Bad Seeds

"What a man desires is unfailing love; better to be poor than a liar."  Proverbs 18:22

My 6YO has had a rough week on the playground. There is a girl – yes, a girl – who is making his life miserable.



First she would chase him, and then tell him if she caught him, they would keep him in the Girl Club.


Then he told on her.


Then she said he couldn’t play with her sister.


Then she gathered her group of girls and would approach him just to say things like “Stay away from me!”


Unlike his older brother, my 6YO is very socially aware. All of these episodes bothered him. REALLY bothered him!


So a few nights ago, it was time for Mother Bear to step in.


I emailed the teacher. I emailed my friend who is a playground supervisor. I named names. I implicated the seemingly innocent. I called witnesses to the stand.


I read my son what I had written and I got, “Oh Mommy! I love you! Thank you for writing that for me!”


He was very relieved.


Then he was apprehensive.


At bedtime he wanted to know what would happen if the playground teachers just told him not to be a tattle tale… AGAIN.


I told him to go inside and find his teacher and tell her what was going on.


He said he’d get in trouble if he went into the building without telling the playground teachers.


So I said, “Just tell them you need to go to the bathroom, and then go inside and find your teacher.”


“You mean lie???” he said.


Okay, so maybe I wasn’t meant to have children. Maybe I can’t be a good example. Maybe all of my evil motives are terribly transparent if even a 6YO can point them out!


“Yes, you can lie, and you won’t get in trouble with me because it will be for a good reason,” I said.


It was the best I could come up with.


“Well, that’s okay because I kind of lie to them anyway,” he said.


“You do?”


“Yes, I get tired and need a drink and they won’t let you go in for a drink, so I tell them I need to go to the bathroom and I go in there and rest and then I get a drink before I go back outside.”


Hmm.


Looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The road to Hell really is paved with good intentions.


Thanks to Jesus for saving us from our sins, regardless of good or bad intentions; and for securing a place under the Tree of Life for even bad seeds like me.

Sportsmanship

"He has showed you, O man, what is good.  And what does the Lord require of you?  To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."  Micah 6:8 

Last Saturday marked my son’s soccer team’s fifth game.



You know, the team that I COACH.


Anyway, we were playing a girl’s team, and one of the girls just happened to be a sister of one of the boys on my team. Their mother had told me that we would win the game because the girls’ team had yet to even score a goal in ANY of their games.


And that made me sad for them.


The game started out just like any other, with all the kids chasing the ball around the field. But then we scored. And then we scored again. And again. And again. And again.


It was only the first quarter!


I have two boys who are really good at getting the ball down the field and taking shots. So I took them out for the second quarter and I explained to the whole team the situation with the girls’ team. I told them that it was okay if we won, but it would be unsportsmanlike to just “kill” the other team. They seemed to understand what I was talking about.


Then, during the second quarter, I told all the parents on my side what the deal was and they all agreed on the right thing to do.


(Thank you, God, for my second group of good parents!)


And so I started switching kids around, putting kids who like action in the positions of little action and those who avoid action front and center.


Then I put my own kid back by the goal.


As fate would have it, the action came to their goal and one of the balls rolled through.


Everyone cheered! Even the parents of my team! I was so proud for everyone involved. It was a great moment in U8 sports, if such things were documented.


And then…


I see the referee talking to my kid by the goal. She looked to be getting on to him.


“What did he do?” I asked.


And she said, “He said, ‘We’re still going to win the GAME!’”


So I did what any other Outraged-At-Her-Own-Child-Mother-Of-The-Soccer-Team would have done and threw him out of the game. I made him run laps on the field beside us until I forgot about him, and he finally stopped on his own because his side was hurting. And then we had a llllloooonnnngggg talk about good sportsmanship.


Later I heard that one of the other boys had gotten on to his dad for cheering for the other team.


And so tonight at practice we’ll be working on dribbling, passing, staying in our positions, and memorizing our new team motto: “It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.”

Prison Ashtrays

"Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who were mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering."  Hebrews 13:3

My husband went to a trade show the other day for his company and picked us up a bunch of freebies from the various booths.  He came home with breath mints, pens, flashlights, stress balls, and mouse pads, but the most interesting thing he brought home were these: 

They are ashtrays made by inmates from rejected license plates.  Having no personal experience with the prison system in Oklahoma, or anywhere else for that matter, I always kind of thought the myth of prisoners making license plates was just that...  a myth.  But, these ashtrays solidified in my mind that not only do they make license plates, they also create utilitarian items out of the rejects.  

This particular logo was chosen with the retired Marine in mind, and crafted in such a way that the Marine emblem is right at the bottom of the ashtray surrounded by four indentions in which to place your burning death stick. 

Or maybe you're retired from the Army?

This one was also crafted with ex-military in mind.  A medal recipient, no less.  Is that a silver star?  My grandpa was awarded one of those in WWII. 

Ditto for this one.  Notice the holes with which to attach the license plate to your car, and the place for the month sticker. 

My favorite of all was this one, supporting agriculture in my state.  A lovely landscape of rolling fields with a windmill to boot. 

Those aren't the kind of windmills they are putting up out in western Oklahoma.  It will be interesting to see how wind generation progresses. 

Anyway, I was completely amazed with my gifts from the trade show.  For one, I don't smoke and no one in my family smokes.  And two, I had never seen such an item made by inmates before.  What choices and regrets and boredom and heartbroken families must surround each of these ashtrays?

So, we took pictures of them and packed them up for the hub to give away at work. 

And if you find yourself in need of a conversation piece ashtray, look no further than the Department of Corrections booth at your next local trade show. 

Happy Thursday and remember we all have a work to do.     

'It Happens!

Thought I'd share my excitement last Tuesday for any of you who live in the city, or even a small town, who have access to fancy things like a sewer pipe.  I miss those days.  In fact, if it were an option, I would jump on the band wagon again and hook into a mass poo poo removal system.  But as it is, I have a septic system.  Not an aerobic system.  A big old tank (1,000 gallons according to my receipt) outside of my kitchen that loses the grass in the summer time, and had been occasionally belching gas from its contents back into the house for about a year, off and on. 

The smell of rotten eggs always makes me feel welcome at someones house. 

So, last Tuesday, while I was being held hostage by AT&T for a four-hour period in which no one ever intended to show up, but whilst they planned their devilish plan to call me the NEXT day and tell me I'd missed my appointment by not being home, I got bored and decided to dig up the septic tank. 

Please add archaeologist to my résumé.  Ok, so I don't currently have a résumé, but I felt like I was digging up a tomb. 

With hatch located, I decided it would be a good idea to have it pumped.  We've lived here five years, it smelled, and that seemed to be the right thing to do.  Another reason why I should probably have a job instead of sitting around. 

So I called these guys. 

I liked the name.  Plus, one of my old crusty bank examiner cohorts used to use them and he was as tight as the day is long, so I figured I'd get my money's worth.  Turns out they were here before we lived here.  It had been 8 years since they were last out, so I can't take full credit for what we were about to see...

Just in case you ever wondered, like I have, what's really inside of that septic tank, here's what we found:

You know what they say, "'It Happens!"  I might be missing a few letters.  But apparently it happens a lot around here, as the tank was full of "solids".   And we also have a root problem as well.  

So Honey Wagon man got to pumping, 

And cleaned the whole thing out.  Except for the roots.  I was left to kill those myself with copper sulfate. 



It was a learning experience.  Expensive, but I learned a lot.  Ok, maybe not a lot, but I paid someone to take away my solid waste products.  I'm beginning to think it isn't Honey that he's hunting.  Maybe this is all connected to Winnie the Pooh somehow. 

Anyway, there goes my poo down the road. 

And I hope to never see it again. 

As for the Honey Wagon, apparently three years would be a more normal time frame, not eight.  So, I'd better start saving my pennies now!

Hope your week isn't "full of it" and may all your endeavors be as exciting as mine.  I need a support group.   

Monarch Action - Round 2

Okay, so I started you out last week with Coddling Caterpillars, telling you what to be looking for.  Then I promptly found my first caterpillar late last week, and then lightning took out my router and I've been down ever since, so he's already on his way to metamorphosis as we speak, but I'll try to get you caught back up. 

This is a monarch caterpillar:

Notice my high-tech solution to the no-holes-in-the-lid-of-the-mason-jar problem.  One nail, one lid, and a few whacks with the hammer gets you a holey lid.  Not reusable for canning, obviously, but reusable from year to year with your caterpillars - note the stem of last year's chrysalis stuck there below the caterpillar. 

Anyway, he was quite huge when I found him, but he didn't start out this way.  See pictures of eggs on linked blog above.  Here is a picture for comparison of a tiny baby caterpillar and one that is almost ready to go:

See the tiny one down there under the big one?  Probably a week or so separates them.  They are quick growers. 

Anyway, once you find a caterpillar, stick it into a jar with holes in the lid and feed it fresh milkweed leaves every day or two.  The caterpillars eat a lot, so they also poop a lot.  You'll want to clean the poop out of the bottom of the jar when you put new leaves in, just to keep things clean.  I recommend dumping the contents of the jar out on a paper towel like this:

This is just in case there were eggs on any of the new leaves you brought in that might have hatched.  Leave no leaf unturned.  And watch out for the poop.  In this particular batch, I found the little guy in the previous photo.  Glad I didn't dump him in the trash. 

Now, by this time, the big fat caterpillar I'd found first had made his chrysalis on the jar lid and I found this:

All that is left of his previous body is the skin.  Shed his face clean off.  But we know what the outcome will be, right?  More attractive than a caterpillar.  Yes, I would think so. 

And this is what he looks like now:

Ok, so the lighting wasn't great, but you get the idea.  At this time, he gets his own jar because I don't have anyone else currently threatening to turn themself in to a chrysalis anytime soon.  (See contestants #2 and #3 up above)  You'll want your chrysalis jar to be clean and free of any old leaves, etc., so the new butterfly will have room to expand.  I recommend at quart jar.  Pint jars are technically big enough, but seem a little cramped.  Plus, most have a jelly patterning or something on the sides and it makes it hard to see through.  If the chrysalis forms anywhere but at the top, don't try to move it.  The stem is very important and cannot be broken.  I try not to put more than three chrysali  in any one jar. 

And now...  we wait.

Shouldn't be long though.  Monarchs typically hatch a week to ten days after entering the chrysalis state.  My guy has been in about four days now, so expect a butterfly announcement sometime early next week.  

More developments as they become available.  

Over and out.   

The Devil Strikes Again

"Therefore rejoice, you heavens and you who dwell in them!  But woe to the earth and the sea, because the devil has gone down to you!  He is filled with fury, because he knows that his time is short."  Revelation 12:12

Remember this song? “Devil inside… Devil inside… Every single one of us… the devil inside.”



I think it was by the same guys who sang “Living in the Wild, Wild West… Wild West [bullet ricochet]”. I think it was Escape Club, but I’m too lazy to Google it because then I would inevitably have to watch the entire video on YouTube. And I’m not in an early 90s state of mind today.


Anyway, a couple of nights ago the 6YO locked himself in my bathroom and said “I’m not coming out until you start loving me, and doing things for me, and stop having the devil inside you!! ”


I said I couldn’t hear him with the door closed (the devil made me do it) and so he came out and told me to my face.


He said “I’m the only one with GOD inside of me. The rest of you have the DEVIL inside of you!”


The 6YO has been nursing his broken arm for two weeks now and Mommy has obliged him by helping him in the bathtub on numerous occasions even though it appears he is fully capable of washing himself with just the one arm. Daddy, on the other hand, would not help him on this particular night. Because of this, the entire family was filled with the devil and had turned against my One-Armed Bandit.


The devil made me laugh, which was the wrong thing to do, and I received a tongue lashing. Then I made Daddy come upstairs and face his accuser and the devil made him laugh, too! It was a terrible night as far as my God-filled son was concerned.


But then, the devil left me when I started reading him a book before bed. Funny how he comes and goes.


And all was right with the world.


And God refilled the family.


And we all lived happily ever after.


The End.

Coddling Caterpillars

Ok, so it probably goes against nature in some way that I collect caterpillars off my milkweed vines and coddle them until they hatch into be-u-tiful butterflies, but I do and I'm not ashamed.  In fact, I live under the impression that my hatch-rate is higher if I bring the caterpillars indoors than if I leave them on the vine where spiders might eat them.  Plus, the kids think it is cool! 

If you're not a fan of upsetting nature's cycle, please look away.  But, if you'd like to have a really cool experience in metamorphosis, then listen up. 

This is milkweed:

It is a vine and grows on fences and in pastures and can sometimes be found as a weed in flowerbeds.  It is the most reliable source of monarch activity that I know of.  They lay their eggs and a few days later, little tiny caterpillars emerge. 

The eggs look like this:

Once I've located a few eggs, I start checking the vine everyday to see if I can see any caterpillar action.  This is what the eggs look like after they've hatched:

Kind of hard to see.  Here's another shot:

I think usually the caterpillar eats the egg casing, but in my case, I haven't found any caterpillars yet, so I have to assume they are being eaten by something as soon as they hatch.  But that is quite odd too because monarch caterpillars are said to be bitter because of the milkweed they eat.  I don't know. 

Anyway, this would normally be a good sign of caterpillar action, but so far I've not found any just yet:

I do, however, have a lot of these guys hanging around, threatening to buzz me, or sting me, when I look under the leaves:

And I'm allergic, so I really watch out. 

The monarchs are just now beginning their migration through Oklahoma.  I think I noticed my first one about two weeks ago, but did not notice any eggs on my vines until last week.  Caterpillars will follow, but it could still be a week or so, with temperatures dropping off this week.  It seems the egg-laying activity is dependent somewhat upon the weather. 

I did have this guy working my vines over last week, but alas, he was a boy so no additional eggs. 

So, get your mason jars ready and get some holes poked in the lids because by next week we'll be raising caterpillars, I'm just sure of it.  More on that when I have live specimens! 

Until then, here's a wrap-up of last year's activity.  I think I ended up hatching 15 at home and took at least a dozen more to my kids' classes for them to hatch and let go.  Hopefully this year will be just as exciting! 

An Answered Prayer

"The Lord answered Moses, 'Is the Lord's arm too short?  You will now see whether or not what I say will come true for you.'"  Numbers 11:23

So there we were, minding our own business on a Thursday night, wandering around out in the pasture. The kids were coming home from the neighbors (they are Hmong, but my kids call them Pong), and my 6YO was climbing the fence into the pasture where I was. I had my back to him, but I heard him hit the ground with a distinctive THWACK!!



Then the screaming began.


I turned around to find him already standing and screaming bloody murder.


“What hurts??” I asked.


“I FELL!!” he screamed.


After several rounds of this same conversation, I finally got “MY ARM!! IT FEELS LIKE I BROKE IT!!”


He should know. It hasn’t been six months since he broke his arm at a birthday party.


I helped him to the bench at the backside of our house, but it did not appear he could move either arm. And his left arm just didn’t look right. Kind of bent or something.


So off we went on that long trail of five miles to the nearest ER for our second 2011 visit.


“This isn’t the room we were in last time,” he noticed.


This room had a TV, and all I can say is Thank God for SpongeBob! He didn’t have sound, but was still able to put my son into a trance in which he cared very little about whatever they were doing to his arms. He had ice packs and pillows and still had not moved either arm voluntarily all through the x-rays.


“Please don’t let both his arms be broken.”


And I began to think of all the accommodations he would need to function with two casts.


Then he said to me, through the silence of his SpongeBob trance, “Hey Mommy, look at this!” and he fully extended his right arm.


Hallelujah! I knew then it wasn’t broken. An answered prayer.


Unfortunately, old Lefty did not fare as well (see above photo). Lefty was also the victim back in the Spring when the fracture was in the elbow from a trampoline at the birthday party. Thank God he’s also right-handed.


Today he got his cast… again. And the orthopedist was surprised to see us… again. I can only assume I’m making his car payment… again.


His right arm was giving him some trouble still today, so the doctor bandaged him up in a splint for it as well, but he doesn’t have to wear it all the time. In fact, he only wore it for a few hours this evening. I’ll be putting it back on at bedtime and the doctor expects him to be out of his cast in three to four weeks.


It may be three to four weeks before I fully recover from the experience too!


Thanks be to God for knowing our thoughts before we think them, and occasionally and very obviously giving us proof that we are indeed heard.

Unanswered Prayers

"This is the confidence we have in approaching God:  that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.  And if we know that he hears us - whatever we ask - we know that we have what we asked of him."  1 John 5: 14-15

WARNING: Today’s post will be decidedly female. It will talk about things that cause some men to run for the hills. If you are that man, please run for the hills and spare yourself the agony and gruesomeness of all things womanly. This concludes my public service announcement.



A teenage friend of mine is questioning whether or not God hears her prayers. Now I don’t know what she’s been praying about, or who, or why, but I’ve referred her to Garth Brooks’ words of wisdom.


Sing along now… “Some of God’s greatest gifts… are unanswered prayers.”


And I know this to be true because I, myself, prayed very hard about something for years and years, and my will was not to be.


It was about the time of fifth grade when they started showing us videos and such at school. We had to watch the boy version and then the girl version. Everyone got both sides of the story when it came to puberty.


I was aghast!


Yes, I knew about such things because I had a mother myself, but the thing she called Womanly Disease was not something I wanted any part of. I was already horrified that it had come into question at what age I should give up my tank tops for a full fledged BRA, and didn’t see that becoming a “woman” held anything good or interesting that I wanted to have a part in.


Plus, it appeared from the movies that the boys got the better end of the bargain.


I remember praying, and praying hard, each night that God had made me different. That I didn’t even have those parts they talked about in the movies shown at school. That I would never be able to have children. That the Womanly Disease would never visit me.


It began to look promising sometime around entering junior high. Most of my friends were wearing full-fledged boulder holders and mine still had the training wheels. Most of my friends had to start carrying a purse to hide the unmentionables necessary to take care of the dreaded Womanly Disease. It looked like I’d dodged the bullet. God had come through for me after all! I was different! I knew it!


But then, sometime in my seventh grade year, on the night of a lunar eclipse I remember standing out in the street to watch, I was made to realize I was just like everyone else.


Great.


No joyous celebration of womanhood here.


I kept up my opinion on the never having children for a decade more, but then changed my mind. I began to pray for children. I had come full circle.


So, in the end, I’m thankful that God’s will and my own didn’t line up when I was a teenager. My life would be quite different now. Maybe not worse, but definitely different. I am thankful that I have had the opportunity to become someone’s mother and see the world through their eyes. I’m thankful for all the exploration, discovery, and satisfaction that has come with the title, and the two-way love that we share for each other. I’m thankful that two little people in this world think the world of me. I hope never to disappoint them with my character. I feel that I do so much more good because of them then I ever would have without them.


Thanks be to God for unanswered prayers, and for already knowing me later in life when I was but a teenager! And to all you teenagers out there, as hard as it might be to take, sometimes the answer is “No!”

It's Good For Me, Right?

"All a man's ways seem right to him, but the Lord weighs the heart."  Proverbs 21:2

Ok, I know you’re never supposed to ask a woman her weight, but I’m just going to lay it all out …



I am 5’9” tall and I weigh 160 pounds. Yes, I know, Amazon woman.


I’m never more painfully aware of my size than when I outweigh my husband. That is currently not the case (he has me by 3 pounds), but 160 is my limit. I don’t want to weigh anymore! I already weigh as much as a man! Plus, I have had some excess baggage that I blame on my second child. Ok, so it has been six years, but still…


Last week I joined the local YMCA. I did my first, maiden voyage into the land of “group exercise” precisely one week ago today. The class was called Body Sculpt. I had no idea what to expect, except that it was supposed to be a “total body workout”. About ten people showed up for the class, and I asked around to see what I was supposed to do. I had to pick out a couple of weights, a step, and an elastic band. I positioned myself in the back of the room so that it would be less noticeable if I dropped dead.


The instructor was a small, energetic woman who looked like she’d never had a Snickers bar in her life. Halfway through she was worried about what the humidity was doing to her curly hair. I was concerned that I might never use my legs again. The climactic moment in the class came when we hooked the handles of the elastic bands over our shoes, laid on our backs, and stuck our legs in the sky for some V-shaped repetition work. For one, the step was too short for me, and my head lolled back because by this time I was too weak to hold my own head up. And secondly, my legs should not be over my head… ever. Especially not tied to the bands of death.


Hardly anyone spoke in this class and the mood was funeral-like when the class finally ended. We all shuffled to our cars, and, I suspect, collapsed into them.


As the day wore on, I began to notice aches and pains sneaking up on me. My legs were gearing up for their revenge. The next morning I was pretty sure I had overdone it. With every step, the little muscles on the sides of each thigh felt like my flesh was being torn from the bone. I thought I needed a walker. The muscles that were the worst were the ones you use going down stairs and standing from a seated position. This made using the restroom interesting to say the least. I considered tying a rope from the vanity to as an aid in standing.


After a day of dying, I decided that maybe I needed something to stretch me out, but with no-impact since I didn’t think I could take anymore. My two options were: Zumba (which my friends were going to), or Water Aerobics (which I suspected to be an old lady class).


I chose the Water Aerobics class, hoping they would just let me float. Yes, I was right about the class. Most everyone is at least 30 years older than I, but there are some younger people depending on the day of week. The people in this class talk and laugh and sing and have a good time. I’m pretty sure we only know what the instructor wants us to do about half of the time. We use pool noodles and Styrofoam weights. More my speed after the Body Sculpt experience.


So I decided that maybe it would be a good idea to do one “hard” exercise class a week and see how it goes. I survived the Body Sculpt class with about three days of soreness and hadn’t had any discomfort from three days of Water Aerobics, so I set my sights on Kickboxing.


Ok, so I’ve done taekwondo with my son for about a year, so I was kind of cheating, hoping at least a few of my muscles would have been retained in the month or so since we’d been. The biggest differences about this class was that I had shoes on, and there was music, and no waiting around for the other people to go, which meant I was going the entire hour. We kicked and punched the bag and did some skipping around, and the instructor was again a very petite lady who didn’t feel the same way about Oreo cookies that I feel. Or if she did, it didn’t show.


What was most distinct about this class was that it was the most sweating I have ever done in all of my life. Thank goodness my t-shirt was slightly absorbent. I wiped my brow with my sleeve and literally slung sweat onto the floor. My hair was wet in the back like I’d been in the pool. My gloves actually foamed as I punched the bag. It was disgusting! But I was amazed by my sweating skills nonetheless.


I’ve weighed myself every morning:


Thursday – 160.


Friday – 160.


Saturday – 160.


Sunday – 160.


Monday – 160.


Tuesday – 160.


Wednesday – 160.


I estimate that my activity level has increase 200% in the past week. I estimate that I’m consuming the same or fewer calories each day. I estimate that I don’t know if I’m losing inches because I’m getting really comfortable in my elastic band workout pants.


And so it was this morning, getting out of bed with an aching hiney from all the kicking yesterday, that I resolved to violently throw my bathroom scale out the window if that stupid number refused to move once again!


Thursday – 158.


So I went to Water Aerobics instead. Less impact than stomping on a scale until I break it into a hundred million pieces. Plus it might make me sweaty!


May your day be filled with minor victories and enjoyable challenges.


And perhaps an Oreo cookie or two.


Or at least a Dr. Pepper.

El Diablo

"Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently.  But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted."  Galatians 6:1

Do you have an alter-ego? My dog does. His real name is Lucky. Most of the time he’s a big, sweet, lovable dog.



Lucky likes to just sit by me. He likes to lean on me if I’m not touching him. He lays his big slobbery head on my lap and leaves me looking like I’ve been slimed. He watches the kids and stays with them wherever they might be playing in the yard. He watches the neighbor cows and if they make one wrong move, he’s right up to the fence barking them back into order. When I try to catch Roany Pony, he corners him for me, and miraculously, Roany immediately gives up when Lucky is on the job.


But…


Lucky has another side. One where the day-to-day business of being a good boy catches up with him, and he just can’t help himself. One that says, “It’s okay if I tear up the trash and steal the neighbor’s stuff.” One that has earned him the nickname El Diablo.


El Diablo only comes out when Lucky is without direct supervision. El Diablo knocks over the trash can and spreads a week’s worth of garbage on the lawn in search of a lone McNugget. El Diablo steals the neighbor’s cigarettes and spreads them on my lawn for no good reason. And last night El Diablo stole the neighbor’s solar lamp (see picture) and gave me a weird freak out moment when I saw something glowing on my lawn. The aliens have returned….


El Diablo - chronic kleptomaniac.


The funny thing about El Diablo is that he disappears immediately whenever he’s caught. Lucky is extremely remorseful for anything El Diablo might have done and hangs his head in shame. We go through the “leave it” routine taught to us at obedience class, and Lucky swears with his face that he’ll never touch it again. And that’s been the case with the newspaper he kept stealing from our newspaper holder thingy and chewing up on the driveway.


But even Lucky has his weaknesses. He can’t resist a good chicken on the foot. He can’t resist leftover ice cream or popsicles in the garage trash can. And he can’t be trusted not to drink out of the swimming pool even though the horse’s water would be more convenient, one would think.


It is with those things that the metamorphosis takes place and Lucky becomes El Diablo.


I’m a lot like Lucky. I have an alter-ego named The Napper. I should be more productive. I should do laundry and wash dishes while the kids are at school. I should be well ahead on the task to provide an evening meal for my family. But sometimes the call to Slumberland is just too strong. Sometimes I have to lie down. Sometimes I think it will only be for a minute…


The Napper – borderline narcoleptic.


So what’s your alter-ego? I’m guessing you have one. Might be The Meanie, The Procrastinator, The Whiner. I guess it all depends on what your weakness is. How we act without supervision is just as much a part of our personality as the face we put on for the public.


Now, my secret is out: I’m lazy… but at least I don’t steal!

I'm a good sinner!  Really, I am!! 


And to my neighbor: I’ll put the lamp in your mailbox. Sorry!

Paybacks

“When a man’s ways are pleasing to the Lord, he makes even his enemies live at peace with him.” Proverbs 16:7

My 8YO started third grade last week. They had their first day of PE yesterday and it was a rousing game of dodge ball between his class and a neighboring class that has PE at the same time. His arch-nemesis, Billy*, is in the other class.


I’ve known about the contention between my son and Billy ever since Kindergarten. Billy is a cute, red-headed, athletic little boy who draws a crowd. My son tried initially to make friends with him, but something went sour. Contempt for him filled the spot where friendship might once have lain. My son really dislikes him, and this is the fourth year for these feelings, so I’m thinking the condition could be permanent without Divine intervention.


Anyway, this morning’s conversation about the dodge ball game went like this:


“Yesterday, during dodge ball, someone from the other class hit me in the leg with a ball and I fell down on my elbow and shoulder on the floor. It was just like concrete, and I had to get an ice pack from the nurse. And then, guess what?! Someone from MY class hit Billy on the leg with the ball, and the SAME thing happened to him! You know what that is? That’s PAYBACK!”


Payback. A new word in his vocabulary.


“That’s payback from last year when one of his guys tripped me and made me fall down.”


I remember.


I remember him coming home mad at Billy (again) because he’d tried once again to play with him on the playground. One of Billy’s cronies had decided not to let my son play for one reason or another and purposely tripped him. The other kid had gotten in trouble and had to sit on the bench. Billy was not directly involved, but my words of advice were the same, “Just stay away from him.”


I tried, once again, to explain to my son that there are some people with whom he will probably never get along. There are some kids who will never be nice to him. There are some people who will always be difficult to deal with. In my opinion, avoidance is better than fighting in a public school setting.


And so today, I tried to explain that even if something like that happens to someone he doesn’t particularly care for, he’s not to laugh or make fun of the person it happened to. I explained that he should treat people the way he wants to be treated, and even though Billy’s group doesn’t always emulate that, he should or else he’s just as bad as he thinks they are.


Nevertheless, today’s conversation on paybacks was an eye-opener that my kid is growing up. Sad to think that building hostility and desire for revenge is my first notable sign of emotional growth, but that’s what it was. I wouldn’t have imagined yesterday that he had a jealous bone in his body; that he held a grudge; that he didn’t forgive. But today’s conversation was a window into the child I obviously don’t know; the one whose feelings on some things are private; the one that he’s growing into despite my best efforts to keep him small and innocent.


It made me painfully aware of my hand in the effort to mold him into a respectable, godly man. Me, with my own grudges, private revenge harborings, and forgiving and forgetting issues. Thankfully there is another hand, hopefully standing between my son and I on issues like these, who is Perfect and Unfailing. HIS hand will guide me. HIS hand will be my strength. And when I fail, hopefully HIS hand will be over my mouth in front of my son!


*Name changed to protect the innocent and to prevent incrimination just in case they eventually decide that they’re best friends.

Uninvited Guests

As I recently predicted, the neighbor goats have become a nuisance.  They are out nearly every day.  Most days they just hang out in their own front yard, but they've eaten all the flowers of an elderly neighbor, got penned up in the wrong pasture and had to be driven out by none other than yours truly, and have stopped at least a couple of cars trying to cross their path. 

Last night my goat deterrent system was in full force as they were trying to visit me. 

He's pretty fearless.  Well, until they lower their heads and act like they are going to butt him.  Then he runs away.  He waits a while and then tries again.  The goats are just as stubborn. 

They were determined to get into my pasture since we have a small dirt pile that is always fun for "kids" to climb.  My gate is a little low for them, so here's how baby maneuvered the gate. 

First it was lay down. 

Then it was fall over to slide under.  Mama goat just kind of got down and walked on her elbows, or stayed where she was on the other side of the fence, which is where she belonged in the first place!

Eventually they tired of my place and decided to dodge traffic on their way home.  They're pretty good at it since there isn't much traffic. 

Hey, wait a minute, is that little one sticking its tongue out at me?

Is this the equivalent of a obscene goat gesture? 

KIDS today!  Got to be diligent or they'll turn into juvenile delinquents. 

Let's hope my goat deterrent doesn't make friends with the wrong crowd! 

Dirty Fun

One of my favorite things to do in the summer when I was a kid was to dig out in the yard with my friend Keith and play GI Joes.  We built trenches and bunkers and had rivers when we could get the hose out.  We had them climb on the clothesline and maybe even parachuted them a few times out of the second story window of Keith's house. 

Now my kids have never really been into GI Joes, but my cousin, Jeremy, went to a garage sale a year or so ago and bought my boys a whole box of them for $1.00.  Several weeks ago, I suggested that they take a few toys outside and play with them there.  They took the GI Joe guys. 

Here's what the scene was today.

A terrible wreck and everyone inside fell out because they weren't wearing their seatbelts.

They all landed in the water, but then decided it could be fun because they could go swimming.

This guy was probably not having much fun.  Kind of looks like a reoccuring dream of mine.

Somebody fell in a hole. 

After swimming, there was a dogpile on the shore. 

Now they didn't quite have down the elaborate story lines that Keith and I mastered over the years.  They've not learned yet how to dig an underground tunnel, or that spoons can be used for more intricate digging. 

But I'd say they've got the getting dirty part down!

Another Egg-periment!

So last night I went out to gather the eggs and I ended up with three.  One was nice and "clean", and the other two were covered in dried, caked-on poop.  No amount of initial rinsing would free these eggs from their poopy encasement. 

I put them in the sink in a cup of water to soak and then I promptly forgot about them.  Always nice to surprise yourself with a cup full of poopy eggs in the morning! 

They were much cleaner, which is the good news.  The bad news is I'd left them out all night and now wouldn't be able to eat them. 

Well, maybe if I were a real farmer... 

So, with the somewhat disappointing results of my outdoor egg frying yesterday, I decided to do another science induced egg-periment with these two eggs. 

I'd heard you could cook fish in the dishwasher, so I decided to try eggs. 

I put each one in a baggie so that if they didn't survive the experiment intact, no harm, no foul for the dishwasher.  The hub said he thought the baggies would melt.  Did they?  Read on.



I put this guy in the silverware rack on the bottom of the dishwasher.



And this guy ended up on the top rack eventually covered by my over sized frying pan that is a pain to position in the dishwasher.

Then I poured in the detergent, set the cycle, and walked away.

I left the whole mess alone until the dishes had cooled completely.  Several hours had passed.  My dishwasher has one of those "sanitize" modes where the temperature gets up to 165 degrees or so. 

And the result was...

The baggies did not melt and the silverware rack egg looked like this inside:

Much more cooking than I achieved outside yesterday, but still a nasty, slimy mess.  Not exactly over-easy, for sure. 

But, surprisingly, the top rack egg looked like this:

Enough cooking occurred on the top rack that the yolk held its shape.  I thought that was pretty impressive and a bit surprising since I would have guessed the bottom rack to have been the hot spot. 

Don't get me wrong, I still wouldn't eat it.  But if you've ever wondered what would happen if you stuck an egg in the dishwasher, now you know. 

Do I not have better things to do?  Not really. 

Have a great day!