Fatherly influence

My husband pulled a fast one on me the other day by singing a tune I thought he had made up. He sang it off and on for an hour or so, all the while I thought he was propositioning me so I made sure to not acknowledge his vocals.

He finally asked me if I knew what song he was singing.

Me: No, it's just one of your silly songs you make up and I'm not paying any attention to it.
Jim: HA! You really don't know what song I'm singing?
Me: No, it's ridiculous and I'm not going there.
Jim: Mrs. "I'm up on all the entertainment news because I watch MTV and E! news" doesn't know what song I'm singing?
Me: What are you talking about? No, I have no idea what you're singing.
Jim: Come here.

We go to the computer where he pulls up YouTube and has a video for me to watch. It was American Idol's visit to Atlanta where 62 year-old Larry Platt, aka the General, sang a song he personally wrote entitled, "Pants on the ground."



and then he pulled up another YouTube video showing Jimmy Fallon's rendition of Neil Young singing "Pants on the ground."



Needless to say, I must have been living in a hole for the past month because it's been such a pop culture phenomenon and I missed every single bit of it.

So here's the funny part. This morning guess who started singing "Pants on the ground" while she was waiting for her breakfast. The 3-year-old remembered from 2-3 weeks ago and started singing the Jimmy Fallon/Neil Young version.

And then, within minutes, she picked up her unactivated cell phone and declared in her white-girl-trying-to-be-ghetto-voice, "Quit calling me floo." (That last word is not a typo, she hasn't been introduced to the word "fool" yet, so I'm not correcting her).

Her father has been quite the influence on her lately.

Cool pics with updates

There's no bigger hero in his little life when Daddy gets home!

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Katherine got some new gardening gear so she had to try them all out at the same time: boots, watering can, spade, rake, tool belt and gloves. The orange and blue was no accident, mind you.

The turnips were harvested yesterday, they looked great and I prepared them tonight, although I use the term prepared loosely. They cut, cook and have the consistency of potatoes, but are a little bitter. It was the first time everyone in our family had ever eaten turnips.

A lesson in a pre-schooler's bad language

Thursday, we had the honor of having the cousins over for an afternoon of play. It was a beautiful day outside so we got in some good outside play time along with spending much needed cousin bonding time.
Some of the candy I was given for Valentine's day was graciously devoured by the older munchkins. It certainly was best for my hiney, but I'm thinking I better start some type of list to remind God of the "extra nice" things I did for those jewels to be added to my crown in heaven. (Just kidding, God)
While Nathan was napping, I was able to pull out of the archives a well-known and over-utilized technique my mother would use on us when we were little. In the afternoons, it was usually my brother and I, along with at least 3 other children my mom babysat. We lived in the country, on 5 acres, with a large fenced in back yard. I didn't like what my mom did at the time, but I certainly understand now why she did it.

She would lock us out. Not for any crazy amount of time, but probably long enough for her to go to the bathroom or make an important phone call that required both hemispheres of her brain.

I've had it on my list of things to do to hang up some princess pictures in Katherine's room for a while and thought, oh good, they're playing outside. Now's the perfect time!

Since Nathan was finally sleeping after skipping his morning nap, it was imperative that he sleep as long as he could. It also seemed that everything that happened in the little lives of the three outside was the perfect excuse to bust through the back door and call my name loudly with much emphasis. Somebody wanted to take off their shoes in the 55 degree weather, or the Barbie jeep got stuck, or someone was playing with the soccer ball instead of the jump rope like she told him to do. You know, life-shattering stuff.

And what I was doing (measuring, marking and making sure lines were level) required more than a 30-second span of attention.

So, I first warned them then locked the door. Just like my mother used to. (Never fear, I did open the bathroom window so I could still hear them)

And you know what? They lived. They even thrived better with not having the option to open the door. They problem-solved a little more, there was no blood or injuries, and the 15 minutes it took me to complete my task was good for them and excellent for my to-do list.

There was one altercation that is certainly worth repeating, though. Before the door got locked, one of the excuses to bust through the door was the use of profanity. Maybe I should tell the story of my brother first...

Back when my brother, M, was in elementary school, he got in trouble for saying a bad word. A little boy in the cafeteria told the principal on him and with many years of experience, she had learned not to ask what the bad word was. So, M was put in the corner, or time out or whatever punishment was popular at the time. My mom worked at the school and a couple of minutes later she came in for her lunch break. She saw M sitting in the corner and asked him what happened. Through sobs and tear-stained cheeks he explained to her that he had said a bad word. It took her much prodding to convince him that he wouldn't get in trouble anymore and to tell her what the word was. He reluctantly whispered "Beanie Weanie." M was released from the corner, the principal felt awful for not clarifying and all was well with lunch time once again.

So fast forward to nowadays when J came squealing inside proclaiming that the girls called him a bad name, and I shuttered. Because really, they do pick up on a lot more than we realize and I still talk to adults periodically like an adult would. Nevertheless, I was interested to know what happened.

I called R and Katherine in to explain themselves.

Me: R and Katherine, did you call J a bad word?
Katherine: (silence and staring up at ceiling)
R: Um Aunt Kelle, we were trying to ride the Barbie jeep and J wouldn't get out of the way.
M: Did you call J a bad word?
R: Well, he wouldn't get out of the way after we asked nicely for him to move.
K: (still silence)
M: Katherine, did you call J a bad word?
K: (I'm pretty sure her tongue was super-glued to the top of her mouth or she temporarily forgot the English language: still nothing but blank staring into oblivion)
R: But Aunt Kelle, we were trying to go pick some flowers and find more snail shells to take to the...
M: R, answer this one question. Did you call J a bad word?
R: Yes, Aunt Kelle.
M: What did you call him?
This is when the movie-type slow motion started with her mouth moving slowly and the words turned into long, drawn-out, deep tones and all I heard was the first syllable...
R: S - T - O - O - P

Flashbacks of Mark getting in trouble, wondering what I had possibly said, wondering what type of soon-to-be-drug-dealing friends our children are hanging out with, wondering what Jim might have said to a guy buddy or co-worker on the phone all flashed through my head like a strobe light. Great, this didn't sound too good. And then she softly uttered the rest of the bad word, not so sure of her possible pending punishment.

R: Stupendous underpants

Now this is when, as a parent, you're not supposed to laugh. I dug down deep, used a wild card and pulled it off without smiling. We then talked about how that made J feel and how we should try to find other ways to resolve conflict without resorting to name-calling.

The rest of the conversation revealed, through much squealing, whining, interrupting and continued blank stares, that J had also called the girls a bad name: booty.

Good heavens!

Jim said he didn't think that J should have taken that as a cut-down, that he'd love for me to call him Stupendous Underpants.
Thankfully soon after, Nathan woke up and we walked to the park down the street.

Fresh air (I wish)

I've got time to write about something funny, introspective or interesting that's happened lately and all I can do is pray for clean air to breathe and wonder when we'll ever find some dog food that doesn't give Gracie horrible gas spells that cause the room to empty.I must go now.

Tough guy

Daddy wasn't very fond of the spiked hair. I loved it, along with our neighbor, my mother and some random dude in Moe's.It sure beat trying to wash the banana slime out of his hair.

Parenthood: things I never thought of

I remember as a kid, when adults would say something to me that didn't make sense or I really didn't agree with, I would think to myself, "I better remember this so I can explain it better to my kids." I never thought 30 was old; 80 yes, but never 30. I truly believed that adults knew more than me, were wiser and that they knew what was best for me. My actions didn't always show that, but that's what I believed.

So when parenthood was looming on the horizon, I wasn't scared that I'd be forced to eat a plate full of crow. I was more concerned with still listening to those more experienced and wiser than I, and when the time came, making the time to explain to my kids the "why's" of this world and decisions as a parent.

Now, details. I'm usually a detail person, but some of the details of parenthood eluded me BK (before kids). They currently have forced their way into my daily routine, becoming habit, more than I care to admit. Stuff that no one could have ever prepared me for, explained to me nor would I have truly comprehended until I had my own.

For instance:

• No time in my life did I ever realize right before bedtime that I was wearing my bottom undergarments inside out all day long. NEVER. Not until I became a mother.

• Making a trip to Wal-Mart to buy something as simple as printer paper was one of those things I could "do while sleeping." It was so easy and common for me to do. Now, the constant barrage of comments and questions emanating from the cute little voice in my cart distracts my concentration, therefore making the usually simple search for printer paper turn into walking down 5-6 aisles until I politely request quiet time. I'm not even gonna be picky about what type of paper so long as it's cheap, just let me find it!

• Who would have ever thought that a serious debate would occur over 5 or 6 Cheez-Its for a pre-bedtime snack? Is one more really going to make that much of a difference, oh little one? Apparently so.

• Mobility. Oh the freedom of getting into a car and leaving in less than 15 minutes. I remember my cousin and I having contests to see who could jump into their manual transmission trucks, turn them on and start rolling down the road first. I was fast baby, fast. I usually had the truck rolling before the starter was fully turned over. Not so much any more. My cousin would already be in the check-out line at Wal-Mart paying for the printer paper by the time I pull out of the driveway nowadays.

• I never ever could have predicted that 100% of the time I'm frustrated with helping wipe her hiney (who is fully capable of doing it herself) that my heart would be softened with a hug and the sweet words of, "I love you Mommy."

• Not one class was offered to me, in any of my schooling, that taught me one day I'd have to search my shirt for dried snot before walking into church or a restaurant. Thank goodness I married a man who is very perceptive (yet still working on his method of delivery).

But of all the books I've read, and all the parents and grandparents I've talked to, not one has been able to sufficiently verbalize the heart-swell of a feeling I get when my children are being so cute and well-behaved in a restaurant, or they're playing together nicely, or they just want me to hold them tightly, or hearing squeals of laughter echo down the hallway.

I guess that's part of the surprise factor. If we ever fully knew of the pains and hassles, would we still make the same decision?

An older lady stared longingly at our pre-nap destructos in Wal-Mart today and said, "Oh, they're precious. And mine are so big now!" Just like the comments made by adults placed in my life 20 years ago, I have comments from adults to remind me of the preciousness of now. The wonderfulness of them being little. The sliver of time when they need me so much. The blessing of being a mom.

Random Little Lady updates

Periodically, I'll write down something cute or interesting the kids did. I've been looking at this long list lately and decided to put it all down.

The following is very random events that have happened in the life of Katherine, but worth documenting.

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We've entered the world of a 3-year-old's lack of social etiquette. We're trying to teach Katherine that even though she may be thinking it, she doesn't have to verbalize everything that's on her mind.

My dad came to eat the other night. He prepared his plate with a normal man-size portion of food, especially the white acre peas which just happen to be his favorite.

Her comments were: "Is all that for you?" and "Are you gonna eat all that"

After a little ha ha over her comments, dad asked her a loaded question: "Katherine, do you say the prayer every night, or just when I'm here" and she replied with, "only when you're here." Which is NOT the truth, might I add.

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After leaving Lowe's, Katherine and I started a conversation about how Lowe's and Moe's rhymed.

Me: Hey, Katherine. They rhyme! Do you know of any other words that rhyme with Lowe's and Moe's?
Katherine: ummmmmmmmmm................ no.
M: Sure you do. I'm thinking of a body part that rhymes.
K: I dunno. (insert tad bit of attitude)
M: This word is a body part that is on your face and rhymes with LOWE'S and MOE'S. Can you think of what I'm thinking of?

K: (she proceeded to muster up every single bit of pre-teen attitude her little 29 pound frame could handle and said) Uh, GERMS!

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Ever since Christmas, Nathan has had the coveted book in our car. It is a 6" board book with pictures of trucks in it. It is coveted because he wants to hold it every time we get in the car, therefore so does Katherine. After more than a month of listening to squabbling in the back seat over a book I know only one of them is truly interested in, I decided to spend some $ on something Katherine could call her own, special for just her. So each one of them has their unique books, special to them.

So I bought a Bride's magazine.

The best $6 I've spent in a long time. It stays in the car and she no longer calls "shotgun" on holding the truck book.

Now, before anyone gets all worried about her already looking at wedding gowns, simmer down. She has no clue of what a wedding is or what it means. She will comment regularly on how she just got married last night, to Nathan, who was the prince, I was there, just out of my mommy's tummy, and the grandchildren made it whose names are Zoe and Lala.

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I remember suffering greatly from allergies, as a child. My nose would run, I was sneezing constantly, my eyes itched. I was a mess. There was a commercial on TV, though, that interested me. It talked about relieving the itching and burning. Didn't have any clue exactly what the commercial was advertising, just a catchy name and it just seemed like a product I could benefit from.

I also remembered my mom putting some type of cream in my eyes that seemed to help the itching. In my mind, I put together the cream, a commercial with desirable results and pure frustration and I was one desperate pre-teen.

So desperate that one day, while trying to rinse away the itchiness, my mom came to check in on me. In all of my desperation, all I could do was think of the cream and the commercial, so I blurted out the answer to my itchy woes, "Mom, I just need some Preparation H!"

Imagine her confusion when she tried to piece together itchy eyes with Preparation H. Then she started to chuckle. I don't believe she explained then what that product was for, she figured I learn eventually.

Now, fast forward 25 years and I have a little girl sitting on the pot with an upset stomach. I'm playing detective/doctor by asking her questions about what hurts, what she ate, etc. Her matter-of-fact answer to her problem was, "Mommy, my tummy is upset because I sneeze and have allergies."

It's just funny how we can be so different, yet so similar at the same time.

Sister love

A major advantage to having an older sibling, especially one that thinks she's already a mommy...
You don't have to wait for your "biological" mom to finish unloading the car to help you play in the back yard.

The ravin' Ravines

We took a trip to the booming metropolis of Palatka today, and while we were there we visited the beautiful Ravine Gardens. Over 95,000 flowers were planted there during the Great Depression, a majority of them being azaleas. I'm thinking in a couple of weeks or so the azaleas will be in full bloom and absolutely bee-yu-tee-ful!
The busy-bodies (who had been strapped into car seats for over an hour and a half) and their parents decided to brave the not-so-sure-footed trails down into the ravine. The paved asphalt path around the perimeter would have been too easy and since this adventure was my idea, I was feeling a little pressure to make it one worth visiting again and off the scales fun. It wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have my heart set on trying to practice taking pictures. A stroller carrying kid paraphernalia is cumbersome and awkward down in the ravines, so stroller-less and diaper bag-less we went. I felt so naked.
We thought after visiting the stream that the wet area near Nathan's rear was from some fresh water he inadvertently stuck only a long narrow portion of his rear end into. Hmm. Nathan must have thought we were flaming idiots because for the next hour he didn't want us to hold his hand to help him walk and insisted on us picking him up. And wouldn't you know it, every time one of us picked him up and complained about our wet shirt sleeves or love handles, we questioned the other parent on whether or not the wet spot was from fresh water or bodily fluids.

Yes, son, we are in charge of raising you.

I did get somewhat frustrated because Nathan was not going to walk anywhere without holding a stick. I've mentioned it before: the child is always carrying some type of tool. Which then makes it difficult to help him navigate the uneven terrain because holding just one of his hands makes for a very uncomfortable sideways fall, usually using the nearest foot as a pivot causing him to twist as he goes down. And a tool-carrying version of the infamous phrase from "The Christmas Story" echoed in my head: "You'll poke your eye out."
I did have fun taking a very limited amount of pictures, but as mentioned in the beginning, I had my heart set on practicing. A couple of times, when reaching for both of Nathan's hands to keep him from tumbling head over heels down a steep embankment, the camera I'd been waiting so long for and had hanging around my neck, would swing from behind my back and bonk him in the head, causing some discomfort.

About mid-way of our trek in this beautiful ravine conveniently blocking the 15 mph winds, we ran into some children on the playground that make it hard for me to be nice to them. They were with their mother and used words we try to avoid like "kill" and "butt", referred to Jim as "hey dude" and insisted on me taking their pictures then running over to see it. I shouldn't be so, oh I don't know what the word is for that, but they were loud, obnoxious and our children just stood still and stared at them a lot.
It must have been our ever-so-positive attitudes that kept us naive for so long, because when we finally did agree that the wet spot was from Nathan's body and we now officially smelled like sweat and child's pee, we had no idea how to get back to the parking lot. The paved path around the perimeter is 1.8 miles long. We were in an area I don't remember ever seeing before, so choosing the correct direction was imperative. The chance of us being close to the parking lot and heading the opposite way was very real.
Our guardian angels then appeared, driving a minivan. I (who does not fear asking for help when Katherine's insisting on being held because her legs hurt and Nathan's diaper is officially so full it's using our apparel to soak up his urine) flagged down a sweet elderly couple to ask for directions. They acted sure, but then not so sure on the quickest way to get out and then said those sweet words I loved and feared all at the same time, "Would you guys like a ride back?" They very well could be serial killers and hunt down families; was my fear. Oh thank the Mighty Provider for sending this chariot disguised as a mini van; was my gift.
We hopped in, most of the clan quite reluctantly, and I the free-loving hippy mother I've turned into lately was chatting away with these complete strangers. They didn't know when they offered that the big people in the car were the ones truly smelling like pee and hopefully they didn't notice. All they could do was talk about Nathan because their 7th grandchild was just recently born up in New York and they haven't got to see him yet.

They drove (according to the closet-detective I married) approximately 0.3 miles to the exit and before they picked us up we were heading the opposite way. (I'll do the math for you; it would have been 1.5 miles of walking in less than stellar circumstances if we weren't offered a ride).

Thank you dearly to the couple who have lived in Palm Coast for five years that picked up the ragged-looking couple with two small kids. We appreciate your kindness. We promise to pay it forward.

All in all, it was a great day. Nathan slept for over an hour and a half on the way there, Katherine enjoyed movies quietly in the back, my husband didn't badger me about not bringing the diaper bag and we got to spend some coveted family time together.

Watoto

Watoto.

Ever heard of it? I hadn't.

Watoto is the Swahili word for "children."

Katherine and I went to go see the Watoto Children's Choir performing at a local church, and what a blessing it was. I don't remember ever seeing performances like this as a child; could have been financial, location or cultural. I don't know. But I am so glad Katherine got to see it. It was a perfect way to introduce other cultures to her, different ways of worshiping and a great reminder that Jesus loves all the little children of the world, no matter how far away they live.

The Watoto Children’s Choir travel internationally to help raise an understanding of the plight of Africa’s orphans. Watoto's performances are a soulful blend of native African rhythms, contemporary gospel music and ethnic dance and are fun to watch.

I guess my biggest surprise was how their music sounds very Caribbean. All that was missing was a steel drum.

No, I take that back. My biggest surprise was during the last song when Katherine and three of her church buddies started dancing out in the center aisle of this church housing 250 people, about 15 feet away from the choir. It was very cute (although I hear some "grumpy old men" type weren't too thrilled; I don't think they were as filled with the Holy spirit as the 2-4 year olds).

It was just one more way I was reminded that our God is an awesome God, who knows of and loves every child in this world.

Watch the video below to see a little of this wonderful children's choir.