BLAMERS

As I go to throw my Target bags in the back of the Yukon, I notice someone has left a special message in the window dirt.

"Who wrote "penis" on the back of the car window?" I demand my 10, 5, and 19 month old to answer.

"Not me!" the eldest child quick and wise in adverting blame.

"Not me!" the second child quick and wise in repeating.

Silence as I toss in my 10 drink box packages (on sale, of course).

"Conrad did it, Mom," says the second about the third, who's adorably beaming. 

Busted!

Today's Prayer: "Why do people write words of genitalia on my car? As if I don't have enough to deal with. Thank you for taking my troubles at your feet. This is one I just don't need."

LOST & FOUND

Caleb slept with us last night. He slapped my face, drooled on my eye, rubbed my ear raw, talked in his sleep, and used my muffin top as a pillow. Yet, I slept like a baby.

While helping my mom put on her 60th bday for 90 guests, my phone rang.

"Do you have Caleb?"

"No."

"Then, Caleb's missing."

"I told him he could go to Landon's."

"We've been knocking for 15 minutes."


I call every neighbor down the row: Sarah, Kristine, Cori, Paul, Karla, Mary, Vickie. No one has seen him, but everyone stops to find him. Seth's yelling through the streets, Tara's sprinting through the park, my dad, uncles, and brother race over to help, the cement guys down the street jump in their truck to drive around, a construction dude/retired fire fighter directs Seth actions as he's frantic, all as the helicopter circles overhead.

I sit frozen, sweating, and helpless 20 minutes away. I shake and cry in panic in Andrea and Pam's arms as I describe him and what he is wearing.

Then, after about a whole hour, my mom yells, "They found him!"

I lost it and cried harder, only calmed by his sweet, high voice on the other end of the line.

He was sitting in his best friend's back yard waiting for him to come home to play.

Today's prayer: "Lord, You protect our children when we can't. You surround us with the BEST neighbors in the world. You know what it's like to lose a son, and I now have a small inkling, too. Our belief in You has been reaffirmed and for this, we thank You."

TO THE BEST FAMILY AND NEIGHBORS EVER AND THE ONES I HAVE PICS OF:

THANK YOU AND WE LOVE YOU WITH ALL OUR HEARTS!

Here to protect the boys in the hood.

This blog is dedicated to our brother who left today overseas to ensure we are all protected. Safe travels and we'll see you soon. All our love to you and know the girls are in our daily prayers.
Lord, keep them safe in your arms.

S^#T MANAGEMENT

So Seth took the boys to Washington to visit Gramma & Grandpa last week and I got so much done, including opening the mixer and food processor we received as wedding gifts 7 years ago. I organized every room, the refrigerator, my small stock shelves from some couponing endeavors, my coupons, files on my new computer, my pictures, etc. etc.

I couldn't believe the incredible feeling I experienced by putting something down and having it stay there! Making myself a glass of water and not having any backwash in it! The fresh smell of a clean house lingered for days without the aroma of maleness.

Then...they came back. Two days ago. Monday, it's back to the grind. Tuesday, a friend with 3 extra kids came over for dinner. And this morning after dropping the two off at the Y, the tears start flowing. Seth reaches over and wipes one away, I'm sure with a tinge of snot intertwined, and asks, "what's wrong?"

I had no words as I had just realized I have a PhD in Shit Management. I clean up shit all day long. They were gone for a week and I organized shit. They come home and I have four times the shit to hit. I wipe shit, correct shit, touch shit, install shit, hang shit, wash shit, protect shit, pick up shit, water shit, fold shit, do shit, toss shit. 

It was then Seth comforted me, praying for me like a good husband should. We arrived home and he left for work. Conrad and I jump in the car to run an errand, but I pull over to chat with a neighbor before we get going. I look back after a few minutes to check on him in his brand new car seat in my brand new car and he has a strange substance on his fingers.

I get out, and you guessed it: SHIT. The exploding diaper kind, the runny, smelly kind, the up the back, out the sides kind, the I'm getting a molar kind. Ah, just the kind I love...the have to bathe the kid kind, then wash the car seat kind. And all I can say is, well, "Shit."

Nothing to do but clean it up and move on, just like a good mom does.

Today's prayer: "Thank you for forgiving me today for my trucker's mouth. And thank you for having taught me how to deal with sh...I mean stuff like Chloe jumping in the car yesterday with shaved legs. I know it will never end, and neither will my dependence on you."

MISS SPOKEN

"Chloe, you have to ice your knee when we get home."

"I think I bruised my cleavage."

"Um, do you know what cleavage is?"

"Yeah, it's the stuff around my knee and Brew (step dad) said I bruised it."

"Um, no. That's not what cleavage is. I think you mean cartilage."


Eyes look down to knee, she gently pokes at it, and BOOM...it hits her.

"Oh my gosh!" She places her hand over her heart, "I don't have cleavage! I don't even have boobs!"

Today's prayer:

"Chloe has reminded me (and Tara to the left) to pray the following:

Help me to keep my mouth shut until I know what I'm talking about."