It's too early in the morning to buy a gun

This morning, it being a holiday and all, I was ecstatic to sleep in.

At a quarter to eight, I felt my bed jiggling and heard the whispers.

"Is she awake yet?"

"No. Not yet."

"Is she alive?"

"Yeah, she's breathing. Just not awake."

"Dangit!"

I cracked a wary eyelid to find my boys' faces a mere three inches from mine, studying my every move, searching for any signs of life.

"She's awake!" they shouted in unison. I reached blindly for my glasses, looked at the clock, and wearily dropped my head back onto the pillow. I groaned and wondered silently if it was legal to sell kids on Craig's List.

"Mom, can we go to the store? Dad said I could spend my money on a new airsoft gun and I have the money. Can we go now? Let's go to the store. Pleasecanwegotothestorerightnow?"

Apparently, the Husband had given him permission to buy yet another massive piece of deadly machinery.

I acquiesced, trusting that the Husband knew what he was doing. I threw on my sweatpants (breaking my hard and fast rule of never going out undressed) and drove to the sporting goods store. Tragically, weapons of this magitude require an 18-year-old to purchase them, so I was forced out of the car and into the store against my will. The boys practically ran through the store to the gun section, and before I could catch up to them, were running back to the register, gun in hand.

Once home, it took some serious work to get it out of the package. Both brains nearly exploded with glee when it finally came loose from the plastic. The aim was tested and ammunition loaded. I think they would have gladly fired a few test shots at my leather sofa had I not been there to intervene.

The backyard is a much better alternative, don't you think?

Apparently, acting as a chauffeur for their weapons acquisition is enough to make me "like seriously the best mom ever!"

I think, however, I share Hannah's sentiment on the matter:

{Yawn} Can I go back to bed now?

Lucky Thirteen

[My all-time favorite picture of you. I can't ever get enough of it. Photo courtesy of Heidi Ballou]

Dear McKay,

Well, I finally did it. Finally found the time to sit down and get this letter up for you. I had no idea you had been checking the blog all day Friday for it. I feel terribly guilty that it wasn't here waiting, but what can I say? I was up at 5:30 to get your birthday breakfast ready. Then I was making your cake from scratch, and brining and baking your birthday brisket (all per your request).

The funny thing is just how well you understand. Of all my children, you are definitely the most forgiving. Like that picture above? The one with the dog we had for a total of two days before having to give it back due to horrific allergies? You smiled and shrugged it off, though I know it broke your heart. Your brother? He asked if it would be possible to keep the dog and send ME away.

But not you. You accepted the bad news and made the most of the time you and the dog had left.

You are still like that today. When things don't go your way, you never pout or get angry. You never slam doors or yell in frustration. You simply adjust your way of thinking and move on to something new. Your disappointment is never carried around on your sleeve.

Oh, but I envy you that trait.

I think it will serve you well in your life. I think it will make you a fair and just companion. You are quick to forgive and so easy to love. (And I know you did not get that from me.)

When retelling the story of your birth last Friday night, I looked at you in awe and wondered how it was that 13 years have gone by since then. It seems like only yesterday. I can still feel your warm body in my arms, as they handed me this wrapped, red bundle of baby. I recall with vivid clarity, watching with teary eyes as Daddy held you for the first time - you, just minutes old. It was that precise moment that we became a family.

Oh, but you made parenting so easy. Your happy laughter filled our tiny apartment. Your smile made the winter seem like spring. You brought us a new level of joy that we had never known before.

I am particularly loving your new independence in the kitchen. Many a gourmet meal has been served lately - and all of them prepared by you! I flatter myself that your interest in cooking is not due to my lack of abilities, but as a result of your own drive to learn new skills.

Yeah. That's it, right?

Either way, it's been so fun to see you try new things. You never seem daunted by difficult recipes or techniques. You were born fearless, and it extends into every part of your life.

I love you, kid. I cherish your obedient nature. I see you trying so hard to do your best - in school, at church, and at home - and I sit here and wonder what I ever did to deserve you. You have the heart of a giant. You love everyone around you, and make it impossible for them not to love you back. You work hard and expect the absolute best from yourself.

I hope this year is your best yet. You. are. amazing.

Love,

Mama

Outsourcing

Ladies, I have accidentally stumbled upon the greatest, most clever plan, (though slightly bordering on evil genius) but sure to change mankind forever more. It happened with very little effort on my part, and just might prove to be the greatest discovery of all time.

You know, right after diet coke, of course.

What is said life-altering discovery, you ask?

This:

McKay has recently shown an interest in experimenting in the kitchen. He has scoured cookbooks for recipes and then begged to be shown how to make them. I've happily let him help and taught him what little all that I know. No one has ever quite looked at me as an expert in anything, and I won't deny the slight boost it has been to the ego. Plus, it's priceless to get some quality time with my biggest boy. He chatters on, I listen and smile, and in the end we have accomplished something more than just dinner.

But he progressed to the point where he really wanted to try some things on his own. With Pizza Hut's phone number on speed dial, I gave him the chance and stepped out of the kitchen. (Plus, it's not like I'd really do better anyway.)

As a result, last week he made three of our seven family dinners, one of which consisted of a roast, potatoes, carrots, and HOMEMADE CRESCENT ROLLS.

ALL. BY. HIMSELF.

(Yes. From scratch. And they were delicious.)

He has quite suddenly become very adept in the kitchen and I have willingly turned that task over to his capable hands (which, by the way, he is very religious about washing, thankyouverymuch).

In fact, early this morning before he headed off to school, he handed me a shopping list of ingredients he'll need to make tonight's dinner.

It's about the most fabulous thing ever.

I've always wanted a live-in chef.

Now which of the other two kids do you think I could turn into my live-in maid?

I am...

I am the kind of mom that says yes to yet another package of silly bands.
But says no when they want to play in the muddy rain puddles.

I am the kind of mom that always says yes when they beg for a treat at the store.
As long as that treat is not the Skittles.

I am the kind of mom that likes to read a story out loud to them.
But seldom finds the time to to do it anymore.

I am the mom who hugs and squeezes their dad in front of them.
Even when they pretend to be thoroughly grossed out.

I am the kind of mom that gets frustrated and cleans their rooms when they're at school.
But I never tell them what I throw out in the process. (And they almost always never miss it anyway).

I am the kind of mom that takes time for my own hobbies, dreams, and needs.
And I think that's extremely good for them.

I am not the mom who sits on the floor and plays legos or does puzzles with them every day.
But I am the mom that sits and listens, then dries their tears with encouragement and support.

I am the mom that has fresh-baked cookies and milk waiting when they come home from school.
I am not the mom who buys the Oreos.

I am the mom who loves these three with a fierce intensity that goes down to my core and sometimes nearly consumes me.

I am their mom.
And they are my heart.

Stay home and eat all the flippin' chips, Kip!

Last week, McKay got his braces on.

In case you lost count, that makes TWO children in orthodontia. (Ah, money. How I miss you. We used to have such good times at the mall.)

But I find that braces totally suit my boys' smiles. Gives their crazy teeth a purpose. Makes their smiles seem much more full of promise, instead of just snaggily and crooked in those mouths of theirs.

Lately, though, every time I turn around, I get what we have dubbed, The Kip Face.

For those of you not versed in Napoleon Dynamite speak, I am referring to the scene where Kip and Lafawnduh share a milkshake across the table and he looks up at her through his eye brows while raising them up and down, and smiling like a hyena.

It's oh so suggestive and alluring.

[Turn your sound off though for this clip. The music makes you want to kill yourself. And you really only need watch the first two seconds to get the gist of what I'm talking about)

Meet Kip. And Kip.

Brothers bonded forever by their love of stupid movies, braces, and their need to make their mother crazy.

Seriously, though. How cute is this boy? It's a good thing I like him so much.

I am what I am, and that's all that I am

The other night, I was attempting to make dinner but something kept getting in my way.

That something was Chase's head.

Every time I went to add something to the pan or stir the food, his head was peering over the stove examining the bubbling concoction.

I had to pause, and was caught up in the memory of something I had completely forgotten about. I laughed as I saw this exact scene roughly 10 years before. It was during our early days in Seattle. Chase was about 10 months old and completely insatiable. His curiosity was so consuming that sometimes it drove me crazy.

EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. when I was making dinner, he had to be propped up on my hip, watching everything I did. He would lean out, one hand tucked safely behind my arm, and peer intently into the pan. Time after time, I would pull his head back out of the way so I could see what I was doing.

There was no activity interesting enough to keep him busy during this time. He would crawl over to the stove, pull himself to standing at my legs, and cry and fuss until I picked him up. There was no way around it. I eventually just learned to multi-task, as all mothers do. I was able to cook, chop, rinse, and stir with one hand and a 20-pound kid on my hip.

But what's funny is that he is EXACTLY THE SAME at age 10 as he was at age 10 months.

It got me thinking about the other two, as well.

McKay has always been a rule follower. Even as a toddler, he felt compelled to obey the rules. So much so, that often his free-spirited brother caused him a great deal of stress. He'd watch anxiously as Chase ran behind the counter in a restaurant or tried to jump up and operate the cash register in the grocery store.

Which was probably not at all annoying to the store employee actually operating the cash register.

Looking to me for help, McKay would wring his hands in worry and say, "Chase! We not s'posed to do dat!" Chase, meanwhile, was completely oblivious to it all and could have cared less about getting in trouble. By the time I could catch him for a scolding, he was already off exploring something else.

Today, Mack is concerned as ever with doing what he's supposed to. The very idea of stepping out of line causes him near panic attacks and ulcers. In fact, last year the Husband offered him twenty bucks if he'd get a pink slip at school just once. Pink slips are handed out for being late, missing assignments, goofing off, etc., and they entitle one to a lunch detention with the teacher. From what we hear, they are used on quite a frequent basis at the middle school. At the start of sixth grade, McKay was consumed with worry that he'd get a pink slip, and stressed constantly about it.

Even with the Husband's offer, he has yet to earn that twenty bucks.

This little chica is also exactly the same as her baby self.

She is, and always has been, everybody's mother. I often hear her correcting the boys' grammar, as well as their behavior.

Her teaching moments and lectures are usually met with eye rolling and a lot of sarcastic comments, which enrages her even more.

[Ah, the wonders she could have done with baby Chase.]

She is also extremely articulate (and was as a toddler, too). I have to constantly explain and negotiate things with her. It's not a simple matter of being told no. She wants to know what, why, when, and how. The ever popular phrase, "because I said so" is just not in her vocabulary.

I don't know why it's so surprising to me that they are the same people they've always been. I think I've known it, but not really connected the pieces of this puzzle together.

Do you think that means I was a stupid baby?

Never mind. Don't answer that.