrows. Then yesterday, his friend at work who lives in the mountains told him about a house down the street from his that's up for sale. Immediately we were online, looking at pictures and MLS listings with our hearts in our throats...our emotions yo-yo-ing, from an elated high to a disappointed low by the practical, parental voices in our heads.

Currently, the view out my window includes rooftops as far as the eye can see. Rooftops of houses that are about one foot apart and have yards the size of postage stamps and trees the size of shrubs. But there are lots of reasons we (and 86,000 other people) decided to live here: We can walk to the school, grocery store, restaurants, rec center and community pools. It's also only ten miles to my husband's workplace. But I often feel suffocated by how completely bland and ordinary it is here.

Then there is the lure from the West...trees, fresh air, open space. A small community. The boys could spend hours in our backyard exploring, that is if they didn't get eaten by a mountain lion. Breathtaking views and peace and quiet would be part of our every day life. However, there are many drawbacks: Hospitals are far, my husband's commute would be almost an hour (he could commute with his friend, though), I would have to drive down from the mountain to get the kids to school. The winter is longer and there's much more snow up there. And I wonder, would living on a mountain be like having children, a romantic idea from a distance and once you're there, there is romance but also harsh realities? Icy roads, isolation, long treks to the grocery store...

So I'd like some advice from someone, anyone. Anyone who's picked the impractical over the practical and lived to regret it or love it. Or visa versa...



mama says om

rules schmoolze

I have to say, I am fed up to here with rules lately.

I took my boys to the pool the other day. It was an indoor pool and was really cool. There was a giant frog that the kids could climb in and slide down his big red tongue into the water. There was also a floating basketball net and balls. My boys are good kids and never want to break the rules (in public places, at least). But it wasn't one minute before I heard the bitchy lifeguard toot her whistle and say "No climbing up the slide!" Clayton scrambled off, obviously embarrassed and headed to the basketball net. Toot!!! "No touching the rim!" He looked at me all guilty and went out in the middle. Toot! "No touching the rope!" I said, you know what boys? This pool sucks. Let's go somewhere else that isn't ruled by a bitchy teen-age queen on her period. Well, I thought that but said it differently to them.

A few days later we were at a park. They were running around having fun. I couldn't help but notice all the other moms nagging at their kids: You have to have your shoes on! Go down the slide, not up! Keep the sand in the box!

And at my playgroup the other day there was one mom who could just not let it go that her two year-old daughter had her shoes on the wrong feet. She kept harping and nagging. I wanted to say "Who the hell cares????!!" She's two! Be glad she puts her own shoes on!

AAAAAAAHHHH! I know it's our job as moms to teach boundaries and self-control, but come on! They are kids! They have plenty of time left to follow the rules and be suffocated by social restrictions.

Sorry, I just had to get that out.