I must be crazy.

The man-child is growing up too fast.

I can no longer see the chubby faced baby in his whiskered face or hear his sweet voice in the deeper pitch of adulthood. The happy smiles of his toddlerhood have all but disappeared in the moods of a teenaged man-child.

And I miss him.

Which may be why I cherished a few moments from this morning.

Sometime yesterday evening, the flu beast made it's presence known in the body of my boy. After a long night of cool cloths, prayer, hand holding and soothing words, we headed off to the doctor-him with blankets and a fever of 103 and me with scriptures to pray, a box of kleenex and a bucket (just in case.) As we sat, waiting, he asked, "can I lay my head on you, mama?"

And so we sat, him with his head on my chest and me stroking his head, kissing his hair, whispering a prayer.

And I cherished the moment.

Because mostly he is 6'2. Too tall, too old to call me "mama". To let me kiss the top of his head and offer a mama to lean on. To tuck him into bed and bring him a drink of water. To sit by him while he sleeps and offer up prayers for the man he's becoming.

So yes, I may be crazy, but today was a moment to cherish...

It was spirit week recently. On Career Day, The Boy decided he wanted to go as an undertaker. (actually, he looks a bit zombie-ish, doesn't he? Or maybe he looks like someone who wishes his mother would put the silly camera down.)

How did we get from this...

to this...

so fast?

My eyes are tired.

It's amazing how old I can feel on very little sleep.

The good news is that the Boy seems to be back to normal.

So we'll pack up our heavy duty industrial strength Lysol for another day.

And after fixing dinner, cleaning up from dinner, heading to the library, then my mother-in-law's and my mom's, heading back home, washing a load of towels, and feeding some dogs, perhaps I'll head off to bed.

Assuming my brain doesn't turn to pudding first.

insanity reigns

This is one week that I'll be glad to see pass into history.

The Southern Baptist Convention is in town this week. Most of you know that I work for LifeWay which is a part of the SBC. (or the SBC is a part of LifeWay. It's early and my brain is not quite as nimble as I'd like.)

Anyway, what that means is that our fair city (and our fair store) is teeming with very important people. Because of this, there's a lot of pressure to be practically perfect this week. (Or at least the first three days of this week.)

Add to that, Jonathan is working for LifeWay at the convention book store. (and while we all know that he's a wonderful child, somewhere deep in my heart there's this fear that he's going to jump up and start break dancing on the tables. Or inundate Dr. Rainer with knock knock jokes.) Wonderful mother that I am, I think I've told him a billion times to remember that he not only represents LifeWay, but he represents me as well. (and I'm sure he'll do a fine job. He can be very charming. As long as the break dancing, piggyback riding, nerd-herd-ing part of his persona stays under control.)

Regardless, he and Nathan have headed off to the Expo Center to work the pastor's conference. I'll be heading in to the store this afternoon to practice being practically perfect. Here's hoping for a smooth passage of the week.

perhaps...

...you might have noticed in my twitter sidebar that I was frustrated this morning. You will be happy to know that I did not spit. Nor did I scream. Or beat a certain child about the head and shoulders with a stick. Although, for the sake of full disclosure, I did consider all three. And perhaps a few other options as well. This is my story.

Picture it.

The last day of school.

Only four hours of "classes."

Finals are done. Grades are posted.

Today was the final celebration to finish out the school year. The boy has been distracted this semester. Perhaps it's his preoccupation with a certain girl. Perhaps it's the stupid Xbox Live. Perhaps it's because classwork interferes with his social calendar. I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that I have monitored his grades (through Power School) for weeks, nagging about papers and tests and projects.

We have sweated bullets over a certain math grade. (He passed.)

This morning, I got up and just randomly checked grades to see if his history final had been posted. It had not. However, his English grade had dropped.

To an unacceptable level.

On the last day of school.

With four hours of celebration. Argh!

After yanking him out of bed, I sat him down in front of the power school page and asked for an explanation for the three (THREE!) missing items in this class.

Let me clue you in on something, "I have no idea what that paper is" is not the appropriate response when I'm asking about a missing English paper.

On the last day of school.

With four hours of classes.

When finals are done and grades are posted. Argh!

So, this afternoon when he got home from his final day of school, he wrote a paper and emailed it to his English teacher. (We're thankful that she is compassionate and understanding. Or perhaps she just doesn't want him in her class again next year.) We'll see how it goes.

It's prom night...

...in the 'ville. Actually, it's Junior/Senior Banquet. We don't do "prom." Sort of. They attend a Christian school on a Baptist campus and Baptists don't dance. More or Less. So, they hold a banquet (sponsored by the school) and then afterwards, the parents host a dance. So...they are off to the Frazier Historical Museum to have a "Night at the Museum" themed evening. Their limo pulled out just ahead of some thunderstorms but I'm guessing I would have gotten a call if they had any problems. Anyway, the girls looked gorgeous and the young men looked so handsome. (It's really weird, I've known these boys since they were small. Suddenly they look like men. They still act like boys though!)

One ring to rule them all...

We pray that this ring may be to us a symbol of the past...

May this ring be to us a pledge for the future...

My boys...being goofy as usual. Something about rings of power? At least they waited til after the ceremony was over.

I wonder if they got tired of everyone asking to see their fingers? Probably not yet. I wonder how many rings have been misplaced already?

Swiftly go the days...

It's JUNIOR RING CEREMONY!

Will a certain someone's mother embarrass the living daylights out of him by weeping and wailing "my baby" while trying to clutch him to her chest?

Will she embarrass him by belting out her version of "bread and butter"?

Will she bring enough kleenex to last the entire ceremony?

Will she make unique and interesting comments to the young woman who has caught her "baby's" attention?

Perhaps rather than singing "bread and butter", she might lead a mother's chorus of "sunrise, sunset" instead. (I actually heard that song somewhere this weekend. Huh.)

Stay tuned for more details on the day!

Monday

I am a working mom. I have always been a working mom. My children know of no other life. They are used to me working days, nights, weekends, whatever comes along. I enjoy my jobs, both as a mom and as a LifeWay person. And, for the most part, both jobs coexist peacefully.

Most of the time.

However, there are times when they don't mix so well.

Today is one of those times. The weekend started out normal enough. I worked Saturday and then came home, fixed dinner, helped Jessi with her hair and caught up on a few chores before Thunder time. After Thunder, I did a few more things and then headed off to bed....to be awakened an hour later by a sick husband.

A very sick husband.

We were up all night.

And all day.

Of course, this would happen to be the day that we were supposed to go and watch my sister-in-law and niece dance but Josh was in no shape to leave the house. So, Jessi and I went.

And enjoyed ourselves.

However, we did leave after my SIL finished dancing because I felt uncomfortable leaving Josh for so long. On the way home, Jonathan called. His back had been hurting him for the past couple of days (he's been working on the spring musical, setting up, moving stuff, climbing, and whatever else one does to help put together a theater production) and he was in so much pain that he could hardly speak.

Asking for medication.

Which is a giant red flag right there because that boy hates pills with a passion.

Anyhow, for whatever reason, his back had gone from bad to "I can't stand up and I can't move."

So, we spent the rest of the evening Lysoling and running and fetching and soothing and "there, there"-ing and fixing jello cups and praying and warming heating pads and rearranging pillows and keeping dogs from jumping on the sick/injured. (Oh, and contemplating going to the ER. Can't forget that.)

Fast forward to morning.

It's a work day.

The sick and the injured are still sick and injured. (although not quite as sick and still about the same on the injured.) It's obvious that there will be no school or work for these two. And while I am a working mom, (and believe me, the last 31 hours have been work) I am a mom first. Once the doctor's office is open, we'll be getting an appointment or two. I suppose that's what family sick days are for. In the meantime, we'll be passing out jello and advil.

(We have a very busy week here at the heigh ho house. It's ring ceremony week and the play starts Thursday. We'd appreciate your prayers for mercy, healing, good health and just saying "no" to passing around whatever bug Josh has.)

the life of a spring break-er

A comment heard in the kitchen immediately following breakfast....

"so, mom, do you want to wake me up for lunch?"

this couch isn't big enough for all of us...

or maybe it is. Jonathan is supposed to be watching a movie with his dad but he is still tired from his recent bout with strep. So he fell asleep. Apparently the dogs took that as an invitation to make him a giant pillow.
Don't you just love the dryer sheet stuck to the blanket? Of course, I'd rather have a dryer sheet taking a nap on me than a couple of medium to large dogs. (Wolfie is the size of a german shepherd. He has some shepherd in him. Diego is part blue heeler and part dingo. And he's a bit chubby.)

Strep Boy is having a birthday!

Wouldn't it be funny...

If today, on the first day of Thanksgiving break, somebody forgot that there was no school and proceeded to wake her son up at the crack of dawn?

And, since there really was no school and he was up anyway, she might have suggested that he go ahead and clean his room? Not that anybody around here did anything like that. But if they did, wouldn't it be funny?

It's finally here...

After what seems like eons of drama practices, the moment has finally arrived. The fall drama will be running the next three nights. If you have a moment, would you mind praying for them?

(and if you hear a loud, jubilant sound over our way on Saturday night, don't be alarmed. It's probably just a herd of drama weary parents, relieved that the fall drama is finally over.)

Do you ever wonder what on earth they are thinking?

Jonathan just informed me that when he grows up (and here I thought he was almost grown up...at least until I heard this...), he is going to replace his saliva glands with gasoline packets and put flint under his tongue and something else (which totally escaped me at this point as I was staring at him with a "huh?" expression on my face) so he can breathe fire. Um...okay... Can I just say that boys are weird? And I will never understand them as long as I live.

a prayer request from The Boy

There's this girl...who is a friend of The Boy. This girl was diagnosed with cancer at the end of their freshman year. She spent most of their sophomore year undergoing treatment and finally went into remission at the end of their sophomore year. This girl had to undergo a PET scan on Friday and has not returned to school since. The Boy says that no one knows the outcome of the scan. (um...now would be a good time to point out that The Boy is clueless about many things.) However, he is concerned, therefore, I am concerned. So, if you have a moment...please lift this girl and her family up in prayer.

fear not...

In case you've ever worried that perhaps someday my literary idiosyncrasies might be lost to future generations, fear not.

For tonight I have seen that the apple truly does not fall far from the tree.

The topic of The Boy's Spanish blog this evening is "Why we should use bears in the military." I am sure that it is a fascinating piece of literary excellence. However, I cannot read Spanish. He did mutter something about Yogi and Boo Boo though. Perhaps I'll have his Spanish teacher translate for me.

Survival

We have survived.

Forty slices of pizza, one sheet cake, two tubs of ice cream, six bags of chips, an order of cheese bread, two pounds of peanut m&m's, three dozen donuts, and three dozen donut holes later. I am amazed at how much sixteen year old boys can eat.

Anyway, The Boy is sleeping it off and we are trying to restore order to the rest of the house. And dh seems to have picked up the only version of the flu that had not yet infiltrated our house. It's a good thing that I bought a new "industrial" sized can of lysol. I am so ready for spring! Or the end of cold and flu season. Or both.

Only three more days left in Jona-palooza. The festivities are beginning to wind down. Actually, the only other planned event is on the actual day of his birth, which would be Wednesday. I know, you are thinking, "hasn't that boy had his birthday yet?!?" I told you, he believes that it should be a week long celebration and somehow he has convinced us of the same thing. Oh well, life will get back to normal soon. No, wait, The Boy will be getting his permit and learning how to drive. Sigh. I think I will have to find a new normal.

Pass the tylenol please...

We interrupt our regularly scheduled broadcast to bring you an update on day three of Jona-palooza. This evening we will be hosting various and assorted members of the "nerd herd". We will be serving copious amounts of junk food to enhance this gathering. I am sure we will also be playing non-stop video games and jamming to ear-splitting tunes that make absolutely no sense to this mother. So I will be locked in a little corner of my mind, remembering my little boy and thinking that he and his friends need to shave. Sigh. I can't decide which birthdays are harder, mine or my childrens.

I love these pictures. I love the fact that Merlin (Basset #1) looks like he could come through the window and eat that cake. (He's actually standing on top of his doghouse.) The other picture is The Boy holding a four foot long Orca that dh and I just had to bring home from Hawaii. We had to buy a separate duffel bag for it but The Boy loved it.