Peanut Butter And A Baseball Bat

The first time I saw my husband make a PBJ, and spread the leftover peanut butter that was on the knife onto the other slice of bread, I must admit I was horrified.

For me, I would never even think of mixing the peanut butter and the jelly, until of course the peanut butter and jelly application is finished and you put the two pieces of bread together. Before then, never the twain shall meet. If I have leftover condiment on my knife, it gets wiped back into the jar.

But today, I made a PBJ, and decided to try it. I put the jelly on first, and wiped the excess jelly onto the other slice of bread. It felt very wrong. And as I tried to apply the peanut butter to that piece of bread that had a little bit of jelly on it, it felt even wrong-er. First of all, the peanut butter was hard to spread over the jelly. I couldn't get a consistent layer. And second, I couldn't stop thinking about how there would be more jelly in that one area than I would have planned, due to the double sided effect.

Fortunately I was making this PBJ for the kids. Because I sure wouldn't have been able to eat it.

I will go back to my way. But at least I can say that I tried. It shall never be said that I was rigid and unwilling to try new things.

Arabian Nights

My oldest niece Bonnie and I have birthdays very close together. One year, when she was a pre-teen, I took her to see Disney's Aladdin for our birthdays. She sent me this cute thank you card a few days later...

What A Novel Idea

Hey, Mr. Grisham, I've got an idea for you.

You've written all sorts of courtroom drama books, from almost every perspective. From the juror to the prosecutor, from the tort lawyer to the firm, from the people who analyze the jury members to the pro bono defense attorney, you've created a story for them all.

But there is one person in the courtroom that you've overlooked, someone who absolutely needs a story.



The Court Reporter.

Come on! How could you have missed him/her? They're a vital part of the court process. Surely you could create a fascinating work of fiction around these guys. Just imagine, maybe the court reporter is being paid to type false information into the stenography machine...and when the jury is hung they ask to have the reporter's notes read back to them to help them decide, and they get all the wrong information, and their minds are changed and the outcome of the case is forever changed.

All because of the lowly court reporter.

And people would buy it, you know how fishy those court reporters look anyway...doing that automaton thing, staring with their deer in the headlight eyes at the speaker , never blinking, all while moving their hands in that "I don't really know what I'm doing, I'm just touching random keys at the same time over and over" way...they could TOTALLY be some sort of secret agent spy character.


Just think about it.

Watch Your Step

This video of Colson is funny because it shows what turned out to be a common thread in my babies; their caution in learning how to walk. All three, but Cole especially, were very cautious about taking a step from one sort of surface to another. Tile to carpet, blacktop to grass, you get the point....I remember that I didn't think it was strange back then, it was just normal. Looking back, I guess it is slightly bizarre.

In this set of videos, Colson was nervous about crossing the threshold from carpet to bathroom tile. I end up having to help him.

We're Homeless Now? Fun!!

Zach loved, and still loves, playing in a box of any sort. Makes me wonder why we ever spend any money at Christmas.

Our Vanna White

Don't ever think I've run out of "Lewis family in the newspaper" posts....Here's Andrew at a Unisys function of some sort.

How Long Can You Tread Water, Ha Ha Ha

Andrew and I listened to Bill Cosby stand up probably hundreds of times growing up...this was one of our favorite sketches.

What Do You Want From Me?!??!!!!

I'm sick, don't talk to me.

I'm not your monkey on a string, you know, dancing for your barrel organs...watching people go by, imploring them with my prehensile eyes to HELP ME. Trying to communicate that my owners beat me every night, with drunken cries of "Dance faster, daaaaance faaasteeeeer!!".

And yet they all just smile at me. Tickle my chin. Clap for my impressive jigs. And then move on.

Yes, you all never stop. You never look closely enough to see the pain in my eyes. You never look at the organ grinder to see his barely concealed avaricious grin. (Yes, I realize that in my analogy I just made you, my readers, take a metaphysical leap from the organ grinders to the passers-by...Please, the virus is addling my brain, just appreciate).

You never throw me a coin when I tip my miniature yellow hat...(and by "coin" I mean a COMMENT folks, HELLO!). You never detect the sadness, and you never become overwhelmed with the desire to cut my string and help me! And by "help me" I mean watch me run away, not pick me up, talk to me, stroke my coarse monkey hair and take me home to your hyper children, for the love of god.


I have feelings too.


I hurt....I cry........I mourn...



I throw up and have diarrhea, just like you.


And yet I continue to dance. Until someone with the strength of a Moses marches up to you organ grinders and says "Leave a comment, or the Lord will send a Trojan Horse upon the hard drives of your firstborn children!!".....Until someone with the courage of a Daniel crawls into my monkey den, unafraid of my vicious quarter inch monkey teeth.........And yea, until someone with the unconditional love of a Messiah deigns to descend from heaven, take human form, and DIE ON A CROSS for my sins, people, I will continue to dance my sad dances for you.



Oh wait.....



That last thing...happened already,.....didn't....it....




Just shut up.

One

I can't remember how old I was when I first saw A Chorus Line, but I knew I was in my early-to-mid teens. I was mesmerized. It wasn't the scandalous content that enthralled me, but the image of the gritty life of a dancer...the long days sweating on a stage, trying to stand out in a crowd and prove your talent. I can't hear the first few bars of the opening audition combo without my heart skipping a beat. Here are a few of my favorite songs from Chorus Line...

Remember This?

Baby Colson doing his freaking-out face.

Oh, It's A Jolly Holiday With You, Liss

On Monday, Martin Luther King day, I took the kids to Melissa's house to visit. (For those of you not in the know, Melissa has been my best friend for 20-some years now).

The kids exchanged Christmas presents, and then Melissa's babysitter came over so Melissa and I could go to lunch. While I was following her to the restaurant, it started snowing. When we finally left the restaurant, 3 hours later, it had turned into quite a little snowstorm.

Driving home was slippery, but not treacherous. When we reached Melissa's cul-de-sac though, it hadn't been plowed yet. Her driveway has a fairly steep little downward slope, so right before I pulled in I decided that wouldn't be the best idea. I thought I'd back up and just park on the street.

Well, backing up turned into me sliding a quarter of the way into her front yard. She got out of her car and came over to try to direct me out (clad in her perfectly cut purple wool coat, her perfect shade of heather gray scarf, and her perfect dark denim jeans tucked into black Uggs, of course). No matter in which direction I tried to drive, my tires were spinning.

She decided to try to push (if you actually can push while holding your Louis Vuitton handbag casually yet stylishly over one forearm), but that wasn't working. Not even after I yelled "Puuuuuuuuuuush, bitch!!!" out the driver's side window at her. "I can't push when I'm laughing!!". Sure, THAT was why she couldn't push. I had her get in the car so I could try pushing. Of course, I had to wait a few minutes to try..."Hold on! I have to adjust your seat, it's uncomfortable!". Once she was casually yet stylishly situated in my driver's seat, I tried pushing my hardest but after I few minutes I gave up and said, "Damn! Cars are heavy!".

Melissa suggested we go inside to regroup and strategize. She grabbed a huge bag of salt, and called her husband. He said salt wouldn't work on grass. Now, they've only been married a few years. He'll learn here shortly that it's never a good idea to tell Melissa her idea won't work. She hung up the phone and said to me, "Salt might not work if you use it the way it's INTENDED to be used....but anything will provide traction if you use enough of it! Come on!".

I must take a moment to explain that these are moments I live for. Being in a dilemma with Melissa is the most fun a girl like me could ever have. We both love grand adventures, but while I face an adventure with serious determination and unwavering fortitude, Melissa faces adventures with excitement and passion, exuberant about the opportunities to invent new methods and tools! So getting into a sticky situation with Melissa is entertainment personified.

When I told her that I had called my husband while she was calling hers, and he suggested that we call on one of Melissa's neighbors to help us, she looked at me as if I had just said "Eric suggested that we strip to our underwear, and do an Indian dance around your mailbox, in the hopes that the Cherokee Spirit of the Water will send down a warming rain to melt the snow". She said "Has he MET us? Does he want to deprive us of all enjoyment???". Our poor husbands.

So we marched out into the frozen tundra (we both love the phrase "frozen tundra", so it was used at least 37 times in a 20 minute period). I got into the car, and Melissa, still clad in her perfect cold weather ensemble, began dumping great piles of salt beneath my tires. Not the entire bag, mind you..."We must conserve! Who knows how long we'll be out here nor what will happen!!". (Yes, I realize we were 15 feet from her big warm house, but we were trying to pretend it was a real drama, so just go with it).

At one point, a pickup truck came down the street from the cul-de-sac. He didn't stop to help. I yelled out at him as he drove past "We're fine, thanks!". Now, we were having too much fun to want his help. But if you're going to be a male and drive a pickup truck, it is required of you to stop and help women having car troubles. Otherwise you must immediately return your pickup to the dealership, along with both of your testicles. It's in that lease agreement you signed, go read the fine print...anyway, I digress.

Once she finished making her giant salt piles, she stepped back and gave me the go-ahead. I gave the car some gas, and the tires started spinning again, but after a few seconds I felt them gripping and I moved forward a couple of feet. We were hootin' and hollerin', I was doing some fancy seated forward hip thrusts, trying to help the car move forward, and Melissa was doing some giant arm waves, willing my car onward. After moving forward a bit, the tires started spinning again. Melissa called out for me to stop, and came to the front of the car to apply more salt piles.

"See? I told you conserving some salt would come in handy!!". She salted up the new spots, and decided to push again this time. She came around to the driver's side window, and put her arm inside the car to push, since the driver's side tire was spinning more than the other. I pushed down the gas pedal, and the spinning tire caused the salt to shoot up into her face and all over her cute outfit. She jumped back sputtering and spitting salt out of her mouth. I leaned over and grabbed my big wraparound sunglasses and handed them to her. She said "Awww yeah, that's what I needed!!", put them on and came back to push.

That time the pushing worked. The sunglasses did the trick. We made it out of the front yard into the street. I got out of the car and did my victory dance, which involves raising my knees up as high as they will go, while hunching over like Quasimodo. Melissa shouted to the world "Don't even TRY to tell me salt won't work on grass!!!".

Then I packed up my children and drove home.

It was a delicious afternoon.

Alpha Dog

And so it continues to this day....Ava lets Colson think he's the top dog. She knows he cares more about having that status, and she's confident enough to make it happen for him.

I Can't Be A Comedian, People Might Laugh At Me

The kids were videochatting with Uncle Andrew the other night. Andrew started reading Curious George to them and showing the pictures. Well, he wasn't actually "reading" the book, he was retelling the story in his own words.

Ava was laughing so hard that she couldn't breathe. I've never seen her laugh so hard. It was so cute to see her, I think she finally realized "whoa, this guy is funny!". Of course, she didn't want him to SEE her laughing, so she'd either cover her mouth or move off camera to laugh.

All my life, Andrew has been the one person who can make me laugh so hard I can't breathe, and he can do it any day, any time, with any topic. I'm not an easy person to make laugh, really laugh. I very rarely laugh out loud at things. I like humor that is really sharp, smart and sarcastic, but I also laugh out loud at people tripping, or animals singing and dancing. Nothing in between. And I guess Andrew hits all those spots. He's very smart, and very dumb. My perfect combo of funniness.

So it stands to reason, Ava being my temperament, that Andrew would be funny to her. And it was so cool to see her have her moment of realization. I didn't grab the camera in time to catch her moment of non-breathing laughter, but here is a little clip of her laughing at the story.





P.S., Andrew and Kathy live in an apartment, where the temperature is hard to regulate. So when they have the heat on, it can get very hot. So Andrew had taken his shirt off before reading this story. He and I were joking afterwards "Hey kids, it's Naked Story Hour with Uncle Andrew!".

Hit 'Em Low, Hit 'Em High

GO EAGLES!

The Joy Of Sex, Hamster Style

Susie's Babies, how my mother taught us about the birds and the bees. It's a story about a pregnant hamster, owned by a classroom of kids at a school. The teacher uses the pregnancy to teach the children about sex and childbirth. If you're concerned about preserving your child's innocence, this book is a great way to introduce more adult concepts.

I'm sure E. Margaret Clarkson could have never imagined a day when children could actually google "hamster sex" and find this:

A Poet, I Know It

Remember my Ode To Teddy? You'll see here that my poetic voice hasn't changed much since elementary school...

Um, and what did I know of bars in 5th grade? And why do my poems always involve death?



A monkey saw a flea one day
and invited him to tea.
The monkey did not make him pay
but said "Dear flea, it's free!"

They had cake and coffee too
Then had meat and peas
The flea then said he must go home,
But he could not find his keys.

They weren't in his coat,
nor in his car,
then he remembered,
they were at the bar!

He ran to the bar,
bumped into a man,
Who had some hot water,
fresh out of the pan.

The water hit him,
Boy, was it hot!
Poor little flea,
died right on the spot!

- Suzanne Lewis, Grade 5, Rm 19

The Cool Kids

It has been made clear to me over the past few months that there is a hierarchy amongst the homeschool community. The "traditional" homeschoolers, those who create their own program, either by ordering a curriculum or creating their own, look down their noses at families who use a cyber charter school. They are the cheerleaders, I'm the nerds, the unschoolers are the stoners...it's just like public school all over again.

My impression is that traditional homeschoolers believe that if you're part of the public school system in any form, you've compromised. You're part of the system. You're one of THEM.

I don't homeschool because I want to stick it to the system. I homeschool because I want my kids to get the best education possible. I don't have time to fight the system, I've got kids to teach. The public school can continue to exist forever if it wants to, and no doubt it will do just that. As long as I have a choice whether or not to send my kids there, no skin off my back. If other people want their kids to get a below average education, go right ahead! Just means more good jobs for mine.

If I hadn't found a great curriculum in k12, and a great online school in Agora, I probably would have gone the traditional route. I was homeschooled traditionally, using a satellite school curriculum, and it was great. I have nothing against the traditional method. For me, I wanted to see what all of our options were. I didn't want to go with traditional just because it was traditional. I knew that there had to be more options since the days when I was homeschooled, and I wanted to look at them all.

I can't do the unschooling thing, either. I don't homeschool because I hate structure. I homeschool because I want my kids to get the best individualized education possible. I love structure. I believe children thrive on structure. Kids are not equipped to know what is best for them. I'm not letting my kids decide what they need to learn when they can't even decide how many squares of toilet paper are appropriate to use when wiping one's rear end...

When I looked at the k12 curriculum, which my Dad had recommended to me years before, I loved it. k12 can be used traditionally, you can just order it off of their site and go at it on your own. But I happened to find the Agora school listed as a participating cyber charter school with k12. I loved the look of Agora's website and their online school. I loved the idea of having all of my lessons organized for me, and all of my records kept for me. You get the best of both worlds; the organizational talents of the public school, which you have to admit are amazing, with an actual academic education! Why would you pass that up?

The only practical tie that binds me to the brick and mortar public school is attendance. Ava has to log in and do school work every day that the public school kids do. But "log in" and "do school work" are very different things. You can log in and record schoolwork that you completed the previous Saturday. So the only real tie that binds you is tied very loosely.

The k12 curriculum is great, and the user interface of Agora's online school is incredible. Ava gets not only a great curriculum, but is also learning computer science at the same time. And let's face it, if you're not highly involved with computers and the internet these days, you're going to be GREATLY handicapped in the very near future. k12 is a mastery based curriculum, if you can show mastery of a lesson topic, you can move on. So my kids who are advanced, when learning that the letter combination "ay" makes the long a sound, can move on in 5 minutes, instead of working on it for 3 weeks so that snot-nosed little Joey Thumb Sucker, who barely made it off the short bus, can really understand this difficult concept. It's a beautiful thing.

And if you really want to argue over who's sticking it to the system more, guess where my school tax money goes? Not to the brick and mortar school...my money goes straight to Agora, who, since they have no brick and mortar building, has less of an overhead and can spend the money on better things! Where does your tax money go, traditional homeschooler?

Let me say, I don't know if I'll continue using a cyber charter school forever. But for now, it's the best option. It's working out beautifully for Ava, and is exceeding my expectations.

So you can take your pom-poms elsewhere, this is one nerd you can't bully. Beneath my pocket protector, we've got the same granny panties on, you and I.

Gotta Go To Kmart....Watch Wapner...

I've never told this to a living soul before, but now I will share it with the world, in the hopes of helping someone else who thinks they're all alone.

Ever since I was a very young girl, there has been this thing that I do in my mind. It usually happens when I'm reading, but also when I'm listening to people speak, or talking to myself in my mind. I see the words in my head when I'm talking to myself, so I'm looking at what I'm saying and doing the following...

I try to match the punctuation in a sentence with the number of syllables in that sentence. By punctuation, I actually mean any extra "stroke". These rules were established long ago, before my age was in double digits, so there's no use arguing them. These are the markings that I count:

• quotation marks (one count per mark)
  
• dotting of lowercase i's and j's
• commas (2 counts)
• periods
• question marks (3 counts)
• exclamation points
• parentheses (1 per parenthesis)
• colons and semi-colons
  

I normally do this when I'm reading. As I read, I'm counting the syallables of the previous sentence and trying to make the extra marks add up to the same number. It's completely habit now, I usually don't realize I'm doing it. Once in a while it hits me, and I have to close the book and shake my head and tell myself to stop.

There are very specific rules to this. For instance, quotation marks can be counted over and over, to make the counting come out right, but nothing else can. I can also add quotation marks to a sentence even if they're not there, because someone could have said it. Sometimes I'll have to put 2 or 3 sentences together to make the syllables equal the marks. If a phrase works out particularly nicely with the syllables/markings rules, I may repeat it over and over in mind, saying it to myself while making the markings. Again, this is done without my even realizing it.

Here's an example: I normally do this when I'm reading. The crossing of the first t is I, the dotting of the i is "nor", the apostrophe covers "mal" and "ly", and the dotting of the 2nd i is "do". I would then add quotation marks, which would cover "this when I'm rea" and then the period coveres "ing". And that one makes me feel good. I don't have to go over the quotation marks again or add another sentence. If I hadn't needed to add the quotation marks it would have been perfect. but that happens infrequently.

You can see examples of this in my books from childhood. I used to write while I read. I'd write the last word of every paragraph in the space left on that line, as I would continue on reading. And sometimes you can see little markings of where I'd be counting marks and syllables.

I've come to realize that my compulsions were born of my mind never having enough to do. Even reading isn't enough, I have to be reading AND thinking about something else.

I really wish that my compulsive counting was of something more valuable. I have seen people on Oprah who can alphabetize large quantities of things in seconds, people who can add large groups of number, things of that nature. Mine is so useless and uninteresting. It's so dumb I can barely even explain how it works.

It's not a "WOW! Your kid is so amazing!" kind of special skill. It's a "Oooh, I'm so sorry, which group home have you selected?" kind of special skill.

But there it is.

And now you know.

All Of My Momma's Love

When I was 22, I made a huge decision to pack up all my belongings and move from Pennsylvania to Nashville, TN. I had never lived farther than 20 minutes away from home, so this move was a big deal.

Life had gotten a little complicated at that point, I knew that I needed a change of venue. So I grabbed onto the first opportunity to move that came around, and off to Nashville I went.

I remember my mother saying something right before I drove away, something like "you just do what you need to do". And on that drive I remember rolling down the window and throwing out tons of mental and emotional garbage. I left a wake of litter behind me down I-95 that day...

A few weeks later, I got a card from Mom. She knew I'd know what it meant. There was a popular song on country radio around that time, and she knew I'd have heard it.

Some of us are lucky enough in life to have mothers who really love us, but not many of us are blessed to have mothers who truly understand us. I was one of the lucky few who got both.





26 Cents, by The Wilkinsons

She sat alone on a bus out of Beaumont
The courage of just 18 years
A penny and quarter were taped to a letter
And momma's goodbye in her ears

She watched as her high school faded behind her
And the house with the white picket fence
Then she read the note that her momma had wrote
Wrapped up with 26 cents

When you get lonely, call me
Anytime at all and I'll be there with you, always
Anywhere at all
There's nothing I've got that I wouldn't give
And money is never enough
Here's a penny for your thoughts
A quarter for the call
And all of your momma's love

A penny and a quarter buys a whole lot of nothing
Taped to an old wrinkled note
And when she didn't have much she had all momma's love
Inside that old envelope

When you get lonely, call me
Anytime at all and I'll be there with you, always
Anywhere at all
There's nothing I've got that I wouldn't give
And money is never enough
Here's a penny for your thoughts
A quarter for the call
And all of your momma's love

Oh its been years since momma's been gone
But when she holds the coins she feels her love just as strong

When you get lonely, call me
Anytime at all and I'll be there with you, always
Anywhere at all
There's nothing I've got that I wouldn't give
And money is never enough
Here's a penny for your thoughts
A quarter for the call
And all of your momma's love

Apple Trees And Honey Bees

One of my favorite memories from my week in Orlando for the UCWDC World Championships was riding the bus to the Magic Kingdom, to take a boat out on the lake for the fireworks. Solomon, my dance partner's boyfriend, suggested we sing a tune or two. We spend a good portion of our time together singing, it's a favorite pastime for both of us. In fact, earlier that week we had spent a good 30 minutes belting out old-time gospel songs.

I am a performer at heart. But being an introvert, I'm not naturally inclined to break out into song on a crowded bus when I'm alone. But get me with an extrovert, and I will very happily put on a spontaneous show.

Solomon brings out the inner street performer in me.

So we started with My Fair Lady and Mary Poppins. We had just finished a rousing rendition of Spoonful of Sugar, complete with pre- and post- song script quoting, when a cute little girl from the back seat tapped me on the shoulder and said in a shy voice "Do you know Step in Time?".

I said "Do we know Step in Time??!? Of course we do!!! Over the rooftops!". And I proceeded to stand up and do Step In Time....I forgot a line at one point and she yelled out "Flap like a birdie!" to help me out.



When I did my now famous Part Of Your World song from The Little Mermaid, this little girl was so enthralled. Solomon and I did a duet from Beauty and the Beast and the little girl told her mother that she hoped we were going to be on the bus all night.

After we'd exhausted our collective memories of Disney tunes, we moved into musicals. Oklahoma, Brigadoon, Singing In The Rain, The Music Man, we went on and on. This continued on the tram to the Magic Kingdom, and on the boat. A group of old folks who had been on the bus came up to us at one point and told us how impressed they were with our extensive knowledge of musicals.

The best part of the night happened on the boat, when the little girl from the bus came up to us and asked if we could watch her sing a song. She sang Miley Cyrus's "Fly On The Wall" for us, complete with hand motions. We gave her a standing ovation.

I came to the conclusion that Coca-Cola may have had it right when they proposed that if you could just teach the world to sing, we'd all stand hand in hand in harmony.



It was a lovely night...

Jump In, Vamanos!

How cute is this...First Baptist Church ran a program called Explorer Girls, which was a Christian Girl Scout-type program. Each girl had to have a "prop", which was an adult who would pray specifically for that girl throughout the year. This was Bethany's letter to her prop the year she was 7 years old.

Everyone Has A Dream

Ava: "Mom, why do I have to ask you if I can do instant messaging before I do it?"

Me: "Because it's my job to give you permission about things."

Ava: "Oh. When I grow up, I won't have to ask you anymore. And when I have kids, I can tell THEM when they can or can't do instant messaging!"

Me: "Yep, dream big, girl, dream big...."

Don't Toot Your Horn

Remember this recital? My brother Andrew's music students, playing at the First Baptist Church of Newtown Township....



Recognize any familiar names? Conrad Stoliker, Jason Grothmann, Carolyn Correia, Christy Neal and of course, our own Bonnie Lewis.

Bonnie should be very grateful that no one in the family owned a video camera in those days. If I could post a video of her clarinet playing, your dogs would be howling and trying to run away.

Thankfully, she's a much better mother than she was a clarinet player!

Humble Beginnings

This is where it all began. Some dancers say their careers began in some auspicious dance school. Mine began at the KP Corral, in King of Prussia, Pa. Did you horse around at the KP Corral?

Amy and Sue did!



Remember that guy? He always wore a giant ring of keys on one of his belt loops while he danced. We had a name for him, can't remember what it was...

All the old country dance hotspots in the tri-state area...most of which are no longer.



I wonder, will country dance ever have another spike in popularity, like those days in the early 90s?

War Of The Mother's Day Cards

Vote for your favorite Lewis son homemade Mother's Day card!

Eric's moving poem.....





or Andrew as the Virgin Mary!

You Like Me, You Really Like Me!

Well, we finally did it. Richard and I are now the 2009 UCWDC Crystal Advanced World Champions. It took us 4 1/2 years to earn a title, and it was well worth it.

My Favorite Gift

Eric's Dad was here over Christmas. One night the three of us stayed up late talking, and somehow the two of them ended up discussing one of Eric's old girlfriends. Eric was trying to list some good qualities about her. He said "Well, she was a good listener..."

Jerry immediately says "Well yes, because she didn't know how to put a sentence together".

I laughed 'til I cried.

Gpa Was A Great Dribbler Back Then, Too!

Did you know that Dad received a basketball scholarship to go to college? Here's a shot of him playing on his high school team.


Bob Lewis of Ortonville has this rebound covered.

(Someone needs to give me props for the song selection...)

Creating New Worlds

Every day Colson brings home papers from school. They're worksheets that he's competed in previous days. My favorite thing about these completed worksheets are the drawings on the backs.

Obviously he finishes his papers quickly, because he's always got time to draw these cool battle scenes on the back. The subject matter and style is so reminiscent of my brother Andrew's drawings. Cole may not have the same drawing ability, but he's got the same ideas...

No Skeletons In My Closets

My husband laughs at me because I love to organize things no one ever sees.

Junk drawers, closets, random cabinets....when I can purge and organize something that is cluttered behind a closed door, I feel so fresh and light.

Cleaning off a counter top or an exposed shelf does nothing for me. I feel nothing when it's finished. I realize that it needs to be done, and I do it, but I don't feel changed after I've completed it.

But when I can purge a junk drawer, and throw out a giant trash bag full of crap, I get such a high. When I organize a linen closet, or a sock drawer, or a movie cabinet, I feel like I've really accomplished something.


I wonder if this is how bulimics feel after they've thrown up?

My Daughter, the Ninja, Part 2

When my father-in-law was here last week for Christmas, I gave him Colson's bed. That first night, when it was almost time for bed, I discussed the sleeping arrangements with the kids.

My first suggestion was that Colson sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor in Zach's room. Colson started tearing up..."But Mom, the floor is not really comfortable".

I suggested Zach sleep on the floor and Cole sleep in Zach's bed. Zach says "Mom, I HAVE to sleep in my own bed, and I don't want anybody in there".

Ava pipes up "I'll sleep on the floor!".

Cole ended up sleeping in Ava's bed, and she slept on the floor in her room, in her sleeping bag.


So basically, my two sons are a couple of particular self-centered Prissy-Pants, and my daughter is a ninja.