3827

3287...not the number of diapers I changed. I don't know that number for certain, but I would put it at closer to the millions. Diapers in the middle of the night, diapers that I had to rob your penny bank to buy, diapers that were fetched from Walmart with you wrapped in three dishtowels while I prayed that you didn't pee on me, diapers in public restrooms. Diapers that exploded, diapers that made me want to explode. Diapers, there were aplenty.

3287...not the number of tears I've cried. There have been dry spells. There have been floods and monsoons. Times of tears wane like phases of the moon, and I have seen plenty. Some have been mine. Tears cried over boo-boos are hard. Tears over hurt feelings and broken hearts break my momma heart. There might even be tears simmering now. And I know there will be tears in the future.

3287...not the numbers of sqeezing hugs or stolen kisses. Not the number of bedtime stories read, movies we've snuggled through, video games I have lost, or conversations had. Almost the number of times you have snuck into my room after bedtime for one last kiss or to try to sneak into my bed. Not even close to the number of smiles and giggles we have shared.

3287....not the number of days I have loved you. From the very minute I know you were to be, you rocked my world. This thing called motherhood has been a wild ride, and you were the first car on the coaster. I was clueless, but so were you. We have figured out so much together, you and me.

3287...the number of days I have worried over you, loved you, been so proud of you I could hardly stand it, been so frustrated I couldn't stand it. 3287 is how many days I have been in wonder of you, how many days that I feel so blessed and special to be your mom.


Happy 9th birthday, Parker! I love you to the moon and back (and I love that you know exactly how far that is and how long it would take us to get there!) :)

Cooties

Boys have cooties. They just do. We learned this quick fact in grade school, and would have been rendered useless except for the cure. Ya know...circle, circle, dot, dot. Yeah, you know.

I love being a mom of boys and being married to their overgrown-boy-man dad. Our house is constant wrestling, tackling, climbing. And breaking. Oh, the breaking. We break furniture. We break toys. Once Kaden even broke the top of Parker's head with a baseball trophy. There is never a dull (read: quiet) moment. And really, I like it. Really. I like the soccer, and the football, and the baseball, and the dirt. Not so fond of all of the equipment and additional laundry, but as a great philosopher once said, "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have..."

The fall is especially boy-y around here. The boys are all full of being outside, sports are in full swing, and there is that other little thing. What was it? Oh, yeah...hunting.

As a teacher, my new year cycles from August to August. I know there is a holiday after Christmas that tells me to start writing different numbers on the top of my checks, but really it all starts with the school supplies. The issue is that Brad runs his year beginning in October. He starts in April saying, "Ya know, it is only a few months til opening weekend." Yes, honey. But more months left than those since you last hunted. But carry on.

So from here until mid-December I am flying solo. I don't mind. Brad is a get-out-and-go kinda guy, and I loves the books in my p.j.s. But along with blissfully uneventful weekends, come the wife of deerslayer duties. Not for the faint of heart....go ahead and stop reading now. Bye.

Yesterday Brad was hunting behind the house, trying to get the pet that has been eating under our oak tree all summer long. Because, ya know, someone is going to shoot the pet, so it might as well be him. Whatev.

Dark-ish I get a call to come help load the deer. Me. So off I go with 3 kids in tow. We get back in the pasture to see this hugemongous buck that I am supposed to help hoist. hmmmm. We get to heaving and hoing, and feel this long slimy streak down my leg.

Because I am loading the head. And a dead deer sticks his bloody tongue out. And it licked me.

Don't say I didn't warn you...you were supposed to stop!

I start screaming like a girl, hands in the air, doing the deer-lick dance around the field. Parker is gagging and threatening to throw up, and Kaden is crying, afraid the deer is going to lick him. All in all, we were a hot-mess of mass chaos.

And that is something no Operation Cootie Shot can clear up.

I don't really know what I'm doing. Obviously.

I haven't blogged in a long while. Like forty-eleven weeks. So in effort to get my blog back on, I have pondered many meaningful posts. If you have dusted the spiderwebs off the linky to my site, then here you have it...my thoughts on the meaning of life, solutions for world peace, and predictions of the rapture. Or, you might get this...









That's right. That is virtual me. You are welcome.

I have been sitting for two days in a technology emmersion workshop, and my brain is fried. But there is this one little thing....16 hours spent on twitter, facebook, blogging, and creating avatars has equaled uninterrupted time to clear my google reader and jump feet first back in touch with my people.

Hello again, friend. I won't wait 10 months this time. Pinky swear.

One more time...just for fun. Or because I don't know how to get it to go away.