Forgiveness

The other day Bennett was struggling through an issue.  He was angry with someone and felt justified in his anger and attitude.  Justifiable or not, it was eating at him and controlling him.  After trying for a few hours to deal with it on his own, he asked me in his sweet, typical way, "Mom, can we go talk on your bed?"

He shared the situation with me and asked me what to do.  We had such a neat time of talking and sharing our feelings and hearts with each other.  I explained to him that forgiving someone is more for you than for them.  That when you hold on to that anger, it's only affecting you and growing bitterness in your heart.  That bitterness ends up controlling you and discolors everything and everyone you see.  It leaves a sour taste in your mouth and everyone who comes in contact with you.


I told him how I really love the song by Matthew West with the aptly named title "Forgiveness".  We turned the song up real loud, sat and listened to it, let the truth of the words fill our souls and just enjoyed the moment of learning together.  God knows I needed it as much as he did.  A while after the song was over he came up to me sporting a huge grin and announced, "Mom, I let it go.  I feel better now."

A Day of Drama

Winter storm Yugi is bearing down hard on us today, this 29th day into Spring.  We have had to drive around in sleet all day long.  Snow is easy, sleet is a whole nother story.  It's slippery first of all.  And second of all, it's deceivingly alot like rain, but it's not.  And lastly, that would mean it's still COLD if it's sleeting.  Not 70 degrees like we would normally be experiencing.  Oh well...go with the flow,  right?  That's the first bit of drama.

This is a 3 part series.

Drama Number 2:  Chloe and I decided to do school at the library today in one of the study rooms.  We  do this every so often for a change of scenery.  It's fun.  But today I noticed someone lurking outside our study room door.  The doors are all glass and see through.  At first I thought it was just someone who was using one of the other study rooms near us.  He was dressed in slacks, a white button down shirt with a tie and a gold watch.  However, every time I turned around and looked through the door, he was still there, looking at the same shelf he's been looking at for the past 10 minutes.  The shelf that had a clear view through our door.  And a few times I thought I caught him looking in at us.  Strange.  But I just thought it was a coincidence.  Maybe he was waiting for our room to be vacant.  It came time for Chloe and I to leave.  We packed up our stuff and headed out of the library.  The guy started following us.  He suddenly didn't need anything on the shelf he spent the past 15 minutes perusing and started shadowing us on our way out.  We had to walk around a wall and down a hall.  Surprise...so did he.  I turned around once and saw him on our tail, maybe 20 feet back.  I was just telling Chloe that I would let her wait in the vestibule and would drive around and pick her up since the sleet was coming down hard, but then I noticed he was still tailing us.  I changed my mind instantaneously and cheerfully announced that we would now be sprinting to the car and not looking back.  Right as we started running...so did he.  Creepy!  I turned around once more and he caught my eye, looked away and darted off to the opposite parking lot than us.  Whew.  We made it to the car and I kept a look out for any signs of being followed.  I made lots of stops in public places like, the drive-thru at the bank, a gas station and a random store.  Thankfully, I lost my tail.  But seriously, I felt like I was on a crime drama show being tailed by the FBI or something.

Drama Number 3:  As if that wasn't enough drama for one day, I was the recipient of one more random act of craziness.  The time of day when I go pick up Bennett from school finally arrived.  As I'm driving in the sleet on the horribly, icy roads, my windshield wiper on the driver's side flies off.  Yes.  It flies off.  But instead of being flung onto a passing car, it somehow comes back and hits my windshield.  At first I thought a bird hit my car.  But seeing that birds don't fly in sleet, I had to reassess the situation.  Then I noticed that my windshield was getting very blurry.  That's when it dawned on me that my windshield wiper hit me.  I drove as far as I could and pulled onto a side street and got out to check the damage.

Mind you, I totally wasn't dressed for problem solving in the sleet.  I only had on a fleece, no gloves or jacket.  Suddenly I have to perform a windshield wiper operation.  I was under extreme duress.  The sleet is pelting down on me.  I have zero clue how you attach the wiper blade to the wiper thingy.  I'm desperately praying for wisdom.  The school is only 1/2 a mile away from me.  I figure I can drive the best I can to the school thru the blurry windshield.  I get back in and clumsily, carefully, grope my way to the school on the icy roads.  The whole time I'm telling myself, think, think, think, Cori.

Thank God I finally make it to the school.  The first thing I do is call Chuck.  But I know he's in a meeting and can do nothing for me.  I thought maybe he could instruct me in the fine art of how to fix a broken wiper...but I only get his voice mail.  Now I really have to think.  I get back out of the car with my broken blade and attempt to attach it yet again.  I'm not very tall.  I have to lean very far onto the car to reach the wiper thingy ma-jig.  It's still sleeting.  I'm still cold and wet and now my hair is getting all messed up (thankfully I had the foresight to take my glasses off and leave them in the car).  By some miracle, I actually attach the two pieces.  I heard angels singing.

I get back in the car.  I had texted Chuck before getting out to do my little auto repair.  This is the exact text:  I have a big problem.  My windshield wiper flew off and I still have to pick up both boys and its selecting.  (Obviously I meant sleeting here, but my phone decided to auto correct me thinking it could not possibly be sleeting in April.)  I'm not really sure what I was hoping to accomplish by freaking him out in his meeting, but I just didn't want to go thru all this alone.  He responds:  Agh!?  Exactly like I thought he would.  I was quickly able to follow that up with an explanation of my car repair skills and told him not to worry.  I can do hard things.  It's ok now.

I don't like to do hard things, but it's nice to know I can do them when the challenge presents itself.  I preferred to be rescued.  Thankfully, I keep a little superhero powers tucked away for just such occasions.

At dinner, while regaling all with my tales of woe, everyone had opinions on how I should have responded to Creepy Guy.  Since I'm not one to think of a good line until long after it's needed, I came up with this at dinner time (a full 7 hours too late):  I should have turned around, faced him and bluntly asked,  "What can I help you for?"  (my typical style of getting my words all mixed up) or warned him, "I took kick boxing for 3 months - you don't want to mess with me."  or my personal favorite, "watch out Buddy, I have pointy elbows and I will use them to inflict pain on you."  My luck, he was probably only trying to let me know I left my lights on in my car or something.

"Liking" Something

So this evening Chuck and I were perusing through his Facebook page together.  I was wanting to show him a post I saw earlier in the day.  When all of the sudden I come across something posted by me.  Hmmm....I think....I didn't post anything today.  I take a closer look.  It is a post of me 'liking' something.  Not just something....a definition.  Apparently I 'like' the definition of "projectile".  Why would I 'like' that?

Then it dawns on me...'projectile' is one of Chloe's spelling words this week.  Part of her assignment today was to look up any of the words she doesn't know the definition of.  The pieces are coming together now.  She always uses dictionary.com.  Apparently, she saw the option of 'liking' the definition, so she chose to 'like' it since she could, not knowing that it linked to Facebook.

HEY WORLD....JUST SO YOU KNOW....I 'LIKE' THE WORD "PROJECTILE"!

I suddenly felt the need to explain to all Facebook-dom that I don't necessarily 'like' the word "projectile" but my 9 year old daughter does.  Like anybody would care, really.  If I'm ever going to 'like' a word it is going to be infinitely better than "projectile".  I'm sure I confused all my 'friends' out there today...just keeping them on their toes to see if they really know me or not.  You never know what random word I might like next.

The Time Escalator

Every night when I tuck the kids into bed it hits me....they are getting bigger every day.  I know most people are already aware of this, but somehow I get accosted by this reality every single night.  And it makes me ask myself, Did I enjoy each moment to the fullest with my favorite people today?  Because if I didn't, my focus was wrong.  They will never be this age again.  And trust me, I've already started trying to go back down the up escalator looking for that lost time.  Funny thing happens though, you can never go back down - only up.

I try hard to remember what Gavin's little squeaky, high-pitched voice was like at three and four when he was asking me such hard questions about life such as: what makes a light bulb work, Mom or what would happen if I got sucked into a tornado?  Try as I may, I can only hear his current voice in his deep baritone octave telling me about his recent troubles in trying to simplify monomials.

Oh how I would love to go back and have one more chance to hold baby Chloe.  I think I held her on my hip for 2 years straight when she was a baby.  She never wanted to be put down.  But now I can't remember what she felt like in my arms or how sore my back used to be.  I would pay money to have that sore back again if it meant I could hold that soft, cooing, wiggly baby in my arms again for just 5 minutes.  But the escalator only goes up.

I would even be willing to go back and relive every single potty training episode we encountered with Bennett if it meant I could hear his deep little voice again that repeated everything in triplicate and feel his wet little chin that was never dry from constant drooling.  But alas, it always remains just out of reach and only in my memories.

Ah, to go back down that escalator sure would be nice.  When our biggest problems were sharing our Rescue Heroes or deciding who should be Batman and who should be Superman.  When everyday began with cuddling on my bed and reading 10 Berenstein Bear books.  

But this is now my current reality.  I realize one day I'll look back on these ages with the same longing I do their younger years.  And I'll wonder, did I play enough with them?  Did I sit and listen to their dreams or their days?  Or was I distracted?  Did I stop what I was doing, give them my undivided attention and enjoy that exact moment with all my senses?  Because I know the escalator only goes up.  If I try going down while they are going up, I miss all the life that's going on now right in front of me.  I can't live life in the past.  But it sure is fun to remember it.  It's kind of like labor, you only remember the joy of holding your precious newborn and all the pain it took to get to that point seems to be a moot point.  

If I could encourage young parents in anything it would be this: enjoy the moment.  Invest in your children while they are young.  Spend time doing what they like.  You can't wait to start teaching/training them until they get older, you won't have that raport with them.  The important things don't just happen when they're older.  The most important things happen every day: time together - doing the mundane, living life together - learning how to work together, disagree agreeably, play together.

The escalator only goes up... enjoy the ride.

Dance Party

There is something very important that needs to said right up front:  I don't dance.  I love to watch people dance.  I like to tap my foot to music.  But I definitely do NOT have what it takes to get up and just let loose in front of people.  Ya.  That's never going to happen.

Chuck and I love to dance though.  Privately.  We have the 'Stand and Sway' down pat.  Sometimes we even spice it up by adding the 'Waltz Step' variation so we can sway and move around in a circle at the same time.  That's about the depth of our dancing prowess.  We won't count the time we were Minuet partners in high school.  Who does the Minuet when you're 15 and living in the 1980's?!  It was a 'forced dancing' situation.  We'll leave it at that.

We tried to move outside our fear of dancing comfort zone.  Truly, we did.  We attempted to go out dancing with friends not once, but twice.  Both times were so stressful.  We couldn't stop counting.  We tried learning how to country western dance.  Instead of it being a fun, calming, romantic evening it felt more like we were trying to cram for a final exam.  We would just look at each other and count (out loud) with our eyebrows all wrinkled in a fearful expression knowing that we would be the only ones either 1), off beat or 2), out of step or 3), going the wrong direction if we didn't get the counting right.  Add to that the LOUD music, ALL the people and the DARK atmosphere.  We all know my 'condition', right?  The one where I get all confused whenever I enter a store (or any area for that matter) with loud music playing.  Seriously, I can't focus.  The loud music triggers something in my brain and all my neurons decide to go on strike simultaneously.  Apparently I have 'sensory issues'.  And then having to be in a large, dark room with a bunch of people I don't know....scary.  I like lots of sunlight.  Clubs aren't known for being the most 'sunny' places.  I have an aversion to crowds.  So the combination of these three plus the lack of dancing confidence equals one exciting night.

All that to say I love to dance with Chuck, privately.  Or do goofy, crazy, who-cares-who's-looking dancing with the kids.  At home.  With lots of light.  And our favorite music...up kinda loudish, but not so loud that I get confused.

So out of the blue the other day Chuck brings me down to the family room and has a song already playing and wraps me in his arms to dance.  I love it.  It's the epitome of calmness, serenity, security and love for me.  Favorite music, lots of sun, home, dancing with the one I love.  Could life get any better? And then the kids come barging downstairs like a herd of elephants.  Never to be left out, they start 'dancing' with us.  If you think Chuck and I don't know how to dance, you should see our kids.  I don't think they even got the 'stand and sway' genes.  Think more like the 'Pentecostal Two Step' or 'Circus Show'.  They 'dance' with pure, uninhibited bliss and abandonment.  And they insist on doing this right next to us.  Why would we want to dance alone when we could dance together?

At first I close my eyes and pretend they are not crashing my special dance time.  If I can't see them, they aren't there.  Then Bennett starts slowly trying to infiltrate our dancing space...meaning he's attempting to wedge himself between Chuck and me, ever so slowly so we don't notice that all of the sudden there are three of us 'dancing'.  Then we open up the circle even more and all hold hands and start 'standing and swaying' together.  But the kids think that dance step is too boring so they invent a few of their own.  All to the lovely song that is miraculously still playing.  By this point we are all laughing so hard at the depths to which our dance has fallen.  It was one of those where you have to catch your breath and hold your sides you're laughing so hard and long.

And then the thought hits:  Embrace It!  When, if ever, will my 14, 11 and 9 year old all want to silly dance with Chuck and I ever again?  One day they'll be 'too mature' for that kind of abandonment (secretly I'm hoping that day will never happen).  It was another one of those snap shots in time that will always stay with me.  All of us just loving being together....even doing something we're all horrible at.  Dance party at the Mallott's!

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Looking for the person who always says the wrong thing at the wrong time?  Look no further. You found her.  Some people have a knack for knowing the perfect little sentiment that needs to be said to cheer someone up, brighten their day or give them hope for the future.  I am not that person.  I envy those people.  Whenever I try to step out and be one of those people I inevitably utter the wrong string of words and give myself away as mis-speaker.  Idiot is another term that comes to mind.

There are ample instances in this blog alone of the multitude of times I say the wrong things to the wrong people at the wrong time and place.  Gavin apparently has been cataloging such events and was quick to remind me of the "FauxHawk" incident as well as the ever so lovely "Socially Inept" catastrophe.

I shall now divulge my latest run-in with my foot in my mouth.  It's always humbling.  I always feel bad.  Oh how I wish, just once, that I could think before I speak.  Or that I could remember to just 'smile and wave'.   Here's how it happened:

I was bringing dinner to a lady who is sick.  When I got to her apartment there were alot of people there.  I went and put her food in the kitchen and we talked for a bit.  She then introduced me to her extended family in her living room.  They were mentioning something to me about how nice it was of me to bring her food.  I was on my way out the door as these accolades were being hurled my way.  I was in panic mode.  I didn't know the proper response.  "Your Welcome" or "Thank You" seemed too smug sounding.  All I wanted was to quickly divert the attention away from me.  So I said (cringing and sighing here as I type),  "It was necessary.  She needs it." and then quickly slinked through the door opening to find safety and refuge in my car.

WHO SAYS THAT?!

Stupid, stupid, stupid!!!

I have relived that 5 second reply over and over in my head and have found at least 20,567 responses that would have been more appropriate.  But then I wouldn't be "Queen of the Inappropriate Response" if I had used any one of those options, would I?

As I was relaying my social error of catastrophic proportions to Gavin he responded with, "That's okay, Mom.  I totally get it.  All you meant was that you didn't want them to thank you, that you were just doing what you thought was the right thing to do."  YES!  YES!  Thank you Gavin!  Thank you for sneaking into my brain and reading my thoughts.  Instead, I come across as an insensitive, self-righteous jerk who knows when it is necessary for very sick people to receive food because we all know very sick people cannot cook good.  Whatever.

What Happens At Dinner....Ends Up On The Blog

Since most of my juicy tid-bits and life learning happens at the dinner table, everyone knows that what's said there never stays there.  It always eventually makes it's way onto my blog.  For good reason - I'd never remember it otherwise.

Take the other night for example, we are eating a delicious meal of Shanghai Noodles that Gavin whipped up for us.  He was feeling rather proud of his latest endeavor.  Granted, he started the whole cooking process 2 hours before we sat down to eat in order to read, re-read and read yet again the recipe.  He's currently on top of his little world.  This sparks a thought in his brain.

Actually, I'm not sure it's so much a thought as much as it is a recitation of an article he remembered reading sometime this past month.  I'd have a hard time explaining the gist of an article I read an hour ago to you.  Not Gavin.  He can literally remember word for word what he read, where he read it and then give you a detailed synopsis if you need it.

So dinner is winding down.  Apparently we're lacking for conversation, so Gavin decides to share "an interesting fact I had on my mind" that we might find intriguing, "Did you know that according to the laws of quantum physics small particles like an atom or an electron can exist in multiple realities or two places at the same time until they're observed or measured?"

Blank faces all around.

I look at him and say, "Honey, anytime a sentence starts with 'according to the laws of quantum physics' you're going to have to talk slower or you're going to lose me."  I then went on to explain that I'm a highly visual person and that in order to better understand what he is trying to convey, I need to write it down so I can see it and read over it a couple of times.  I run and get a pencil and paper (under the guise of trying to better understand it, but it in all honesty, I know the only reason I'm writing it down is so that I have it word for word so that I can blog about later).  I ask him if he can repeat it.  He does - exactly the same as the first time.  And again...I still can't wrap my brain around what he's saying.  It's too abstract.  I was under the impression that the older you get, the better able you are to think in abstract terms.  I might be the exception to that rule.

He repeats it multiple times.  Then says he has a better idea, "Why don't I just show you the article on my iPad (or what I lovingly refer to as his ILD - individual learning device)."  He quickly pulls up sciencedaily.com and goes directly to the article he has previously memorized.  The article starts with these words: The phenomenon known as the superposition principle....  Had I been the one to start reading this article, I would have stopped by the 7th word.  I fear this confession gives away my intellectual capacities (or lack thereof)... I'm just sayin.

Chuck & I feel the need to back up a bit and ask some more basic questions so we can genuinely try to understand why Gavin was intrigued by this...afterall, he took the time to share it with us, it must mean alot to him.  We don't want to belittle or joke about his interests just because they are above our ability to reason.  So we ask him, "Honey, so we can better understand this article, would you mind first explaining what exactly quantum physics is?  Pretend you're talking to kindergarteners.  Think...Quantum Physics for dummies."

"It's metaphysical physics, Mom."

"Oh.  Ok.  Continue."

"So, what I thought was cool was how antimatter....."

"Didn't we have a discussion about anitmatter/matter a while back?"  I'm trying to act smart by remembering a term of science that he used in my presence once.  I'm just trying to relate, people.

The conversation digressed from there.  We listened to the entire article and still understood nothing.  He, on the other hand, was engrossed and loving every minute of it.  Then, in the spirit of still trying to relate, I told him he should see if that one theoretical physicist, Michio Kaku, he really admires from the Science Channel has any videos on this subject.  I won bonus points for that one.

Gavin has never really committed to wanting to be anything specific, except a trashman.  But once he found this fascinating form of science you could see his eyes light up.  He told me, "Mom, I don't want to do all those experiments or build stuff, I just want to sit around thinking about it."  If that's not a theoretical physicist, I don't know what is.  Where he got the genes to think like this, do math like this and have the words and writing skills to explain all those thoughts organized so neatly in the database of his brain is beyond me.  I'm just thankful he still likes to share what he's learning with me, even if it's in a language I don't understand.  Everyone understands a smile and a nod - and I'm good at that!

Fun With Shapes

Don't they look like they're having a blast?!  This is fun people.  Fun!  On this, the very first morning of the very first day of Spring Break, this is what my people choose to do...play the shapes game.  I swear under oath that I in no way made any leading remarks or suggestions to do this.  They put their collective heads together and came up with it All. By. Them. Selves.  And they even asked me if I wanted to play.  A prouder Mom moment, I could not have.  This is the way to use you noggin kiddos!

We have been playing this particular game for years.  We all sit with our backs to one another facing the outside of the circle.  We each have the exact same type of pieces as well as the same number.  Then one of us is the narrator, if you will.  That person has to use words only to explain how to make the shape picture that they created.  We all have to follow the directions without looking at the narrator's   picture - thus the reason we all sit anti-socially with our backs to one another.  Then when the narrator has decided he/she is done with his descriptive narrative, he/she reveals the image.  Ours are all supposed to look like his/hers.  If they do...the narrator did a good job.  If they don't...the narrator needs a remedial course in public speaking and explanation giving.

And yes, we find this fun.  You can do it with blocks as well.  It's awesome practice in learning how to get your point across and explain things in a way people will understand.  It's rather comical to see how we can easily screw up such a simple exercise.  Some of the other images end up looking nothing like the original.  It's a great way to show the kids how easy it is for people to misinterpret what we say and how we all see and hear things differently.  It's not that person's fault for misunderstanding the narrator, it's the narrator who needs to better work on the communication.  

Not An "S" Day

It's no secret by now that we try to abide by the "Sugar on only S days" rule.  But as I was making the kids' lunch today, I was feeling rather generous and a little anarchical and decided to ditch the rule, throw caution to the wind and give them 3 whole Rolos.  Technically, Wednesday does have an 's' in it, it just doesn't start with an 's'.  The rule is rather vague if you ask me.

Bennett was all grins when I picked him up from school and thanked me profusely for the three whole bite size pieces of candy I lovingly snuck into his lunch.    You would have thought I gave him an entire candy bar.  In his mind, I can imagine him thinking that he is a special child and I must love him extra much today to lavish such generosity upon him.

However, the moment my foot stepped across the threshold of my front door, Gavin greeted me with a nervous laugh and, "Hi Mom.  Um...thank you for giving me a sweet in my lunch and all...that was really nice of you, but I think you forgot about my strong opinions on mixing chocolate and caramel.  So I was wondering if I could refund them? I have them right here to give back to you."

Ever the factual child.   This was a strictly serious conversation.  He was not joking.  He totally wanted a candy refund.  If I was going to break our strict daily sugar intake quota rules, he was going to make the most of it and demand a candy he didn't have such strong opinions about.  Upon receiving the necessary 'ok' from me, he made quick use of his refund by cashing it in for a treat of a different, yet equally small variety.

How I let his 'strong opinions' slip my mind is beyond me.  He absolutely hates mixing chocolate and caramel.  This may be considered proof that he might be adopted because in my opinion that is one of the best mixings there is.  I can hold strong food opinions too.   I just don't always share them with people or expect them to remember them.

See what happens when you try to be nice and let people have sugar on a non-S-day?

A Horrible Irony

Every afternoon after I pick up the kids from school but before I start making dinner, if there is time, I like to sit and read for a bit (20 minutes if I'm lucky).  During this time I like to have my happy snack.  But the horrible irony of the whole thing is that most of the time I'm reading a book about someone in a concentration camp.  How can I sit here and eat knowing the person in my book is malnourished?  This thought plagues me the whole time I'm reading.  How insensitive of a person can I be?  Yet I keep right on eating...who does this?

The line between book and reality is a thin one for me.

This brings up another point.  We like to discuss the books we're reading during dinner.  The other night I was explaining something about a person in a concentration camp when Bennett interrupts, "Mom, what is it with you and camping?  Why are you always reading books about camps?"

"Technically, I don't read books on 'camping'.  But yes, I do tend to read a lot of books about concentration camps, don't I.  There are many different types of camps my friend, concentration camps as in Nazi Germany, the Japanese internment camps in the U.S, and prisoner camps in North Korea...see, I have an ample supply of 'camp' books.  Thus, I have alot to share with you about what I'm learning."

Probably more than he was bargaining for, but I was at least able to justify and explain my seeming fixation on 'camp' books.  But there is nothing to explain why I eat when the people in my books can't. I will never be able to get past the guilt of that...but I will also not be able to stop eating my happy snack.

What a horrible irony.

Excuse Me

I don't know what my problem is but I have a thing for saying "excuse me" a lot.  As in "pardon me, I need to squeeze past you" or "excuse me, I didn't mean to be in your way".  I have a thing for politeness.  But the way I use the phrase the most is, "Excuse me....I burped".  I say this without thinking, it's just escapes my mouth as quickly as the aforementioned burp.

Now you're probably thinking I burp alot.  That would not be the case.  It's just that when I do burp, politely under my breath with my mouth shut, I can't help but utter those words.  Even if I'm alone in the room.  I just have this innate sense of explaining why I asked to be excused.  I wouldn't want people wondering what it was I needed excusing from.  I like to explain myself.

So, the other night we're at the table eating dinner and I utter my famous last words, "excuse me...I burped" and apparently that hit Bennett's funny bone.  He couldn't stop laughing.  He's like, "Mom, why do you do that?" So with all seriousness I explain that I don't want people thinking I tooted, so I add the little addendum to the "excuse me".

Apparently that was even funnier because no-one can imagine a Mom (especially this one) ever tooting.  The only one of us who would ever need to use the phrase "excuse me...I tooted" would be Bennett and that would never happen.  He doesn't feel the need to be excused from those silent bombs.  So he's like, "So, you're saying I should say 'excuse me...I tooted' every time?"

"Yep.  That would be nice."

A fit of giggles ensues around the table.  "That's never going to happen, Mom."

"I know.  But I can always dream.  That would mean you would have to own it and I know you'll never do that."

So now the running joke in the house is to say "excuse me" every time someone coughs, clears their throat, hic-cups, sneezes or burps.  But you will never know who tooted. 

Hot Stuff

Bennett gets easily embarrassed by how bright red his face gets when he plays sports.  He just can't help it, it's in his genes.  I was trying to comfort him about this fact one day when I told him, "Honey, don't worry about how red your face gets, it's in your genes.  You're just like Grandma.  You have her hot.....stuff."

You see, I wasn't exactly sure how to phrase what he had.  I didn't want to say he had Grandma's hot flashes cuz that is an entirely different animal.  And I'd already said "hot" so I had to finish with something.  "Stuff" was the only word that came to mind.  It's times like these that I wish I was one of those people who thought before they spoke.

All that to say, I was trying to encourage him that Grandma also gets very red in the face when she exerts herself physically as well.  Then he said, "Well, that's weird that it skipped a generation."  To which I replied, "It didn't.  I also have the hot stuff, Honey."  Then he's like, "Why have I never seen it?"  Good question.  I guess he never sees me physically exert myself.  Loser.

The next part will seem like I totally shifted gears and am telling a whole new story, which I am, but it ties together with the above story perfectly if you just read until the end.

So, after lunch, Bennett asks if he can have a sweet.  Remember, we try to only eat sweets on "S" days (which we fail miserably at).  He wants to know how many cookies he can have.  He normally phrases his question as, "So, can I have 1 or 4?"  I answer him with, "Honey, I think you're old enough to decide what is an adequate amount. You need to learn how to govern yourself.  I don't want you to turn into Grandpa." (all in jest - of course).

Here we need another explanation.  Grandpa is a self proclaimed "Cookie Monster" (as am I - another inherited genetic quality).  Ever since I was a little girl, if my Dad went to the store and bought a bag of cookies, he would finish them off that same day.  So if you wanted any you would have to eat them as soon as he opened the bag.  It got to the point that I would have to hide cookies in my room to eat at a later time if I didn't want Dad to find them.  Mom has confirmed these habits have extended into Dad's older years as well.   Sometimes Mom has to resort to hiding a bag of cookies if she wants to savor them over the next several days or weeks.  This is what I was warning Bennett about.  He needs to learn self restraint now or look what could happen to him.

Bennett told me, "Don't worry, Mom, I'm not like Grandpa, I'm like Grandma, I've got her hot stuff."

It's great having "Cookie Monster" and "Hot Stuff" for Grandparents!