Big Brother Meets His Future

My young son has wanted to be a military man since he was 2 years old. As a mother, this evokes different feelings. Of course I feel proud and happy that he has such a strong love for his country, especially at such a young age. His patriotism is touching and his sense of duty remains intact as the years go by, regardless of my somewhat selfish desire for it to fade, maybe just a little. Because truth be told, as much as I would love him to follow his calling, I fear for his safety should he pursue a military career. But I would never tell him that. I want him to be happy. I want him to pursue his dream. And how can you get mad at a kid whose dream is to protect his country!? So I silently endure, and even encourage his passion, with so much love and admiration for this little man, but with just a little fear and trepidation at the possibility that his future may hold trials and tragedy that no one wants to mention and which may take him from me sooner than I would care to think about. But enough of my motherly ramblings.

The point of this is to thank some great guys - Tim Abell (Army Ranger) and Greg Stube (Army Special Forces). My friend and I met them on Friday at the Beretta booth at the NRA Convention. They signed a poster for my son to hang on his wall. When I brought it home, Big Brother was beside himself with excitement and wanted to meet them in person. So we headed back to the show the next day, with Big Brother in his camoflauge clothes, full of hope and excitement. When we found these two guys, Big Brother got a little shy, so I asked them what he wanted to ask: "What can Big Brother do to prepare himself to be the best military man he can be?"

Both men stepped up to the task, with tender hearts, but an earnest desire to offer my son the best advice they could offer a 9 year old kid without scaring the crap out of him. They talked about focus, endurance, physical fitness and obedience. He listened intently and tried to take it all in and walked away feeling very confident that he could do what they told him he would need to do. He heard it from the mouths of men who he now thinks are the best thing since sliced bread.

The crowning moment was when we were finishing up with Greg and Tim. A wonderful older gentleman stepped out of the crowd in his Marine Dress Uniform and walked up to Big Brother. The man had what my husband said looked like the Congressional Medal of Honor on his Uniform. "Young Man," he said as he got down to Big Brother's level, "It doesn't matter what branch of the service you join, what matters is that you serve your country." Then the older man stood up straight and looked my son right in the eye, shook his hand firmly and told Big Brother how proud he was of him for his patriotism and willingness to serve. The lady next to me was in tears, as was I. Big Brother just nodded and stood there, looking very serious as he watched the man walk away. Then he turned to us and asked us what all of the medals on his suit were for. Dad grabbed Big Brother and began to explain the medals as they walked toward the Kimber booth and I stood there with my youngest, knowing that this experience would stay with my future GI for a long, long time.

Then my youngerst had a hunger meltdown and the moment was over. Gotta love Motherhood. Wanna special moment? You can have one, but keep it brief...kids have needs and will make them known - loudly.

How could I have asked for a better day for a kid who thinks the military is the only job on earth?! Three distinguished soldiers just solidified his belief that these are the true heroes of the world. I know most military folks do not like to be called heroes. I know they don't see themselves as anything other that patriots who love serving their country. Well, all I can say is that you are heroes to a 9 year old boy and his mom and there is no sports legend or action hero that I know of that can do for my son what you did for him this weekend. You are the men and women who truly make a difference in this world and you are the folks that I will encourage my son to emulate.

Thank you, Tim and Greg for being the role models I knew you would be. You've had a big impact on a young boy's life.

He hasn't talked much about what they said. I see him thinking hard though, especially when he looks at the poster. And I paid heck getting him to take of his sweaty camoflauge clothes. He wore them all weekend while he played Army. He ate a lot of salad for dinner last night. And this morning he was quick to respond to my requests with "Yes Ma'am." He is anxious to hang up his poster, so I will pick up a frame so he can get it on his wall. He has big plans today at school for his "army club" that he and his friends started at recess. I can only imagine the conversations that will take place at the edge of the lawn on the playgorund today..."Dude! I met an Army Ranger and a Special Forces guy at the convention Saturday! It was awesome!"

Yep, Big Brother...it was awesome. Hooah!

My...Ummmm...Hero?

Blog posts are a funny thing. Some people, like Sue over at Happy Meals and Happy Hour are blessed with an infinite amount of creativity when it comes to blog post subjects. You only need to read her post regarding Pluto (the planet, not the dog) to verify this point.

Other folks, like me, want that kind of creativity, but find the daily grind to be a thief of all that is good in my brain. I go to bed with great ideas and plans, only to awake the next day with a full list of chores and an empty head, unable to pull together 2 cohesive thoughts as I scramble through the list before I have to go get the kids. So my blog, and my readers, suffer greatly.

Having said that, today's post is not all that creative, but funny to me and I think in 20 years it will either be funny or embarrassing to my son. Which is why I am posting it. Either way, I get to watch his face contort when he reads about what he said when he was 6. So, without further ado...

Today's Post:

***WARNING! This post involves POOP!! It also involves my child saying a really weird thing regarding POOP! So if POOP grosses you out, do not read this post! You've been warned.

The boys played in a local basketball league over the summer. A few weeks ago they had their last game. Little Man had just finished and we were leaving the gym when I felt the urge to go to the potty. The problem is, I kind of have, ummm...issues...with my gut. So when I feel that kind of rumbling that I felt, I knew this was one of those kind of gut attacks that required I be in a less public venue. So I figured I'd hustle home and deal with it there. We loaded up and I took off, home is about 15 minutes from the gym we were at.

The Goal: Get to bathroom at home as quickly as possible.

Plan: Drive like a bat out of hell and breathe deeply to keep everything relaxed and in place.

Obstacles: Old People on the Road (we live at the edge of a retirement community, in one of the biggest snowbird capitals of the world), traffic lights, unruly gut.

Defenses: Strong muscles, strong will, helpful child.

First thing out of the school parking lot I get stuck behind Retirement Rudy, who likes to drive at the speed of nothing. When I finally got around him I got stuck at the light. My gut is still rumbling, but not yet boiling. Light changes, moving down the road behind EVERY slow, old person in Sun City and I miss my left turn arrow because the Golden Girls in the car in front of me can't figure out the turn lane and just stop in the middle of the road. This messes up the 90 other old people in their golf carts and monster Cadillacs. Traffic comes to a complete stop and I watch my green arrow disappear. Now the gut is really starting to rumble and I am feeling pressure. You know...pressure. Down there. In the gluteus maximus area. I finally maneuver the bumper car marathon and get in my lane. I was sitting there, cussing the light and Little Man says, "Mom, you gotta go pee?"

I explain, "No Son, Mommy is stressed cause I really gotta poop and no one will drive today. I have to hurry home so I don't poop my pants!" (You couldn't have this conversation with just anybody, but a 6 yr old just rolls with it. In fact, they get it!)

Light changes, I screech outta there (safely screech, I do have my kids in the car) and am starting to think I might not make it. I verbalize this thought and my great, unselfish, always helpful Little Man shouts out his idea to help me: "MOM!! I will punch the poop back up so it won't come out!" Only a 6 yr old boy would think of punching poop to put it in it's place. I look over at his beautiful, smiling, innocent face. He is so thrilled with his idea! It never occurs to him that this whole idea is really...weird and icky. He's so solution oriented.

I look back at Big Brother, who is staring back at me with huge, dinner plate sized eyes and the biggest grin I have ever seen. He is on the verge of completely losing it. I still have to poop and am struggling to make it home in time, freaking out about the repercussions of not making it home in time! I realize that my response to this really weird solution, presented by my Little Man, needs to be well thought out...

So I blurt out the grossest thing I can think of: "Wow Little Man! How thoughtful and what a great idea! But I think I have diarreah!" His smile turns into a grimace and he looks at his brother, who is stifling a giant belly laugh, "I can't punch diarreah, that won't work then!" Big Brother absolutely loses it and rolls around all over the back seat, giggling and laughing and snorting...strangling himself on the seatbelt. "You guys are so gross! That is so disgusting!" It has still not occurred to Little Man that his ENTIRE premise was flawed, regardless of the type of poop he would have to deal with.

And then, slowly, the look on his face changes and he begins to see the errors in his calculations. "Mom, we have to think of something else...I can't punch your poop!"

Little Man and I are both laughing now too and I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm glad he got it figured out...punching poop is gross, socially unacceptable and down right wrong. And in order to do that you would have to...well...put your hand somewhere you wouldn't want to put it! Whew!! I was a bit worried there for a few moments that he wasn't seeing the BIG picture!

But apparently he did see the BIG picture, because his next comment went like this:









"Mom, your butt is huge. I wouldn't be able to find the poop!"

Thanks, Son. Glad you figured that out.


Oh, and in case you're wondering? I made it home. Barely.

The Mominator Fights Back

I'm learning about new backgrounds and templates...experimenting. Trying to personalize my space. I am having so much fun learning about all of this, but it is soooo time consuming! I either have to watch my poor kids bounce off the wall all day while I am attached to the computer or stay up after everyone goes to bed, which leaves me a little less than pleasant the next morning. It's not so bad when all of the neighborhood kids are home, they all get together and play and everybody is occupied. Then I can do my "thang" and pretend that I am actually accomplishing something by piddledinking with my blog for 4 hours.

The only problem is that then the housework stares back at me. Sometimes I use my super powers and stare back, then it slinks away. But I think it's gaining strength of it's own, because I swear I heard the laundry pile whispering yesterday. When I walked up to it, it got all silent, like I didn't know it was talking about me to the vacuum. And I'm not sure, but I think the office paperwork has been rearranging itself into different piles than the piles I made, because I can never find anything. I'm pretty good about remembering which pile I put stuff in, so I'm 99% certain the office is trying to make me think I'm crazy. It's also making me fight with my husband (nice strategy...divide and conquer). I tell him which pile something is in, he goes to that pile and it's gone. I get mad, storm into the office, walk right to the pile I put it on and...it's gone! I just laid it down 2 minutes ago! The next day it will appear, in the same pile, but 2 or 3 pages down. Or I'll find it in the shred pile, when I KNOW I did not put it in the shred pile. Great! Now the shredder is in on the whole thing! And here I thought Shredder was one of the good guys!

I have to get a handle on this housework uprising before it gets strong enough to take over the world. (Where I made my Mominator)

The good news is, Ive been watching Justice League with my boys, so I know how evil things plot. I've picked up some pretty good moves from Wonder Woman and Hawk Girl and the African American Chick who kind of likes the Green Lantern. I think I can take the housework, as long as I don't let the Flash distract me.

I like the Flash. He's funny. Have you seen him run? That dude is fast! Wait! What was that?! I gotta go! The Toilets are attacking. I finally realized that The Toilets are the Supreme Evil Beings who really run the show. You know how I know? Cause every time I start to get a handle on things and get into a really good cleaning groove, the Diabolical Doo-Doo Catchers work their mojo and I end up with a...well, let's just say an urge, that forces me to stop what I am doing and run to one of them. Inevitably, while I am in the bathroom, I will notice that my boys were also recently in the bathroom. This leads me to look for the Clorox Wipes, so that I can clean up the evidence. While I am being held prisoner by the Throne, the housework reorganizes and doubles it's efforts to beat me. By the time I get free, everything I've done is undone again. Dang!

Yep...Toilet Terrorists are the Supreme Bad Guys of Housework. They are my Kryptonite. I can see I'm gonna have to call in reinforcements. "Um, Hello...American Maid? Yeah, this is Boymom. Ummm, can I ask for a favor? Yeah, I know it's the third time this month, but I can't seem to get a handle on this housecleaning thing...it's the Toilets. What? NO! I was NOT hanging out with The Flash again! I told you, it's The Toilets - they're kicking my butt. Okay, well, Flash did stop by for a minute...he's so hilarious! Have you seen him run?"