Date Night

Once upon a time, we were young and in love (not really).

We had plenty of dates. In fact, every time we were together, it was a date.

I, a young working professional still in college. He, a young man in the military. We traveled. We wore fancy black tights with corduroy shorts. (Well, I did anyway.)

Here we are, fancy clothes and all, not having the faintest idea that I was pregnant. Young, naive, planning on starting a family 'in another five years or so...'

And then, just like that, we were parents. Parents of a tiny, screaming, human being.

Suddenly, two weeks after this human's birth, we spent our second anniversary playing cards on our living room floor instead of going out for a date.

We spent every minute together..as three...day and night.

Mommy didn't work any more. Money was tight. Date night was a thing of the past.

And then...three became four!

We had this blue-eyed beauty in our lives. Day and night, two boys.

We got into a groovy-groove eventually. Man-on-man, as Jon called it. One of us would tend to one child, the other to the other child.

Eventually, we became a well-run machine, a beautiful family, two adults, two children.

Busy. Very busy.

Then, our perfectly manned family of four became a family of five. We went from man-on-man defense to playing the zone.

Life was full. Very full.

Look, we're so busy that we can't even take a decent picture of the boys. Can't even put clothes on Gable or make sure everyone's eyes are open or that they don't have green marker covering their arms.

Finally, after three children. After being parents for eight years, we went out of town. For two whole days and one night, we left our children.

And life has never been the same.

We had one of those 'moments'. One of those moments that a vow is made. A vow that no matter how difficult, no matter how inconvenient or costly, an effort must be made to find time to date.

It has not always been easy and we have gotten off course many, many times. But for about the past year, we have had a date night at least once a month. Cleared the schedules, booked the sitter (or teenage son), bought pizza and a movie for the kids...and left.

I find myself looking at the calendar on difficult days, checking the number of days left until date night. And this past weekend, it was date night.

No kids, no phones, no interruptions.

Just the two of us. And that, my friends, was worth the eight-year wait.

I'm Not Really Hungry, Mom

I have been experiencing drastic mood swings. When I say drastic, I am probably under-emphasizing it a bit.

I think my husband is afraid of who he'll wake up with every morning.

That didn't sound right, but I think you know what I mean.

This morning I woke up and declared that I was not cooking any more. His flinched only a tad, then mumbled, "Greaaat. Just great."

I'm serious. Mostly serious.

The first dozen years of cooking went smoothly. Everyone was happy and healthy. Now, however, they're sick of my meals. Everyone is 'starving', but after they wash up and sit at the table, there are a few minutes of conversation, followed by, 'Um. I'm not really hungry. I just ate a speck of a cracker two hours ago.'

Seriously? After I had cooked and sweat and slaved and gave up time out of my sweet ol' life??? (Sweat and slaved really add the mom-guilt.)

So, I decided I was not cooking one more measly meal until we did a little overhaul. Every person (besides myself), Jon included, had to come up with seven meals. Seven. Granted, that is a lot, but I've come up with hundreds over the years. They can do seven.

After looking over the food pyramid and talking about whole grain vs. refined, bleached grain (I added that information so that you'll think I am smart...), we decided that each meal needed to have a full serving of protein, grain, and fruit or vegetable. Then I got out a load of cooking magazines, full of pictures of each recipe, and let the kids go to work.

There were a few laughs along the way. Lopster instead of lobster. And no, steak cannot be all seven meals. Zippy fries, not zipey. Caviar is not an option and not everything on your list can be deep fried. Beef tenderloin with macaroni and cheese and apple slices.

Everyone seems excited about it. It's one of those 'a-ha' moments that I should have thought of sooner.

I'm slow like that.

Sometimes you just gotta' pull yourself up out of a rut, don't cha' know?

Funeral

Gary died.

You know. Gary. Jack's snail?

Jack woke up and ran to my neighbor asking if snails floated when they died...
A few minutes later, we all decided to bury him.
He was a good snail...for, like, the six weeks that we had him...

We have funerals for our pets, but usually, they are not something I would photo. Usually there are abundant tears and copious amounts of snot. This, however, was Gary, the snail.

There was the typical Price-gravesite cross, made out of sticks. But Gary's grave held two tiny twigs held together with a blade of grass.

There was a cinder block with some red scribbling. After a little more observation, I discovered that on the rock, there was the simple phrase, 'Bye-bye Gary'.

We all signed it. I think I wrote 'meow', in tribute to Gary, the snail on Spongebob.

Jack brought out his Bible and picked out two stories that he wanted read over the gravesite. The first was the creation story. Whenever God created something, he said, 'You're good.' I like this Bible.

After the creation story, I was to read the crucifixion. I'm not sure why Jack chose this passage, but I think it had something to do with being sad. Or something.

So I read it. Strangely enough, it was sad. The funeral for a snail was sad. Not because it was a dear pet, but because of the older brothers surrounding their younger brother. Jonah helping Jack make the cross, Gable signing the tombstone. The common love of animals, of each other.

There were no tears shed, but it was touching nonetheless.

Until I zeroed in on Jesus.

What do you notice about this picture?

I, for one, could not help but snicker (just a tad) at Jesus armpit hairs. See them?

I don't know why it was funny then, nor why it is comical now. Jesus with armpit hairs.

I don't know why Jesus wouldn't have armpit hairs.

But somehow, seeing him with those scratchy, scraggly ones...

Was just a bit odd.

Van Ornamentation

Sometimes I just itch for an adventure, long for a little somethin'-somethin'.

This feeling washed over me while at the pool yesterday. I was talking to my nephew while my other nephews and my own boys played sharks and minnows in the pool.

The whistle blew for '15-minute rest break'. As the kids heaved their wet bodies out of the pool, I glanced around for towels and noticed Jonah's boxers lying on a chair next to his jeans. Now, boxers are really more of an accessory. The top inch sticks out above shorts and jeans, so it's not as if we're talking about a nasty, dirty pair of tighty whities here. In my defense, please keep this fact in mind.

I don't know what came over me.

I think it was too much sun or something evil of that nature.

In a moment of insanity, I picked up his boxers, walked nonchalantly to an empty lifeguard chair stand, and casually slid them onto the pole.

There they hung, waving a silent salute in the summer breeze.

It was a beautiful thing, one of rare beauty. Boxers hanging on a lifeguard chair and an unsuspecting teenager.

A minute or so later, I sat questioning myself. Did I cross the line? I love to play jokes on my kids and vice versa. But I never want to humiliate them too much. I never want to break their confidence.

Just about the time I decided to walk over and take them down before anyone noticed, the music at the pool turned off and the P.A. microphone buzzed. My heart stopped as I realized what was happening:

"Attention. Attention Everyone! I would like to direct your attention to the lifeguard chair at the pool's entrance. There is a pair of boy's boxers hanging on the chair. Would the owner of these boxers please come and remove them now?"

I wanted to remain calm, remain nonchalant, so that no one would know who the underwear belonged to. Really, I did. But I just could not contain myself. I laughed until I snorted, and snorted until I cried.

My poor, poor 14-year old son. I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me.

I felt bad about it (sort of) for a few more hours until after dinner.

I had just come back from running Gable to the pool. The other boys decided they wanted to go to the pool, so we headed back outside. It was then that I noticed a pair of my own underwear hung from the back windshield wiper of my van.

A mom-van with panties.

So yeah, I really just do not feel so sorry for the little punk anymore.

I just don't.

Great Grocery Experiment, Round 2

Big, huge box of chips. Drinking pop out of a 2-liter. For breakfast. What is this?

It's the Great Grocery Experiment/Challenge, Round 2, of course.

You may recall this experiment from some months back. Basically, every time we went to the grocery store, there were things that the boys wanted to buy that I just couldn't buy. Oh sure, we buy fun items, but they're not always the name brand and I don't buy all the items the boys would like.

After hearing comments such as, "When I have kids, I'm never going to buy store brand food."

"I'm going to let my kids buy whatever they want," I decided to begin the Great Grocery Challenge.

The idea was simple:
I normally spend $150 at the grocery store a week.
That breaks down to $30 a week.
Or $15 for three and a half days, and three and a half days sounded like an appropriate length for an experiment.

Each boy received $15 and was instructed to buy enough food for themselves for 3.5 days. No food was off limits, but they could not go over $15. They were encouraged to price match (Wal-Mart matches any competitor's ad price), bring their own grocery bags (which saves three cents a bag), compare brands, prices, ounces, etc.

I would provide free salt and pepper and water. Butter was provided for a small fee. So, if any of the boys bought a loaf of bread or eggs, and knew they would need butter, they knew they should save a few cents.

No trading or sharing allowed, no second trips to the store, no complaining, no backing out. Once you committed, you were in.

Oh, and one more thing: I would not let them starve, but I would let them feel hunger.

The idea was not to see who could spend the least, but to figure out a way to eat, well, for 3.5 days. Buying a loaf of bread and peanut butter and jelly makes the days survivable, but ultimately, we're not talking survival. $5.00 is survivable, $15 should be comfortable.

As expected, the boys embraced the experiment with their usual enthusiasm. Three carts, three boys, dispersed throughout the store, darting throughout the aisles.

I noticed no one was in the produce area.

There was a lot of price figuring, a lot of calculating and writing, and eventually, we all ended up at the checkout area.

Jack, the youngest, purchased a $10 box of 36 bags of assorted chips. $10!! He also had a dozen eggs, one half gallon of milk, and a 2-liter of Dr. Thunder.

Gable, 11, had three boxes of Hot Pockets, two boxes of Pop-Tarts, one bottle of Gatorade, one small bottle of chocolate milk, one bottle of Fuze, one can of Arizona, a six-pack of Dr. Thunder, one cup of noodle soup, and two cans of tuna.

Jonah had a box of 100 popsicles, a 2-liter of Mountain Lightning, a 2-liter of Grape Ade, a loaf of white bread, a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, one pound of bacon, and three cups of noodle soup.

The hardest part for me? Seeing so much convenience, junk food and not saying a word! Knowing that the first day, they would eat like kings, and by the third day, they may feel awful, and worse, grumpy and hungry.

So, as we come to the end of day three, I am curious to see how this whole experiment wraps up.

One thing is for certain though: Little man with the case of potato chips is showing no signs of hunger, no signs of weakness.

How do you make a lesson out of that?

Camping and the Weekend

Pack up the tent and enough food for a couple of days, put the boys in the car, and you never know what you will find.

Like the gauze karate kid headband?

Is everyone crazy about their cousins?

Firestarter in a boy's hand. Perfect.

Oh. My. Goodness. My baby walking down a gravel road. Fishing pole over one shoulder, fishing bag over the other. Melts my heart.

Object of this game? Have someone drive the quad, pulling the trailor. Jump on and off fast enough to make your mom throw up.

"My name is Jack, armpit hair, Price."

Good times.

Dear Summer,

Please do not end.

Pretty please.

Sunshine, On a Rainy Day

I love swim meets. The live action, the intensity, the drive, the determination.

There is just something liberating about giving youself 100% to the moment.




(Gable is the one in the white swim cap.)