the funeral home visit... ahem, I mean nursing home

Connor recently informed me that his class would be taking a field trip to the funeral home. Really? Okay, that's weird. Turns out he actually paid a visit to a local nursing home in celebration of Child Abuse Awareness Week. Well, shortly after the trip, I discovered that while visiting and making crafty pinwheels with the senior adults, the children spotted a lady with no teeth and proceeded to gather around her, inspecting her empty oral cavity.

Anyone who has ever spent a significant amount of time around children knows that they call em like they see em. By nature, children are brutally honest and they aren't born knowing appropriate social interactions. We have to teach them what's appropriate. This is where things get tricky.

Apparently my child (it would be my child) became overly excited by the toothless woman and could not contain himself. He had to spread the news that this lady had no teeth. I cringed as his teacher shared this with me. I mean every mother wants her child to be sweet and respectful of his elders, and she doesn't exactly daydream about the times he'll shout, "Hey look! It's a little mommy, and she has crocs just like me!" or ask the lady in the grocery store what color her skin is. I certainly wasn't waiting for the moment Connor would embarrass his teachers at a nursing home, of all places.

When I confronted Connor about making fun of the toothless lady, he denied that he meant any harm. He said, "Mom, I would never make fun of somebody like that. We were just trying to figure out why she was crying."

This is when my heart broke. He made her cry? Good gracious! What am I going to do?

Then he went on with his explanation of the event: "Hunter said she was crying because she just wanted to go home and be with her family. I said she was crying because she didn't have any teeth left."

I giggled to myself and gave him a big squeeze. How could I be angry with him after that? I'm slowly learning how to facilitate opportunities for Connor to grow intellectually and socially. We won't always be hand-in-hand, so I must prepare him as best as I can. We have definitely used this field trip as a learning experience. I have found myself wondering, though, if a toothless lady at the funeral home would have been any easier to explain.

My kind of day...

What a weekend, what a weekend! Andrew and I went to bed Friday evening promising each other we would definitely have dinner together (minus little boys) Saturday night. So many weekends we make plans, then wave them off when we feel we're too tired or there's just been a lot going on. But the truth is, there is nothing more important than keeping that alone time as part of our routine, especially when things get crazy.

So Saturday morning Drew went off to do his thing and I decided to clean the house. At about 10:30, I hear Connor screaming like I've never heard him scream before. I'm thinking something is horribly wrong. Our conversation went something like this:

Connor (wailing in absolute terror): Mama, Mama! I did something so, so bad. Please don't be mad at me! Please, please, please!
Me (puzzled and thinking, wow, he must have a really great conscience): Well, Connor, what's wrong? What exactly did you do?
Connor: I did a bad thing. I put the tissue in the candle in the bathroom.
Me (hesitantly moving toward the bathroom): Okay, Connor. Calm down.

I proceed to stick my head into Connor's bathroom only to find the contents of his waste basket engulfed in flames. I survey the situation and decide, without thinking, that I have to do something. I pick up the plastic bin, throw it into the bathtub, and turn the faucet to on. All the while, ashes are flying into my hair and face. I look around to find black chunks of debris all over the tub and floor. But, the fire is out.

After I successfully extinguish the flames, I find Connor crying on his bed with a burnt little thumb. My heart immediately broke for him. I had never seen him so sad and scared, and on top of those horrible feelings, he was hurt, too. I hugged him, put some aloe on his thumb, and of course, followed up with a very long talk about candles and fire safety.

Ten minutes later the phone rang.

Drew: So, I've got some bad news.
Me: Oh, great. What now?
Drew (so calm, cool, and collected): Well, I guess I didn't fully engage my e-brake and the jeep ran into another car. Uh, safest accident I've ever been in. I wasn't even in the car.
Me: Are you kidding me?

Seriously, if it can happen, it will happen to us and all of it will happen in the same day! Aren't we lucky?

Well, the day goes on without event and just as we're walking out the door to go eat, we get a call that Andrew's poor grandmother has had to make a visit to the emergency room. Of course, we head that way, too.

And, at nine o'clock when I was starving and ill about all of the events of the day, I was thinking, forget the date, let's just go to bed and pray tomorrow's better. But, Andrew, being the level-headed one (he didn't even get excited when his driver-less Jeep hit a car) reminded me that we both had to eat anyway and couldn't let life get in the way. It's so true, sometimes we just need to clear our heads, eat, and simply be together. Whether plans go as expected or not, an evening when we stop to appreciate and enjoy the company of one another is almost always perfect.

Nico, the new creature

We have a new visitor at the Johnston home. It's the same story every time.

I come home from work, walk up the front steps, and everything goes down hill from here.
Me (to myself): Do I hear barking? [my pulse quickens, my face reddens, and I clinch my fists]
Me (aloud now): Andrew!!!!! Is there another dog in my house?
Drew (through shaky laughter): Uh, yeah.
Me: Why do you keep bringing dogs home?
Drew: You never let me keep them.
Me: Because you keep bringing them home!

We usually carry this conversation full circle a couple of times before I storm off, screaming, "You do not respect me!"

This week's lucky puppy is a two year-old Yorkie named Nico. He's pretty cute, I guess. He is badly in need of a hair cut, though. I think it's safe to say he's fairly normal. Although, he is a licker. I'm not so fond of lickers, really. According to Andrew, licking issues or not, Nico is sticking around. I can't help but wonder: if I give in, when will the madness stop?

I suppose things could be far worse. We have had some special dogs over the last five years. I'll attempt a recap.

1. India, the crazy yellow Lab
2. Some old Shih Tzu, blind as a bat--deaf, too, if I remember correctly, escaped under the fence the very first day at our house
3. Sheba, the Chinese Crested peed everywhere
4. I think there was a chocolate lab puppy somewhere in here. I don't recall a name.
5. Bennett, the Maltese puppy who had Parvo and loved rolling around in his poop
6. Grits, the mutt brother of Biscuit and Gravy(?), thought he could scale my shower curtain. I had a breakdown over this one.
7. Diego came next! (He had a broken leg.)
8. Savannah, the Doberman with a broken leg
9. Mr. Al, the black Lab who did not like to be touched
10. Champ, the black Lab who was terrified of thunder and once jumped on my head during the middle of the night
11. and now, Nico

It is likely that I've forgotten a few names here and there. It really is difficult to remember them all. The top ten, though, they'll stick with me, I'm sure.

I guess, for now, I'll just pray, for the preservation of my own sanity, that Nico remains mentally and physically stable and that my dear, sweet husband does not feel inclined to foster any more creatures any time soon.

The Goat Saga

No more goats!!!!
Click the link below to discover an explanation for my exclamation.

http://www.mediafire.com/?yogdkammtoz

Don Diego, the sleepy chihuahua

I stepped out of the shower this morning to find this sleepy little chihuahua snoozing on my pillow. My first thought was: Aw, how snugly bugly (in case you have yet to notice, a favorite phrase at our house) and cute. Then I was like: Oh, no... wait a minute--there's a dog on my pillow. Gross! Who put Diego on the bed? ANDREW!!(I wasn't fast enough for a picture. When he saw me and I started fussing, he took the hint and jumped off the bed.)

Diego is a pretty cool pooch. He has a wonderful demeanor and a very high tolerance for the boys' shenanigans. But, I digress.

I hate the dog smell--the funky breath and stinky fur. Pretty much every part of a dog stinks. And nobody wants a stinky bed. Am I right?

So next time D. plants his haunches by my bed, whining like a baby because his tiny chihuahua legs won't propel him 3 feet into my cloud of white cotton sheets, Andrew most certainly will not pick him up, strategically placing him on my typically sweet-smelling headrest.

Diego knows better, but I'm still training the man.

Skippyjon is back... and we're loving him!

Every night before sleepy time, we (my sons: Connor-5, Brett-10 months, husband: Andrew, and myself) all snuggle into Connor's tiny twin bed. Connor insist that both Brett and he "be in the middle," even on nights when it's just the three of us (because Daddy's busy) and there can only really be one little boy in the middle. Naturally, though, I agree because as Connor says, "It is more snugly bugly that way."

When we're finally settled and squished together in the most snugly way, I ask Connor which story he'd like to read. He has quite the library--all of my children's books, his uncle's, even some of his Mimi's childhood favorites, not to mention the many treasures resulting from my fast pass to the Scholastic warehouse sale (FABULOUS!). With so many options, it seems Connor can never choose just one book. Thus, every evening I have the privilege of making the choice myself, pulling my favorites from the shelves, fingering their pages, and smiling at the opportunity to share those favorites with my two little guys.

We have certainly acquired some new favorites (thanks to that fast pass) recently. We love all things Mo Willems and David Shannon. As of late, though, Judy Schachner's silly kitty, Skippyjon Jones, has once again topped our list. He's back in Skippyjon Jones and the Big Bones. Who wouldn't adore a tiny Siamese kitten with humongous ears, who aspires to be Skippito the chihuahua of his day dreams? Clever names, playful alliteration, and a sing-song beat make this story enjoyable for kids and grown-ups, too. You'll be on the edge of your bed as you seek to determine the fate of Skippito Friskito in his closet adventures. No spoilers here, though! You'll have to check it out yourself. I will warn you; it has life-altering potential. We are seriously considering changing Don Diego's (more to come on our family's very own chihuahua soon) name to Skippito Friskito. Yes, it's just that good. You'll see.

Princesses don't poop on the playground

What do you do when a three-year-old relieves herself in an outdoor play area while at least twenty other youngsters run circles around the pole she has smeared with her poop? You cry for help, that's what you do! And then, after the hustle and bustle of gloving-up, pitchforking poop over the fence, and wiping down the unfortunate victims of the incident, you ask yourself why in the world anyone would want to poop on the playground.

When you're unable to envision a satisfying justification, you ask the pooper herself, in all her glory. When she doesn't have an answer either, you ask her friends. It is in an attempt to unearth the truth (not exactly consistent with unearthing poop, but close) that you encounter the extensiveness of peer pressure on the preschool playground.

Luckily, one little girl is willing to step up and make her voice heard. She's not afraid of ostracism from her crowd. For her, the answer is simple as she boldly proclaims, "They tried to get me to do it, but I told them, 'Princesses don't poop on the playground.'"