Nine

Tomorrow, my baby will be nine. Which is, in fact, blowing my mind. It cannot be that I gave birth to my last baby nine years ago. Can it? That's just not possible.

Oh, but it is. Time really does fly. I would like some of it back, please. No, really. God are you listening? We wish away those difficult years without realizing how quickly time is going to pass on it's own. When they wake up all night long, want to be fed around the clock, suddenly decide they can't sleep unless they are touching both you and their father, take up biting, or tantrum throwing, or spitting, or wetting their pants. Those times we wish for time to fly. And boy does it.

Tomorrow, my chubby little baby boy will be nine. He will be an extremely thin, nearly 5 foot tall nine year old boy. A boy who no longer laughs at Blue's Clues but now giggles hysterically at the word testicles. A boy, excuse me, young man who has risen to every challenge presented him with extraordinary grace.

On his first birthday, I had no way of knowing what 9 would look like on him. At that time, I was full of hope as was his father. I have to take time today to thank our Heavenly Father, for that hope. It's made all the difference. Duncan has already done more than enough to make a mother proud for a lifetime.

At 9, he is less and less enamored with TV. I can see him being one of those weirdos that doesn't own a television someday. Still completely enamored with food, though. Loves good food and is more than a little disappointed when I take the easy way out with dinner (like when we had pancakes last night!) Very much into Star Wars which makes life a little challenging since he weaves it into everyday conversation and I still have never seen the movies so there's a communication barrier.... He wants to go back to Disney at least as much as his Mother does. Wants to invent a mini-Nerf airplane that you can actually ride in, therefore when you crash you bounce. I told him we needed to get that idea to a pro-football player, they have the cash to finance it and probably not enough brain cells left to stop them from actually doing it. He's a Momma's boy yet extremely independent. Doing more and more things on his own. He's funny, really funny. Make-your-tummy-hurt-from-laughing-too-hard-funny. He's determined. He's hopeful yet realistic.

And that, in turn, makes us just plain hopeful. If he can strive for his best life possible all the while realizing the one he has ain't too shabby, then maybe we've done something right. And if we have, in fact, done anything right then the credit and glory go to God. Because we are human and we screw-up more than most.

April 4th is always a very bizarre day for me. Scary, painful memories mixed with one of the three greatest blessings God has ever given me. My messy little brain doesn't always know how to sort-it out. So, tomorrow we stay busy. Busy, busy, busy doing birthday stuff that nine year old boys like. Nerf fights and Wii tournaments. Chocolate chip cake and the arcade. I hope it's everything he wishes for. I hope it's more than he hopes for. Because that is certainly what he has given us- more than we could have hoped for.

Match Game

I know you've all been waiting with baited breath for the past three months for my Christmas pictures. What? You've moved on to Spring time and Easter bunnies and warm weather and such? Yeah. Me too.

But I had to post this if only to make a simple point. Notice those jammies?

That's right people they match. Matching jammies are good. Matching jammies means all is right in my twisted little head. Matching jammies make me happy. And you know what makes me even happier? I made these matching pj pants myself. For real. If you know me very well you know that for many, many years (since my junior year in high school, actually) I have wanted to be able to sew. I have not been able to sew. I am super bad at it. Well, I was super bad at it. Then this fall I discovered You Can Make This and now........ Well, truthfully, I am probably still pretty bad at it but this site is really cool because after you buy your pattern you print it out right then and they have easy to understand directions -in English- for those of us who never quite could speak McCall's-Butterick-Vogue Language . Very cool. And, I got my matching jammies.

Layton

I hate posts like this but bear with me........

This is my nephew Layton. We had the pleasure of having him for a few days last month and Caroline and I worked as a team to take these adorable (if I do say so myself.....) photos.

He needs your prayers. So does his Big Sister Grace.

They are not having health issues. Just, life issues, I guess. I can't say more. And I hate it when people do that. But I'm doing it. I just don't feel at liberty to elaborate right now.

But keep those two in your prayers, please.

Not bunnies. Or chicks.

OKay, I am a bad blogger. I am. I am working on it.


This whole homeschool transition has been a bit more challenging than I anticipated. It is an amazing blessing to us all and it is going well but it's different and it has required more of my time than anything in a long time. We'll all adjust to it pretty soon, I expect.

And just when I get a little too big for my britches and think that I am teaching my kids so much I am quickly brought back to reality. And for that, I am grateful.

Last week, we went out shopping because well, honestly because we could. School work was done and Daddy was busy and we went out. I found these cute little vintage looking yellow chicks with just a touch of glitter and I had this whole vision in my head of using them to decorate the Easter table with a rustic, shabby looking bunny or two. I am working this whole artistic vision out and thinking out loud and ask my children if they think the chicks are cute. This is what followed~

"No. Not birds. Easter is about bunnies not chicks." Caroline quickly responds.

"Well, actually Easter is about bunnies and chicks.....," I begin saying before being interrupted mid-sentence.

"Actually,"Duncan very calmly states," Easter is about the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Not bunnies. Or chicks. But they are cute."

Excellent point, son. I laughed out loud in the aisle of Joann's Crafts. And I have drawn strength all week from that simple, truthful statement. It is amazing to me how very clearly children can see the world, their faith, their families. We may have a new catch phrase around the Cumby house. I can see responding to many different complaints or problems or worries or fears with a very simple~ Not bunnies. Or chicks.

Creative Writing

So, yesterday the children had a creative writing assignment for homeschool. The assignment was to make a commercial for your favorite word. Great idea, right? I thought this sounded so fun. One of my children agreed and went right to work typing up a very nice little ad for the word Wow. The other one was more reluctant. Didn't really understand the idea behind a commercial for a word. Didn't want to write. Other child offers to help and they set off to write this commercial together and about 15 minutes later they had a great little ad for the word butt-crack. Wanna guess who is who?

Let the Games Begin

Well, it's been awhile. I suppose I should post some sort-of Christmas update but then that would require me to upload the Christmas pics that are still hanging out on my camera. Ehh, maybe tomorrow.

Christmas was fast and fun and exciting and did I mention fast? Seemed to fly right by.

Probably that had something to do with what I knew was coming after Christmas. Started today, in fact. Yes, we have in fact joined the ranks of "those homeschoolers". Well, we have partially. We will be a full-fledged homeschooling family by the end of next week. Yeah, I probably have lost my mind.

It just seems simpler to me. Which really, doesn't even make sense, at least not at first glance. And if today is any indication, it is simpler. Way more simple, indeed. Since I typed that out for all the world to see I am sure tomorrow will be an absolute nightmare.

The reason? Schedules is the basic simple answer. I am a control freak, I have embraced this. If I am going to be a slave to a schedule I would prefer it be one of my own making. And I would prefer it include the things I value and my husband values and my children value. Not the things the TAKS test values. Well, some of the things the TAKS test values, I also value but..... I think you get the general idea.

We live in HillBillyVille where let's just say that for example, football is highly valued. And let's just pull something out of a hat and say fine arts are maybe not so much valued. Well, in this example, I have two kids who are never gonna play football but they happen to have a very high interest/talent in the fine arts. Beautiful thing about home school? Home school values whatever the teacher says. And I'm the teacher. Wow, simple.

And then, not so simple. Because of this freeing schedule Duncan would like to play on a youth wheelchair football team. I am fairly certain this doesn't even exist. If any of you know anything remotely close to a wheelchair football team for kids please leave me a comment. I am at a loss, which is where I'm usually at so nothing new really.

Mine's Cuter Than Yours......

I'm only kidding, of course. I am sure you all have lovely, beautiful children. Well, I am sure many of you have lovely, beautiful children. Statistically speaking, all of you can't. I mean, I've met alot of kids and trust me when I say they are not all lovely, and beautiful. But alot of them are and I am sure that yours are among those. But you must admit, I pretty much hit the kid lottery.

Unfortunately, there is no way to keep her from becoming a teenager. It is happening right in front of my eyes. And if I can be honest? It's crap. Look, at her in this picture she is texting and laughing. At me. Friday night she texted her Dad from her bedroom. He was in the living room. Of the same house. The text? "Does mom have bagels" The next text? "Sooooo...."

But, I have to admit. She's beautiful. Both inside and out. And I suspect that is all that will carry us through these next few years. That and the peaceful feeling I get talking to her knowing that she is not my child who will spend an hour talking about big-piles-of-dog-poop and butt cracks.