Double Digits

The American Idol contestants sang songs from their birth years this week. Phew.

Let me just say, folks... I am old.

Old enough to be the mommy of a 10-year-old.

A very cute and charming 10-year-old.

A very smart and witty 10-year-old.

A very sassy mouthed and sarcastic 10-year-old. (Don't know where he gets that from.)

Let the festivities begin! 'Cause when you are an "only," birthdays last all week.

The first party was in Pensacola at Nana and Pops' house. All Dan's family was there, and "Harry Potter" was the cake of choice... with the strangest colors of icing I've ever seen.



The boy picked "Red Robin" for his birthday lunch... and we were a little bored waiting on our food...


While we were with our Birmingham friends, "Aunt Shan" made a cake too!


On our way home, we stopped at Baba and Papa's for more presents and more cards. (And to pick up my 2 lazy-butt cats who had been at their grandma's all week.)



And... finally... the party with the friends. With a basketball theme. The "good-time-cut-loose-act-like-a-kid-'cause-you-are-one" party. The party that leaves me convinced I birthed JUST the right number of children.



Happy Birthday, my boy. You are... by far... my favorite cute and charming, smart and witty, (and even) sassy and sarcastic 10 year-old! Daddy and I love you more than you will ever know!

"Life is What Happens...

... When you're making plans."

I love that quote, and I apologize for not giving proper credit to the author. I don't have a clue who said it.

"Life" could mean a lot of things, but in our little world last week... it meant death.




We were in the middle of making plans when some "life" happened.

We had managed to squeeze in about 2 million tiny details of "plans" into the last few weeks leading up to Dan's next "year-long-fun-filled Army trip."

I mean to the last tiny detail, folks.

We had it all worked out around our families' schedules, school schedules and projects, already-planned events, and a certain boy's 10 year-old birthday and party.

Then, Dan's grandfather passed away.

He had been sick for some time, and it wasn't entirely unexpected.

Papa was a devout Believer. There is no question in anyone's mind about his eternal destination. He was a pastor in his later years, and he spent his time telling others about securing their own place in God's kingdom- here on earth and in Heaven.

He inspired his grandson - Dan - to be a minister himself, and Papa was so proud when Dan decided to become a military chaplain. So proud.

We spent several days with Dan's family.
His grandmother was very grateful to have him there to help... with the funeral and with the grief.

The boy... as always... was a ray of sunshine to his great-grandmother and grandmother.

We spent some time just having fun, too... while we were there... Papa would have loved it and encouraged it.

We ate at the beach, we celebrated the boy's big "1-0" Birthday (more to come on that... trust me!), and the "men folk" took the boat out.

On our way home, we went through Birmingham to see our friends we've known forever. (There are also more pictures from that adventure!)


All those "plans" we'd made had to be re-arranged, of course.

But... everything worked out.


Dan was able to attend his granfather's funeral... that big "Army trip" would have prevented that.

Thank goodness all those plans we made... aren't really up to us.

"For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
Nor are your ways My ways,"
says the Lord.
Isaiah 55:8

Alive... But Not "Kicking"

That's me this morning.

I am home again from a very long and un-planned and whirl-wind trip.

(More on that whole "un-planned" thing later.)

I have lots to share... including some pictures of a very hansome 10 year old boy. ( Heaven help me.)

Gotta go climb Mount Laundry and take inventory of the bare pantry.

And toss out some really old milk.

Future Mother-in-Law of a Spanish Pastry

There's a cute little scrapbook on my dusty little shelf that contains some really good stuff.
It is a book that I started a long time ago. To record SOME of the most memorable and funny stuff the boy says.

Great concept. Because we all know just how hysterical kids can be.

But... like a lot of things... it gets "neglected" from time to time. No... not the kid... the book. Breathing things in our house don't ever get neglected... just the other stuff.

Anywho...

Last night, the boy and I had a little date to the Chinese fast food joint while Dan was at an Army thing.

As we were leaving the food court, my friend "Cinnabon" called out to us, and we couldn't just ignore her... that would be rude.

So... We were walking out to the car, munching on churros... all cinnamony and sugary and hot and... yum.

And, the boy says,

"If people could get married to food... I would marry a churro."



Once again... no doubt... he's my child.

Wheat Thins in My Pocket

If that's not already the title of a country music song, it should be.

"Wheat thins in my pocket... wish I had a rocket...
You keep my picture in a locket..."

I never said I was a songwriter.

I was doing a little (ha) laundry the other night.

I was doing so much laundry that it was PILED up in my floor.

It was so piled up... I was standing on it... like a tiny mountain.

While climbing around on Mount Laundry, I heard a "crunch" sound.

"Great," I thought. "What the heck did I just step on?"

Was it a buried toy? (A broken toy.)

A now-dead bug? (Please, Lord, no.)

A stray piece of cat food? (Because sometimes our cats' food mysteriously wanders off into other places.)


I dug way down into Mount Laundry, and found... a pair of jeans... little boy jeans.

With GREAT fear and trembling, I turned the pocket inside out. I do not need to tell you that I was SCARED of what I'd find.



They say "genetics will tell every time," and I can tell by looking in this boy's pocket that he belongs to me.

Carbs... saved for later.

Who knows when you'll need a little Wheat Thin "pick-me-up?"

I was smiling and dumping them into the sink when I remembered...
We haven't had Wheat Thins in our pantry for AGES.

I'm in Denial

I know some of you out there who live in reality will scoff. And laugh. And call me crazy.

But, that's ok. It's all been said before.

Just 3 more weeks, and the final show will air.

My TV family is going away forever, and I can't be comforted.

Mr. "I-Get-Better-Lookin-Every-Day-George-Clooney" even stopped in last night for a bit. Lord, help me.

As I told my sis-in-law,

"That is one handsome man. Gray hair and all, honey."

Fifteen years and 648,957,248 episodes have come and gone. And now it's almost time to say good-bye.

I have started compiling the 34 boxes of Kleenex I'll use on that final Thursday night.

I can't help but wonder how it will all end. ER has sorta done everything as far as "shockers" go... falling helicopters, floods, bio-terrorism, rabid animals (?), and even helicopters chopping off limbs. People limbs. Gosh, I'm gonna miss that.

My sarcastic husband and the equally sarcastic boy feel the need to bombard me with their (stupid) predictions for the last episode.

"A bomb will blow up the whole hospital... and kill everyone."

"The entire hospital is gonna burn to the ground... and kill everyone."

"It will have all been someone's dream... and kill everyone." (I think they stole that one.)

What kind of made-up TV drama do they think I watch?

I need a CBC and a central line... STAT.

What Time is It?

Dear Mr. Daylight Savings Time,

I am not a fan of you. Let's just get that out there first.

Oh... You will be a little more bearable in a few months. When school is out. When the kids are running around barefooted. When my own foot wardrobe consists of nothing but the flops that flip. When the playground is packed until 8:00 at night. When the IceCream Man plays his happy little sugar-song. When my sad old body has had a while to adjust.

But, until then... You are not my friend.

Love,
Me

There's just something wrong with having to reset EVERY clock in the house (and in the car). That "loss" of one hour does mess with the mind.

I am tired. And, I am apparently apathetic because this place we call home is a WRECK.

I must also be delusional because I keep asking my cats to clean my house for me.

They just look at me.



And yawn.



If anyone knows how to "get over" this lull of Daylight Savings Time, please let me know.
I am also open to suggestions on "How to Teach Your Cats to Clean Your House While You Nap."