867-5309

I don’t know who said that, but speak­ing for almost all mama’s out there? Stop it. We don’t want to hear it any more than the next person.

I remem­ber think­ing at some point in time, “Thank you Jesus for not giv­ing me girls…I can’t take that kind of drama!” Naïve.…so, so naïve.

I love those stinky, crazy boys of mine, but MAN…they can bring the drama! This morn­ing, Grem­lin decided to push the “obeying” boundary. He lost — and really I did too. We’re both so dang stubborn.

Old­man, on the other hand, is in the local high school Christ­mas musi­cal (The Christ­mas Carol) and I’m try­ing to teach him to act a bit more. He knows what line and move­ment is com­ing next and visu­ally antic­i­pates it. “Mom, I had no idea act­ing with singing and danc­ing could be so hard!” Thank­fully, he loves it and has a beau­ti­ful voice. The only real drama com­ing from him is because he’s play­ing young Ebenezer, they want him to sing in his high voice and that’s killing his studly mojo fac­tor. (eye roll)

On the per­sonal front, Novem­ber is a drama month for me as it is. It sucks…can’t shake it really. Most years, I dive into the Christ­mas thing and it pre­oc­cu­pies my mind. This year, I’m up to my eye­balls in so much “stuff to do” that I can barely see past today.

Maybe some Christ­mas music will get me going? We’ll see…it’s def­i­nitely cold enough out there to feel like Christ­mas! Hmmm…what’s up on the Christ­mas hotlist this season…Justin Bieber…really? No. Not hap­pen­ing. Good kid but doesn’t yank my chain. Michael Buble isn’t too shabby but…Ahhhh…here we go.… John Den­ver and The Mup­pets. My soul is healed…

What the heck hap­pened to 867‑5309?!?!

Jenny is still on the block, but there are changes. Jenny is really just Jen. Jen has to be “on” 24/7 with her career so I’ve decided this is where I get to just be Jen…Honest Jen.

[I was actu­ally play­ing off of “Hon­est John” when a dear friend so gen­tly… or more like laughed so hard I’m sure some kind of bev­er­age came out of her nose…explained that it was really “Hon­est Abe”. *eye-roll* whatever… ]

I’ve pretty much lost all read­er­ship which is actu­ally much more relax­ing to me. I like to be able to write with­out a pur­pose. No prod­uct reviews…no awards to win…no votes to get.  Just writing…like blogs used to be. {oh yeah, that.}

{Deep breath…}

Gremlin…not your real name, but boy do you fit it! Your real name actu­ally means “Long Awaited Son”.

So why is it, it felt like years to bring you into our world yet it feels like min­utes since we got you? How are you 8!? I was so proud of you when you ripped that car seat out of your spot yelling, “I’m offi­cially not a baby!” I didn’t real­ize that was the offi­cial line to cross. Guess that means it’s time for me to loose that baby fat??

There were a lot of times I was proud of you over the past year.

• Get­ting sent to the principal’s office for telling that lit­tle girl she was sexy — after a bunch of nasty boys called her a fat, ugly girl.
• Feel­ing the need to step up and pro­tect your big brother from hurt­ful kids. You have such a big heart.
• Mak­ing Uncle Hulk­man feel like he’s the best uncle in the whole world.
• Tak­ing care of the dogs con­sis­tently, every day, with­out fail. (Are you sure you don’t want to be a veteranarian?)
• Shar­ing your snack with a friend every day dur­ing soc­cer prac­tice even though you don’t get to eat reg­u­lar food.

I love you dearly, son. I’m so, so thank­ful the good Lord chose us to be your parents.

Now hang up that wet towel!

“I wish my body would catch up to my mind.”

My silly 11-year-old still thinks that his only prob­lem is that his beard hasn’t grown in yet. Last week he was jump­ing around the liv­ing room like a bloomin’ idiot because “I have a chin hair!!!!” After look­ing at it closely I chuck­led and handed him his burly chin hair (aka: dog fuzz from ear­lier rompings).

We’ve had so many con­ver­sa­tions about rights and responsibilities; privileges and grace. Testos­terone is play­ing some wicked games in that boys head. Now if I could get Ms. Aspie and Mr. T’rone to get along, life would be so much grander for this mom.

One frus­trat­ing day we were hav­ing another pow-wow about why he was not being treated like an adult, and he blurted out…“I JUST FEEL SO DISREGARDED!”

Dis­re­gard:
to pay no atten­tion to; leave out of consideration; ignore
–dictionary.com

You don’t have to under­stand Oldman’s tri­als to under­stand what he means.  We all have felt the sting of being dis­re­garded. “You’re not good enough for this con­ver­sa­tion, idea, place…” We have all expe­ri­enced it and will again. As a child I would lash out in anger. As an adult, I would think about lash­ing out in anger.

In real­ity, we have to know where we stand within our­selves to avoid get­ting caught in that vor­tex of men­tal anguish.  We have to be able to step back and say: “Is this a bad time?” “Is this per­son out to hurt me or are they hurt­ing within them­selves and lash­ing out?” And above all, “Do I really care?”  Some­times I care and I have to eval­u­ate if I need to work on some­thing in my life, or I just need to show some­one else grace.  It’s a game that requires a lot of steps and 2 left feet are always involved.

I know this con­ver­sa­tion with Old­man isn’t over by a long shot. I will con­tinue to impress on him where he is in life and how much more he has to look for­ward to. In the mean­time, I do enjoy learning…again…my priorities.

Photo credit

Image by Gabriela Camerotti via Flickr

I have been broke.

For a month.

My author thought it had only been a week or so, but as you can tell from my last post, it’s been a month…or more.

She acts like she has another job or something.

Finally she pam­pered me up today and I’m full of vim and vigor!

You have been warned… >:)

Image via Wikipedia

I miss you
I covet you
I want to wear you, but
There is noth­ing appro­pri­ate about icy,
Cold, pur­ple toes
Secretly, I call you thongs
The only one that appre­ci­ates
That is my hus­band
Will this blasted cold air
Ever leave our town?
Will I ever get to feel
You flop­ping on my soles?
…sigh…
I miss you, my sole blankie