In Which I Reveal Why I Camped on the Bathroom Countertop: day 4

Yesterday, I mentioned that I enjoy so many critters around, most of the time.  You never know what you might see, if you keep your eyes and ears open.  Take this armadillo, for instance.  It provided us with a great science lesson on our way back from our little country post office.  I did not allow the boys to get any closer than this, and I was thankful for that, upon learning these buggers can carry leprosy.  Yeesh.

And while it's true that I tend to prefer the larger of creatures, I've been introduced to some wee ones in the South that greatly impress me.

I've been introduced to Katydid.  It's true they look just like leaves.  When this one flew away up into a nearby Maple, it was nearly impossible to see. 

Praying Mantis created quite a stir the day it showed up during our Greek root review.  How could "biblos" and "sauros" and "tele" compete with that?  We grabbed nature journals, colored pencils, and a field guide, and abruptly changed subjects.

Then there's this dear friend of ours, Garden Spider, which has since passed on.  She hung around outside our dining room window from our move-in through the remainder of summer.  After a severe thunderstorm and hail demolished her beautiful web, she promptly spun a new one a couple feet away.  Her size was shocking.  Her color riveting.  Her artwork stunning.  I had no idea that some spiders have sewing machines with zigzag.  Inconceivable.

Next in line, there's obnoxious Cicada.  I've no pictures of this guy, but my ears are ringing just thinking about him.  If you've ever been to the South, you know!  His noise, along with his thousands of counterparts, is bonafide deafening.  I don't believe I would ever get used to their serenade-of-sorts, as the Southern Old-timers tell us they have.  "Those?  Well, them there Cicadas; I've just tuned them out.  Don't even hear 'em!  heh heh!"  At any rate, I have learned to laugh when I hear the familiar "wayy-ohh-wayy-ohh-wayy-ohh" 

All these little guys, and many more, make me smile.  There are plenty of others that don't make me smile, but I'll not discuss those.  After all, this is a series on things for an Alaska Girl to love about the South.  I do, however, have one more adorable little guy to introduce to you.  Meet our friend, Five-Striped Skink.

Upon initial inspection of this property, it was understood there are lizards.  They are adorable.  At least they are now, after I've gotten used to the idea.  They come out on the hottest and sunniest of days, and bask in the sunshine. A sun-loving girl like me can really appreciate that.  They are also extremely hyper-active little guys, racing out of their hidy-holes to find the sunniest spot on the sidewalk, laying out with legs folded back comfortably for long periods like 5 seconds, then scurrying to another location, repeating, then quickly!  Hiding!  It's wildly entertaining, but I did not always feel that way. 

One afternoon, I was busy with unpacking.  I was brand-new to the South, and still felt like there was a snake or an over-sized, hairy spider around every corner, including potentially, in the house.  Let it be known that in a house full of young boys, a mama cannot let them see her sweat.  But unfortunately, they all knew I was a bit jumpy.  One of the boys, the most mischievous of all, came into the living room smiling, and with a high-pitched, almost mocking voice called,  "Mommy, there's a lizard in our house..."

"Oh Honey.  No there's not. Quit teasing Mommy."

"But Mommy, there really is a lizard in our house" he says with a nervous grin.  "Lilikoi has it!"

At that moment the light bulb went on.  The kid was not kidding.  Lilikoi.  Our kitty who does not hunt to kill, but to play.  Lilikoi, who brought in both a bird and a shrew for a play date in Alaska.  She had a lizard.  At this epiphany, she came around the corner, but she was not alone.  There was something squirming and dare I say thrashing around in and outside her mouth. 

She dropped it. 

It scurried. 

She pounced. 

I screamed. 

She grabbed it up again, and I saw something red thrashing and spinning around and around outside her mouth as she struggled to keep it in submission.  I screamed again.  Lots of excited, nervous boy laughter.  

Chaos ensued.

Picture four boys (one was napping,) running everywhere, laughing and nervous and a mama involuntarily squealing "Get it get it get it get it out dear Lord get it out dear Lorrrrrrd!"  This type of deal is not my strong suit.  I expected someone to get that thing but it was not going to be me!  

It was obvious that none of the boys wanted to grab it either, and even if they'd wanted to, how would you catch that quick and slippery little sucker?  Then I had a great idea.  I'd pick up the cat, put her head out the door, and shake her head until she released the critter.  It had worked with birds, right?  I grabbed her as the boys skittered around and about me, raucously laughing.  "Does she still have the lizard?!" I asked. I was certainly not going to look, because by then I realized that the thing I'd seen thrashing around and around?  It was a bloody stump of a tail.  All I could picture was that my beautiful, sleek-furred, calico kitty had eaten a nasty lizard tail.  Or worse, maybe it was somewhere inside the house and would be discovered at a much later date.  I'm not a fan of such surprises.

WHERE WAS THE TAIL?!

"Oh yes! She's still got the lizard in her mouth!"  Great, so I reached for the slider door, when oops!  Obviously she no longer had it.  I'm dancing around like I'm on hot coals by this time, yelling for a boy to grab the popcorn bowl.  I trapped that little bugger under a gigantic ceramic bowl and triumphantly slapped my foot on top to keep my prisoner secure.  

WHERE WAS THE TAIL?!

"Now go get Daddy!  And tell him it's an emergency!"  I was certainly not going to leave that bowl unattended.  My knight in shining armor was out on the lawn tractor, and soon a boy brought him in.  I politely excused myself, informing the attendees to this Southern side-show that I would be locked in my bathroom, on the counter top, until I was informed the ordeal was completely finished.  The last thing I wanted to see was that thing shoot out and hide somewhere where it couldn't be retrieved, or worse, get smooshed.  

WHERE WAS THE TAIL?!

The last thing I heard spoken as a daddy and four young sons surrounded a popcorn bowl and I shut the bathroom door behind me was, "Remember!  Whatever happens...stand your ground!"

After what seemed like a fairly long while, and quite a bit of cacophony, I nervously creeped out to request that the offender not be...smooshed.  I just couldn't bear the thought of that nastiness, and I wasn't exactly sure what their plan was.  They assured me they'd get it out alive.  As I turned heel, I saw something twitching to my side, and forgive me for posting, but,

Ahh yes.  I FOUND THE TAIL.  Mystery solved.  There it was, twitching away on my dining room tile.  I ran back to the safety of my counter top and prayed they would remember to clean up the carnage.

When all was said and done, Mr. Short Tail was safely transported outside.  The bloody, twitchy tail was disposed of, and I came down from the counter.  We all laughed for days.  I proceeded to tell only half the story to my facebook friends, and now, your mystery is solved also.

Something to be thankful for and to love about the South?  Sure.

"A joyful heart is good medicine..."  Proverbs 17:22

                         This is Day 4 of a 31 Day series.  You can learn more by clicking here.

Wanna Join the Club?

We found this "paperwork" left on the coffee table a few weeks ago:



So, if you have a "knif", you're IN.

LOVE BEING THE MOM OF MANY BOYS!

Confessions

I have a sweet tooth. If there is anything sweet in the house, I sneak it when the kids aren't looking.

No shame.
No will-power.

So tonight, as I was sweeping up the kitchen near our gingerbread train creation, I noticed a lone gumball, and proceeded to pop it in my mouth. I tried to chew it, and then realized....

...it was a marble.

Plise...Or Is It Pleese?

Regardless of the proper spelling, they are the CUTEST policemen, definitely the most creative policemen ever!

Hazards of Markers

This seems to be a recurring problem in our household. Interestingly, both incidents were blue.

Run-In With a Bungie Cord

Don't worry, Mommy. I've got my gun.

PETA Beware...

Our little entreprenuer started up a "Meat Bisnis" this past weekend. Simply put--he shoots, he sells. Blame it on our summer reading--Little House on the Prairie. I must go--I hear a buffalo hunt going on downstairs...

My Mother's Day Moment

While I sat nursing son #4 on the couch, sons #1-#3 sat at the table eating breakfast. I overheard the most delightful conversation:

Eaglet: "So, "Bobcat", do you think Mommy should not be allowed in Boyland?"
Bobcat: "No"
Eaglet: "Well the reason she is allowed is because she gave birth to us. If she wasn't here, it
would just be....Nothingland."
Bobcat: "Yes...she's here because she gives birth to boys."

So now you all know why I am here....and so do I...without having to read any Rick Warren.

Those Who Don't Know History Are Doomed to Repeat It

...Eaglet just chooses to repeat it in order to learn it! Experiential learner he is (and quite artistic too.) This year he has learned about:

The Statue of Liberty (using various media)


The Old Testament Israelites

The Titanic

The White House

Laura Ingalls Wilder

Native Americans

????????????????????????????????????????

And here's my personal favorite:

Guess who?! Tragedy this photo was taken before he made a wig out of white felt and cotton balls. The coolest thing about all this, is that not one of these subjects or activities was my idea. This is just what happens in the life of a home-schooled, six-year-old boy. Love it.

Toilets and Other Hazzards

Being a mom of boys comes with its hazzards--the first of which to be addressed is: toilets. Had I known I'd share life with so many boys, we'd have gone the extra mile and had industrial-strength thrones installed. No toilet-in-a-box is going to do it for this household. Uh-uh, no way. I had never seen so many clogs in my life prior to living with so many boys. Seems to be a regular part of life in this home. It truly is amazing. So if it's "old news", what spurred this blog topic tonight? A few minutes ago, Eaglet came running upstairs yelling, "Mommy, Daddy! Something REALLY bad just happened!" (Tony puts down book, I quit writing e-mail...) "There was no toilet paper, and so I used..." (Right about now I knew this was going to be bad. Tony's and my horrified eyes met and locked...) "...the thingy and I forgot and I accidentally threw it in the toilet and now it's in the toilet and I can't get it out and how are we going to get it out?!" At this point I was seeking clarification as to what the "thingy" was. I decided not to draw things out, and just head down for an inspection. Tony chuckled deviously, apparently because I was on stage for this particular emergency. My response to him was to casually bring to his attention that the upstairs toilet was also clogged and needed tending to! Anyway, turned out Eaglet had decided to use the cardboard roll in lieu of grabbing a new roll of paper out of the bathroom closet. (?) Not quite as bad as I'd imagined. I had been thinking there was a nasty washcloth 1/2 way flushed down the bowl. Supermom was I....I retrieved the cardboard roll and deposited it into a recycled Wal-Mart bag...sealed it shut and wallah! Catastrophe averted. Those million-and-one bags really do come in handy. Eaglet and I gave a humble round of applause and we moved on with the evening. I'll have to address other hazzards in a different post...time to check on how my dear husband is getting along upstairs with the plunger...

This is Parenting

So this morning, I found myself wondering if perhaps this is why our littlest knight has been reluctant to make his appearance--the utter chaos of Boyland. Our middle prince ran up the stairs with a strange, toothy grin on his face...and blood gushing out of it. I took him in the bathroom to inspect, as the youngest came running up the stairs, completely naked (as he had been for the past 15 minutes or so....I'd seen him zoom in and out of the room several times giggling...although Daddy said he did have a swimming Speedo on at one point...) and crying, "My Band-Aid fell off! My Band-Aid fell off!" Daddy brought him into the bathroom to replace the coveted Band-Aid on his toe...as I was busy trying to wipe blood from a VERY strong, wriggling 6-year-old who had a tooth dangling by a string downward out of his mouth but WOULD NOT allow me to just get it out of there. Daddy offered an assist and wrapped his arms around Prince Eaglet, as the child SCREAMED and thrashed as though we were going through another blood draw (see post from 11-12-08.) He kept yelling, "Don't touch it! Don't pull it out!" I noticed somewhere around this time that he had something green stuck to his neck. Turned out it was the Band-Aid from Spunky's toe...which gave us an indication as to how this mess had begun. So Daddy and I noticed now that Spunky was climbing up onto the bathroom counter...he's still completely naked...to take the matter of the Band-Aid into his own hands since his parents were obviously indisposed at the moment. I gotta say I appreciate his initiative. Simultaneously with the naked crawler and screaming and thrashing bloody hostage, in pops Prince Bobcat, who, oblivious to the goings-on of the moment, thrusts a drawing in front of Daddy's face, "Look what I drew!" Daddy and I met eyes and just laughed. "This is parenting", I said. Nobody prepares you for this. I was thinking about the little guy inside, who although a silent bystander, was listening to the whole ordeal. It's no wonder we're sitting at D-Day and he has not made the slightest move to come out and join the party. He knows this party is going to require some major strength, resilience, and readiness. I cannot promise him a peaceful, serene home to grow up in...but I can promise plenty of excitement and love.

Boyland Funnies

A few evenings ago, Wise Bobcat came and sat down next to me and told me all about a funny commercial he'd just seen. I politely chuckled at the 8-year-old humor, to which he replied, "Now THAT'S how you make women laugh!" At this remark, I totally cracked up, to which he replied, "And that's ANOTHER way to make women laugh!"

Spunky's take on the true meaning of Christmas: "Mommy? Christmas is NOT about FRUITCAKE!"(A good lesson learned from Max Lucado's A Fruitcake Christmas...)

Somehow while talking about Baby Brother, we got on the topic of caesarean sections. Eaglet, with a worried and furrowed brow, was full of questions. He then proclaimed, "Well, don't worry, Mommy because God is going to make you strong and able to push Baby out." I told him that I believed that also, and that I know God will take care of us. "Well", with a much-relieved expression, he said, "It's a GOOD THING I don't have to worry about THAT--'cause I'm a BOY!"

Bobcat came running up with a revelatory remark: "Guys? Circumcision and circumstition have VERY different meanings!" (Wait for parents' laughter to subside) "Circumcision is when you have to have a pee pee surgery...and circumstition is when you believe something silly to be true!" Circumstition or superstition?

Excitement of excitements: While unloading out of the van this morning, the two older boys went running around to the side entrance of the house--nothing unusual--but then they came running back, yelling. I had just gotten Spunky out of his car seat and was wondering what on earth could be so exciting, when the older brothers loudly blurted out, "There's dog pee next to OUR door!!" At this, all three ran very hurriedly to inspect. What a great day in Boyland!

Deserves It's Own Post

That's my boy!

JJ's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...

I'm home now. The kids have had a "lunch" of sorts--at 4:00 p.m. Time for me to unload.
It snowed all afternoon and evening and into the morning. It's truly beautiful, except that three little boys and I needed to be dressed, fed and out of the house at 8:30 this morning to make it to a doctor appointment by 9:15. I still have not gotten my studded tires on.
My 3-year-old morning person made his way up the stairs much too early. I knew he was coming by the perpetual, "I'm way too tired because sleep is for the birds" whine which slowly increased in volume. It was soon apparent that he was not the only one who got up on the wrong side of the bed. Our morning routine consisted of much pestering, bickering, moaning, groaning, and in-general--gnashing of teeth. Three little boys finally got out the door (on-time--whew!) and made their way out to the studless family van. We made our way through the slip-sliding morning traffic and arrived at the medical plaza at 9:15. I naively thought, "We did it! All downhill from here!" Three little boys unloaded and we made our way across the parking lot and into the building and down the hall. We were greeted by a dark, shade-drawn office with a note on the door proclaiming, "We moved in October! We finally have a building of our own!" Good for you, and congratulations. WISH YOU'D HAVE BOTHERED TO MENTION THIS LITTLE FACT WHEN I MADE THE APPOINTMENT...OR YESTERDAY WHEN YOU CALLED TO CONFIRM! There was an address on the door, which was totally unfamiliar to me. Upon investigation, I found another little note in another window with a very obscure map on it. Three little boys and their mother (mind you with 4th little boy inside) headed back up the hall, back across the parking lot, and through the ritual of buckling into three little car seats. This sounds innocent enough, but any of you readers with three boys know the facts--it is somewhat similar to herding cats, only much louder. Back out into slip-sliding traffic we trudged. I headed in the general direction of where I thought the new office was located. Taking the back roads, I over-shot where I wanted to be and needed to take a left out onto Parks Highway. Done it many times. It's no big deal if you are patient enough to wait for a reasonable opening. I pulled up to the "stop sign" (more on this later) and waited. Finally it was my time. I safely pulled out, and for some reason, the notion popped into my mind that I was going to get in a car accident on my way and it would be all because the doctor office didn't bother to mention they moved. I had to hang in the middle "suicide lane" momentarily while I waited for the other flow of traffic to open up...and it was there I saw a trooper's lights go on. Crap. Is it illegal to hang momentarily in the middle lane if necessary on a snowy day to avoid a collision? Guess so, or so I thought. This was my last straw. I pulled over and burst into tears; I had absorbed my limit of stress on this morning. I'm talking tears as in, the blubbering, gasping type that do not and will not shut off under any amount of will power. I rolled down my window and apologized to the trooper, asking him to please wait a moment. He had that slightly nervous, large-eyed look that most men get to some degree when faced with a pregnant woman in tears. I finally collected myself enough to answer his question, "So you must know why I pulled you over?" I blubbered out why I had to hang momentarily in the middle lane while the other side of traffic cleared more because of the slippery roads...blah, blah, blah." He replied, "There's a traffic light there now; you ran a red light." (Insert loud gong-type noise that at this point went off in my frazzled little head.) A traffic light. Of course. They put them in last September, or August, or...whatever. At this point, I struggled to come up with all the documents the trooper needed--licence, registration, insurance. Most things were in the glove compartment, and proved a bit difficult to retrieve...as are most things these days which require stooping or bending of any sort. I did not have our most recent insurance card in the van. I apologized through my stream of tears which would not end, and waited for him to do his thing back in the patrol car. At this point I thought I'd try and call the doctor's office. Too bad they were not listed in the phone book. Trooper returns, all apologetic-like, and explains he's giving me a ticket for no insurance and if I just produce that within ten days the ticket is void. For the red light, he explained, "I am just giving you a warning...I can see you're having a REALLY BAD DAY." I blubbered out a barely-audible "thank you do you know where Willow street is?" The slightly-nervous-man-look returned and he began to walk backward in an effort to relieve himself from this pitiful, teary-eyed, desperate, pregnant woman whom he REALLY was wishing he had not bothered to pull over. He apologized that he does not normally patrol Wasilla. Off we went.
By God's grace we found the new office; it was 10:50. We headed in, me still not able to stop crying. What a nuisance tears and emotions can be; I desperately wanted those tears to stop, but they would not concede. The receptionist had no pity that I didn't know the office had moved, but we were still able to see the doctor after every other person who had gotten there on time. The doctor visit went as expected. This was an appointment I had not been looking forward to, and had been putting off for many months. Bobcat gets migraines. Freaky, knock-him-out-with-no-notice, makes-him-puke migraines. I've been hoping and praying for months they would just go away. Finally after another episode this past weekend, I made the appointment. Here's a little fun-fact about myself--I hate radiation. I chalk this up to having gone through radiology courses and training and taking x-rays in my previous life, uh...job. I know too well the dangers and risks associated; I also know it can be necessary and helpful. I just do not like the thought of my babies taking any of it on. I have put off this doctor visit because I knew the doctor would request an MRI. Sure enough, we are going to be heading for an MRI. News I expected, but didn't like. The other thing we needed to do was blood work. No biggie, for most people...including myself, and our 6-year-old and 3-year-old. BIG DEAL for our 8-year-old. Mercy. We spent a long time (3 of us) holding him down while he struggled and plead and cried. It added to the wonderful day we were having.
At this point, we were supposed to be headed to a long-awaited field trip to Matanuska Creamery which began at 11:00. It was now 11:06. Three very bummed-out little boys head to the van, and I tell them we can just head over and maybe they'll let us go on the 2nd tour at 12:00. They did. Ice cream brightened my little crew's day momentarily. We had a couple errands before we could go home. The highlight, which was tucked in between a whole lot of whining and pestering, was knock-down, drag-out hysteria in the Fred Meyer restroom...because my 6-year-old is positively panicked over automatic-flushing toilets. If you heard a blood-curdling, frantic screaming sometime this afternoon...it was us. At this point, I made my summation proclamation, "Well this has been a banner-day for the (insert our last name.) That's all. May you all have a much better day than the one described!
Side note--We choose to give thanks for our days--whether they are good days, or bad days. What a cool thing that after the trooper incident, I could remind the boys of the song we hear regularly on KLOVE, "Praise You in This Storm". They have asked before, "What is this song talking about, Mommy?" I told them today, that days like today are what the song is talking about. We choose to praise Jesus for all our days--because each and every one (YES, including today!) are a gift from Him. We are healthy, together, and have a job that provides a warm home and good food. Jesus is the giver of everything good, and we will praise Him in every storm.

A Great Reason to Love 3-Year-Olds!

Their blatant honesty.

Upon the advice of my hairdresser, I bought myself a set of hot rollers. Haven't tried the things since about 20 years ago, but thought I'd give it a shot. Sherry knows what she's talking about, right? Yesterday morning I put 'em to work. As I sat all hot-rollered on the couch during my morning Bible study/quiet time, I heard the little padded footsteps that I know and love so well, coming up the stairs. Spunky started chattering away about something as he made his way up the stairs--his way of diverting attention from the fact that he really isn't supposed to be out of bed yet. I sat with a smile...just wondering about the effect my get-up would have on him and what delightful comment he'd have to share. I was not left disappointed. Upon seeing his mommy, he stopped in mid-sentence, gaping at me. "OH MY MOMMY! WHAT is THAT thing?! Mommy! You is lookin' like a SCARECROW!" So, it is only right that I end this post with a picture of the (very scary scarecrow), taken by my 8-year-old (who by the way had plenty to say about my state..as did my 5-year-old.)

Lessons on Women

So last night at supper, Eaglet asked why the Titanic is referred to as "her" and "she". I explained that, traditionally, ships are referred to as women and named womens' names. so Bobcat pipes in--in his normal, revelatory, booming voice--"Oh! So we can call women "Titanic"?!" Uh....no. But we got a GREAT laugh!

Only in Boyland...

...will a mommy get bloodied, swollen knuckles because she got struck with a sand-filled "bug box" which was catapulted by her 5-year-old and a broken rake handle. Unintentionally, of course, and truly it was impressive considering I was mowing lawn at the time. It was a "had to be there to get it" moment....and one my knuckles would rather forget.

Confessions

I love homes, which in the summer time, are clean, fresh, neat and orderly. Having gone through the ritual of a spring cleaning, the windows are sparkling and furniture is polished. Unnecessary clutter has been disposed of, and surfaces are dust-free. Windows are open, and the fresh breezes of the season waft through the rooms. Seasonal decor is in place--crisp linens and vases of flowers tucked in various locations. The home is preserved in such a way throughout the summer months, as any resident children spend their hours outdoors, and toys lay still on shelving and in closets.

MY HOME IS NOT ONE OF THESE HOMES....except for the part about residents spending their hours outdoors. We live in the yard as much as possible, soaking up any bits of sun we're blessed to receive that day. We run, we walk, we play in the hose or kiddie pool. Resident children may or may not be clothed. We play with the dogs, birdwatch, bugwatch, garden and play in the dirt. We read, we sing, we practice violin outside on a rock. We run inside to grab a drink or some food....or when Mommy frantically notices the time and realized something needs to be done about supper. Dirt and grass clippings track in the house, and stay there for a disturbingly long time. It is difficult to see through the windows when the sun shines. When was the last time the bathroom was cleaned? I think there is a toilet somewhere in there underneath the mounds of swim trunks and dirt-encrusted clothing from yesterday (Sure...it was only from yesterday.) We do pause to clean up a hairball with a paper towel if the need arises. The rest of the cleaning supplies are....somewhere. Today I wiped the dust bunnies off the vacuum and went crazy. Morning sickness and first trimester fatigue beginning to wane, now is the time. As I was working away on the long-neglected stairs, Spunky leaned in and yelled above the din of the vacuum, "Do we have friends comin' up?" This of course, was his way of asking, "Do we have company coming over?" Of course. Why else would Mom be cleaning?! I had to laugh. It's all too true. So please, friends, stop by often. It's the only way anything will "get done" around here. And please be so kind as to not mention the sweat on my brow from my cleaning frenzy.

That's all for this edition of Confessions. Eaglet is yelling, "Mommy! I can't get out of the school room!" Seriously.

Memorial Day Weekend....

Some friends generously invited us to go camping with them last weekend. We took their boat ten minutes or so up the river to a beautiful, peaceful sandbar. This is the first time we'd taken the boys camping, and we had a blast! It was cold though...Saturday you could see your breath, the wind was whippin' and the RAIN was pouring. Those 8 hours were not the highlight of the weekend, but we were amazed by the toughness of our boys, who did not complain even though I'm sure they were fairly miserable (as we all were). It was worth sticking it out though...just when we thought we couldn't take any more, the rain stopped, a gentle breeze came in and we were graced with an incredible double rainbow! It was so gorgeous, one guy even caught his foot on fire as he took in the majesty of it all. Enter the quote of the day: "Um, excuse me sir!! Um, your foot is on fire!" After quickly thanking our Wise Bobcat for being so polite, Matthew extinguished his boot.