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!