It's a win-win for everybody

A few days ago, McKay asked me to pick up some new shoelaces for his sneakers.

Being the responsible, loving parent that I am, I forgot.

And forgot.

And, yes, child protective services, I forgot again.

Yesterday, when he was nagging reminding me yet again, I told him to write me a note and I would BE SURE to pick them up.

And, since I am all kinds of awesome, I completely forgot all about it.

Until, I opened up the fridge and saw this note taped to my beverage of choice:

In case you can't read his terrible chicken scratch, it says, "Buy McKay black sport SHOELACES."

When I asked him about the unusual location for his reminder note, he simply said, "I put it where I knew you would be going the most times in a single day."

I think that means one of three things:

a) I have a serious diet coke addiction and my children are left in no doubt of it
b) I have an awesomely creative son who knows how to get the job done
c) all of the above

What do you think? I'm voting C.

Either way it's a win-win: Kid gets his shoelaces; mama gets her brown liquid drink on. Happiness all around.

The extraordinary ordinary

The house is quiet but for the sound of pages turning, novels held in the hands of my boys. Their tired lids fight to finish just one more chapter before sleep washes over them. I look up periodically as one of them pads down the hall to share a funny part with me. I smile, taking in their broad shoulders and long limbs. These boys that are turning into men right under my nose. And me, powerless to stop them.

Hannah has finally succumbed to sleep, and tonight that is no small victory. Her repeated pleas to sleep by my side were rejected, one after the other, each more creative in its attempt to persuade. Were it not for the cold I am fighting, I would have given in. Her snuggles keep me company most nights in my life as a travel widow. In spite of her flailing limbs and all-night-thrashing, her presence is comforting in a quiet bed. But tonight, I need rest above all else. The calendar this week is dotted with line after line of tasks and activities, all of which will require my best self.

The phone rings, and a familiar voice closes the gap of miles that lie between us. I share every moment, even the ones mundane. He laughs at our idiosyncrasies, the ones he knows so well. He vents a little of his own day, and my heart aches for him and the stress of his life. We say goodnight, and I offer a prayer of gratitude for the good man that he is. For his capacity to love that is seemingly endless.

I weigh the choices before me and pick up a book instead of a remote. I relish the extraordinary ordinary that is my life. I snuggle under a blanket and close another day. I am grateful and humbled by the peace I feel deep in my soul.

Life is extraordinarily good.

The story of the pants

One day a lovely pair of pants was sitting at home over Christmas vacation. Seen here:

Okay. Maybe the pants really looked like this:

This kind-hearted, but rotund pair of pants took her daughter to see a movie. As rotund pants are known to do on occasion, and most certainly over Christmas break, this one indulged in a few movie treats.

While watching the previews, the daughter of the rotund pair of pants remembered that she had to use the restroom. The pair of pantses got up together, leaving their snacks to save their spots.

They returned minutes later, just in time for the movie, and sat down to enjoy the show.

Tragically, what the rotund pair of pants did not know, was that a few junior mints had fallen out of the box and landed onto the seat while she was getting up to walk to the bathroom. When she returned to the dark theater, she sat down, completely unaware of the sinister misfortune that had just befallen her. It looked sort of exactly like this:

The rotund pair of pants and her daughter ran many errands after the movie. They went to the Home Depot. To Sam's Club. Even to the Target. Stores where, to their delight, they ran into no less than FOUR of their acquaintances over the course of the afternoon.

It was not until about ten o'clock that evening that our rotund pair of pants discovered the ill-placed junior mints. Her expression was something like this:

When her sensitive Husband found out about her misfortune, he showed her all the sympathy he was capable of.

Her children found the predicament as funny as did their father.

Naturally, the owner of the rotund (and now very stained) pants found very little humor in the situation.

The moral of the story is this:

No more movie treats.

Check rear end of the pants after every snack

Never run errands without a full body scan and/or spare pants in the car.

Ignore friends at the store in case pants are stained in a poo-like manner

There is no moral. It's just one more Story of Shame to add to my ever-growing collection. Which, sadly, as my friend Kathy asked me the other night, are all true.

I can't fault his logic

The other day, I walked in the kitchen to discover Chase shoveling food into his mouth from a bowl using only his fingers. At once disgusted and humored, I asked him if he needed a fork.

His response was classic Chase --

"No. What I really need is a bigger mouth."

2012 is off to a good start

This morning, at the unholy hour of 7:42 in the a.m., the phone rang. Still reeling from the eating and napping hard partying I did last night, I begged the Husband not to answer it.

And, as he is occasionally wont to do, he chose not to listen to me.

[Thankfully.]

It was our bank calling. They wanted to double check that we actually did want to order those expensive hookers and a limo service in New Jersey before they authorized the charges on our credit card.

Seeing as how we are in Missouri, fun like that might be a little difficult to enjoy.

Lucky for us, our bank is vigilant and doesn't let little things like hookers and limos fly under the radar and go unnoticed. Not so lucky, however, for the identity thieves who are now sitting in Trenton wondering how in the world they will ever pay for their wild night with Sheila and Tiffanie.

But for us, I'd say we're off to a good start on our New Year's Resolution list: No more hookers or limo rides through New Jersey.

I think it's going to be a good year.

Perspective

A few days ago, I had a meltdown of epic proportions.

Tears, crying, and, oh, did I mention the tears?

I was decorating my umpteenth batch of holiday cookies for the neighbors. I was simultaneously also preparing a dish to take to the Husband's holiday work lunch the next day. I had been up really late the night before working on client orders and was exhausted. I had laundry literally exploding out of the mudroom, crawling on its dirty hands and knees towards me, begging to be dealt with. I had kids to shuffle to baptisms at the temple. And there had been workmen in my house all day long.

I was almost at my breaking point.

With the timing of a hurtling bomb, a boy reminded me of something he needed at school the next day. Which meant yet another trip to Hades The Target.

Hiding in the bathroom, I dried my tears and took a deep breath. Gritting my teeth, and stifling every urge of protest my feet made, I grabbed my purse and we headed out.

I glared at everyone in my path. I felt no love for the season and wondered why in heaven's name all these people come out of their holes this time of year. I hurried through the store, grabbed what we needed, and headed to the checkout. Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I sighed with impatience. Mentally counting out all that I still had to do this week, I felt the irritation seep out of my every pore.

Finally it came time to pay, and I gratefully prepared to leave.

As I was digging in my purse for my keys, I glanced up and noticed the girl in line behind me. She was short on money and was having to decide which items to take out of her bag.

Instantly, all my irritation melted away and I actually looked at her with kinder, softer eyes. Instead of seeing her worn coat and thin sweater, nails chewed down to the nub -- I saw something else. I saw a sister, younger than me, struggling to pay for her Christmas gifts. Gifts, it appeared, that were for young children. Having been there once myself, compassion flooded over my body like a warm blanket.

I felt like absolute crap. I had been whining and complaining over what, in the right perspective, are no real problems at all. I had momentarily gotten caught up in the material needs of the season and forgotten the meaning behind it.

With tears in my eyes, I reached into my purse, pulled out all the cash I had, and slid it across the counter towards her.

Merry Christmas, I said, and then walked away.

Much happier and more grateful than when I had come.

[I tell you this story not to brag of my good deeds or seek your praise. I tell you in case you, like me, needed a reminder of the good that can be done if we will just look. Look through different eyes at those around us. There just may be some that we can help. ]