Filterless Sadie

My mom sometimes likes to take each of my kids on "dates" - just special, one-on-one time with each of them.  My mom decided that today was Sadie's "turn."  She took Sades to the mall to pick out a church dress, and they had Pretzelmaker hot dog thingeys for lunch.  So cute.  I would have loved it if either of my grandmas had done that with me.  My mom is such a good granny.  (And a good mom.  And a good friend.)

So Mom told me this story after their return - I guess they were getting ready to go, and Sadie pointed to the bags under my mom's eyes and said, "What are THOSE?"

"Uh, the bags under my eyes."

"Why do they look so...baggy?"

"Because I'm a grandma.  That's just what eyes do when you get older."

"Well, you look ridiculous."

Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.

Aviary Anecdotes

My sister and I split the janitorial job at my dad's office.  In his payroll lady's office is this picture:

It makes me laugh soooooooooo hard every time I go in there to empty her garbage.  That bird just looks so eeeeeeeeeevil. 

So if you combine that evil face on this cute little guy...:

Then you will picture the scenario I'm about to tell you.

So I had a rare opportunity to go jogging by myself yesterday.  Usually, Micah insists upon joining me by riding in the jogging stroller, which is really for, you know, babies.  And he's four now.  But somehow, the stroller can handle it, so I oblige.  It's really a ton harder pushing a 30 pound kid in one of those things than jogging by yourself, but I figure I need the exercise.

Testimony to how hard it is to push my dense little boy in that thing - I was talking to a teenaged girl in the hall at church a couple of weeks ago.

"I saw you jogging the other day with Micah in the jogging stroller!" she said.

"Oh yeah?" I said, mentally patting myself on the back for having jogged at all that week - my track record for jogging has been really bad lately.  Get it?  Track record???

"You looked like you were going to die," she said.

"Oh."

And I do feel like I'm going to die when I push him and jog.  But I guess I should keep those feelings inside more, eh??  I shouldn't wear my heart on my...face... so much.

Back to my story.  So I decided to jog around this little track at an elementary school which is a few blocks away.  It has a sign that says, "Three laps equals one mile."  I figured I could keep track of my mileage that way and it would be a nice change of pace from the usual routes I take. 

I was about a two-thirds of the way through my first lap when I saw this cute little black bird with red shoulders.  I haven't ever seen a bird like that before, so I smiled to myself - Nature is so amazing.  Look at that beautiful bird, I thought. 

He even had a cute little chirp.  It wasn't the usual bird sounds I hear near my house.  So I was enjoying it.  He was chirping quite a bit as I neared him, and I figured he was letting his buddies know, Hey, there's a person passing through here.

I passed him, and then I heard this hissing sound.  Very loud.  I glanced around confusedly.  Is there a cat around here? I thought.  Why is there a weird cat hissing at me??

I couldn't see a cat.  Shrugged and kept jogging.

There is was again.  HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.  (That is supposed to be what a hissing sound is spelled like.  Roll with it.)  I glanced side to side.  Again, nothing.  And then I glanced over my shoulder.

This bird was flying right at my HEAD!  Hissing at me!!!  Gone were the cute chirps. 

I yelped and ducked and sped up.  Sheesh!  I'm leaving!  I'm leaving!

But he wasn't satisfied that I was literally running away.  He took another hissing pass at my head.  Always from behind.  He would hiss, fly at my head, I would yelp and duck, and he would hop onto a fence post.  And then he'd do it again.  And again.  This happened like five times.  It was totally TRAUMATIZING. 

Finally, I had gone far enough out of his territory or whatever to satisfy him, and he flew back to his original position.

Needless to say, I didn't do any more laps on that track.  I left the school and ran one of my normal, safe, hiss-free routes.

When I came home, I googled "black bird red shoulders" to see what on earth I had been up against.  The images for the red-winged blackbird which popped up are the spitting image of the Angry Bird.  (Angry Birds.  Turns out they're not so cute.  They really ARE scary.)

And here is what one website said about these birds:

"Red-winged Blackbirds fiercely defend their territory during the breeding season. Over a quarter of the male’s time is spent vigorously defending his territory from other males and predators. They do not hesitate to attack much larger animals, including people."

Must be breeding season.  Yikes.

Story #2 - much shorter.

Sadie, Ashlynn, and Micah were playing in our front yard.  Ashlynn is one of our neighbor kids.  She and Micah often play.  Even though she is nine and he is four.  But really, it makes sense, because she seems younger, mentally, than nine.  There has always been something a little off about her.  Those of you who have read my blog a long time know exactly what I'm talking about there.

So they were in front, playing, and Sadie ran inside.

"Mom, Micah just ate BIRD POOP!"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa???"

I ran outside, and Micah had this look on his face:

(This is a picture I took of Micah right after I caught him peeing in the front yard.  He just whipped it out and peed.  You can see a streak in the dirt - that's the pee mark.  Yes, there has always been something a little off about him, too.  Which is why he and Ashlynn are kindred spirits, I guess.)

"Micah!" I yelled, running toward him, "What did you just DO???"

Ashlynn, her face...ashen...said, "He ate BIRD POOP!"

I stared at him, mouth agape.  "You, you, you, what?  What?  What?  You.... how?  Why?  What?"

Sadie filled in the details.  "Micah saw the bird poop on the driveway.  And before we could stop him, he dipped his finger in it and licked his finger!!!"

I may have thrown up in my mouth a little bit at this point.

I may be throwing up in my mouth a little bit as I type this story.

And what can you DO at this point???  I made him wash his hands....but dude, the fecal matter is already in his BODY.  I can't wash it off his tongue.  It's long gone!!!

Fecal matter.  My son ate fecal matter today.

The End.

My Fiesta Friends

So I've got an addiction.  A strange one.  As you can see over there on the right hand side, under the picture of me with my big gut hanging out, the phrase, "Bean Burrito Addict."  That's a statement completely based on fact. 

Yes, I am addicted to bean burritos.  "Hi, my name is Kar, and I'm a burritaholic..."  "Hiiiiiiii Kar...."

It's a very emotional thing.  When the kids are driving me nuts, I think to myself, "Gosh, I could really use a burrito right now..."  When I'm sinking my teeth into that flour tortilla and the juicy beaney cheesey goop starts slooping out, I mentally say, "Aw yeahhhhhhhhh," and I start to relax.

I visit my favorite bean burro place, Fiesta Ole, often.  Often enough that the drive-through window people know me by name.  They can recognize my voice when I'm ordering at that little voice box/menu thingey.  They always say, "Welcome to Fiesta Ole, how can I help you?"

"I'll have two soft bean burritos, please."

"Ohhhh, heyyyyy, Karlenn, how are you?"

"Fine."

"I won't bother asking you about sour cream, guacamole, or hot sauce.  I know you like yours straight up."

"You know it."

"Come around to the window.  You know how much it costs."

Sad, really.

There are four workers I routinely see there at the drive-through.  There is Huge Belly Man.  He's as boring as...watching someone else play video games.  When I tell jokes or try to make conversation about the weather, he is totally stone faced.  Then there is Huge Belly Woman.  (And I'm not judging.  Because I have an incredibly large belly myself.  I just tell it like it is.)  Again, she's really boring.  Boring as... graduation ceremonies. 

Then we have my two favorites.  We have Perpetually Peppy Lady.  After you order your food at the speaker/menu thingey, she says, "Have a GRRRRRRREAT day."  Which is really something you should say when you won't see the person again for at least a day.  But then you drive to the window and talk to her again.  And then she says it again after she hands you her food:  "Have a GRRRRRREAT day."  She has grey teeth.  And she used to have really long hair, but she cut it and donated it to Locks of Love.  Now her hair looks a lot like Richard Marx's hair, circa 1990.  She's so nice.

Then we have I Think He Might Be Gay Man.  My gaydar is sometimes off, but my gut feeling is that this guy is gay.  When he was handing me my bag of burritos yesterday, it slipped from my hands and fell onto the pavement between his window and my window.  When it dropped, he flapped his hands in front of his face (like ladies do when they're trying not to cry) and let out a little squeal. Which furthered my theory about the team he plays on.  He's adorable. He calls me sweetheart.  And when I leave, he always says, "Have a blast day."  Kind of an awkward sentence to use.  But very endearing.

So, um, yeah.  These are the people I see more often than my own mother.  And that's saying something. 

A Few Things I'm Not Doing Ever Again

Oh Mylanta, I am so sorry I haven't been blogging for awhile.  I have been a Busy.  Little.  Bee. (As that mean dude in Gladiator says to the sister he has incestual feelings toward.)

I've been doing a lot of this:

And a lot of this:

(Is there anything in the world better than the smell of sweet alyssum??)

My friend, Megs, has started up an etsy where she sells cute things she sews - bibs, burp cloths, dresses, etc.  She heard about this artisan fair they have here in the summer, and she decided to try to sell her wares there.  She wondered if I wanted to try to sell my homemade cards at her booth with her, so I gathered them all together and then made 30 more thank-you cards.  They're all the same design, but with different colors:

I think they turned out cute.  So I hurried and got everything ready for Saturday, got a baby-sitter, and skipped on over to Snake River Landing.  I thought to myself, "I'll make at least a few hundey."  I was envisioning all of the beautiful flowers I was going to buy with my newfound riches.

Guess what I made, folks?  Drumroll please...

THREE.  DOLLARS.

That's right.  Three buckaroos.  Paid the baby-sitter 35 bucks for being with my kids for 5 1/2 hours, and I made three. 

So.  Um.  Not going to do that again...

And then the other thing that's taken up all my time - lawn care and gardening.  My amazing dad trimmed my crazy Elm trees in the backyard:

 And I hauled them away, bludgeoning myself in the process:

And the lawn.  Oh the lawn.  It's always been Ben's territory, and I never had full appreciation for what a pain in the butt it is to take care of.  How time-consuming!!!  My adorable elderly neighbor, Nephi, offered to let me use his edger.  I only did one side of one sidewalk, and it took me like an hour!!  Here's the finished result:

It's crazy how much higher my lawn is than my sidewalks.  I felt like my arms were going to fall off for several days after I edged.  Nephi wanted to know if I was going to finish with all the other edges.  I cheerfully and wholeheartedly said, "Nope."  I'll have a weird, only-one-edge-edged thing going on, and that's fine with me. 'Cause I'm not going to do that again...

I've also learned the ways of weed-whacking, specifically, not to weed-whack with capris on:

Not doing that again, either.

I planted some gorgeous geraniums:

 And I moved my bachelor buttons from the front to the back:

I mistakenly planted them in my front area, not realizing that they would take over THE ENTIRE WORLD.  They were choking everything else out:

 And they got too big and covered up my splendid peonies, which is sacrilege:

See?  You can't even see my peonies!  The nerve!  So I pulled 'em out and banished them to the backyard, where things go to die.  Because my soil is like clay back there.  Seriously, you can mold figurines out of that stuff.  I really need to amend the soil back there one of these days...

I planted a new hosta in the shade - isn't it gorgeous???:

He's lonely for now, but I plan on getting him a few brothers later on this summer, hopefully.

Planted some lobelia in the sun:

(Have I ever told you how much I like purple?)

And also planted some gorgeous petunias.  These are called Prism Sunshine:

 And these are called Sugar Daddies:

You should know that sometimes I pick flowers solely based on their names.  It's true.  Trusty Rustys.  Fizzy Lemonberries.  Flower names are so fun sometimes.  Have you seen the names of some of the roses out there?  I like wandering in the rose greenhouse at the local nursery just to look at the names.  Not to buy.  I don't have enough patience for roses.

I got these little beauties for the sun, too, called Vincas.  I'm a fan.  They've proven to be very hardy and just adorable.

A lady down the street complimented me on my flower garden today, and I was soooooooooo flattered.  I blushed and stammered and had pleasant feelings for hours afterward. :)  Flowers make me happy.  And compliments make me happy.

So that's what I've been doing.  And I promise to be a better blogger from now on...

Glo's and Greg's Visit

Ben's mom, Gloria, and stepdad, Greg, came down to visite-nous after Christmas.  We exchanged belated gifts, which was fun.

We had gotten Glo some pearls at the pearl market in Beijing:

Glo gave Gage some Cars Squinkies:

They gave us some silver coins:

 And me a very cozy and cute shirt:

 Sadie got these thingeys where you make your own bracelet:

 And they gave Dylie a lego set, which he immediately put together (it took him about five seconds):

 Micah and Sadie so seldom play well together that I'm sure Ben wanted to document it:

 And we got Greg a book he'd been wanting:

We love when they come to visite-nous.  In fact, we are going to visite-ils in one month!  Road trip to Chelan!  Ben is going to rendezvous there with us, flying from Beijing to Seattle and then renting a car to drive there.  His sweet, fun aunt, Myrna, and I are going to tackle the 12-hour drive up to Chelan by ourselves.  Yikes. Bikes.  But Chelan in the summer is heaven.  There's a gorgeous lake, surrounded by rolling hills of apple orchards - it's gorgeous.  And really fun.  And the best part of all will be seeing the in-laws and the Benner.

My Battle Cry

Kay.  As you've probably noticed, Micah has a bit of an issue.  A wear-his-brother's-jammie-top-on-his-head-and-pretend-it's-hair issue.  Concerning this issue, as Madonna would say, "I got something to say about it.  And it goes something like this..."

From what I can tell, his Green Wig Issue has two parts to it:  1)  It makes him into a girl.  He wants to be a girl.  He thinks girls are amazing.  He likes girl toys.  Girl movies.  Girl clothes.  2)  It's a security thing.  I notice that, when he's feeling deeply embarrassed, he pulls his "hair" down farther over his eyes.  He almost hides behind it.

Obviously, everyone has an opinion about Micah's Issue.  My visiting teacher, who is also Primary President, shrugs and says, "He'll get over it."  And she loves him and hugs him and talks to him just like he's any other kid.

I love her for that.

Some men I know think his phase is sick and wrong and that I need to take away his "hair" and shouldn't allow him to watch girl movies or play with Sadie's toys.  If I force his hair away, it will "cure" him of his Almost Certain Future as a Homosexual, right??

I hate them for that.

I applied a few months ago for Micah to go to Headstart. Part of their form asks if there are some issues our child is dealing with - kind of so that, if Micah had gotten into the preschool, they would know how to help him or whatever.  So on the form, I said that he wants to be a girl and is into girly things, and that he wears this long shirt and pretends that it's his hair. Just wanted to give them a heads-up.  I didn't say anything besides that, like, "I'm so worried that this will ruin his life...." or anything like that.  I just basically said, "Here is what he's doing, just so you know."

Well, I got a phone call from Headstart a couple of weeks later.  This gal on the other end of the line said that he would need to go on a waiting list, blah blah blah.  Which I knew would happen.  And THEN she went on to lecture me about Micah.  It's not what you are probably guessing - she didn't pass judgment on me for being too lenient of a parent, not tough enough, blah blah blah (what I've heard from the majority of people).  Oh  no.  She informed me that Micah is probably a homosexual, and that I need to not judge him.  That I need to be there to support him through his Almost Certain Future as a Homosexual.

I hate her for that.

Here's what I have to say about all of this -

I don't think that a three-year-old who likes girly things is necessarily going to turn into a homosexual.  He may; he may not.  I've had lots of people say stuff like, "My brother is gay, and he loved sports and guy things his whole life."  I've had lots of people say stuff like, "My brother is straight, but he loved girly stuff when he was little, just like Micah."

What he's going through right now isn't indicative of the rest of his life.  He's THREE YEARS OLD.

My husband likes beautiful things.  He loves picking out clothes for me.  He likes decorating the house.  He has a very strong sense of aesthetics.  Is he gay?  No.  He's not.

There are artists, danseurs (male ballerinas), writers, and interior designers who are gay.  There are also artists, danseurs, writers, and interior designers who are straight.

My job as a mom is to love Micah, no matter how things turn out.  I love him.  I'll always love him.  I'll always support him.  If he turns out to be gay, I'm not going to deny that it will be hard.  It's a hard road.   But I'm not going to push him away.  He is MINE.  I love him fiercely and deeply.

But, like I said, he may not turn out to be gay at all.  However he turns out, I am here for him.  Forever.  I love him.  Forever.


The insecurity issue - there are kids Micah's age who bring blankies to church or preschool.  And it's "cute."  Mikey's "blankie" happens to be a green shirt on his head.  But nobody thinks it's "cute."  They think that he's weird.  That I'm weird.  That I'm a bad mother.  That I'm not strict enough.  That, if I take away his hair, it will "cure" him of his insecurity.

I've got a question for you - is there a certain way you like to get settled down to sleep?  I, myself, like to lie on my side and cover up my outer ear.  It just feels secure and right to me.

Or do you know teenagers who wear the same hoodie every single day?  Even if it's a little hot outside?

What kinds of clothes do you like to wear?  I wear clothes that aren't clingey.  I don't like how clingey clothes feel and look.  I feel more secure when I'm wearing something that doesn't show all of my fat rolls.  

We all do things to make us feel more secure.

(He fell asleep in the runner's stretch on the couch.  I thought it was funny.)

Here's the thing - is his wearing of a shirt on his head hurting anyone??  Endangering anyone?  No.  If he wore, like, a bra on his head, that might be different.  Or, like, a hat that looks like a bare butt.  That would be a little disturbing.  But it's a green shirt, for Pete's sake.  For some reason, it brings him peace.  I'm not interested in taking his peace away.

I've prayed. I've read.  I've consulted doctors.  And I've decided to let him wear his "hair."  And I have a right to have made that decision.  Because he is MY SON.  I prayed to have him.  I wanted him desperately.  I vomited for nine months and endured agonizing pain and illness as he grew in my tummy.  I lost nine pounds and gained zero pounds as I worked to bring him here.

I held him and snuggled him and loved him.  I wrung my hands when he was failing to thrive.

I went through three years of two kinds of therapy to help him with the issues that stemmed from his low muscle tone in his facial muscles.  I potty-trained him.  I snuggle him.  I talk to him.  I read to him.  He and I garden together.  He knows the names of all of the flowers in my garden. 

He's sensitive.  He's talkative.  He has a great imagination.  He makes up songs and runs around and sings them.  He runs everywhere - he never walks.  He thinks dandelions are more precious than gold. 

 He could eat goldfish crackers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I would let him.  And pop tarts. He la-hoves strawberries.  He calls them Daw-Bays.

There is so much more to him than his hair thing.

And I'm a better mom than certain people think.  There are battles I do fight with him - things like, "Don't throw things at peoples' heads."  "Don't scream in peoples' faces."  "Don't hit people."  I fight these fights to the death.  I don't just roll over and do nothing if his behavior is causing damage.  I choose not to fight this green hair battle.  And people can judge me if they want.  But they're not in my shoes.  I am accountable to myself and I'm accountable to God.  God knows my heart and knows that I'm doing the very best I can.  I talk to Him nightly about each of my children.  And I listen to His promptings on how to help them.  I do receive personal revelation for my children.  I'm capable of making decisions about my own kids.  My mother's instinct tells me not to make this into an issue.  To love him and let it go.

So, hate on, haters.

This is my battle cry.

Christmas Morning, or, Toys My Kids Haven't Touched in Four Months.

I'm actually glad Micah doesn't play with this - it's REALLY loud:

Sadie doodled on her Doodle Bear for about five minutes, and that was ittttttttt:

Good thing I went to every store in the city looking for it.  Finally, in desperation, I bought one online for $10 more than I would have bought it at a store here.  Good thing.

Dylan's Mind Flex.  Only played with it that day, I believe. Now it sits in his closet.

Sigghhhhhhh.

One of the things Santa got me - an adorable flower ring:

And Santa got this painting specially matted and framed.  Did I ever tell you about this painting?  I feel like maybe I did.  It's a finger painting that Ben bought at the Silk Market in Beijing.  The entire thing is done with the artist's fingers:

A Club Penguin membership, which Dylan has since moved on from:

He is now into Free Realms.  Good thing we got him that membership. Good thing.

I looooove this picture, with Micah's little green mouth, undoubtedly from eating some stocking candy.  ("Undoubtedly" is one of Dylan's spelling words this week, F.Y.I.  It feels like he just learned to read yesterday.  And now he's spelling "undoubtedly"!?!?):

 Ohhhhhh, I am so covetous of these hoodies that Sadie got from her Grandma Brenda:

Every time she puts one on, I look longingly at it.  They are sooo fuzzy.  And soooo cute.  And so warm.  I've gots to find me an adult version of one of those.  Or several.

Ben got me some cute clothes.  He's got such good taste.  This sweater is so dang cute, but my arms are too fat for it:

I still wear it.  I just...kind of stuff my arms into the sleeves.  They look like stuffed sausages.  It's weird - usually, my arms aren't my problem area. 

My folks got Ben some golf balls:

Maybe someday he'll be here during a summer to use 'em. :)

Love this picture:

That is so me - the multitasker.

Have I ever told you how much I love this little man?

I love how he smells.  Just his natural smell.  Today, while Sadie read to me for her homework, I just sat and snuggled him and smelled his hair.  Stop growing, Gage.  Stay right at this age and size, mmmkay?