Open Letter to the President-Elect

Dear Mr. Obama,

I understand your desire for young women to not to have to suffer the consequences of sometimes horrible mistakes or, even worse, acts of violence. I am thankful to know that you care deeply about American women.

Having said that, please stop supporting FOCA. This legislation is not about protecting the rights of women; it is about worshiping the gods of convenience and fear.

You yourself have said that you did not support "anti abortion" legislation in Illinois because there was already good legislation on record. If it is good legislation, don't change it by making federal laws that supersede state laws. Let the states decide for themselves what is best.

Besides, if you truly look at what the procedure entails, you would see that abortion is ripping living beings apart limb by limb into small pieces. These living beings have beating hearts, brain waves and can feel pain and fear. In some horrible circumstances, these living beings are killed after being partially born, their skulls imploded.

If this happened to puppies, the nation would be outraged! Why then, is it OK to do this to innocent children?

The day babies are born, everyone knows they are alive. What about the day before that? Or the day before that? How far back do you go before they are no longer alive? I mean the heart beats at 7 weeks.

If you use "being able to breath on their own" as a sign of life, what about the born babies, children and even adults that are on respirators? Are they not alive, even after they are born?

Why then is there such a discrepancy between when they are alive or not? I believe it is whether or not they are wanted by their mother.

Mr. Obama, these children have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness just as much as someone who who has been born but cannot breath, walk, talk or feed themselves.

I implore you to follow the logic of those who support FOCA. The logical conclusion is that it will eventually be OK to murder someone because you do not like them.

I know that you consider yourself a Christian, and I plead with you to read the book of Judges. All through the book, the history of the new nation of Israel (about our age, actually) states how they kept turning away from God. One of the things they kept doing was worshiping other gods and sacrificing their children to them. Are we not doing the same thing?

God removed His blessing from Israel, and so He has been removing His hand of blessing from us. The good news, however, is that they kept turning back to Him, and so can we.

I beg you to see the signs, the things happening right in front of you. You are an extremely intelligent man, and I know you can see it if you look.

Please look.

Everything hinges on what you do. The lives of thousands of children depend on you.

May God bless you and give you His wisdom,
Brandie Longoria

All Males Take Warning!!!

I have a subject to discuss that many men may find squeamish, yet it is a profound truth that mommies of the world have pondered throughout the ages.

How do you explain the "feminine sanitary products" that are in your bathroom to preschoolers?

Ponygirl will be ten in a week and is old enough to have at least a modest knowledge of the products and how they are used. Superhero and Princess, on the other hand, would prefer to use them as building blocks, cannons and "special" napkins for the table.

What troubles me the most is that they ask you about them at times you are unprepared for, like when the mailman answers the door and out comes your charming son from the bathroom with a tampon ( I mean missile) sticking out of his nose. "Hey Mom, can I use this?"

Or remember those special napkins? Just be very careful when you ask your three year old to set the table when company is there. You may just be surprised when you sit down to a nice meal with your pastor and his wife.

**sigh**

Children.

Yes, my sisters, there is a God, and He has an incredible sense of humor.

Gingerbread House Part 1

Usually I'm a really laid back sort of gal. But not when it comes to making gingerbread houses.

I have always loved making these wonderful little things, although I make them a bit differently. I usually use graham crackers. I just find them easier to build with, and one less item I have to do from scratch. Yea, you can get those kits from the store, but then it's pre-made and you don't have any say about what it's going to look like, etc.

Well this year I decided to let my kids each have their own house to decorate. They can each do whatever they want with it, and I don't care if they all look goofy. However, not wanting ladybug to feel deprived I decided to "help" her with hers (alright, I'm doing it for her).

So last night I got out the graham crackers, selected a house shape and started to work a brick pattern around the house.

I didn't have any frosting...out came the glue gun! (I can hear Tim Allen in the background making gorilla noises)

The edges weren't neat and tidy so I started mitering them.

Yes! I admit it! I mitered the edges of my graham cracker house!!

I feel so much better now. I can go make frosting for the Necco roof (they make great roof tiles).

In volume 2, I will discuss the difficulties of making chimneys with Hershey's kisses, and hopefully have a completed house to photograph.

Little Old Lady from...the dish department

I heard Todd Wilson talk about his book Lies Homeschooling Moms Believe at a homeschool expo a couple of years ago. He talked about this phenomenon of the husband loading the dishwasher wrong and getting in trouble for it. I laughed with everybody else, thinking how superior I am to all those moms who didn't get it.

Well, everyone...I've been humbled again.

Yes, God showed me my uptight and arrogant behavior in the dish washing department.

But in my defense, I will say I thought this was different! My husband isn't the culprit. It's a cute little old lady.

Yes, I have a cute little old (I can say old, she's 91) lady that lives with us and does our dishes. Now before you all stone me for elder abuse, she wants to do it. As a matter of fact, she demanded to be allowed to wash dishes when she moved in with us. That was almost eight years and two sets of dishes ago. She doesn't just wash the dishes, she breaks them too. I don't like the way she does the dishes. She pre-washes them, which is a good thing because if you saw the layers of dishes on the top rack alone, you would wonder how anything gets clean.

But I digress.

I didn't realize that I was just as guilty as the woman who won't let her husband help because he loads the dishes wrong.

So I confessed to the Lord that I am selfish in wanting things done, my way. I refuse to be pulled into the deception that I have control over my dishes anymore. They are just stuff, and she is 91.

I buy Corning Ware now. It hurts the pocket book a little less.

Heeeere's......... Lady Bug

It happened.

Ladybug became a person.

In an instantaneous flash of time, she transformed from a toddler that laughed at the antics of others to a young child that generates laughter in everyone around her. On purpose.

Tonight, we were sitting around the kitchen table attempting to have a family devotion and hubby asked some questions related to the story. Without batting an eyelash, Ladybug raises her hand and shouts, "ME!" to get hubby to call on her for the answer.

Now, two things about this seem strange to me.

First, since we homeschool, rarely do any of my children raise their hands to answer a question, and Ladybug is too young to get this from her social groups. Keep in mind, she's not even 2 years old yet.

Second, this is a child that has many words, but has yet to formulate sentences.

Where does a 20-month-old child get the personality that makes an entire family, even cranky whiny people, smile, giggle and laugh so hard that we all need to excuse ourselves to the restroom?

I would like to take credit for this wonderful personality, say that she inherited it from me. And while it is true that one of my greatest desires in life is to make people laugh, I cannot take credit for this bundle of wonderfulness before me. She is entirely her own unique set of likes, dislikes, highs and lows.

For instance: The girl likes tofu, and doesn't care for meat. She seems to be turning out to be a natural vegetarian. I am a meat eater. This does not come from me.

Also, at 18 months old, this child could hold a writing utensil correctly and sit for hours drawing and "writing." Of course that would be great, but her "artistic" ability unfortunately is not limited to paper. She is not happy unless she and at least three other surfaces in the house contain marker, crayon or something else that refuses to be removed. This does not come from me. I think it's rather telling that my toddler has a longer attention span than me.

And that's just a couple examples. Looking at my children reaffirms my belief that God has a big sense of humor.

I know he laughs at Ladybug; He delights in her... and so do I.

Of Ponies and Pillows

In a seemingly obscure book in the Bible, there is a little verse that caught my attention today. "The LORD your God is in your midst, A victorious warrior. He will exult over you with joy, He will be quiet in His love, He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy." Zephaniah 3:17.

It's interesting. One of my favorite songs is based on that verse. What caught me today is that God rejoices over us with shouts of joy.

Shouts of joy.

SHOUTS of joy!

Cool! Then it hit me.

I'm not so good about that with my own children lately! Ponygirl was sitting right next to me, and plain as day, I heard God tell me that just as He entered into our world to pursue us, I need to enter into Ponygirl's world and pursue her.

*sigh*

Those who know me know that I am not fond of horses. I don't dislike them, I mean I like to ride, but I'm not in love crazy about them. Not like Ponygirl, anyway...

Well, God told me to learn all the names of her model horses.

*sigh, again*

I told hubby about it quietly, and so he decided to join in my misery with me and try to memorize all her horses' names. Now, you have to understand how many she has. She only got a small sampling of horses (to make it easier on me), and it took me an hour and a half to go through all of them.

Hubby fell asleep.

But I'm proud to report that I made it through. Not sure if I remember them all, but it's a start. I want to pursue her with an intensity that reveals to her that:

She is my daughter, I love her. She pleases me.

Even if she does like horses...

Of Feasting and Shopping

I am absolutely stuffed to the gills with food.

Once a year, Americans glorify gluttony and I apparently joined the group this time around. I haven't always gotten stuffed. I mean I grew up with the starving people in Ethiopia, so I have to feel guilty about consuming a huge amount of food, right?

Well, actually, this time I didn't feel guilty. I have seen all the stats that say if I own a car, have a TV, have access to a computer, etc. etc. then I am richer than 90% of the people in the world. This is supposed to make me eat all of my food or something like that. I have often said, when I was a child, that the Ethipoians could have it, if they came and got it. Besides, other than the fact that we can't get half eaten food to Ethiopia before it rots, it doesn't go to waste here. We eat it. Maybe it is too much for one night, but we eat it all over time.

We have leftover turkey and stuffing, turkey sandwiches, stuffing omelets, turkey smoothies, and other sundry leftovers until we are blue in the face. But the food does get eaten. That probably explains why we can only do this once a year. After a month of turkey, we can't even look at a live one without feeling a little nauseous.

Ah, yes, American traditions: turkey, football and shopping the day after. That is, however, one tradition of which I shall not partake thereof: The getting up at 4 in the morning to go shop in the mall. What are these people thinking?!!

What gets me is that for the most part, these are the very people who just spent all day yesterday on their feet preparing food, cleaning the dishes, getting to bed late, just to be at the mall by 5 am. This to me does not sound like a good idea.

Maybe it's some sort of penance for being gluttonous the day before. I'm sorry, but no sale is worth that!!

Maybe it's just the Tryptophan, but I'd rather sleep in tomorrow. Now, how do you get four balls of kinetic energy to sleep in???

God Bless and Happy Thanksgiving,
Brandie

The Saga of Playdates

We just had a play date today, and I have to tell you, play dates are an interesting thing.

I think the modern play date is a recent invention to make mothers feel very inadequate. Think about it. You make a date on your calendar to get together with someone you don't get to see very often so your kids can get together and play, while you get to sit and chat. The point is really for them to entertain themselves so that you can have an adult conversation with another member of the human race.

Sounds great in theory. But needless to say, it never happens that way.

You stick two (or more) children together that haven't been around each other for a while and then expect them to behave as if they were adults, on their best behavior, and entertaining each other. One child always wants to play with one thing, or a different child than the first, and fighting, crying and general chaos result.

So, either I need to never have play dates with people I don't see everyday, or I need to relax my standards a bit!! I may never get to have a conversation with someone in the near future that does not include crayons, hair pulling, or watching TV, but I get to be with my friend.

So I suppose that parenting never goes on hold, even during play dates, but I get to do it with someone, rather than by myself, and that is the "date" part of play date...

Keeping it real,
Brandie

It was in the Stars

Wow! I just watched a fascinating movie about whether or not the start of Bethlehem was real, and if so, what was it!. Here is the trailer to watch.



Go here to see the evidence and other information, as well as how to order the movie. In Atlanta, Atlas Piers is giving the movie away for free.

Tales of Trouble Makers

My two middles are only 19 months apart from each other in age. Let's just say that supreme powers above were at work here, because having two children so close together was not my idea! But God certainly does have a sense of humor, and many times I think He has a lot of fun laughing at me.

Superhero is the older one at five years and, I might add, the combustion behind the engine. His little sister, Princess is right behind him in age, height and ability for destruction.

I call them my middles, but many times I think of them as the trouble makers. Now, I'm not saying that my other two don't get into hot water, but these two must have contests on who can make the most messes.

Take yesterday for example: I am sweeping the floor after an adventurous lunch. Next thing I know, I hear the two middles exclaim (in a whisper) "here she comes!" This is my clue to start sweating.

I went into the family room and lo, and behold, they have just dumped out an entire bottle of glitter. Well, I'm cleaning that up and I go back into the kitchen and the floor is messy again! And they haven't eaten anything!!!

How does this happen?

Well, I have figured out that there are secret gnomes that follow Superhero and Princess around the house knocking things over and generally making a mess. that's the only logical explanation to the constant state of general mayhem and disorder.

As I sit here and type, I have sent my oldest upstairs to spy on the middles because we both hear crashing (as if they are jumping off of furniture).

*sigh*

Next paycheck we are buying window bars too.

A Modern Day Parable

There once was a father who had a son. Like most fathers, this one loved his son very much and wanted him to grow up with good character. He has was a good father and tried to teach his son and protect him from harm.

When the son was a toddler, he started acting like most toddlers do and wanted his own way in everything. "I want this toy!" and "I want that food!!"

It was enough to drive his father crazy. But the father was patient, and tried to instill wisdom in his son.

One day, the son was doing something very dangerous. He decided to walk on a tall rickety gate. His father tried to warn him that it was dangerous, but the son wouldn't listen to him.

And alas, the son fell.

When he got up, he looked right at his father and asked, "Why did you let that happen to me?!"

His father was flabbergasted! He had tried to warn his son about the dangers he was facing, and when his son hurt himself, he blamed him.

As this son grew a bit older, he started to do more dangerous things, including playing with fire. One day, he set on fire a garbage can that belonged to the neighborhood bully. The bully came around and tried to beat up the son, but the father came to defend him.

The father tried to get his son to see the error of his ways, and the son tried to act better.

For a while.

Then back to misbehaving went the son, no matter how hard the father tried to teach him about doing justly and loving mercy.

Finally, the son decided that he was not happy at home and decided to run away. He thought that his father was being too harsh with him, and that he wanted to have "more fun." So he took some of his father's money, sneaked out the window and went to the train station. He got on the first train headed south.

From then on, the son was on his own. No longer did he have his father's protection against the bullies of the world. No longer did he have his father to love him and protect him. His father still loved him, but could not protect him because he was not at home.

The father still watches for him every day. He still hopes that he'll return. And if he does, there will be a huge party.

Until then, he waits... and hopes.

God bless,
Brandie

Eleven Score and Twelve Years Ago

politics.

*sigh*

So, when we declared independence 232 years ago (I checked- a score is 20 years), we were running from the tyranny of a King that wanted to rule us from afar.

But if you go back even further, say 401 years ago, pilgrims came to the "new world" to escape the king of the same country (though I agree with Thomas Paine that our parent country was not England but Europe in general).

Here is a link to the Declartion of Independence. It's good to read and not too long.

Our country was founded on the idea that we can do things ourselves, if left alone to do it. We were not asking for handouts, on the contrary! We limited our government to only govern the people where necessary. That is why the federal government was made to be limited. Let me say that again. The federal government was made to be limited.

*sigh*

Now, some in the government want us to go back to the European way of life, because they see a "fraternity", if you will, a group of buddies who work together to protect what they have. I think we have forgotten where we came from.

We won't mention that many of these European countries don't think very highly of us, and enjoy it when we suffer. Nor will we mention that many of these countries have been rescued by the United States at least once if not more.

Nor will I mention that their style of government has allowed the largest influx of terrorists in the world, ready to strike at a moment's notice. This population has also been allowed to infiltrate these same governments in such a way as to turn their ideology from fairness and tolerance of all views to intolerance of Jews and Christians. Just look at the news. It's on the record.

Now, before you send me hate mail, please don't. I am well aware of the "imperfections" of our own country. We spend more education money per student than anywhere else in the world, and we are still graduating high school seniors who don't know how to read. But don't you see? It's that same kind of thinking that has been leading us right to where we are.

I call it entitlement thinking. If we think we are entitled to anything, other than life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, than we get away from the root of who we are as a country. So many people, myself too I admit at times, get caught into thinking that "I am a victim who has no voice who is helpless. I have no hope."

Hence why Obama is so popular. His "hope" campaign feeds on the "pity" part of us who want something for nothing. Now, he wants to redistribute the wealth.

All that's fine and dandy, for those who have not worked hard for that money. It's another thing when you have sweated and toiled to make things work, and when they do, the government wants a third of your profit.

*sigh*

I'm sorry, I just get frustrated at the thought of turning the world's greatest country into "one of the gang." I don't mean any offense to Europe, but we were founded on a different set of principles, one that has lead to some of the best innovations in the world, and lead to the quick rise of power and leadership of the US. Why do we, then, want to go back to where we came from?

Because some in the world view our flag as a symbol of oppression? I am truly sorry if some think so, for that has never been our intention. But then, most of those that do are the very ones that want to kill all of us. Men, women, children... the more the better!

I guess I better lay off the caffeine, eh?

May God Bless the USA,
Brandie

P.S. Make sure you vote on Tuesday if you haven't already -- but only if you're voting for McCain! ;-)

The Time Has Come

No, I'm not going to make a political speech, though I could.

No, I'm concerned about matters of much greater importance than who will be our next president:

Yes, you guessed it. Ladybug has learned how to say, "no!"

Oh, sure it's cute now, she shakes her adorable cheeks, and declares in a sing-songy voice that dreaded word I was hoping to never hear.

I ask her if she wants to go to bed...."NooOoh!" Do you want to eat some more? "NooOoh!" Do you always say no? "NooOoh"

*sigh*

Here we go. Number four is starting the defiance stage, and I'm still breaking in number 3 on first time obedience. (note: haven't done that well with 1-3 yet. Will try some more)

The funniest part is when she can't make up her mind what she wants to answer. If I ask her if she wants, say, a Popsicle, then that messes up her response. She does wants one, but she's not nearly as adept at saying "yes" yet. So, she just tries to nod, and shake her head at the same time.

I suppose that if Ladybug is starting the "no" stage, that means I'm that much closer to getting out of diapers, right?

And I'll need all that extra cash if my wealth is going to be re-distributed anyway....(oops! did I get political? Sorry!)

Thoughts from the Rocking Chair

So, I sat and rocked, sat and rocked.
Sat and rocked, sat and rocked.
Sat and rocked, sat and rocked.

Poor ladybug came down with croup, and she is miserable. She wanted her Mommy, and just wanted to be cuddled, wanted to be held, wanted to be rocked.

So I did.

Now, I admit that I don't like to rock my children to sleep. I got caught in that trap with the first one, then had a heck of a time trying to teach her later how to fall asleep on her own. So with the others, I loved them, kissed them and put them down to bed.

Worked like a charm.

Until they get sick.

And to be honest, I'm a sucker for a sickie. When they feel puny, I feel powerful. They know that only Mommy can stop the hurt, and if Mommy can't, then she'll stick with you until it does stop hurting.

What they don't know is all the things that go through my mind, all the projects that go undone, and the chores that need to be finished. I'm thinking about the floor needing to be swept, email to be answered, dishes to be done. It is in these moments that I realize what a hard time it is for me to be still. I guess I'm a Martha at heart, and it's not natural for me to just sit.

But I did tonight. I fought the demons of industry and just sat and rocked. With God's help I did it for her.

Ladybug was finally ready for bed and asked to get into it. I had tried earlier, but she just wasn't ready and fussed. So I picked her back up and rocked.

I sat and rocked, sat and rocked.

It feels good to do the right thing. At least I get it right from time to time

Blessings,
Brandie

His Royal Highness

I like to party.

Probably not what you're thinking, however. I don't go out and have drunken brawls. No, I like to give parties.

For kids.

Superman turned five in August, and he has yet to have a real big birthday bash. Big sister had them every birthday from the time she was one! But as most parents, I realized my insanity when I had more kids and was not able to keep up that pace.

But it stinks for the younger kids, so I thought I would do one big bash for Superhero. We had an all out knights in armor party, and even "hired" a local teen to be the royal herald to help with the events.

We had jousting, sword fights, and even slayed a dragon (not an easy task to locate dragons).


At Castle Longoria, the Lord and Lady were decked out in their finery and I wanted to share some of the festivities with you all (y'all in the south). Notice the tights on the king!!

Call Him Lazarus

So, we had a friend visiting from out of town, and you know the drill. The kids climb, hop, skip and jump on the floor, walls, ceiling, etc. in order to impress "Uncle Bob."

Superhero decided to play dead.

Uncle Bob: "Uh-oh, I see we have a dead person in the road. I wonder if he's just playing possum."

Superhero doesn't move.

UB: "I guess I'll have to step on him."

SH: still doesn't move (which is very brave; Uncle Bob is a full grown man).

Uncle Bob pretends to step on Superhero who still does not move a muscle. Then after Uncle Bob sits back down, he begins to get up.

UB: "I see he's alive after all."

SH: "It's by God's power!"

Now, that's living faith!!!

Surprise Down Under?

Last night I went to a swanky art reception.

Everybody got dressed up. The kids were dressed well, (even Ladybug) and we all went to attend an important party to celebrate the artistic talents of my mother and sister.

Things were going well, for the most part. Mine were the only children there, and they managed to keep the chaos to a dull roar.

Princess told my mom that she had to go to the bathroom, and as she is a wonderful Grandma (Draa), off they went. This is what I was told transpired while in the bathroom:

Draa (pulling up the fancy dress): Princess, you don't have any panties on!

Princess: I don't got some.

Draa: Does Mommy know you don't have any on?

Princess: (with a cute smile) No, it's a surprise!

Well, my mom thought she would end up peeing right there she was laughing so hard. And then she proceeded to tell everybody at the reception that my daughter had no underwear!!!

Sheesh! You'd think she was a grandma or something!

By the way, they both won awards!! Click here to see their artwork. Nikki and Shannon

Ups and Downs

This is an incredible video a family member sent me. It's a European film that I hope I get to watch when it comes out. It's called "Most-the Bridge"

Hurry Up and Wait

To borrow a phrase from one of my favorite bloggers, " I'm a great Mom. Except when I'm not."

I blew it again.

Yesterday I was in a hurry. I don't even remember why at the moment, but I needed to go somewhere, and go now. I didn't have a large time window.

Princess was pushing my buttons that day, and I wanted to give her an opportunity to redeem herself. That in of itself would have been fine.

But I told her to go tot the bathroom.

Alone.

Without supervision.

Now, Princess is 3 1/2 years old and she is perfectly able to go potty. But, she has a tendency to forget details. Like wiping, flushing or washing her hands.

So, someone needs to remind her to do those things.

But I was busy and in the car, trying to get all of the huge balls of kinetic energy (read children) into their seats and strapped in. Princess was taking too long, so I went to the basement stairs and shouted up the stairs to her what was taking so long. Then I saw her.

Completely naked from the waist down. One shoe and sock on, one off. It seems that she forgot to put the toilet seat down when she went to wash her hands and stepped into the toilet (don't worry, it was clean).

In hind sight it was hilarious! But I didn't laugh. I got angry.

I was inconvenienced, by having to interrupt my almighty schedule for a short person. So I stomped upstairs, get her new clothes, and generally let her know that I was not happy with her.

She got the point. She cried and said, "Sorry, Mommy"

So, how many times do we hurry our children, demand that they conform to our schedules and then we get irritated when they can't keep up?

In my own selfishness, I forget that my children are little people that need to be loved and not herded like cattle from one event to the next.

A great quote from Lorrie Fleming of Teach Magazine states, "The Bible shows us over and over again that the greatest enemy of God's will and God's best is often impatience."

It's o.k. I made up with Princess. I have learned long ago to not let my mistakes slip past me when possible. I apologize to my children when I mess up, and they are gracious enough to forgive me.

Again.

The Amazing Aventures of.......

There is a reason I call him Superhero.

He just turned 5 and for his birthday he received dress up costumes galore. Buzz Lightyear (although he's never seen the movie), Spiderman (ditto), police man, astronaut, fire man and soldier. He loves to dress up, and we only allow him to be "the good guy". I will tell you, however, that he is tempted by the dark side. I don't know if it's a boy thing, or a danger thing, but he wants to grow up to be Darth Vader (again, never saw the movie).....sigh.....

But anyway, this boy loves to dress up, and is always thinking about new characters, so imagine my surprise when Superhero walks down stairs in his tighty whities and a cape.

He is Catpain Underpants!

Now, he can barely read and has never even seen Captain Underpants. Where does he get these ideas?

I'm just thanking the good Lord that he didn't dress up as "Adam" again.

How hot is your chili?

Princess didn’t start out as “Princess”. As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I knew what gender and what her name was. I can’t tell you that God spoke in an audible voice, but it was definite. Before she was born, she would move around like crazy, and we started to call her “Chili Pepper”. It might have had something to do with all the heartburn she gave me as well.

Well, her birthday came and she was born a chili pepper. She came out kicking and screaming and wanted to go back in. She has had an opinion ever since. Princess has evolved into her name because of her desire to be extremely “girly”, but do not be mistaken. She is still a chili pepper.

Today has been a hard day for her. She woke up happy but must have fallen out of bed or something, because the chili in the pepper has become an habanero today. It’s wearing a little thin. You see, I homeschool my children and I’m around them 24/7. Now, I know you are thinking, “wait! She homeschools. Her kids are supposed to be perfect!” Let me explain:

There seems to be an incorrect assumption that if you homeschool your children, then they will be well behaved in any public situation. People see the family with stair stepped children, in coordinating jumper dresses and leggings, long hair that has never been cut, and all the children are meek and mild. Never do they touch anything they shouldn’t, and their parents never have to chastise them in public.

My children have never fit this mold, and frankly, I’m glad. Because the stereotype of homeschoolers is false. Our children can be just as obnoxious as anyone else’s kids. They can (and do) have their own distinct opinions, and they can (and do) let everyone around them know it.

That stereotype is false, because it’s not real. I know families who have children that look like that, and while they are real, the myth that they’re perfect is not. Here is a video that makes a me laugh because the comedian (Tim Hawkins) is poking fun of all of the stereotypes of homeschooling.

So, Princess may be a princess, but she is a chili pepper too. The level of spice depends on the day and the mood, but she livens up the house!!!

Of Little Boys and Lumpy Pillows

I know it seems I talk about my children all the time, and you're probably thinking, "this woman has no life," but there is so much material here, I just have to share it.

I have said before that Superhero is a ball of super kinetic energy. He seems to sizzle and spark if left standing in one place too long. One thing he cannot tolerate is "quiet time."

Yes, quiet time. That blessed event that happens here rain or shine, day in, day out, 365 days a year.

Well, mostly.

Every day at my house from 2-4 p.m., I have the children go to quiet time. I don't care whether they nap or not (at least the oldest ones) but they must be quiet, or incur my wrath. And I'm serious. This is the only time of peace I get all day, and I'm gonna enjoy it, even if it kills me!!

So, since Superhero has a hard time with the "quiet" part of quiet time, I try to give him specific directions of what he can do. He can read (yes, my five-year-old is reading... a little), color in his coloring books, lay down, or play with his cars, etc. until 4 o'clock.

Sometimes it works well, other times... well... let's just say sometimes it's not so easy.

One day, when he had gotten quiet, I assumed he had fallen asleep, since he still had been taking a nap from time to time. I had a friend over for tea and was listening to the baby monitors in his and his sister's rooms to make sure everything was OK. Then suddenly I heard loud banging on my front door and jumped about 6 feet in the air. I peeked around the corner and saw a strange man at the door. Now, I don't know about you, but when I see a strange man banging on the door and no husband around, I get a little nervous. But then he started to scream that a boy was coming out of his window on the second floor.

Have you ever had one of those nightmares where you can't run down the hallway fast enough and the hallway keeps getting longer and longer? Well, that happened at that moment in my home. I could not run up the stairs fast enough. I ran up to his room, threw open the door, and witnessed my then three-year-old son half out of his second-story window onto the porch roof. Somehow I manged to grab his legs and yank him in the room without banging him into anything, and all was well. I thanked God for the angel He sent to protect my little boy, and that was the last time I ever assumed he was sleeping when I couldn't hear him on the monitor.

Now, fast forward a little while and it happens again. No, not climbing out the window. We got that window taken care of. Not that.

He got quiet.

Now I notice it. As soon as he doesn't say anything for a few minutes, I get suspicious. One day not long ago, he got quiet.

Too quiet.

I went quietly up to his room in case he had fallen asleep, but too nervous about what he could be getting into not to check and I found this.


Cute huh? How on earth he ever fit into his pillowcase I'll never know, but I prefer that to the window...

Before I was "Mommy"

I just received this in my in-box as a chain email letter, and thought it was pretty cute. So much of it is true (especially the peeing part)

Before I was "Mommy,"
I never tripped over toys or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was "Mommy,"
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.

I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was "Mommy,"
I never held down a screaming child so doctors could do tests.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was "Mommy,"
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put her down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was "Mommy,"
I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small could make me feel so Important and happy.

Before I was "Mommy,"
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to
make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth, the joy, the love, the heartache,
The wonderment or the satisfaction of being a mother.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much, before I was "Mommy."

A Rainbow of Love

Long before I became a parent, I read a children's book that changed my life. It's called, "I love You the Purplest," by Barbara M. Joosse. It was so profound that I have remembered it 10+ years later.

It goes something like this: Mom is fishing with her sons when they ask her whom she loves the most. She goes on to explain her love to them in colors, rather than degrees.

This so changed my thinking, that I could not wait to become a parent and tell my children how intensely I loved them in their color scheme.

Ponygirl is the pinkest. Hers came one evening after we had just moved across the country. Hubby and I were getting out for a much deserved date, and as we were driving, I looked up to see the most incredible sunset I had ever witnessed in my entire life. Pink with orange and yellow swirling around the clouds like cotton candy on fair day. Quickly I called Ponygirl on my cell phone and told her to go out on the porch and look at the sunset. "That's how much I love you," I said. All she said was, "wow!"

Superhero was easy. Blue. He was blue from the day I found out he was a boy. I describe his blue to him as the azurite rock we have in our rock collection. The most intense blue you can think of. It's electric. Or I say the brightest blue of the sky at the start of the day. Intense and cool. It's refreshing. He likes that.

Princess has wanted her color changed, but she has been yellow to me from day one. A bright hot sunny yellow, with the intensity of the sun and the joy of a sunflower lifting its face to God. She is pure summer with flowers, bees and the smell of nectar (when she's had a bath, anyway).

Lady bug is shaping up to be a green. She is fresh, and new like the new spring leaves lifting their tiny heads above the dirt. She is sweet and happy like the newness of the season, and brings promise of life and happiness to our family.

Now, the children are not content to be the only ones with colors, so they have demanded that hubby and I claim our own patch of the rainbow.

Hubby to me is red with all the passion and hoo-rahs the part calls for.

The kids say I am white. Not sure where that comes from, except that maybe they still think I'm perfect (hah!), but for whatever the reason, I appreciate their desire to love me back.

Loving the gold at the end of the rainbow,
Brandie

What did you say??!!!

Children can say the "darndest" things!

It was a crazy week. Between working at Born Again Blessings (watch video here), my mother-in-law visiting and getting ready to start school, I didn't have a lot of time for my children, and Superhero felt it the most.

I started out the day explaining to them why Mommy was going to be in the basement. I put Ponygirl in charge of immediate supervision and went to work. Of course, I was still within ear shot and available for emergencies, but I had to iron, hang and tag items, oh my!!

I could have predicted it, had I used my brain. The inevitable screaming from Princess and Superhero meant that they were fighting... again. They are only 19 months apart in age, so they play and fight with each other intensely.

I brought Superhero down in the basement with me to separate the two "middles" and went on my merry way to iron, hang and tag... iron, hang and tag... rinse and repeat.

Well, Superhero was doing everything he could to push my buttons – playing with things he knew he shouldn't, jumping around and all together being an active child who was being cooped up too much.

I never stopped to see the warning signs, nor did I even look up at him when I corrected him.

Then, out of the blue (to my thinking), Superhero started crying and said, "Mommy, it seems like you don't like me today!"

He might have just as well taken a knife, cut my chest open and ripped out my heart. I think I even gasped, I was so surprised.

Of course, in hindsight, I see now why he said that. The chaos level in the house was so high the last week getting ready for three different events that I just haven't been there. Yes, I was in the house, at least my body was there, but my mind was in a million other places.

So, what did I do?

I put down the iron (unplugged it, too), sat down on the couch and brought Superhero onto my lap. I wrapped my arms around him and told him how much I like him. I also told him that I love him, but he needed to know that I liked him too. He needed to know that I don't just love him, but I enjoy him and his company. That I choose to be around him, not just tolerate him.

I hate that it had to come to that, but my heart is soaring as well, because he shared his heart with me. My newly 5-year-old was able to express what was in his heart. He never even accused me (which would have been easier to refute), he just told me how he felt.

All in all, it was a fairly sweet moment.

After I got over the guilt, anyway...

Tea Revolution

I used to be a coffee drinker. I would go pretty much cold turkey whenever I found out I was pregnant. I know one can usually get away with one cup of coffee a day, but my ob/gyn was a stickler about it. Of course, I didn't always follow his advice (he also said no chocolate), but for the most part, I was a good girl.

Then, one of my girlfriends (yes, I do have more than one) introduced me to tea. You see, she grew up in a different country where they drink tea all the time, and if I wanted to entertain her, I needed to have my own stash of tea. Now, I had tried tea before, but for the most part dismissed it as an occasional fruity concoction that I would have with a scone or something. I never realized how serious tea was.

Or how addicted I would become.

I had never really had unflavored black tea before, but my friend showed me that with a little milk and sugar, it was quite tasty. Then it happened, quite unexpectedly.

I had chai.

Never before had I tasted anything so incredibly... incredible! The spices, the milk, the tea.

The strong tea. I was in heaven. I was hooked, and I have never looked back.

Yes, I do still have my coffeemaker in my house for the infidels in my life who still prefer coffee, but for my part, I want to share with you five good reasons to drink tea over coffee.

• Tea is so much easier to make than coffee. It takes less time, and you don't have to grind anything.
  
  
• You can make just one cup. I know there are single serving coffeemakers out there, but for the most part, they still take a bit of time.
  
  
• You can make chai. Not the same with coffee. At all. I've tried it.
  
  
• Afternoon coffee and afternoon tea mean totally different things. If you've never had afternoon tea, I am so sorry...
  
  
• Although tea does stimulate you, it relaxes you at the same time. It doesn't affect you like coffee does. Also, it doesn't have as much caffeine, so if you're counting mg's of caffeine, you can have 2 1/2 cups of tea to equal one cup of coffee.

Now, I have to say that loose leaf tea is a lot of fun to drink, a lot like coffee in how you make it. My usual throughout the day, though, is bagged tea (sorry, Mari). For special occasions, I make my secret special chai tea, and I always use loose leaf tea. You can check out Tea and Traditions, and peruse their site, if you wish.

Now I will tell you how to make the most incredible chai in the world. I have had many willing guinea pigs tell me this is way better than what Starbucks offers.

First, you need about 4-5 cups of really strong black tea.

Then... Ah, if you want the rest of the recipe, make a comment, and I will send it to you. After all, it is a secret!

Ode to the Grocery cart

Have you noticed that our children are kind of like grocery carts? When a child is born, they are all shiny and clean, and will go where ever we want them to go. But somewhere along the way, say around two years old, the grocery cart starts to get a little wobbly. Something happens to one wheel. I don’t know if they bump over something that makes them do that, or what, but all of a sudden you are struggling to go in the right direction. The entire time you are in the store, you are fighting with that darn cart to get it where you want it to go. You are wanting to go to the butter and cheese, and suddenly you find yourself in the canned peas!* The funny thing is, all grocery carts are like that. You can never find one that doesn’t go bad on you!

Well, unfortunately, that tendency doesn’t go away as adults. As the apostle Paul put it:
“What I don't understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise. So if I can't be trusted to figure out what is best for myself and then do it, it becomes obvious that God's command is necessary. But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don't result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time. It happens so regularly that it's predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God's commands, but it's pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge. I've tried everything and nothing helps. I'm at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn't that the real question?” (Romans 7:15-24)

So we push that grocery cart all round the store, hoping that the wheel will fix itself, and it never does. Even if we have money and fame, we can’t seem to get that wheel fixed. So, how do we fix our grocery carts?

Read the rest of Romans. You’ll get it.

Fighting my broken wheel,
Brandie

*Thank you to Tom Tanner and Mark Nysewander of Riverstone Church for inspiration.

Rug rats and crumb snatchers

I have four children, and each of them have had their unique personalities and quirks. My first child (the cautious one) never had the desire to look inside the kitchen cabinets, so I never had to baby proof the kitchen. She looked at a plug once with a screwdriver, and that’s as far as it went. Then came Superhero, a bundle of super kinetic energy disguised as a boy. I had to baby proof the kitchen after all. Chilipepper we have dubbed, “Me too!”, because everything her brother does, she has to copy. But never have I ever had a child obsessively put things into their mouth as Ladybug does.

When she was crawling, it made sense. She was closer to the floor. I tried to be good about keeping the floor swept and vacuumed, but she seemed to grab the dust out of the air and compress it into bunny shapes. Now she’s walking, or rather, running, around the house and at the same time, without slowing down mind you, picking up everything she can get her little paws on.

I try to be so good and careful, but invariably, I will see her out of the corner of my eye, reaching for the prize on the floor. I look at her, she looks at me. She smiles. She puts her hand to her mouth as I am getting up and flies in the opposite direction I want her to go. It goes so fast, but at the same time it’s all in slow motion, like a nightmare when you can’t get down the hall.

I have to say, though, she’s getting better. Now she’s coming to me and taking it out of her mouth and giving it to me. She’ll even come over and say, “mmm” (as in yummy), so I know she’s guilty.

Sigh.

Fortunately, God has thus far spared me the ordeal my mother went through when I was little. Apparently when I was two years old, I drank a bottle of kerosene and lived to tell about it.

Did I mention Ladybug is a mini-me?

This is how I have managed to lose weight, by running after a crumb snatcher all day.

I think I need some chocolate,
Brandie

Down with Housework!!

I need to confess something.

I am domestically challenged. I don’t mean cooking, for I can cook and bake circles around many. I mean I stink at housework. Yes, though I’m sure in every other aspect of my life my husband believes that I am practically perfect in every way, I just can’t seem to get a handle on the housework thing. Housework seems to be a never-ending cycle of picking up after vertically challenged people that follow me around and take out precisely what I just put away.

Now I have heard the old adage that goes, “a perfectly kept house is a house where the children are bored”, or something to that effect. If that is indeed true, then my children should not be complaining that they are bored! There is a Bible verse that says, “Without oxen a stall is clean, but great is the increase by the power of the ox.” (Proverbs 14:4) In other words, the oxen is worth the labor it causes, but it makes a big stinky mess.

O.K., so they are really useful oxen…no people…I mean, well, I know I need to relax and enjoy this time, because that’s what all my “older” friends tell me I need to do, and they’ve been there. They all assure me that I’m going to blink and I will be wishing for all of this back. They’ll be gone and I won’t have anyone to pick up after. They tell me I’ll miss it.

I am sure that I will miss seven people’s worth of laundry, dishes, toys, etc. all over the house. At least that’s what they tell me.

Sometimes I think they may be crazy….but then…..

I suppose I can see a little of this phenomenon at work in my house right now. Ladybug is 16 months old, and she is so cute, I want o bite her. But I do miss the times she wasn’t so mobile or able to put every living and non living thing, dust bunny, popcorn kernel, or crayon in her mouth (more on that later). I do miss the peaceful times of nursing my first child in the quiet of the moment.

So maybe they do have a point. That doesn’t make the present any easier to keep clean, but at least the oxen are all well fed…..

Being real,
Brandie

Are you a shag or berber?

I think that there are two basic kinds of people. There are the people that walk on the carpets in their homes, and those that don’t. The other day, I walked into my friend’s house to see her new baby, and almost forgot to take off my shoes. She has lived in her house for a few years, and her carpet is immaculate! That wouldn’t necessarily be remarkable, except that she has four children. One reason her carpet is so nice, is because she doesn’t walk on it with shoes. They always take their shoes off before coming inside.

I think relationships are like carpet. They start out all nice and squeaky clean smelling of new chemicals, and you’re pretty careful for a while not to soil anything. Then, one day you can become careless and spill something, or drag in the garbage from the garden, and bam! There’s a stain. Oh, sure, you can use spot remover, but that doesn’t always get the stain out. Sometimes people have to live with that stain for a long time.

Or have it steam cleaned. God is the steam cleaner, and his prices can’t be beat!!

So, I have to ask myself. Have I walked on the carpets of people’s hearts? Have I forgotten to take off my shoes? Have I dragged my past baggage into new relationships and left a messy environment behind me? Too many times the answer is, ”yes”, especially those that I love the most, like my husband.

What about my children’s hearts? Sometimes in haste it can be easy to forget that their hearts are still like clean carpets that have been unblemished by age, spills or wear and tear. I need the Lord to remind me to take off my shoes and tread lightly around those that I love. I need to leave the mud and the slime outside.

So, how do we “take our shoes off”?, you ask. Well, I think it’s by being intentional about it. So many hurtful actions and words can slip out when we are distracted by ourselves. I like to use this self test at the end of the day to remind myself what went wrong, and what went right.

Are my words loving, encouraging and uplifting? (Eph. 4:29) trustworthy and self controlled (Proverbs 11:13), pure (Eph. 5:4), peaceful (Proverbs 17:1), the words God wants me to speak (1Peter 4:11) and a reflection of God’s righteousness (Psalms 17:3b).

Not that I have arrived by any sense of the word, but again, this is not about being perfect, it’s about being intentional with our words and actions. It’s about taking the time to think about someone else, other than ourselves. I have said many times that the root of all sin is selfishness. So, tomorrow, try to be intentional with your husband, children, or whomever you come into contact, and keep their carpet clean.

Taking off my shoes,
Brandie

Homeshool Heaven

Tomorrow I get to go to the local homeschool expo, and I’m as giddy as a….well, as a schoolgirl! This time of year always thrills me. I get to look down the long aisles of people wanting to sell me things. Things I need, things I don’t, and things I thought I didn’t but now that I see them I know I must have them and how on earth did I ever get along without them??????

Breathe in , and out….

I love homeschooling. Yes, it’s harder than anything else I have ever done in my life, yes, it can be like pulling teeth at times when my nine year old wants to do ANYTHING other than her school work. No, it isn’t easy trying to balance a 4th grader, kindergartner, a preschooler and a baby toddling around. Yes, sometimes we eat McDonald’s just to get out of the house, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

I remember the moment Ponygirl learned how to read. We were going through a phonics book, because she wanted to learn. Mind you, she wasn’t even four yet…but SHE wanted to learn.

So she put together the sounds “r” “a” “n”.

I saw it click

“RAN!!!!!” she screamed at the top of her lungs while running around in circles as fast as her little legs would carry her.

I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

Yes, we have to sacrifice and go without, many times. Yes, I would like to have new couches (ones without springs coming out the back), or vacations, or going out to eat more. But this is what I am called to do. This is what I was meant for.

So I stay at home to raise and educate my children in a world that can be hostile, even violent. I want to make not only productive citizens, but movers and shakers, those willing to sacrifice for the good of other people.

As I type, I am hearing the Battle Hymn of the Republic playing in the background…

Back to reality.

It’s hard. Very hard. But I love it. I get to see the “firsts” and I get to see the light bulbs go off. I get to see the gleam in Superhero’s eyes when he understands that when a knight has three apples and a dragon rips off his head then eats one apple, there are two apples left.

So tomorrow I get to look at eye candy, all the gleaming new books, smell the unused paper, listen to people tell me how to organize my home (hah! More on that later), and have lunch with my friends drooling over the cool curriculum they just got.

Ahhh….I love expo time.

For Such a Time as This

Fear is a funny thing.

Have you ever read the story of Esther in the Bible? It’s a cool story about a beautiful Jewish girl named Hadassah who lived in Persia during the reign of King Xerxes. She was basically kidnapped and taken into the king’s harem. She was chosen by the king to be his queen. He had just sent his previous queen packing for defying him. Hadassah’s uncle, Mordecai, had warned her not to tell anyone she was Jewish, since the political climate at the time was a bit anti-Semitic, and her life could be in danger if the wrong people knew. Therefore, he told her to go by Esther, a name common in the Persian empire.

Well, time goes by and behold! Haman, the king’s right-hand man, comes to hate Mordecai, and now wants to annihilate the Jews. So he convinces the king that it’s a good idea to wipe them out. Now, there was a rule in the kingdom that you NEVER went into the king’s presence without being summoned. If you did, and the King didn’t make an exception, you were dead. Literally.

So Mordachai goes to tell Esther what has happened and that she has the power to stop this genocide by going to talk to the king. But she doesn’t want to go because the king hadn’t summoned her for a month. Who would want to go?! I wouldn’t!! Even if the king did make an exception for her (a politically dangerous thing for him to do for a woman), why would he believe her over Haman, who had the king’s favor? So she would not only have to go without being summoned, but also tell him (and Haman) that she was a Jew. So she told Mordachai, “No, find someone else!”

This is the clincher for me. Mordecai told her, “Do not think that you alone will escape the fate of everyone else, just because you’re the queen. If you keep silent, deliverance will come from somewhere else. But who knows, perhaps you have come to this position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:13-15 paraphrase, mine)

If you don’t know the rest of the story, go look it up. It’s a thriller, and I don’t want to ruin the plot. Actually, Hollywood made a pretty decent movie about it called, “One night with the King.”

Anyway, the point of the whole story is that fear seems so much bigger when we focus on it. When we focus on ourselves, we will always be paralyzed with fear. When we focus on God’s ability, His power lives through us victoriously.

Sounds good as an adult, but I am trying to get that across to a nine-year-old girl afraid of anything in the insect world. I can’t say that I blame her. Georgia has some BIG insects, much bigger than the West coast, and the wasps here can get a bit grumpy. But that fear paralyzes her to the point where she won’t go outside to water the plants if she sees a wasp.

Sigh…

So, I keep on praying that God’s power to overcome fear will live through her. His plans for us are so much bigger than our own plans, even mine. I want her to live without fear. He wants so much more...

In the thick of it right along with you.

God Bless,
Brandie

P.S. Thank you to Cory Hallett of Riverstone Church and to Big Idea Productions for inspiration for this blog.

Little Kids are so cute!

Ladybug is in what I call a "chewy" phase.

Generally speaking, when one of my children turns 6 months old, they become so cute, I want to chew on them. I don't care what I eat: feet, fingers, knees, even the occasional tushy. As a parent, I have an overwhelming desire to consume my children.

This "chewiness" lasts for about a year or until the word "no" escapes their mouth for the first time. Then the cuteness factor goes down a bit, and I find that I actually have to work at this parenting thing.

So, Ladybug is only 15 months old; I have a few more good months before the dreaded vocabulary starts. Actually, probably longer than that, since she doesn't have a lot to say. In reality, being child number four, there is not a lot of speaking that she needs to do. Everybody does it for her, at her, around her and above her. There is rarely a quiet moment in our house!

So she points, gestures, and every once in a while she humors me and signs "milk" or "more" or something else adorably cute.

Actually, I think God did that on purpose. I was discussing this with a friend tonight. Everything is cute as a baby. Well, maybe not warthogs, but most everything. I think God made them so chewy so that as parents we would remember how cute they were when the going gets tough.

Just a thought to ponder...

Chocolate, weight loss and testosterone

I just want to be on record as stating the obvious. Chocolate and weight loss, should go hand in hand. I mean, chocolate is made from the cocoa bean, right? Isn't that a vegetable? Or a legume? Or something other than "fat"? When I was first married, I was working for a national weight loss program in their customer service phone department. We were convinced that if you ate chocolate on weekends and holidays, it didn't count. Is this wrong? But alas, the injustice of it all.....sigh.


On a completely different topic, I've been pondering the testosterone in my house. I have one son (Superhero) who is about to turn 5. He is surrounded by 3 sisters, one older and two younger. We like to think of ourselves as kinder, gentler people by nature. We tend not to be very "macho", but consider ourselves more intellectuals. How on earth, then, did this child come to our house? Everything this boy does exudes testosterone. His favorite current pastime is dressing up in costumes, and since we have so many girls, there are a lot of "girly" costumes around the house. So, being a man of invention, he makes do. Having said that, he makes even a fairy look burly. Notice the lumberjack shirt, flannel pants and hiking shoes.

I have enjoyed seeing the manhood emerge in this child without even trying. He adores his father, and from an early age has tried to copy everything his daddy does. Even when Daddy is away at work, he manages to be "utterly boy". He makes sticks into guns, and when I take them away for shooting his sisters, he simply makes his fingers into AK-47s and goes into secret operations mode.

He has never seen shooting, killing or overt violence in any movie or the few TV shows we allow him to watch, yet the desire to conquer, overtake and annihilate anything in his path is overpowering for him. And for me at times!

We have tried to impress the idea of chivalry upon him, and have encouraged dressing up as a knight, etc. thinking that this would appease his need to be "dangerous". But, most of the time the knight "accidentally" slays the fair maidens, instead of the dragon. I know this is normal. I know this is good. I just can't help thinking of a video I saw on you tube talking about the difference between male and female brains. Ponder that.

Until later, I, a fair maiden (and Queen Mum), am going to pursue my little knight (or G.I. Joe, Superman, Spiderman, Batman, whatever the superhero of the moment is) and try to let him be a rough tough and "dangerous" boy.

Hello world!!

O.K. So, I'm supposed to type in what I want to blog about. I am drawing a blank, then suddenly I look over to a picture on my desk of my four pumpkin doodles. I think, life is too funny not to share. I am a stay at home mom to four ever increasingly active monkeys that I homeschool in my spare time (or is that the other way around?). We are busy, exciting, and NEVER dull.

For instance, tonight I get back from a meeting and go to "tuck" 3 year old Princess into bed, when she shared with me her "painting" on the wall. Yes, you guessed it, a brand new, huge portrait of.....something.....in crayon all over her beautifully hand painted mural wall that my mom laboriously fashioned herself. Oops! But she was so proud of this "work of art"!

I was so stunned at first, I just stared. Then I caught her face out of the corner of my eye, the lip starting to quiver...you know the rest, how could I be upset with such a sensitive artist? If I said anything, she might never draw again! As Todd Wilson says in his column this week, respect can come another day, maybe tomorrow, maybe not. Tonight I'll go to bed knowing that I "loved" Princess more than the beautiful wall...sigh...that's real.