Getting an Education

When family comes to town, keeping up with your own life gets a little problematic. You want to put the rest of the world on pause so that you can focus on your guests, but unfortunately, the earth abjectly refuses to stop spinning. Case in point, the Fairview Elementary 2009 Back To School Night. It was scheduled for August 20, which was not only during my sister's visit, but also at a time when Monte would be in Arizona helping my sister's husband drive their two cars back to Missouri.

You wouldn't think Monte's absence from BTSN would matter much. I mean, after all, I didn't have to take Peyton, so each absence balances out the other, right? And I had prepared in advance. I filled out all the forms. I pre-ordered my school supplies from the school itself--no fighting the retail crowds on August 19 for this mom. But once I got there and cheerfully produced my paper work, it turned out each school age son had to have additional paper work filled out and turned in to their new teacher. Once I got to the room, new forms I had never seen before had to be carefully considered and completed, and the easy peasy school supplies, which again, were pre-ordered from the school itself back in May, had to be tracked down and placed in desks.

Big deal, right? Wrong. It suddenly became apparent Monte is not just a Peyton carrier at these kinds of events. He also fields questions from the audience while I concentrate on the information I'm providing. Mason and Stephen both had things they urgently needed to say to me at all times, which meant I couldn't really focus on meeting the teacher or her pesky forms. Confusion growing all around me, I finished the forms, grabbed the school supplies, dumped them out of the box into the desk and struggled to insure I had done enough of what I was supposed to do for the state to accept the children I ejected from my vehicle come Monday morning. I then fled the scene.

The first clue that I am not together as a single parent came Monday when the boys came home. Stephen said, "Mom, my desk was empty." I said, "What do you mean your desk was empty?" He said, "The school supplies weren't there." I called and left a voice message for his teacher, but it was pretty half hearted. After all, these are boys that call to me complaining they can't find their shirt or their backpack or their right foot, only to have me walk over and point out that the object in question is eighteen inches from their left foot. Surely the supplies were there. I put them there. Heck, I dumped them with extreme force there.

They weren't there. Naturally Stephen hadn't told his teacher, and I guess in all the craziness of the first few days of school she hadn't gotten my voice mail--so when I asked her about it she was completely baffled. After realizing that in my haste I didn't stop to label any of the supplies, we admitted that even with a crack CSI team and several days of leg work we were never going to know what happened to them. At the heart of the matter was the inescapable fact that Stephen still needed his stuff. So I resolved to go out after dinner and get him everything he needed. Again.

Remember the ten plagues in the bible? Famine, locusts, frogs, flies, and so on. There was a little known 11th one--the school supply availability plague. We had to go to four different stores in order to get glue, scissors, erasers, pencils, crayons, markers, notebooks, a pencil case, post it notes and plastic folders. Four stores. Wal-mart was out of erasers, but they had plastic folders. Target didn't have folders made of any material, but they did have post it notes. Nobody had pencil cases. We had to settle for a plastic box of approximately the same dimensions at Michael's, which by the way is the only place in town you can get those otherwise ubiquitous pink erasers on the second day of school. Oh, and you also have to crawl over cranky last minute college students and their frazzled parents just to get the stuff. At one point, Monte had to go around to the back of an aisle and reach over the top just to get to the plastic folders that were being blocked by an angry mother daughter team bent on denying access to anything that might hold paper.

I can't decide if I was overly dependent on my preparedness or underestimated the distractions my sons can be or if, baby, we just got robbed. I have learned one thing though. If I have to do another BTSN on my own, then it really will be on my own, because all the boys will be duct taped to chairs in my basement.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree

When family comes to town, it's showoff time. See what new tricks the babies can do. Here is just a small sampling of how that went.

Mom: "Peyton, what does a doggie say?"
Peyton: "Moo"
Mom: "Noooo, a doggie says woof. What does a cat say?"
Peyton: "Moo"
Mom: "No, no, a cat says meow. What does a COW say?"
Peyton, sensing dinner time was near: "Chee?" (Which loosely translated means I'm hungry and I want six or eight pieces of cheese.)

So there you have it. Shauna's kids know all their letters, numbers, colors, algebraic equations and a little string theory. My kids are interested in the position of class clown, if they can get it. Nature, 1, Nurture, 0.

Been Farmin' Long?

Peyton and new BFF Hunter rode Hunter's Peg Perego John Deere Gator all over Hunter's farm today. The property is pretty extensive. Three year old H-dog drove 20 month old P-dog over hills, up the sides of valleys, down into ravines and out again all without too many near misses. And nobody worried. All the adults stood around and laughed and laughed without a care in the world like it was 1973 and seatbelts, helmets and knee pads were still a pipe dream. We probably should have feigned some concern, but hey, my parents let me ride farm machinery and such at their ages, not to mention all my childhood winter sledding memories involve a 20 foot length of rope and an international pickup truck. It's a miracle I made it to 40!

Man Pretty

I was making some bows for Sydney, and I needed to see if they looked okay. Sydney is at the farm, so I found some other, more convenient models.

Now before you judge, look at those eyes! He's a beautiful baby. He would have made such a cute little girl if the DNA wheel had gone the other way. He can't help it if he has beautiful eyes and sweet little lips . . . he's man pretty. I mean he's got a wii controller to balance it all out, right? Right?

Okay, okay, I was out of control, but aren't they cute? I think I read somewhere cinema tough guy Charles Bronson wore dresses when he was a baby and had ringlets until he was like three or something . . . Clint Eastwood did too probably. And look at those guys . . .

I think Sydney needs to come back.

Reunion

There aren't words for how happy this picture makes me. These are some of the people I love best in the world, assembled together at my parent's farm. They were there to eat burgers and talk, and maybe ride the 4-wheeler. Nothing else. Just to be, and do it next to each other.

Some of the memories that keep me above water on a daily basis are of just hanging out with one or more of these guys. Doing stuff, or nothing, but having some sort of connection all the same. Really, if you get right down to it, the person I am is a direct result of the effect all the people in this picture have had on, well, the person I am. That was a bit circular, but you get the gist.

This post doesn't have a moral or a grand point or anything, but I would advise any reader who doesn't presently have a big extended family, to run out and get one right away. They're worth what they cost, every penny. But not this one, because it's mine, and I'm keeping it.

I love Cracker Barrel

GeoTagged, [N38.96086, E92.28708]

Is it the sweet tea or the hashbrown casserole or the sweet potato casserole or the strawberry short cake that keeps me coming back time and again to my neighborhood Cracker Barrel? Is it the candle selection or the seasonal items or the old fashioned candy or the toys? Maybe it's the audiobooks or the bluegrass music? Nope. Those things are great, don't get me wrong, but I think its something else. The checkers. Yep, definately the checkers.

Trading Spaces

It finally came down to the boys bathroom. We had avoided the boys bathroom for a time because, well, that's the bathroom the boys use and they need a space uninterrupted for bathing, teeth brushing and peeing near the toilet. But eventually all things change and so here we are with the BEFORE picture:


Another BEFORE with the happy home owner documenting his project. One backache, creaky knees and many nicks and cuts later . . .


Our AFTER picture. We've already moved the boys back in. They were peeing near the toilet in my bathroom, and that was not to be tolerated for long.


We have the painting left and then carpet and then we're done, and we can go back to watching TV and taking our ease. My Tivo will thank me. He's full and would like it very much if I'd watch some of those shows he's been good enough to record.

Comic Con

This is a comic book store in Chandler, Arizona. In July 2006, my sister and her husband moved to Chandler (Phoenix) so that he could work at Intel. There was a 20+ hour road trip involving video cameras and small marital disagreements specific to traveling that were ironed out over large fries. Oh yeah, and me--I went too, to "help." (I basically helped myself to Chinese food, American food, fast food, etc.) My sister and her husband were beginning a new life, a new adventure, and I documented it all with a camera in one hand and a cheeseburger in the other. While they lived there, the Ellis family went to visit them a few times in the spirit of the "stay with relatives who live in paradise and save on hotel costs" vacation. We swam in their bathtub water warm pool, which was conveniently located adjacent to their palatial house and surrounded by beautiful plant life and a few dancing geckos. Unmitigated joy was to be had by all. Even the geckos.

Alas, it was not to be.

Fast forward to August 2009. My sister and her husband are moving away from Chandler to Dayton. Ohio. The Midwest. The heartland. Where people routinely carry guns and bibles under the seats of their cars (at least that's where I keep mine.) No red rocks, no sun worshipers, no new age anything. Just corn. Rows and rows and rows of it. And you know what? I'm thrilled. Phoenix was too dang far away and the plane rides too long and too expensive. And once you make it TO Phoenix, this idyllic place, this utopia known for shorts weather year round, reveals an underbelly of 115 degree in the shade summers and absolutely NO bakeries. None. Okay, maybe one, but you had to drive 20 miles in intense 115 degree traffic with your tires melting out from under you to get a tiny loaf of Ciabatta bread, for which you drove back thankfully and nibbled carefully, lest you have to get back out into flaming Hades to get another one. That, my friend, was NOT in the travel brochure.

But truthfully, they could build bakeries upon bakeries and it wouldn't matter. The simple fact is Phoenix is farther from Missouri than the moon, and finally, FINALLY, my sister is leaving there and moving to a state where her kids wont cry when it snows and start screaming "Mommy the sky is falling! Mommytheskyisfallinggggggggggggg!!!!"

So what does all that have to do with a comic book store in the middle of Chandler? When they first moved to paradise, I took this picture of Atomic Comics with my camera phone thinking that when I got back to the greater Phoenix area with one of my superhero worshiping boys, we'd go inside. But we never did. They were there three years and we never made it to the interior of the comic book store that was less than five minutes from their house. Sad, really.

Unless, maybe they have comic book stores in Dayton? Ha! Silver lining achieved!