Jane’s lemonade

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Once upon a time, a gal named Jane ran a lemon orchard. She cultivated the soil, tended to the trees and harvested the fruit when it was ready. She also made a fine pitcher of lemonade. Her fresh, homemade lemonade was so good, in fact, that she won 1st place ribbons year after year at the county fair. That was, until this year.

The time of the fair rolled around, and Jane brought a gallon of her lemony goodness to share with the judges. The first judge — an old codger who had served as a panelist for more years than any living person could recollect — complained that the lemonade was too tart. The second (who felt the need to complain so as to be in agreement with the first judge) wrinkled her nose and said it was too sweet. The third — an out-of-towner — said that lemons were old news; limeade was what’s cool to drink this year!

Dejected, Jane took her pitcher home, invited some friends over and shared tall glasses of ice-cold refreshment with people who didn’t judge, grade or criticize her.

Writing Wednesday: A Storm of Swords

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I can only hope to someday have the seamless command of plot and character development that appears effortless in George R. R. Martin’s work. I’m on book three in the Game of Thrones series now: A Storm of Swords.

If the battles were raging before, they are really heating up now. The twists and turns in the storyline keep me glued to the book. Some books come across as very predictable, but not this series! I’m not quite halfway finished with it, because I’ve had to set it aside for days at a time to work on my summer courses. I’m 99% finished with those two classes, though, so I’m looking forward to some downtime in the next few weeks to read A Storm of Swords.

Happy birthday to the middle monkey

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Dear Nathan,

I still remember our conversation when you told me that I was going to be an aunt. You told me before you told our mom, which was a great honor to this big sister, but I had to promise to keep quiet about it, so as to not hurt her feelings for not hearing the news first.

I am so thankful that I was asked to be present at the delivery. What an amazing experience, after having two children of my own by then, to witness the miracle of childbirth from the other side. Just thinking about the look on your face when you met your son makes me weepy. You looked so … awestruck. Gosh, I miss you so much!

And so does he. We talk about you often, you know. He still remembers stories about things you did together. Just yesterday, he told me a fun story about how you used to fling him onto the slip-n-slide to make him go faster. He was laughing and animated as he told the tale.

He’s eight today. This is his third birthday without you; it’s hard to believe it has been so long. We’re going skating tonight, and I wish you could be there, even though you’d make fun of me for lip-syncing and playing air guitar to the 80s songs. I would let you make fun of me just to hear you laugh again.

When you turned eight, I was almost 12, and you grated on my very last nerve. So does he sometimes! LOL! He is your son, indeed. He can be so belligerent and sassy, and yet he can be so completely loving and adorable that it melts my heart.

I love hearing him call me “Mom.” It makes me feel like I’m doing something right. I can never replace you, but I want — more than anything — to honor your memory by raising him to become a godly man who loves the Lord and others. I want to see him channel his feisty behavior and become a man who stands up for what is right, no matter the cost.

*Dang it, it’s hard to type when I’m crying.

I miss you so much, Nathan. It’s been a long time since I sat and cried over you; I guess I needed it right now. I love you, my big-little brother!!

Raising greedy kids

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I don’t know how it happened, and I pray that it’s short-lived. The boys are going through a very greedy phase. Every time I turn around, someone is asking for something, begging to go somewhere, wanting money for something, whining about something they don’t have … It’s maddening.

My boys have never gotten everything they wanted. Saying “thank you” — and even writing thank-you notes, when feasible — is ingrained in them. (Granted, I have to remind them occasionally, but they know what to do. I make them save their own money to buy gum at the grocery store. I don’t shower them with gifts and sweets. Soda is a special treat.

So, how did this happen?

The middle one turns eight tomorrow. I know that birthdays are a big deal, but if I gave him and did for him everything that he has pestered me to do, then there wouldn’t even be time enough in the day to get it all done! We’d start the morning off with breakfast in bed, then lunch at Newk’s and dinner at Red Lobster, not to mention gifts from each of his brothers and the skating party (with pizza & cupcakes) that we already have planned. We’d also go to Great Wolf Lodge and go swimming. I’m sure he’d like to throw in a trip to Disney World, to boot.

Seriously, it’s grating on my nerves. It’s not just him, by any means. Nos. 4 & 5 are constantly badgering me with questions like, “When will we go to Chick-Fil-A?” … “When will you give me my dollar?” (which was promptly responded to by explaining that he didn’t EARN said dollar) … “When can we go back to California?” …

Again this morning, I talked to them in the car and explained that when they pester me for things, it makes me not want to do it at all. I told them that I enjoyed taking them to Sonic for ice cream after dinner last night because it was a special treat that I thought of doing because I wanted to be nice. When they hound me for things or to go places, it takes away my fun from surprising them, and I don’t want to go. Besides, I told them, it’s just plain rude to beg for things.

I don’t know if I’m handling this right, but the begging has got to stop.

Monday Musings: Birthday!

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Birthday countdown: tick,
tock … Tomorrow’s the big day!
He’s [“Finally!”] eight!

Yes, my middle monkey boy turns eight tomorrow. We are going skating, and he has been counting down for at least the past month. When I woke him up this morning, he rolled over and said with a yawn, “Tomorrow’s my birthday!”