A Crazy Day, Silly Kid Stories

A Crazy Day

I woke to a jackhammer at dawn on Monday
which set a not-so-great tone for my day.
A road crew was working just over my block wall
with tractors and dump trucks and jackhammers, all.

The noise was so loud, I could not sleep a wink
so I schlepped to the bathroom to wash my face at the sink
I tried to get moving, and start my daily routine
and bumbled around the kitchen in search of caffeine

Because it was still early, I thought I'd let the kids sleep,
but that was not to be thanks to "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"
Those tractors and trucks, all jockeying about
made such a racket I wanted to shout!
Especially when the baby woke up two hours early
which meant our schedule would be messed up good, surely.
We finally got out the door, and loaded in to the car
but due to the construction couldn't get very far.
They finally moved a tractor so we could go straight
and though we'd left early, my son got to school late.

Later that morning, I lugged groceries inside
but the noise hadn't stopped, it was now magnified.
After lunch, I put the baby down for much needed sleep
and finally began to clean, dust and sweep.
I was just getting caught up after putting groceries away
when my son called from school, "Mom, it's minimum day!"

"What?" I shriek in alarm,
as I run for my purse, sleeping babe in my arms.
I dash off to the school and am way late picking him up,
apologize profusely to the office staff, feeling like a total schmuck.
Then drive across town early to pick daddy up,
as he wanted to spend the evening fixing the truck.

This entails more errands while we're already out
I feel the day slipping away, and just want to pout
It's an uphill battle, this day-to-day grind,
Trying to get ahead, but only getting more behind

By now, I'm worn out, with a gazillion things to do
and the baby says from his car seat, "Mama, I want foo!"
I find in my purse a wrapped granola bar
So I hand it over to the backseat of the car
My husband finally comes out from the store
And we head for a restaurant because of the hour.

As of Thursday night,
road construction was finally complete
but try as I might
my housework is still not beat.
*sigh*

Why can't I get out from this frump I'm stuck in
And let out the fabulous "me" from within?
The one that is not so easily derailed
who stays on task, the test passed and not failed?

Perhaps one of these days I'll finally get there
but this gargantuan task will take lots of prayer
I can't do it of my own strength, this I know to be true
Only His strength in and through me will do.

:: ::

**Silly Kid Stories**

The other night after everyone else went to bed, my older son Jericho (age 11) had just finished his homework, and was using up the last few minutes of his day before bedtime playing in the living room.

I was working on the computer and heard him playing with a toy gun by himself in the living room. I always enjoy listening in (and sometimes peeking in) on him when he's doing this, because he usually plays out an entire, made up scenario, with himself as both good and bad guy, and I usually find these scenarios very amusing:

[sound effects] Ka pow, pow, pow, pow!

Good Guy: [In an angry voice] "You killed my buddy out there...keep your arms up!" [He's looking to the right, his arm stretched out, pistol aimed at the bad guy, a serious look on his face]

Bad guy: [holding hands up as if in surrender, a scared look on his face] "Don't do it! Don't shoot..."

Good guy: [more sound effects of a couple of ricocheting shots, and then one that found it's mark]

Bad guy: "Ooof" [holds chest and falls dramatically on the floor, as though gravely injured]

ominous silence

[sounds of a sudden struggle on the floor]

Bad guy: [in a weak voice, a previously hidden gun now aimed at the good guy] "You think you've got me down?"

Good Guy: [kicks the bad guy's gun out of the way and stands menacingly over the bad guy, now helpless on the ground] In a Clint Eastwood voice, "You ain't seen nothin' yet..." [ka pow, pow ka pow, pow, pow]

blows on the end of the gun in victory

This totally cracks me up, as it's the polar opposite of the fanciful, "happily ever after" scenarios I used to dream up as a girl. Jeff tells me that he, too, dreamed up these same elaborate scenarios as a boy. A total guy thing.

But then, I suppose that every "Knight in Shining Armor" has to start his hero training somewhere!

:: ::

Jeff was late getting home from work one evening a couple of weeks ago. Jericho started in telling me about some things that had happened during his school day. One of the latter comments was this:

"I think Mrs. "S" really likes me, mom. Mostly because I'm one of the best students in her class...well, except for the fact that I chose hydrogen as my atom model."

I looked at him kind of puzzled, not really getting what he meant (my, um, science skills are sorely lacking, I'm afraid, that portion of my memory having gotten a bit dusty over the years...)
"Hydrogen only has three things that you stick up off of your model...one electron, one proton and one neutron" he explained. "Most of the other kids models have like 10 or 20 things sticking up off of them."

I thought he meant that he thought that his teacher would think he was a slacker for picking the atom with the fewest things on it. "There's nothing wrong with that, I mean, it was on the list of atoms you could choose to make your model from, right?"

He looks at me and rolls his eyes, "Mom...it looked...male, if you know what I mean."

Apparently he was a little embarrassed because his atom looked 'anatomically correct', but the glue had already dried.

:: ::

On Monday morning, after fighting all that road construction while trying to get Jericho to school on time, we reached an intersection that is notorious for being a real bear each morning.

I made impatient sounds and sort of drummed on the steering wheel, willing them to heed the now green light and GO.

From the carseat in the back, I hear my two year old Judah pipe up, "Come ON, people!!!"

:: ::

Judah can't quite pronounce the word "football". It comes out sounding a little more like, "Fooey-ull". This in spite of the fact that he can say both "foot" and "ball" clear as can be.

In my Awana class on Wednesday evening, during a quiet time where kids are saying their memory verses, he was tossing around a Nerf football.

He kept calling it "Fooey-ull", so I pulled him up on my lap, and pointing to his shoe said, "Foot Ball", trying to make the association for him so he'd say "foot" and "ball" together.

"No, mama...SHOE!"

And yes, he still insists on calling it "Fooey-ull".

:: ::

Judah loves watching football. Throwing footballs. Holding a football instead of a teddy bear in his crib at night. Throwing footballs. Playing football. Throwing. More. Footballs.

I think we've got ourselves a future linebacker. Or quarterback. Or tight end. Anyway, he's only two, and he can already tuck the ball under his arm and run like the wind, dramatically throwing himself down into a somersault type roll, ball under his arm.

We passed a school the other day on the way to pick up his dad from work, and there were football players out practicing on the field in the afternoon sun. They suddenly all took off together in a line, doing some type of a drill.

Judah got all excited from the backseat, "Mama...fooey-ull guys!"

"Did you see the football players?" I asked with equal enthusiasm.

From the backseat, I hear him start belting out this fight song tune the cheerleaders use frequently during their routines at the high school games we've been attending the past few weekends, "Duh, duh, duh, dum, da-dum, da-dum "HEY", duh duh da dum..." with plenty of emphasis on the "Hey".

He pauses for a moment. "Do it, mama." (my cue to get with the program).

So I start singing the "Duh, duh, duh, dum, da-dum, da-dum" part, and without missing a beat, he chimes in with "HEY!" at the appropriate time.

And so for the next mile or two, we sing the fight song. Over and over and over.

But I wouldn't trade those precious moments for anything.