The other day, Sloan came walking into the living room, Tia trailing quick at his heels. He grasped in his hand his new Light Saber, which he got as an early Christmas gift from his cousins over Thanksgiving. For some reason he is obsessively into Star Wars, which is a mystery to me because he’s never actually seen any of the movies. It’s not that we don’t want him to watch them, it’s just that I don’t really know that he’ll enjoy the movies all that much given the fact that they are a little slow and, well, boring.

Somewhere out there, I know there’s a group of Star Wars addicts who are putting some voodoo intergalactic hex on me. Sorry, I just never really got it with those movies. Anyway, moving on. Sloan rounded the corner and held his sword up proudly.

“Mom,” he announced, “I am Darth Vader.”

“Oh,” I murmered trying to sound impressed.

“Yeah, and Tia is my girlfriend. Her name is Melissa.”

At this point I look up, my eyebrows raised, trying to figure out how in the world I should respond to this.

“Wow, Melissa huh?” I said.

“Yep, she’s my girlfriend Melissa.” Turning to Tia, he throws his arms out wide and she ducks slightly to avoid being whacked across the head with a light saber.

“Melissa,” he exclaims loudly, “Bow down to me!”

Tia just stares at him.

“Bow down to me!” he repeats. And still Tia does not move.

“Tia, you’re supposed to bow down to me. I’m Darth Vader.”

“Uh-uh, Hol (Sloan),” Tia responds indignantly.

Turning to me Sloan throws his light saber down. “Mom, Tia is my girlfriend Melissa and she won’t bow down to me.”

Honestly, I had no response so I stood there silently for a minute before saying, “Okay, who wants a snack?”

I think it’s time we showed him the movies…

The kids are at my mom’s house today. I have Christmas music blaring and I’m putting up all our decorations. There’s a dusting of snow on the ground and I think I’ll make some hot chocolate! I’m finished with my shopping. We’ll get our tree this Saturday and I’ll put the wrapped gifts out. I love this time of year.

We’re in Arkansas this weekend visitng family. We had a great, relaxing Thanksgiving yesterday and today the cousins come in so the kids are giddy with excitement. Sloan has had a couple of real gems the last couple of days. I thought I’d record them for future reference.

We were driving home the other night after eating dinner out and Sloan piped up from the backseat:

S – “Dad, can we say fag?”

L (stifiling a laugh) – “No, son, that’s not a word we need to say.”

S – “Why? It’s not a bad word. It’s not f%#k. It’s fag – you know- like bag. Fag.”

(At this point Lee and I are having a hard time holding back the laughter. What are the odds that he would accidentally land on that word? Seriously! We went on to explain to him that that word didn’t really mean anything and since it didn’t mean anything he didn’t need to say it. Honestly, that kid…To know the full story of how he knows the F-word, read here.)

Yesterday, we ate thanksgiving dinner at Lee’s grandmother’s retirement center. This is his grandmother on his dad’s side. A couple of years ago, his granny on his mom’s side passed away and we all miss her dearly, especially at Thanksgiving because she made such yummy pies and she just doted on the great-grandkids. As we walked down the hall to the dining room, we passed a little white haired lady walking with a cane. Sloan stopped and said hi, then proceeded to say this:
Sloan – “Hi. You look like granny. But you can’t be granny because she’s dead. But you look just like granny, but you’re not granny because she’s dead.”
Lee and I walked up just as he said it a third time and tried to quickly brush it off saying, “Yeah granny passed away and we miss her, right?”
Sloan (nodding his head) – “Yeah, we miss granny but that’s not granny because granny’s dead.”

At this point we decided that we really need to work on social graces with the boy.

I went shopping today. I still have quite a bit of Christmas shopping to do, but I’m proud to say I finished most of it this afternoon. Thanks to my mom for making that possible by keeping the kids for me!

While I was at a local store, I came across a small bottle of perfume. It was the first perfume I ever owned. My grandmother, Mimi, gave it to me when I was 12. Anybody else remember ex.cla.ma.tion! ? There was one tiny, battered little box on the table so I opened it up and sprayed a little on my wrist. With one sniff of that scent, I time warped back to 7th grade. We were still fairly new to town and I was self-concsious. I was stuck in that awful, gawky, Irish Setter stage of life, all knees, elbows and nose. I had yet to shave my legs and I wasn’t allowed to wear make-up. I was in junior high, navigating my way through a whole new world of catty, petty hesaidshesaid. I had frizzy hair due to a bad perm (it was 1990 people) and oily skin thanks to the brand new hormones raging through my body.

Outwardly, I still hated the opposite sex, though I possessed secret crushes on a couple of the boys in my class. I would never admit to these crushes, though, because then I would absolutely die from humiliation. I was dramatic and silly. I was still a bit of a tomboy and got into the occasional fight with the neighbor boy. I gave him a black eye that year. Byt the next year, however, the boys had finally outgrown me and I grew smart enough to stop picking fights.

In seventh grade, I desperately wanted to fit in, but did not know how. Not being from St. Louis, I was an outsider trying to compete with people who’d known each other for years. When I began seventh grade, I was still very innocent. My parents did such a good job of protecting my brother and I that I did not know a lot of heartache or hurt. In seventh grade, however, I experienced death for the first time when my aunt died without explanation. In seventh grade, I also realized that sometimes life is tough and that there is pain that can be much deeper than the surface wounds I had always known. In seventh grae, I lost a bit of innocence due to painful and trying family circumstances that surrounded my aunt’s death. But, in seventh grade, I also saw strength modeled with grace as my parents held our family together despite their own heartaches. In seventh grade, I knew true peace because it was modeled to me through my parents.

I learned a lot in seventh grade. I learned more as the years went on and innocence melted away. But nothing stands out more to me than seeing my parents lean on one another through the most disheartening of circumstances. And I am thankful for that model. It is that model that gave me the ability to say to my own husband on our wedding day that I will never, ever divorce him. Times may get tough – but I was shown that love can withstand. And that’s what I learned in seventh grade.

Now I’m going to go take a shower because I still smell like that perfume and it’s really not that great of a smell…

When I was fifteen years old, I went on my first mission trip to the former Soviet Union. We spent two weeks in Belarus and Moscow. Part of our program was to go to different schools and show pictures of our every day lives and explain what life was like for us as American teenagers. One of my pictures was of my family celebrating Thanksgiving. The first time it was my turn to speak, I was very, very nervous. I wanted to make sure I spoke slowly enough for the students to understand me and I was afraid of leaving out important details. I should have been more worried about giving false information…

When I got to the Thanksgiving picture I was on a bit of a roll but was still dealing with my nerves. As I spoke about Thanksgiving, suddenly our leaders and interpreters in the back of the room started laughing. As I went on, I noticed them laughing more and more visibly. After the program was over, I came over to them, wondering what on earth I’d said that was so hysterical. Apparently, my explanation of Thanksgiving was this:

“This is a picture of my family celebrating Thanksgiving. In America, we celebrate Thanksgiving to remember…the…pilgrims landing, um, on earth. So we get together and have a big meal together…”

Seriously? The pilgrims landing on earth? That was my first legitimate and real blonde moment. I’ve only had a handful of those in my lifetime, most between the ages of 15 and 20. Needless to say, I have never lived that down. People still bring it up – namely my parents.

So here I am, much older and wiser. So to comemorate my wisdom and the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, here is a brief history of Thanksgiving:

*In 1621, the colonists of Plymouth and the Wapanoag Indians shared an autumn harvest. Gathering together for a large feast, everyone pitched in to prepare the meal. Historians can’t say for sure what foods were actually consumed during the feast, but they know that venison and wild fowl were on the list due to journal records. *

Gathering to give thanks for the harvest was actually a longstanding tradition with the colonists, and there are several recorded events that took place before the 1621 meeting. Nevertheless, the feast of 1621 has long been acknowledged as the first official Thanksgiving and it is this meeting that we celebrate yearly. We celebrate to thank our Maker for the blessings He has bestowed upon us, for the way that He has provided, for the bounty that we are all blessed to share. And we thank Him that the pilgrims landed on earth…

Geez.

*For more information go to this website.

On Sunday we had Landon dedicated at church. Despite our better judgement, we decided to take Sloan and Tia out of their classes and bring them up on stage with us and make it a family affair. It started out well. The pastor was giving wisdom on the importance of raising children in a home that honors and serves God. He spoke on mine and Lee’s job as shepherds of our children and the church’s role to come alongside the parents and support them. Shortly after our pastor began speaking, however, I got sidetracked. How, you ask?

Well, first, Tia reached over and slugged Sloan in the chest. Not to be outdone, Sloan punched her back. Lee’s grasp on both of their hands tightened and his gaze upon the pastor grew much more intense. I tossed them the evil mom eye but it was quickly spiraling out of control. At our church, when babies are dedicated, they put up a picture of the baby on the monitors. When Landon’s picture came up, Sloan started pointing and saying “Hey Tia, look! It’s Bubba’s picture. It’s Landon, look Tia!” At this point the first two rows are smirking and chuckling politely. Then the Pastor asks us to join him in prayer. This was the icing on the cake.

As he began praying, Sloan dropped to his knees and bowed forward, hiding his face in his hands. Tia thought this was hilarious and did the same. Then they both peeked at each other and snickered. I’d like to say that we are so full of piety in the Stuart home that we normally pray face down, but that is not the case. There was no real good excuse for this. By this point, the first few rows are visibly laughing, their shoulders bouncing up and down as they try to control themselves. Lee and I are also trying hard not to laugh because what else are you going to do when your kids are bowed down prostrate in front of the whole church?

As soon as the pastor finished his prayer, none of which I really heard unfortunately, Lee reached down and quickly pulled the kids up. We said thank you to our pastor and made as hasty a retreat as we could out the side door. As we passed those sitting in the front they were all laughing and shaking their heads. Needless to say it wasn’t one of our finest moments as a family…

Here we are at the beginning when things were still going relatively well. But, as you can see, Tia is about to get the ball of shame rolling.
This is Sloan loudly pointing out Landon’s picture and laughing like it was hilarious. Note the other family up there who were also dedicating their youngest. See the kids standing quietly and sweetly?This picture is a little blurred but you can see Lee pulling Sloan up off the floor. Notice the kids in the other family once again, still standing next to their parents so well behaved…

Last week, I quasi-chronicled my ridiculous fear of crickets and my unfortunate (for the cricket) encounter with one in my bathroom. A couple of people asked where my valient husband was that I had to massacre the cricket on my own. He was out of town, otherwise, yes, he would have come to my rescue. I’m no damsel in distress, but I do recognize my own limits as a girl and in general I let my man do the killing. It makes him feel good and it spares me a heart attack. And, let me tell you, Lee is not only good at killing crickets and spiders…

A couple of years ago, Lee and I were just laying down to go to bed. It was around 10:00 and we were exhausted. As we laid down we heard a dog barking incessantly right outside our bedroom wall. After about fifteen minutes of listening to the dog’s methodical, rhythmic bark, I sat up and said, “Seriously! Are you kidding me?!” I got up and walked to the back door and flipped on the back porch light. Just behind our fence in the back is a small cluster of trees, or a tangle of weeds, however you want to look at it. In front of that cluster stood a dog I’ve never seen before (nor have I seen it since this fateful night) and he was barking maniacally. I opened the door and gently told it to stop barking (I think my exact words were, “For the love, SHUT UP!”) But the dog was worked up. There was obviously something in that cluster of trees/weeds that he wanted. At this point Lee walked out and we both put our shoes on to go investigate.

We very cautiously tiptoed up to where the dog stood. Lee gave the pooch a kick – uh, I mean gentle nudge with his toe – and we peered into the trees. At this point I was certain some kind of monster of death was going to leap out at us so I admit I was hanging back a little farther than Lee.

“Go get me a flashlight,” Lee whispered. I ran inside, retrieved the flashlight and returned to him. He flipped it on and two huge, black eyes were suddenly shining back at us. I yelped and jumped back, and if I’m being honest, Lee did too – but don’t tell him I told you that. It was a possum. But it wasn’t any old possum. It was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Possum. It was huge. And it was hissing at us. Did you know possums hiss? Well, they do.

We quickly figured out that if we didn’t do something to get rid of this animal we would be getting no sleep that night as this random dog was freaking out. So Lee asked me to go get a shovel.

“Why?” I asked.
“Just do it,” Lee said. Knowing better than to argue with a man hopped up on adrenaline, I ran to the garage and got him a shovel, then I dashed back about ten yards. Lee needed me to hold the flashlight for him so he could see, but I had no intention of being close by when that possum was knocked loose. This is why women live longer than men – common sense…

What happened next was like a scene from a very bad horror movie. Lee knocked the possum down, angering the creature. In an act of self defense, he then began hitting the possum over and over, whopping and hollering the whole time. The dog started barking and hopping around and I’m standing in the corner of the yard cringing and yelping every time I hear the shovel meet the possum. Finally, Lee stepped back, panting and puffing. I was looking at him with wide, horrified eyes and the dog was drooling over the carcas on the ground. I can’t remember if we scooped up the possum and threw it away or left it for the dog. I was in a bit of a stupor after that.

As we walked in the house, Lee had a new kind of swagger about him. I immediately began giggling. He was traipsing around the house like a pioneer man who had just defended his lady and children from the evil of the wild. He walked around the living room, his shoulders swinging, a smug look on his face. He had just conquered animal. He had defended his right to a good night’s sleep, he killed something with his bare hands (well, almost). I’ve never seen him walk around with such pride. It was hilarious.

So, now you know what kind of man I have. He will go to great lengths for his family. He will face the beast. Okay, so it was only a possum. Don’t tell Lee though. In his mind it was the same as fighting off a wolf or a mountain lion. And that is why I love my man. His devotion to me does not stop at killing spiders and crickets. What a guy!

– Oh, and by the way…If there is anyone from PETA who reads this blog, don’t think we’re animal haters. We have a dog. She is surviving us – mostly. We’re not hunters and we don’t kill animals on a regular basis – although we do like a good burger, admittedly. This was an isolated act of self defense so please, don’t put us on your hate list. Much obliged…