Monday Morning

After my alarm woke me up at a seemingly obscene hour, I staggered out of bed to wake up Lizzy. I’d warned her last night that she’d have to get up an hour earlier in the morning. She didn’t want to go to bed but after a semi-reasonable conversation with me she agreed to go.

After I retrieved Lizzy from her bed she told me that going to bed at 7:00pm was great. “Can I go to bed at 7:00 every night?” We compromised on 7:30pm. But I’m not holding my breath. I figure she’ll change her mind in, oh, about five and a half hours.

My Dad’s Pack of Dogs

My dad has a tractor. He’s had it for a while. But the problem with having a tractor is that eventually you have to have land to drive on with said tractor and dirt to push around with said tractor. So, eventually my parents bought a lot up in the mountains for the tractor.

The problem with having a lot in the mountains for a tractor is that eventually you have to do something with the lot besides push dirt around. Even though my dad had bought a trailer for the tractor so they could go on drives together the tractor still felt lonely. So my dad decided to build a shed for the tractor to live in. It was a big shed; big enough for the tractor and the little camper that could go on my dad’s truck to live in. And the tractor was content . . . for a while.

But the tractor was lonely and talked my dad into moving up on the mountain lot and building a house. The tractor thought they could have a lot of fun together – pushing dirt around and digging holes. And it was fun, but it made for a long commute for my mom.

Then my dad got a dog. He named him Buddy (which ironically I often call William). Buddy also liked to go on rides in the truck with my dad, but what he loved the most was riding on the tractor with my dad. He loved riding on the tractor enough that once he actually tried to bribe my dad into letting him ride on his tractor by bringing him a rabbit. Imagine that will you -- “See this rabbit . . . it’s yours for one little, itsy, bitsy ride. Come on, come on. It’s a great rabbit so it’s totally worth a ride!”

Well, if you have a tractor, shed, outbuildings, a dog and a partially built house the only thing left to do is start collecting animals. So, my dad got a pony and a mare. The pony is mostly content being a horse, but the mare thinks she’s a dog. She acts like a dog. She plays like a dog. She comes when my dad calls her. But she still hasn’t figured out how to climb in the back of my dad’s pickup and she’s jealous of Buddy when he drives off with my dad! Next my dad got a steer. The mare terrorizes the steer. She chases him and she won’t let him sleep in the little barn even in the middle of winter.

The other day my dad called me and told the mare and the dog were playing hide and go seek. I thought that was ridiculous until I remembered my children played hide and go seek in our two-bedroom apartment and Bri once got stuck in a garbage can. Clearly there is some kind of family cross-breed defect.

So, my dad has a dog who likes riding on the tractor, a mare who thinks she’s a dog, a pony that tags along and a steer that’s terrorized by the mare. It’s like some misbegotten Dr. Doolittle farm gone terribly wrong.

And while all this is going on, my dad is slowly breaking every bone in his body -- some of them twice. Seriously! I talk to him on the phone and he’ll casually mention, “Yeah, I don’t feel great. I broke my foot again.”

I blame it all on the tractor!

Turning My Children Into Mush

Hugging Jake is like hugging a limp noodle. I grab him and he immediately becomes limp and three inches shorter. I’ve been working on making him hug me back. I know you might assume that my eleven year old probably just doesn’t like displays of affection from his mother; however, some things are non-negotiable. I get to affectionately tap my children’s bums and they must hug me on demand!

Last night when I grabbed Jake to hug him, he turned into a medium noodle. I told him to firm up. He sat on the couch, “I’ve got to calm down!” He said, as he slowly breathed in and out. After a minute he got up and hugged me. Then he started giggling and said, “Wait, I need a minute to concentrate!”

Argggg

I just read an article in Discovery Magazine online. Melissa Lafsky first calls Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) controversial and risky then says behavioral therapy has gained significant support. I'm so tired of journalists writing articles about things they clearly know nothing about!

ABA = Behavioral Therapy

I'm Not Suprised . . . Just Disappointed

If you want to ruin an otherwise good day read this article from Newsweek and here's the memo from the Justice Department.

My Bad!

Marcy called me Monday morning to assign fault for the massive snow storm that took out the east coast. Yes, it’s my fault. If I had only listened to her advice to buy a snow blower as insurance against snow, this never would have happened. I can only defend myself by saying that while I was at the store I made a mistake and confused a shovel for a non-automatic snow blower. Perhaps I thought it was a first generation snow blowing prototype. Perhaps I was under the illusion that since I had four children I could force one of them to be my snow removing slave. Whatever the justification I can say now with hindsight that clearly I was, possibly or maybe not wrong at all!

She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain

Yesterday in church, Will felt “called upon to sing” she’ll be coming ‘round the mountain when she comes rather LOUDLY. It’s not so bad when he’s singing Love at home or I am a Child of God but certain songs disrupt everyone around and sure enough when I glanced around I saw shaking shoulders and giggles. My husband removed him from the pew before he got to the old red rooster verse with the accompanying chop, chop.

On the way home the kids sung the song to him. But I guess he was over it by then because he told them, “all done” to get them to stop singing.