Homework, Oh Homework

One "full" week of pre-school is in the books! What a great week! And JO had his first homework assignment, which really means I had homework. The assignment: Bring in a picture of your pet.

Easy enough, right? Big 'ole fat Wrong! We have two dogs---both black labs. June and Coal. I had one picture of June and that's it and this one picture was on the Cloud---you know, the ambiguous, mysterious Cloud. JO insisted on taking a picture of both June and Coal, though I tried to persuade him that it wouldn't really matter because they are basically the same dog, so it would be redundant to take two pictures of basically the same dog. 

PIcture One: Coal

Picture Two: June.

Basically the same picture with the exception of my shadow. 

I made the grave mistake of waiting until close to seven pm to head over to The Wal-Mart to print the two pictures of basically the same dog. If you've ever had the thought, I can wait until later to do that because I'll be able to do it at Wal-Mart, you need to smack yourself on the mouth and say you're sorry. Big 'ole mistake.

All three instant print photo machines were broken at The Wal-Mart, so I did the next best thing and used the One-Hour Photo machine and then made my way to the Photo center where only Doyle was working. Thirty minutes later Doyle couldn't find my pictures or even any sign that I'd placed an order. Why? Doyle said it was because so many people worked in the photo department. I said, "What people? I only see us, Doyle!"

If I'd stopped at that moment and taken a selfie, this is what my face would have looked like. Well, my face would have been white and freckeled, but you get the idea.

As I was contemplating what to do next because Doyle didn't have any clue how to help me, I heard Pink Floyd crooning "We don't need no education!" I may have considered just abadonning my children's education altogether, but sanity kicked in. I re-placed the order on the machine and Doyle was successfully able to retrieve my two photos of basically the same dog.

And I got the order for free--a whopping 58 cents! Go Doyle! I'll save it for when I have enough to buy a pack of gum.

And I got a happy pre-schooler!

I did consider going all Slingblade on The Wal-Mart for letting me down, pulling out my inner trashiness, but I managed to keep it inside and only let a few deep sighs and a couple of eye rolls go. It may or may not have looked like I was seizing.

Glad we left the chainsaw in the car 'cause this guy can really saw some logs with it! 

Back to educating my boys and looking for The Wal-Mart alternative and working on my patience. It's a virtue, right? (wink, wink)

Bottomless PIts and 'Merica

What? Your children don't hold American Flags out of the window while you're driving down the road? Mine do. Maybe they're really Patriotic or Proud to be an American and all that Lee Greenwood jazz. Or maybe it's just fun to hold things out of the window and let's be honest...I'd rather they hold an object that's NOT attached to their body than lose a hand or arm to some passing vehicle/wall/pole. I may be the only person who worries that my small children with equally small appendages are at risk of having them knocked off by some passing car or truck while we're driving down the road. They are probably more likely to be eaten by zombies, but while I don't admonish them for riding on top of their toy cars or for riding their toys down the driveway at mach nine speeds, I draw the line at holding your arms and hands out of the window! Even if fully extended their arms barey reach past the window.

You can just make him out back there celebratin' 'Merica. He may or may not be channeling his inner Bruce Springsteen---"Born in the USA." That woud be ironic!

This guy is loving school. It's a full-on "Is today a school day, when am I going to school, I can't wait to go to school, oh I'm going to school tomorrow why of course I'll go to bed early with no fuss" type of love affair and, well, I'm kind of digging it. It's funny how much joy a person can find in another person's joy. I really, really like how much he likes it and that he has so much fun and those feelings overshadow my feelings of angst that he's growing up so fast. 

And this guy is now a teenager. Just like that! Lounging on the couch with his blanket, laid back with his mind on his chew stick and his chew stick in his mouth! Plus a little Mickey Mouse! All he needs to do now is sit around in his underwear and burb the alphabet!

Both of my boys are currently starving. Like literally starving. If you ask them, they will say they are starving and we need to call Feed the Children, Feed America or any other benevolent agency and get them some food!

This was a snack before their dinner which was minutes away from being ready and by minutes, I really mean twenty to thirty, but they COULD NOT wait!

I immediately channelled my inner Wilford Brimley and began lecturing about the many, many children and people in the world who REALLY are starving and have no food for many days to which they replied, "Can I have a snack?"

I guess I'll be looking for a part-time job to help support the grocery bill for these two cats!

In the meantime, we're busy getting schooled and learning to hang with mommy. John Owen's birthday is in August---the end of August and he's been marking down the days the big day! The two circles on the calendar are "Yays" for the days he goes to school. I dig his eye for the abstract! In the meantime, you'll probably catch us rolling down the street flying flags out our windows! 

Time Is Not on My Side Mr. Mick Jagger.

Time is not on my side, not it's not, no sir. I fought it hard. I landed a few punches, even surprised it with my left-handed ability. I masquerade as a "righty", but really I'm both! I'm a little bruised from this fight, a little worn down. What did Time do to me, you ask? Well, time is a sneaky, dirty dog. You know the kind. They slink around waiting for the right opportunity to steal food off your plate. They seem all docile and friendly because they're hunched down and meek-looking, but they've got shifty eyes and they're always watching. And waiting...

waiting to snatch away toddler-hood and replace it with boyhood. That's manhood looking over his shoulder there waiting to teach him about love and hate and loss and the world. Do you see it? I did this morning as I watched this guy walk into school for his first day of Pre-K4. 

In a few short weeks he'll be five, so he's the older guy in his class and that's how I surprised time. That was my sneaker left punch---a late August birthday that let me keep him home one more year.

And now it's time for the "next" thing and the "next" thing is good and right.

He was all abuzz with the happenings of his half-day at school. The three friends he's made, none of which he learned their name. Not an important detail when you're playing cops and sheriffs. The "next" thing was really good and he can't wait to go back. I can't wait for him either, not because I won't miss him or don't enjoy him, but because I see his joy, the pride in his step, the new sense of purpose and I'm excited for him even if I'm sad for me.

And then there's always this guy...

who can make anyone smile---even the scroogiest Scrooges! He's my bud, my fella, my trying so hard to be a big boy dude. His "next" thing is learning to use the toilet. Potty training is my favorite thing in raising children. I kid, I kid. I hate it and I'm sure my feelings translate somehow in some weird way like how people say animals can sense when you're afraid of them and then attack you. I think my boys know how much I dislike potty training and somehow it becomes much more difficult. 

James has successfully pooped and peed in the toilet on separate occasions and multiple times, but for every one time he's used the toilet, he's used his diaper ten times and usually right after he's gotten off the toilet.

I can safely say that changing a poop diaper is up on the list of things I really, really, really hate doing. For one, I don't do it well. I'm in a hurry and use way too many wipes, yet I still manage to soil my hands.

And let's be honest, when you soil your hands with someone else's waste, your only option is to cut your hand off. "If your right hand offends you, cut it off." (That's a loose paraphrase.) I walk around all day feeling as if at any moment I'm going to fall sick with E. Coli or some other awful infection that will cause me to vomit, which is equally detestable to me. I'd rather crawl through a pit of spiders and snakes than get a stomach virus. 

But I've evaded both E. Coli and the stomach virus, so I'll continue persevering in the potty training and doing the "next" thing.

A Thunderous Week

I've officially taken up a new profession. Good-bye English Education degree. So long Bachelor of Arts degree that was really just a lot of reading and reading and writing and writing---good thing I love doing both of those things. You're looking at a bona fide, certified, real deal...Referee! Give me a whistle and some polyester black and white striped shirts and call it a day!

That's right! I've been giving out red cards, ejecting thunderous sons from the game and exacting hefty fines on these two cats.

The Sons of Thunder have been in full fighting mode this week. No mercy, no grace. All "He touched me", "He's got my (insert any item in our house)", "He's being loud". Lots of lessons have been learned this week about the good 'ole things...sharing, loving, showing grace, being nice and my favorite..."Sounds like a personal problem. Work it out." I like to think that's teaching my boys, my boisterous little men how to think through situations, how to work on relationships without an intervention.

There has been some fun this week. When my boys play together it usually involves taking a normal activity and making it an extreme one. For example: Cozy Coupe Extreme.

Fred and Barney here like to take turns riding this car from the top. They can entertain themselves for a long time doing this. And then...

This happened. If there's a limit to push, they will push it. When they're doing this little stunt, they are moving that little car as fast as their Flintstone feet will allow them. I'm not a prophet, but I forsee some visits to the ER in our future.

J.O. is warning James to "Hold on tight!" It did all end well with no broken bones, but then they got mad and started fighting again.

My conflict resolution for this situation...take a picture! 

We've all survived this week of WWE RAW. I'm sure there will be more episodes and I'll be able to hone my refereeing skills. It was a tough week---I'm fully convinced that whining and fussing are forms of torture---some country's government is using them somewhere, surely. Cassette tapes---yes cassettes---filled with hours of children whining and saying "mama" over and over until your head explodes and you begin to see dragons and rainbows.

But then there's a break in the storm and this happens...

Spooning of their own volition. This isn't some form of discipline to deter them from fighting. They just got over "it" and are friends now---no, brothers...The Sons of Thunder.

And it's always good to be their mom. Always.

Peach Butts and Opposite Day

Today has been Opposite Day here at the Thurman house. Actually this entire weekend has been Opposite Day. I don't mean some fun, creative day where we all swap roles or wear our shirts as pants and our pants as shirts. (Does that really happen?) But Opposite Day here is when the Sons of Thunder do the exact opposite of what I say. 

Example One: Smile while I take a picture of you.

James' clearly interpreted this to mean, "Don't smile and hold your hand out to indicate you don't want a picture taken of you."

We clearly are still having some language barriers. (I kid. I kid.)

John Owen's interpretation of "Smile while I take a picture of you."

I believe I'm raising some abstract artists around here. As a sidenote, yes that is a basket of laundry that I DID NOT get folded today. I, too am practicing Opposite Day.

Opposite Day was also practiced when getting in and out of the Jeep. 

Example Two: "C'mon and get out so we can get in the store and get our errands done."

Of course whenever you mention the words "C'mon" or "Hurry" that internal switch inside of every kid is flipped and they immediately proceed to do whatever they are engaged in at the slowest possible speed or pace.

This happens so often at my house that I've often wondered if my kids really are tortoise people. You know the kind. Those people who just naturally talk and walk slowly. The kind you hate to engage in conversation because it will take literally an eternity for them to finish speaking or even worse get behind them walking in the mall and you know you'll be stalling near the food court until they make it past Journey or Aveda. You might as well put your engine in neutral and coast through the mall.

But I've discovered proof that my children are NOT tortoise people and they can INDEED hurry when they take the notion.

Here they are coming back from running sprints in front of our house. That's right, I said sprints. And they were very fast I might add.

So I guess it's just figuring out how to persuade them to "take the notion" to move it along when I'm in a hurry, or we could just be the tortoise people because in reality, we are "those people". Get behind us on a set of stairs and you'll gain a few pounds, go gray and qualify for AARP before you make it down the first flight.

So I appoligize for us tortoise people and I seek to embrace a slower pace and I console myself because at least we aren't "those" people who post odd pictures on Facebook and with that I leave you with one and hope it makes you laugh heartily.

Those are peaches in women's underwear. Marinate on that!

Chiggers Be Gone

We're waste-deep in chiggers over here.  I promise my little fellas could be 100 miles away from the closet chigger and it would somehow find my sweaty boys. Chiggers equal clear nailpolish applications to places other than our toenails and fingernails. They also equal little boys scratching themselves in awkward places in public and me saying constantly, "Stop doing that!" 

I'm sure a good remedy to our chigger issue would be to stay indoors, but I'd rather you rip off all of my fingernails and toenails with tweezers and then dip them in rubbing alcohol than stay indoors with my two boys.

My boys (and most likely your boys) are loud and proud and rowdy and rough and tumble. My house is not a jungle gym, nor does it muffle sound, so indoors my sanity is stretched and pulled like an overblown balloon that you know is about to pop at any moment. My remedy...we spend most ALL our time outside. We do have a few regulations, a few things that will drive us inside.

1) Rain---not sprinkles, but thunder and lightning

2) Temperaturs below twenty degrees. (This is somewhat negotiable for my little Ethiopian American who prefers warmer temps.)

3) Extremely windy days. (Not real sure why this bothers us, but it does, so it usually drives us inside.)

Outdoors is just better and fun and you can be as loud as you want and run as fast as you want.

It's freeing and open and calming at the same time. I love the smell of the sun on our skin at the end of the day.

When you spend most of your day outside, some challenges arise. Challenges like where to go to the bathroom. I know it makes sense to just go upstairs and use one of the two perfectly good indoor toilets that we have, but my boys don't really think that way. James of course walks around with his own portable potty---his diaper. John Owen though is almost five and doesn't have that luxury. He's the type of fella that can solve his own dilemmas, too, so I shouldn't have been surprised when he nonchalantly said, "Mama, don't watch me do this."

Well, that of course sets off my kid's about to do something bad warning indicator. 

That's James watching my oldest son, my sweet, talkative, incredibly strong-willed and now I can add uncouth son urinate in an empty bottle next to our neighbor's fence. What? Your kids don't do this? I wish I could tell you I jumped into prompt mommy action mode, reprimanding and training him in the proper way to relieve oneself, but I think I took a few pictures and said, "Don't pee outside."

I'm sure I'll have to revisit this issue until we learn not to relieve ourselves where others can see.

Outdoors is great for eating freeze pops---A LOT of freeze pops, maybe more than we should.

The thing I've learned about boys is that they aren't alway free of drama and tears. I do think they cry over different things than maybe girls do. As rough and tumble as they are, sometimes they really do reveal their sensitive side and you get a real sense that they are truly caring individuals. Take James for instance.

These are full on, legit tears, upset, crying because...the icing slipped off of his peach cupcake. It took a few minutes to settle him down and I had to scoop the icing back onto his cupcake. I'm glad to see he has things he cares so deeply about.

This life...I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to.

Cupcakes and Boys

Over there you can barely make out my stand mixer. My plan was to make cupcakes in that stand mixer, but as is the norm around here whenever my boys notice, which is always, that I've switched activties and am about to do something new, they flock to me, buzzing around like a bunch of flies wanting to be involved.

Sweet, right? Of course it is and I soak up every moment that they want to be with me. Every moment like when I go to the bathroom or get in the shower or brush my teeth or step outside on the porch to have an adult conversation on the phone. They have a sixth sense that is better named the Mommy Homing Device. They just know, like I know the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, that mommy is about to do SOMETHING. It doesn't have to be something fun or entertaining, but just something.

So Saturday this mommy decided to make peach cupcakes with cream cheese and peach compote in the center and peach curd in the batter topped off with cinnammon cream cheese icing---ALL. FROM. SCRATCH.

I'm not yelling that so you'll think I'm awesome, but because I have two very hands on boys and they of course wanted to "help" me. Help being a word I use loosely. 

So it all began with them fighting over who was going to do what and who was going to stand in what chair and pour which flour and stir which pot, etc., etc., etc.

John Owen is complaining her about how he never gets to do anything, but as you can see, he's a liar because he's the one operating the mixer. You get a great view of James' high and tight in this picture. The sleeveless shirt adds to this vintage look he has going on. By the way, the late eighties called us and asked for its hairstyle back. All he needs is a boombox.

They took turns manning the stirring detail of the peach curd. And then...they disappeared...well sorta disappeared.

They started playing with their blankets which they do often. They really enjoy rough housing each other and so they covered themselves in a blanket and started stumbling all over the kitchen bumping into each other like padded bumper cars. Surprisingly they collided knocking one another down on the floor. Wonder how they managed that with blankets over their heads? wink, wink

And then the cupcakes were finished another hour later after a trip to the grocery in between baking and icing and maybe a stop by the horrible, horrendous, non-real food fast food joint commonly referred to as Mickey D's. 

It takes  A LOT longer to do my domestic tasks when these two cats are helping, but I hope they'll learn, as I did as a young girl helping my mom, the importance of keeping a home and of helping others even if you do stop occasionally to play a little blanket bumper cars.

High and Tights

Since we became a transracial family in 2013, there have been many unsual things to address, overcome, learn about, and conquer. Back in February of this year, exactly one year after we brought James home, I decided he needed to visit a barber shop. I know right now you have images of Ice Cube's classic hit Barbershop flashing through your brain, but that's the movies and we live in Frankfort, so the barbershop we visited and by we, I really mean Zack and the boys, wasn't like that. There was no sign of Ice Cube...anywhere! Visiting a barbershop was uncharted territory for us. Why you ask? Well, because we're white and we grew up going to hair salons and if you're white, getting your haircut isn't really part of your cultural experience.

I do understand that for black men and boys it is and I want this for my youngest son, so "we" headed off to the barbershop. Unfortunately, James HATED it. Like full on screaming, crying, flailing, etc. 

The first cut took over two hours and my boys returned tattered and worn with the scars to prove it.

But James had a fresh cut and looked fly.

This is the picture Zack texted me during James' first barbershop visit back in Febraury. I love Zack's fake smile. Poor baby James!

We are conquerors though and we made a return trip to the barbershop about two months later for another fresh cut, but alas, the experience was worse and the cut was not so fresh (all because James wouldn't sit still).

Enter our next decision as a transracial family---cut his hair at home. Sounds like no big deal right, except we've never cut a black child's hair. Actually we've never cut anyone's hair, but we ain't skeered of a challenge, so we pushed forward in this endeavor and the result?

A somewhat happy James and a somewhat fresh cut. I was pleased and felt satisfied that at least until he was older, we had a solution. I could wait until he was older and understood better to take him to a barbershop. For now, we cut at home!

And then last night happened. What was last night you ask? It was supposed to be a regular fresh cut...just a little buzz. What happened was what I like to call... Oopsie!

After dinner, we prepared James for his haircut. Got the clippers out and I took John Owen to the bathroom to give him his bath. I happened back into the kitchen to discover that the wrong guard was on the clippers and the side of James' hair was more than short...it was scalped.

I could hear black America sighing because we'd tried to cut our baby's hair ourselves. Our beautiful, sweet, funny baby who kept saying, "I ton't want a taircut, momma."

Scenes from Ice Cube's Barbershop flashed through my head and instantly I said, "Give him a high and tight fade!"

Praise Jesus! There was hope, redemption as his parents. All was not ruined. 

Zack jumped on it and began giving the aforementioned high and tight. I googled images to use as a guide and voila!

Those eyes...even closed they are dreamy.

Not too bad, right?!

Being a transracial family is an adventure. Most days it's not even a thought in our heads. We are who we are, but every now and then something arises and I'm reminded of our difference. We aren't perfect and don't do everything perfectly, but there's grace and a forever family and these two brothers! What's better than that?

Chore Charts and Kool-Aid

I'm a fan of kool-aid. I drank a lot of it when I was growing up, but I'm not a fan of Kool-aid on my carpet and well...that's the sweet gift the Sons of Thunder gave me this past Saturday. I walked in to discover a red Kool-aid spill about the size of a mighty watermelon. I died a little as I thought about the permanence of it. Would I get it up? Was my carpet cleaner strong enough to suck the red Kool-aid out of my carpet? 

Well, turns out it was and there is only a faint pinkness to the carpet now. I might be the only person who sees the pinkness because the image of that red stain is burned into my brain.

This fun time called for swift action by Dad who quickly instated the "No food or drink other than water on the carpet from here on." We've abided by this rule this week obligingly, probably because the boys still remember the look on my face when I discovered the spill.

But today, John Owen, Mr. Strongwilled Child USA asked for a snack of goldfish, which I obliged and then watched as he marched into the family room. I called him back to the kitchen with our faux tile and asked him to eat his snack in the kitchen. A few minutes later I discovered him sitting like this.

I give you John Owen's form of obedience. He's on the carpet, but his snack is on the faux tile. To him, he's obeying. He's an adventure!

He's really into chores now. I'm milking it for all it's worth and I've even purchased these handy little chore charts and magnets with neat little pictures on them. The kids really enjoy doing their chore and then pushing their magnet to the Done side of their chore chart.

They're assigned things like Brushing their teeth or making their beds, which is fun to watch them do and conquer on their own. Boyhood is rapidly approaching for both of them, if it's not already knocking at our door. And then...sigh...time is a dirty dog stealing the steak off the grill!

John Owen' bed he made all by himself. 

I hope they love The Lord one day and I hope they are both hard workers even when chores become just that...chores.

Road Trippin' and Poop

I took the notion to go on a road trip with my sons of thunder, solo. No other adult...just me. Yes, I am slightly crazy, but hey good times were had with our Virginia cousins---my nieces and nephews.

Here's a few pics as proof.

My sweet niece Abigail. She's eleven and quite nearly perfect. 

Here's a picture of both my nieces. That's little Caitlyn...she's got more sass that anyone I know, but is so much fun and a barrel of laughs! The party follows her for sure!

Throw in Austin. He's fourteen and little JO trying to be all grown up, too and the party's almost complete. My nephew Zach and my sweet baby James were both napping during this picture, I believe. Zach's twelve and JM's two, but when naptime calls, you answer no matter your age. Amen?

Fun was had and then the fun came to an end and the sons of thunder and I packed up Zack's truck and began the eight hour journey home.

This picture was taken at about hour eleven of our journey---a journey that took way longer than I'd hoped and gave me a few gray hairs. At this point we were almost home, but traffic had come to a standstill on the interstate. They were clearly slaphappy and I was maybe or maybe not shedding a few tears over the traffic situation. I was for sure crying on the inside.

A positive though was that James went poop in the potty for the first time. I count it all joy my friends that he chose our trip home to be the first time. I have no proof because I took no pictures, but if you can get the name of the woman standing outside of the women's bathroom in the Starbucks in Roanoke, Virginia where this beautiful thing occurred, where JO and I were also doing the happy dance and giving LOUD shouts of praise to JM. Yes, we opened the door to find her standing outside, smiling with us through her frustration at our delay.

Poop in the potty for the first time---or hey! anytime is a thing to be celebrated.

If you've forgotten how I feel about wiping butts, see my previous post from last summer.

As a disclaimer: JM pooped one more time in the potty on the road and hasn't done it in the potty since we've been home, so I'm still wiping butts around here.

But this too shall pass.

Am I sorry I made this trip? No Way!

Life with the Sons of Thunder is a fantastic journey full of bumps and ups and downs and I'm so, so glad I'm on it and I'm so, so glad I got to spend so much time with my nieces and nephews and other family!

Here's to cousins and Virginia family!

It's blurry, but if you squint it clears up some. lol

Gotcha! A Year of James

February 13, 2013---Gotcha, Melaku! Gotcha for good!

Melaku at nine months.

Melaku at eleven months.

Melaku at thirteen months and now staying with us in the guest house waiting on the US Embassy.

Melaku getting ready to say good-bye to Ethiopia and hello to America.

No one rocks a Hawaiian shirt like James Thurman (seventeen months).

James has spent a lot of this year sleeping at the most random times.

Hanging out with mama and brother---A LOT.

He knows how to cheese and how to rock a bear mask!

Brothers and friends.

Never long without a smile and a ball.

First haircut at a barbershop. Two years old.

Today is James' "Gotcha Day". A year ago today we picked him up from the orphanage and took him back to the guest house. We waited a few days for clearance from the Embassy to travel and then made the arduous trip back to Kentucky and to John Owen. It has been one of the most difficult years of our lives for many reasons that I think most people wouldn't understand. Adoption is an incredible thing, but it is so incredibly difficult on many different levels. 

I remember writing at the beginning of our first year home that we had lost all anonymity. We no longer entered the public domain unnoticed. A year later, I'd say that's probably accurate, but we no longer notice the stares or odd looks. God is gracious.

We've all learned a lot this past year. I know a lot about sensory issues and how to help a little person navigate through them. I've learned that sometimes you've just got to take the tonsils and adenoids out to help a fella hear and learn to speak. Our year really was a time of learning about each other and growing more in love with each other.

Happy Gotcha Day to James Melaku. He's a really neat little boy and the best James around!