My luck; my life

Say your oldest son is upstairs taking a shower. You JUST HAPPEN to glance over and see water dripping out of the light fixture in your living room. You just then notice the big four-foot long water mark on the ceiling.

Your in-laws AND parents are due to arrive in three days.

Yeah. This is my life.

Heaven help me this week, internets. I'm gonna need it.

Dear Chase

Dear Chase,

Today you are eight years old. How is that possible? I feel like time seems to be slipping away from me. What has happened to my little boy? I can still picture you the first moment I saw you.

You were born on a cool, crisp September day in Seattle. The only one of my babies born remotely on-time. You came with one dimple and a set of blue eyes that are still deep and dreamy. To say that you were a happy baby would be true, but you also spent a good deal of your first year crying. Some call it colic. I've always felt it was simply a personality too big to be confined to such a small body. You have certainly grown into that personality (lately, right before our eyes). You are much more content with life than you were in those early months.


Right now you are in second grade and just seem to be thriving in school. Your obsessive personality is currently focused on all things war. You beg and plead every weekend for a "war" movie - savoring such classics as "Bridge on the River Kwai" and "Sands of Iwo Jima." Each time, your Dad and I wonder if they will go over your head, but you soak up every detail like a sponge and reiterate the plots to us for days afterward. You pour over your World War II books and fill our lives with random factoids that we've never heard before. You get positively giddy over old books just like your Opa, and cannot get enough of anything related to history. I think you'd be just as at-home in an antique store as you are on a playground.

You are so passionate about conservation. If someone "accidentally" throws a can in the garbage (usually me), you will rescue it for the recycling bin, then give us all a lecture on protecting the environment. You get upset and have come to tears when talking about the destruction of animal habitats. You worry so much about this little planet of ours. You care about all god's creatures, and have a tender spot reserved just for reptiles and amphibians.

You are so close to your brother. The two of you have become one entity; you have become simply "the boys." You are inseparable. You have interests as different as night and day, yet you are the best of friends. Your brother is, however, trying to come to terms with the fact that you are already as tall as him, and may shortly pass him up. I have no doubt that you will. I also have to laugh every time your father tries to take credit for it.

You are such a kind, sensitive little boy; yet there is a fierce independence inside that does not care what anyone thinks of you. You are confident in yourself and your decisions. You never second guess yourself. Times where I would melt with insecurity, you walk boldly in with your head held high.

You are so willing to give me hugs in public and light up when I come to help in your classroom at school. Occasionally, you even still reach for my hand in a parking lot. I treasure these times because I have no doubt they will fade, as has the rest of your former baby self.

You are my little artist. A few years ago, you would be so hard on yourself and get absolutely frustrated when a project didn't turn out the way you wanted it. Now you take such pride in your creations. You can turn a discarded pile of scraps into a masterpiece. You have the creative vision to see what things COULD be. An empty cardboard box is not trash; it is a blank canvas, full of possibilities.



You are a beautiful person, both inside and out. I love you, little guy. May this be your best year yet.

Love,

Mama

My Last Lecture

Have any of you seen or heard about this? The Husband forwarded this great article to me from the Wall Street Journal. A lot of universities are now having professors give lectures and speeches - as though it would be their last. Many have been waxing philosophical and poetic with one last look at their life and what they would have the world know after they have gone.

This article really got me thinking. What would I say to my children if I knew I was dying? What lessons would they need to know? I began thinking so much about this that I decided to write my own Last Lecture. Kind of like the talk I'd give if I were to attend my own funeral. But since I am who I am, my Last Lecture must be in the form of a list. So here are some of the things I've learned in my short life that I would want my children to know:

• Boys who are mean and tease you actually really like you.


• Seventh, eighth, and ninth grades are not kind to anyone. Not even that pretty girl who never gets pimples and wears the cool jeans.


• Don't take things personally.


• Don't over-analyze every conversation and be critical of yourself for hours afterward.


• Don't feel insecure when you walk into a room and don't know anybody.


• Don't ever feel like you're not good enough. YOU ARE GOOD ENOUGH. And then some.


• Never lie. Unless it's to get out of a bad date. Then come up with a DOOZIE.


• Never be afraid to talk to that cute boy. He just might be your soul mate.


• Look at the glass as half full. Even if it's not.


• Find a creative outlet.


• Then create something every day.


• Learn to bake a really good cheesecake and your spouse will always forgive you for accidentally making pink gravy.


• Organize your life. Clutter can actually cause your brain to explode.


• Be okay with laughing at yourself.


• Always remember that you're never too old to make new friends.


• Don't be afraid to try something new. Even if you're really bad at it. ESPECIALLY if you're really bad at it.


• Be physically active. Exercise will make life seem more manageable.


• Always make sure to taste the cookie dough. Can't stress this one enough.


• And the cookies, too.


• Don't waste your energy on things that don't matter.


• Marry someone that makes you laugh.


• Don't panic because your first baby never cries. Your second one will. A LOT.


• Savor every moment with your babies. Even the ones when you're so annoyed you want to scream. Your babies will grow up entirely too fast.


• Take pictures of everything in your life.


• Wear sunscreen.


• Learn to measure a person by their character and their soul; not their looks or situation.


• NEVER, and I mean EVER, take two toddler boys to Nathaniel Hawthorne's House of Seven Gables in Salem, Massachusetts. Just trust me on this one.


• Accept that your life is a poster for Murphy's Law. And be okay with that.


• Learn to love all your faults. Even your freckles. And the jiggly bits on your thighs.


• Laugh at something every day.


• Read good books. Over and over again.


• Never stop learning.


• Love those around you.


• Be forgiving.


• Never judge anyone. You just don't know everything.


• Love yourself.

What would you have your loved ones know?

Having THAT conversation yet again

I have been working like a mad woman to get some painting done in the house before my parents and in-laws come visit next week. As we were headed out to catch the bus, Hannah turns to me (as I am fully ensconced in my paint garb) and says:

"Um, Mom...aren't you going to be embarrassed going out like that?"

"No, why would I be embarrassed?"

"Because nobody pretty much wears clothes like that outside. Shouldn't you change?"

This from the girl who thinks this is appropriate for outside wear:

Fashion advice noted. And ignored.

Dum-dum does it again

In the guest bathroom in the basement, we have a little problem.

The previous owners thought it was just an awesome idea to screw a towel rack onto a piece of wood, and then screw that piece of wood into the sheetrock. Doesn't that just scream klassy decor? Don't you just want one for your own house? Well, in their decorating haste, they didn't use any drywall anchors and it fell off the wall every time anyone so much as touched the towel that hung from it. It was annoying, but on my seemingly endless list of rehab projects. I've already even bought the most adorable hooks to replace it.

(Shut up, Daniel. I know what you're thinking. And you're wrong. Hooks CAN be adorable).

Well, I went to prep that bathroom this week for painting. To my shock and horror, I was unable to pry that towel rack off the wall. I took all the screws out and it just would not budge. I yanked harder. I tried jimmying something behind it to pop it off. Nothing.

Well, it finally did come off. And this is what I found:

That big brown patch, my friends, is the sheetrock paper from the wall.

I immediately questioned The Husband as to WHY? WHY? WHY? he would glue that towel rack when he knew I'd be replacing it.

He didn't do it.

Well, then who did?

Our only thought is that our BRILLIANT contractor took it upon himself to glue the towel rack to the wall. He, who couldn't lift his hammer into the air without first increasing his already-padded invoice DECIDED TO DO SOMETHING ON HIS OWN. For free. I'm sure he sat in the basement and patted himself on his shirtless, sweaty back for doing such charitable service. Probably made him feel less guilty for over charging us on everything else he did.

So now we get the pleasure of re-mudding and patching a GIANT HOLE in the wall that should not be there. Would not be there. Were it not for the contractor I call Dum-Dum.

What's that you say? Call him up! Make him fix his mess! I would love to. But doing so would require that he step foot in my home (most likely hairy and shirtless) and I just can't bear the sight of that. EVER. AGAIN.

So pardon my cussing (still pining away for that R-rating). I'm so f#@% mad I could scream. But I can't. What with all the plaster dust I'm inhaling.

And I wouldn't recommend simultaneous cursing and inhaling. Makes for a very bad day, indeed.

Things I learned this week

• Before weeding the flower beds in your front yard, it is helpful to know which are flowers and which are weeds.
• Knowing this in advance will prevent the elderly woman next door from having a heart attack as she watches you cheerfully pluck flowers instead of weeds.
• When planning your son's 8th birthday, do not be naive enough to think you can simply take a few eight-year-old boys to the movies and call it a party.
• Before the week is through, you will somehow have morphed that brilliant idea into a full-fledged Army-themed party.
• At your house.
• And 13 boys will be coming.
• After spending a year in Sunny So Cal, do not be surprised when your children have no warm-weather gear that fits.
• Sending your son to the bus stop in YOUR jacket will make you feel just a little bit embarrassed because he doesn't have one himself.
• He, however, will be perfectly thrilled with the new jacket arrangement.
• Promptly running out to buy a new jacket for said son will guarantee 85-degree weather for at least the next three weeks.
• Getting that letter in the mail from GWB will be the highlight of a little boy's week.
• Watching this defeat happen in person will be the lowlight of The Husband's week.
• Your favorite thing this week: NOT having to watch that defeat and getting some girl time with the Hannah.