Monday, July 19, 2010
Fat Chicks Sweat More...
I'm having a tough time sticking to my diet. I get such cravings at night, especially for chocolate. I WANT to lose weight. I feel so great when I do, feel so great when I eat right, feel so great after I excercise. Why can't I use those great feelings after 7 pm? Why can't I get motivated to not eat after 7 pm? To snack on healthy food instead of "Cheetos" and chocolate? Ugh. If it weren't for night-time vampire feedings, I'd lose about 2 lbs per week or more. Ugh Ugh. What can I eat after 7 pm that won't make me gain weight and that will satisfy my salty & chocolate cravings?
Friday, June 25, 2010
Bodacious Blonde Bimbo
As you know, I'm over 40. 43 years old, to be exact.
My husband will be 50 in December. He is one of the last of his group of friends to turn 50.
We went to his friend Kevin's 50th birthday party this past Tuesday, with our two little munchkins (who were, I admit, the LIFE of the party). I knew most of the people, who were Kevin's friends and family. I did my usual - held Joseph, followed John, chatted with people, followed John, introduced myself and my boys when necessary, followed John. It was great. I didn't have to talk if I didn't want to, I could use my boys as an excuse to leave an awkward situation.
John was so so busy in Kevin's & Sheila's back yard. They have two boys, grown now, and have created their house and yard to withstand little (and huge) boys. John could do no harm. He discovered all the fountains and ponds and fish and rocks and sticks and hiding places. The yard was totally fenced in, so I didn't have to worry about him getting out. He was free to roam and play and explore and discover and dart about. There were other little children there, but they stayed with their mommies. John went to each adult and asked them, in his precious little lisp, how they were doing and did they want to see his compass (or his rock or his stick or whatever else he stuffed in his pocket). Every person knew John within one hour of us being there. It was great.
Anyway, back to me. This is really why I am writing this post. I visited with the other wives of my husband's friends, with the grandparents and children and everyone in between. I didn't notice anything unusual.
On our drive home, around 9:30, both boys were asleep. My husband told me how beautiful I looked. He said I was the prettiest, youngest-looking woman at the party. He said he couldn't believe how young I looked, that I could pass for someone in my late 20s or early 30s.
YES!!!
If you were to ask me my age, my first gut-level response would be 24. Then I have to think and re-answer. Ugh. I'm glad I look younger that I am. Except, I've been noticing the grey hair. I've been a dark blonde all of my adult life and now the dark blonde around my face is turning grey. When I was younger (0-20 years old) I was REALLY blonde. Naturally really blonde. My John is really blonde, just like I was.
I want to be that blonde again. I made an appointment with my hair "artiste", Darrell, who has been doing my hair nicely for over 10 years, for this Thurs., July 1 at 10:30 am. He is going to color my hair, get rid of the grey. But I don't want him to color it the dark dirty blonde it has become. I want to become BLONDE like I used to be. Like my John.
I want to become, again, a bodacious blonde bimbo. I was one, once. I want to become one again. If it works, I'll post photos. I don't need a boob job. Mine are big enough, even before I was nursing babies. I'm working on losing the baby weight (and puberty weight, and college weight, and living alone in my 20s weight, and partying every night in my 30s weight). I've lost almost 15 pounds since April Fools Day. I have 35 pounds to go. I'm short, so , yes, I have 35 pounds to lose. By my husband's 50th birthday in December. It can be done. 2 pounds each week. I just need to be disciplined and not eat after 7 pm. Oh, and give up chocolate. Ugh.
Bodacious Blonde Bimbo...ready or not, here I come!
My husband will be 50 in December. He is one of the last of his group of friends to turn 50.
We went to his friend Kevin's 50th birthday party this past Tuesday, with our two little munchkins (who were, I admit, the LIFE of the party). I knew most of the people, who were Kevin's friends and family. I did my usual - held Joseph, followed John, chatted with people, followed John, introduced myself and my boys when necessary, followed John. It was great. I didn't have to talk if I didn't want to, I could use my boys as an excuse to leave an awkward situation.
John was so so busy in Kevin's & Sheila's back yard. They have two boys, grown now, and have created their house and yard to withstand little (and huge) boys. John could do no harm. He discovered all the fountains and ponds and fish and rocks and sticks and hiding places. The yard was totally fenced in, so I didn't have to worry about him getting out. He was free to roam and play and explore and discover and dart about. There were other little children there, but they stayed with their mommies. John went to each adult and asked them, in his precious little lisp, how they were doing and did they want to see his compass (or his rock or his stick or whatever else he stuffed in his pocket). Every person knew John within one hour of us being there. It was great.
Anyway, back to me. This is really why I am writing this post. I visited with the other wives of my husband's friends, with the grandparents and children and everyone in between. I didn't notice anything unusual.
On our drive home, around 9:30, both boys were asleep. My husband told me how beautiful I looked. He said I was the prettiest, youngest-looking woman at the party. He said he couldn't believe how young I looked, that I could pass for someone in my late 20s or early 30s.
YES!!!
If you were to ask me my age, my first gut-level response would be 24. Then I have to think and re-answer. Ugh. I'm glad I look younger that I am. Except, I've been noticing the grey hair. I've been a dark blonde all of my adult life and now the dark blonde around my face is turning grey. When I was younger (0-20 years old) I was REALLY blonde. Naturally really blonde. My John is really blonde, just like I was.
I want to be that blonde again. I made an appointment with my hair "artiste", Darrell, who has been doing my hair nicely for over 10 years, for this Thurs., July 1 at 10:30 am. He is going to color my hair, get rid of the grey. But I don't want him to color it the dark dirty blonde it has become. I want to become BLONDE like I used to be. Like my John.
I want to become, again, a bodacious blonde bimbo. I was one, once. I want to become one again. If it works, I'll post photos. I don't need a boob job. Mine are big enough, even before I was nursing babies. I'm working on losing the baby weight (and puberty weight, and college weight, and living alone in my 20s weight, and partying every night in my 30s weight). I've lost almost 15 pounds since April Fools Day. I have 35 pounds to go. I'm short, so , yes, I have 35 pounds to lose. By my husband's 50th birthday in December. It can be done. 2 pounds each week. I just need to be disciplined and not eat after 7 pm. Oh, and give up chocolate. Ugh.
Bodacious Blonde Bimbo...ready or not, here I come!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tell Me THAT Story
My John is so interesting. I've never met anyone like him. He actually learns from stories. He asks me to tell him stories about things all day long. And I try to do just that, just for him. Doesn't matter where we are or what we are doing.
As I place him in his blue bucket swing, under our cedar trees, he says, "Tell me about the little boy (bo-wee) whose mommy is putting him in his swing under his green cedar trees, in his pajamas, and he wants to stand in his swing, not sit. Tell me THAT story." So I make up a story about just that, with a little lesson on how he must sit on the swing so he does not fall out.
As I change his diaper, he says, "Tell me the story of the little boy whose mommy is changing his diaper and gets boom on the sofa because he wouldn't lie still. Tell me THAT story." So I do. Lesson: stay still, with your legs up, so we don't get boom everywhere. AND, when you go boom on the toilet, you don't have to worry about getting it everywhere or lying still while mommy changes your diaper. We're really encouraging using the toilet, since preschool begins in 2.5 short months.
After John hits Baby Joey on the head with his knuckles, he tearfully says, "Tell me the story about the little boy who hits his baby on the head with his knuckles. Tell me THAT story." And so I do, about the nice little boy who loves his baby brother so much that he is just bursting with love and it comes out hard through his fist. And the big boy feels so badly for hurting the baby and making the baby cry. And how the little boy never wants to do that again, never ever. And how the little boy will have to go to time-out if he hits the baby again. Then John puts his face on Joey's head, "giving Joey the love" he says.
When we drive up to our house, John says, "Tell me the story about the little boy who injusts (adjusts) mommy's seat so much that she can't reach the pedals or climb up or sit up straight. Tell me THAT story." So, as he is "injusting" my driver's seat, I laughingly tell him of the fun little boy who moves mommy's seat around so much that I am facing backward and upside-down while I'm driving. And how Johnny pushes a button so that I fly out the roof into the sky. He laughs and laughs, trying to move the seat in every which way. Not all of our stories are serious lesson stories.
The list wonderfully goes on. I'm telling stories every few minutes sometimes, especially when John feels like being naughty, or accidentally is naughty or gets hurt. He really does learn from them, often choosing NOT to repeat the crime or accident (ack-sident).
And he is trying to do funny things, to hear funny stories so he can laugh and laugh. He loves laughing (I have an ultrasound photo of him, laughing in-utero, at about 30 weeks), and he LOVES making Joey laugh. That is often his goal in life. John makes Joey laugh more than anyone else can. John can make eye-contact with Joseph, and Joseph will scream laugh and hide his eyes and face in my chest, then look back at John and laugh some more. When John speaks to Joey, Joey cracks up, no matter what John says. They have a cool connection. They understand each other, without needing to speak. I love watching them. I hope they will be best friends forever, truly.
Tell me THAT story.
As I place him in his blue bucket swing, under our cedar trees, he says, "Tell me about the little boy (bo-wee) whose mommy is putting him in his swing under his green cedar trees, in his pajamas, and he wants to stand in his swing, not sit. Tell me THAT story." So I make up a story about just that, with a little lesson on how he must sit on the swing so he does not fall out.
As I change his diaper, he says, "Tell me the story of the little boy whose mommy is changing his diaper and gets boom on the sofa because he wouldn't lie still. Tell me THAT story." So I do. Lesson: stay still, with your legs up, so we don't get boom everywhere. AND, when you go boom on the toilet, you don't have to worry about getting it everywhere or lying still while mommy changes your diaper. We're really encouraging using the toilet, since preschool begins in 2.5 short months.
After John hits Baby Joey on the head with his knuckles, he tearfully says, "Tell me the story about the little boy who hits his baby on the head with his knuckles. Tell me THAT story." And so I do, about the nice little boy who loves his baby brother so much that he is just bursting with love and it comes out hard through his fist. And the big boy feels so badly for hurting the baby and making the baby cry. And how the little boy never wants to do that again, never ever. And how the little boy will have to go to time-out if he hits the baby again. Then John puts his face on Joey's head, "giving Joey the love" he says.
When we drive up to our house, John says, "Tell me the story about the little boy who injusts (adjusts) mommy's seat so much that she can't reach the pedals or climb up or sit up straight. Tell me THAT story." So, as he is "injusting" my driver's seat, I laughingly tell him of the fun little boy who moves mommy's seat around so much that I am facing backward and upside-down while I'm driving. And how Johnny pushes a button so that I fly out the roof into the sky. He laughs and laughs, trying to move the seat in every which way. Not all of our stories are serious lesson stories.
The list wonderfully goes on. I'm telling stories every few minutes sometimes, especially when John feels like being naughty, or accidentally is naughty or gets hurt. He really does learn from them, often choosing NOT to repeat the crime or accident (ack-sident).
And he is trying to do funny things, to hear funny stories so he can laugh and laugh. He loves laughing (I have an ultrasound photo of him, laughing in-utero, at about 30 weeks), and he LOVES making Joey laugh. That is often his goal in life. John makes Joey laugh more than anyone else can. John can make eye-contact with Joseph, and Joseph will scream laugh and hide his eyes and face in my chest, then look back at John and laugh some more. When John speaks to Joey, Joey cracks up, no matter what John says. They have a cool connection. They understand each other, without needing to speak. I love watching them. I hope they will be best friends forever, truly.
Tell me THAT story.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Two Years Ago Today
I was sitting on my sister's back porch in Portland, OR, with my Auntie Joan, my sister Colleen, 4-year-old Molly, and my baby John. He was just over 13 months when we drove to Portland. It was hot and sunny and we were playing outside. I was holding John on my lap, watching Joan and Molly gather all of Molly's baby dolls. Joan held up a doll to John and said, "Look at the little baby, John."
John looked at the dolly, looked at me, smiled, and said, "Baby".
HIS FIRST WORD!! MY BABY JOHN'S FIRST REAL WORD!!!
I will never forget that afternoon and his sweet smiling, proud face. He knew he did something pretty amazing.
And now, as John gives "the love" to his own little Baby Joey, who is exactly two-and-a-half years younger than he is, he says "baby" so sweetly, so casually, as if he's been saying it all of his life. And, really, he has.
John looked at the dolly, looked at me, smiled, and said, "Baby".
HIS FIRST WORD!! MY BABY JOHN'S FIRST REAL WORD!!!
I will never forget that afternoon and his sweet smiling, proud face. He knew he did something pretty amazing.
And now, as John gives "the love" to his own little Baby Joey, who is exactly two-and-a-half years younger than he is, he says "baby" so sweetly, so casually, as if he's been saying it all of his life. And, really, he has.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
My Home Repair List - Handsome Handyman, Part 2
Oh my gosh, things around this house STILL need to be fixed. I'm not kidding. I make lists, put them up on the kitchen cupboard where someone in particular looks every day. They go unmentioned and unfixed for weeks. I take the list down in frustration (and because that certain "someone in particular" splattered tomato sauce or coffee on the list). I can't find any of my lists, so I decided to post them on my blog. I always know where my computer is and where my blog is. So, here are things that need to be done around here, for which I need help (physical and emotional and mental, sometimes). Hello, Handsome Handyman!
John's playhouse walls must be secured together
Pipe on back of house need to be replaced (it burst this winter, and we need it to operate our
sprinklers)
Door threshold between playroom and hallway (there is no threshold)
Playroom ceiling lights get really really really really warm
Playroom light switch needs to be switched
Playroom electrical sockets, changed to 3-prongs
Weeds all along sidewalk need to be dug out and killed
Pick up bags of bark for front, sides, and back of house
Fill gaping hole in front of house with dirt
Clean gutters (get ladder - my very own ladder - from Terry's rental house - why is it there
anyway, it is MINE)
Stove - only two out of four burners work
Dishwasher - the soap dispenser door broke off
Cut branches off neighbor's Maple Tree that invade our roof and power lines
Sand baseboard
Make quarter-inch-round for baseboards
I will add to this list as needed. And I will check off the items that are fixed, no matter who fixes them. I'll let you know if it was, indeed, my handsome handyman. Sigh.
John's playhouse walls must be secured together
Pipe on back of house need to be replaced (it burst this winter, and we need it to operate our
sprinklers)
Door threshold between playroom and hallway (there is no threshold)
Playroom ceiling lights get really really really really warm
Playroom light switch needs to be switched
Playroom electrical sockets, changed to 3-prongs
Weeds all along sidewalk need to be dug out and killed
Pick up bags of bark for front, sides, and back of house
Fill gaping hole in front of house with dirt
Clean gutters (get ladder - my very own ladder - from Terry's rental house - why is it there
anyway, it is MINE)
Stove - only two out of four burners work
Dishwasher - the soap dispenser door broke off
Cut branches off neighbor's Maple Tree that invade our roof and power lines
Sand baseboard
Make quarter-inch-round for baseboards
I will add to this list as needed. And I will check off the items that are fixed, no matter who fixes them. I'll let you know if it was, indeed, my handsome handyman. Sigh.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Every Mom Needs A Wife...And A Handsome Handyman
I don't know why it takes me so long to write...yes, I do. I'm usually exhausted by evening time, which is when I have a minute to sit down and turn on the computer. I don't have the physical or mental energy to write anything. I've loads of thoughts swirling around my head, some of which actually make sense. But I'm too tired to type.
I spend all of my glorious days playing with and taking care of John and Joseph. Both of my little munchkins are so easy to be around, so happy, such smiling laughing children. I have no complaints. I LOVE being home every day with my boys. Even John's really really really loud and long "Nnnnnnoooo!!!" doesn't bother me. He's good at saying it, it sounds funny, I smile or laugh whenever he says it, shake my head, then proceed to do the very thing he doesn't want. He knows the routine now, but still needs to shout out "no" really long and loud. He will even smile a bit afterward, 'cause I truly think he thinks it's funny. And it gets him nowhere.
I'm tired, though, because I do this all day and night, every day and night. I don't ever get a break. EVER. My husband comes home from work, and now I have three boys to look after, who need my attention. He needs more attention, usually, than the other two. Which is hard and strange. When he is gone, we have routine and calm and peace and music and laughter and creative, fun dinners. When he is home, we have chaos and restlessness and loud talking and shouting and teasing and tickling until we cry and no music and yucky meat for dinner (which he never likes, which I never get right for him). He will, on occasion, empty and/or fill the dishwasher, or take out the garbage. That's about it. And that's easy stuff I can do and do do all the time. However, all of the things that need to be fixed around the house or all of the heavy stuff that is hard for me to do NEVER gets completed by my husband. And if I ask more than once, I'm called a "nag". So, I have decided to ask once and only once. Then, I make my list and call the handsome handyman I have found. He charges $25 per hour and usually takes 4 or 5 hours to complete ALL of the chores that has taken my husband 3 months not to do. The guy even took the broken doorknobs home to work on at night while he was watching tv, so as to not charge me. Awesome! I did give him a tip and he said he'd come back anytime I had more stuff to do.
So now, I'm vigilant. Anything that does not work or look right, I put on my list. In a week or two, I'm calling my handsome handyman to come save me from my broken-down house. If I get desperate, I'll break things myself. Hey, it's someone other than a three-year-old and seven-month-old to talk to. I have a reason to tidy the house. Oh...and to put on lipstick.
I spend all of my glorious days playing with and taking care of John and Joseph. Both of my little munchkins are so easy to be around, so happy, such smiling laughing children. I have no complaints. I LOVE being home every day with my boys. Even John's really really really loud and long "Nnnnnnoooo!!!" doesn't bother me. He's good at saying it, it sounds funny, I smile or laugh whenever he says it, shake my head, then proceed to do the very thing he doesn't want. He knows the routine now, but still needs to shout out "no" really long and loud. He will even smile a bit afterward, 'cause I truly think he thinks it's funny. And it gets him nowhere.
I'm tired, though, because I do this all day and night, every day and night. I don't ever get a break. EVER. My husband comes home from work, and now I have three boys to look after, who need my attention. He needs more attention, usually, than the other two. Which is hard and strange. When he is gone, we have routine and calm and peace and music and laughter and creative, fun dinners. When he is home, we have chaos and restlessness and loud talking and shouting and teasing and tickling until we cry and no music and yucky meat for dinner (which he never likes, which I never get right for him). He will, on occasion, empty and/or fill the dishwasher, or take out the garbage. That's about it. And that's easy stuff I can do and do do all the time. However, all of the things that need to be fixed around the house or all of the heavy stuff that is hard for me to do NEVER gets completed by my husband. And if I ask more than once, I'm called a "nag". So, I have decided to ask once and only once. Then, I make my list and call the handsome handyman I have found. He charges $25 per hour and usually takes 4 or 5 hours to complete ALL of the chores that has taken my husband 3 months not to do. The guy even took the broken doorknobs home to work on at night while he was watching tv, so as to not charge me. Awesome! I did give him a tip and he said he'd come back anytime I had more stuff to do.
So now, I'm vigilant. Anything that does not work or look right, I put on my list. In a week or two, I'm calling my handsome handyman to come save me from my broken-down house. If I get desperate, I'll break things myself. Hey, it's someone other than a three-year-old and seven-month-old to talk to. I have a reason to tidy the house. Oh...and to put on lipstick.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Thank you Easter Bunny. Bok Bok!
Last year John was still one-year-old when my high school Alumni Easter Egg hunt took place. He really hadn't mastered the knack of holding his easter basket and picking up the plastic eggs and putting them into the basket then gathering more eggs. He picked up one egg (there were THOUSANDS in front of him on the football field), looked at it closely, held it tightly, then threw it as far and hard as he could. Of course. That's what he did (and still kinda does) with little round things. That's my boy! He's going to become a switch-hitting shortstop for one of the cool MLB teams (not the Yankees). He's going to make his mama lots of money with his MLB contracts.
Well, during the hunt, John picked up maybe 10 eggs total and threw all of them (quite well, I might add). I was proud of him, for not following the crowd, for going against the flow, for not caring about the candy. For making heads turn. He hit no one with his egg-throwing. Was that good? He now can hit a target when he throws rocks at the river. Some big kids ran around the football field, pushing the little ones (read "John") out of the way, picking up as many eggs as they could. John managed to save 2 eggs and the candy that was inside (I put them into his basket when he wasn't looking). My "sweet" nephew, who was 4.5 years old last Easter, was one of the big kids TAKING from the innocent young ones. I wanted to take all of his eggs and throw them at him and his dad (my brother) for being so pushy.
Well, this year is different. My sweet John is two-almost-three and is quite smart. He knows, now, about bullies, about big kids who push little ones. He knows right & wrong and usually chooses right. He's not perfect and has pushed other children when he wanted something they had. I don't condone pushing others and I don't let John get away with pushing or hurting others. When other children hurt John, I don't let them get away with it either. I talk to them, put them in time-out, talk to their parent. NO ONE PUSHES MY JOHN AND MY JOHN PUSHES NO ONE. Unless he has to. Here's my point...
I believe that sometimes you (read "John") have to defend yourself. Sometimes, when you are bullied, you need to fight back. Sometimes you need to show the bully that you won't take their bullying. Talking doesn't work, action does. I believe that all parents need to teach their boys how to punch someone safely in the stomach, to fold them over, so the bullying stops. I don't mean that John should punch someone to get what he wants. That's wrong. I do mean that, if someone repeatedly bullies John, he should tell an adult and them fold that child over. Once. That's all it usually takes. The bully usually stops after being physically stopped by the child being bullied. Talking by the adults, making the kids talk, usually doesn't stop the bullying. Children turn a deaf ear to adult talk. So do I, actually. Actions speak louder than words. We've all heard that and I firmly believe it in all sorts of areas and aspects.
So, today, to get ready for Easter, John and Joseph and I went outside. John carried his easter basket and practiced collecting eggs. He & his dad had thrown little golf-ball-sized whiffle balls into the front yard. They were strewn about, and John pretended they were eggs and collected them all. He is ready for the Alumni Easter Egg hunt. He is not yet ready to punch a kid in the stomach. Wouldn't really be appropriate for a religious holiday. But I'm getting ready to teach him how. How to "fold someone over" and when to "fold someone over". That is a life-skill my boys need to know and it's our job, as parents, to teach them how and when to do it.
I'm not in favor of violence. I just know boys. I have two brothers. I taught boys for 16 years. I'm a mom, now, to two boys and am married to a big boy. I know how they solve problems, how they solve conflict, how their brains and hearts work. I know how they forgive and surrender and conquer. I know how they don't hold grudges and how they move on and how physical acts really help the process. I despise bullying and I see it happening more and more in our schools and at our parks. Our boys need to know what bullying is and how to stop it. And I believe that adults talking about it helps, but boys doing something about it works. My John is learning how to collect Easter eggs, how and when to hit targets with rocks and other round things, how to give love to his little brother, how to be gentle around people, and how to defend himself. He is going to be gentle and strong and peaceful and fun-loving and hard-working and respectful and assertive and loving and healthy and happy and wise. These are what I pray for, for my John and Joseph.
Well, during the hunt, John picked up maybe 10 eggs total and threw all of them (quite well, I might add). I was proud of him, for not following the crowd, for going against the flow, for not caring about the candy. For making heads turn. He hit no one with his egg-throwing. Was that good? He now can hit a target when he throws rocks at the river. Some big kids ran around the football field, pushing the little ones (read "John") out of the way, picking up as many eggs as they could. John managed to save 2 eggs and the candy that was inside (I put them into his basket when he wasn't looking). My "sweet" nephew, who was 4.5 years old last Easter, was one of the big kids TAKING from the innocent young ones. I wanted to take all of his eggs and throw them at him and his dad (my brother) for being so pushy.
Well, this year is different. My sweet John is two-almost-three and is quite smart. He knows, now, about bullies, about big kids who push little ones. He knows right & wrong and usually chooses right. He's not perfect and has pushed other children when he wanted something they had. I don't condone pushing others and I don't let John get away with pushing or hurting others. When other children hurt John, I don't let them get away with it either. I talk to them, put them in time-out, talk to their parent. NO ONE PUSHES MY JOHN AND MY JOHN PUSHES NO ONE. Unless he has to. Here's my point...
I believe that sometimes you (read "John") have to defend yourself. Sometimes, when you are bullied, you need to fight back. Sometimes you need to show the bully that you won't take their bullying. Talking doesn't work, action does. I believe that all parents need to teach their boys how to punch someone safely in the stomach, to fold them over, so the bullying stops. I don't mean that John should punch someone to get what he wants. That's wrong. I do mean that, if someone repeatedly bullies John, he should tell an adult and them fold that child over. Once. That's all it usually takes. The bully usually stops after being physically stopped by the child being bullied. Talking by the adults, making the kids talk, usually doesn't stop the bullying. Children turn a deaf ear to adult talk. So do I, actually. Actions speak louder than words. We've all heard that and I firmly believe it in all sorts of areas and aspects.
So, today, to get ready for Easter, John and Joseph and I went outside. John carried his easter basket and practiced collecting eggs. He & his dad had thrown little golf-ball-sized whiffle balls into the front yard. They were strewn about, and John pretended they were eggs and collected them all. He is ready for the Alumni Easter Egg hunt. He is not yet ready to punch a kid in the stomach. Wouldn't really be appropriate for a religious holiday. But I'm getting ready to teach him how. How to "fold someone over" and when to "fold someone over". That is a life-skill my boys need to know and it's our job, as parents, to teach them how and when to do it.
I'm not in favor of violence. I just know boys. I have two brothers. I taught boys for 16 years. I'm a mom, now, to two boys and am married to a big boy. I know how they solve problems, how they solve conflict, how their brains and hearts work. I know how they forgive and surrender and conquer. I know how they don't hold grudges and how they move on and how physical acts really help the process. I despise bullying and I see it happening more and more in our schools and at our parks. Our boys need to know what bullying is and how to stop it. And I believe that adults talking about it helps, but boys doing something about it works. My John is learning how to collect Easter eggs, how and when to hit targets with rocks and other round things, how to give love to his little brother, how to be gentle around people, and how to defend himself. He is going to be gentle and strong and peaceful and fun-loving and hard-working and respectful and assertive and loving and healthy and happy and wise. These are what I pray for, for my John and Joseph.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)