You are here: Home / Archives for Sloan

The one where we go on a date.

January 24, 2012 By Kelli 4 Comments

I gave him a goal to start the year. A goal for my first born with a natural bent for learning, but not a love for the process. “If you finish two books before the month is over, I will take you some place extra special – just you and me.”

That’s all he needed. Motivated by encouragement and a promise, he zipped through two books in less than two weeks. Perhaps the goal was too easy, but I wanted it to be attainable. I wanted him to succeed because I wanted to reward him. And today, the reward comes to be.

Sloan and I are headed to Busch Gardens today, just the two of us. Wendy wrote a whole series of posts on dating our sons (and daughters) and every post was precious, but I was particularly fond of this one. One of our Christmas gifts from my parents was season passes to Busch Gardens and I am so excited to break in those passes with Sloan.

Of my three children, fostering a relationship with Sloan has been the most difficult journey, mainly because he and I are so very much alike in a lot of ways and so very different in other ways. Add to that the fact that he is simply getting older and he needs to be fusing more to his Dad at this time in his life, and you have a recipe for hard moments in our sometimes long days.

Sloan and I need to have some uninterrupted, do what we want, no-one-pulling-my-attention-away fun and tomorrow will be that day. The weather is going to be beautiful (seriously, I totally get why people come to Florida for the winter – it’s freaky awesome), and we are going to ride rides, play games and simply enjoy one another with no set schedule.

It’s been way too long since I dated my son.

So that’s where I am today. I’m building an altar with my cherished first born; an altar of remembrance to look back on with grace and fondness and, hopefully, a few secretive giggles. A lifetime’s worth of memories awaits us.

*happy dance*

Happy Tuesday, everyone.

Filed Under: Family, Florida, Kids, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: , ,

Good, Kind, Important

January 10, 2012 By Kelli 16 Comments

I read The Help this summer as we made our long and exhausting move from St. Louis to Florida. I was emotionally vulnerable and the book was the perfect escape during that first week we were here. I got lost in the story, the rich development of the characters taking me out of my momentary troubles and giving me someone to root for.

I was most struck by the relationship between Aibileen and Mae Mobly, the little girl she watched and loved. Aibileen took it upon herself to make sure that little girl knew and understood her value and her worth.

“You is good. You is kind. You is important,” Aibileen crooned to Mae Mobley over and over in an attempt to undo the emotional harm and pressure the child received from her young, inexperienced and judgemental mother. This relationship was precious and I bawled, both in the book and in the movie, as Aibileen walked away from Mae Mobly after giving her one last reminder.

“You is good. You is kind. You is important.

I’ve thought about this a lot as I’ve parented my children these last few months – particularly as I have schooled them at home. I will be the first to admit my weaknesses as a mother. While I am constantly challenging my children to be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry I myself am not always following that.

I am slow to listen, quick to speak harshly and even quicker to become angry. And in so doing, I tear my children down. I. Hate. That.

Sloan takes the brunt of my quick to become angryness. Mostly because he is equally quick, and perhaps even quicker, to become angry and I react. It’s not that I don’t try to stay calm and patient. I try and I try and I try. And he pushes and he pushes and he pushes.

Round and round we go until one of us snaps. On the precious few days when I manage to not be the one to snap I collapse into bed exhausted and depleted of all sense of myself. Most days, however, I crawl into bed heavy hearted at once again losing control of my own emotions. And I wonder…

Does he know that he is good and kind and important? If I think back on the days events have I given him any reason to believe that I see him as good…and kind…and important?

The thought that perhaps my child is going to sleep unsure of these things can be paralyzing. He knows I love him. He knows this because I tell him all the time. A hundred times a day he hears me say I love him and I sincerely mean it when I say it. I love that child fiercely.

But does he know how good I think he is? Does he know that I think him to be one of the kindest young boys I’ve ever known? Does he know how important he is not only to me, but to so many others? Does he know?

Today found Sloan and me locked in yet another battle of the wills. Each day is new and yet each day is the same. It’s a battle and a war and some days I feel like I am losing. I’m at battle with all three children, of course. You’re at battle with your kids, too, if you think about it. We’re all fighting the war against their sinful natures and desires. We all wake up each morning and walk into the battle zone and it’s a war we must win when they are young and their hearts are pliable and easily molded.

As I felt the frustration bubble up inside of me, I looked into his challenging eyes and saw so much anger. So much confusion. You see, Sloan isn’t the only child needing correction in our home, but he receives it more than the others. This is partly his fault and partly mine. He tries to parent the other two kids and gets in my way and so I have to deal with him before I can deal with them. But many times I deal only with him and forget to correct the other two for pestering and nagging him in the first place. And Sloan feels worn down – I can see it.

So after a particularly grueling hour of back and forth, I stopped and grabbed his hand. I was angry and he could tell, but I was fighting against the anger with every fiber. Looking deep into his baby blues, I spoke softly.

“Do you know that you’re good?” I asked. He blinked, surprised by my reaction.

“Do you know that I think you’re amazing? I think you are kind and gentle and humble. Do you know how good you are?”

Slowly, he nodded his head yes.

“Do you know that I think you’re important? You’re important to me and you’re important to God. Do you know that?”

Again he nodded, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Good,” I said, the anger melting away. “I want you to know that.”

I’d like to say his behavior changed and that he was immediately kinder and gentler with me and his brother and sister. It didn’t exactly work that way, but as the day went on, when he lost control I would look him in the eye and raise my eyebrows and he would stop and nod.

He knows.

He does know. And my prayer tonight is that he would embrace those things and bury them deep. Tomorrow is another day of battle and I feel more prepared now that I’ve added another weapon to my arsenal. We’re going to win this war, he and I. He’s too good and too kind and too important for me to give up on.

Losing is not an option.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Kids, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: , , , , ,

Dreams of revenge are just as sweet

December 19, 2011 By Kelli 14 Comments

Alternately titled: Payback is a Beast

Imagine this scene: You’re lying on a cloud buried beneathe warm, fluffy blankets made of the finest wool. The dark air around you is cool as the nighttime air slow begins to burn off. The sun hasn’t graced the sky with her rays  just yet and you relish that dreamy moment between sleep and consciousness. It is peaceful. It is comfortable. It is blissful.

Now imagine that a spindly, gangly child jumps on the cloud with you. He burrows beneathe your blankets, bursting through your warm cocoon with his icy feet and shivering body. He tucks his toes underneath your legs causing you to yelp in surprise and yanking you, rather rudely, out of dreamland in one fell swoop.

Then he turns on the lamp and your eyes, still not fully prepared for wakefulness and accustomed only to the serenity of the dark, go blind. The light pierces through the room with such forcefulness that you wonder if perhaps you will ever be able to see again.

After this he turns to you with his eight year old morning breath and begins talking. Not whispering, mind you, but full out gabbing as if he’s in Grand Central Station during rush hour. Your senses are overwhelmed what with the light and the noise and the icy feet underneath.

Imagine he pulls out a photo album that he wants to look at with you and he wants to discuss every photo from seven years ago down to the very detail.

“I was cute wasn’t I?”

“Oh look how small I was!”

“What were we doing here?”

“How much did you love me then?”

And you want to engage, you really do.  But you’re blind…and deaf…and paralyzed.

“Mom, open your eyes and look at this one! Wasn’t that fun? Tell me about it?”

You hear him but you don’t compute. Partly because you’re wondering how on Earth it happened that minutes ago you were sleeping on a cloud and now you’re being attacked before the sun is even lighting the sky an early morning grey. Plus, you’re too busy thinking about other things.

You’re dreaming about the coming day when he’s a teenager and rising before the crack of dawn is no longer exciting. He will long to spend a few extra hours in bed, wrapped in his own cocoon of warmth and then?

Then it’s going to be your turn.

*insert manaical laugh here*

You think of that moment when you can flip on his light and start chattering incessantly about how much you miss him being little and what a sweet baby he was and look at these old pictures, honey!

Maybe you’ll want to stick your icy feet under his covers and watch him gasp and try and get away. Although he’ll probably be bigger than you so that may not be wise, but you could at least yank off the covers and flip on the lamp sitting beside his bed causing light to pierce his eyeballs like hot daggars. You know…just for kicks.

This is all hypothetical, of course.

Or maybe it’s not.

Truthfully, as you envision this blessed payback you know that in reality you will likely never have the opportunity, or the guts, to be so cruel to your child. As the fog of sleep slowly lifts, you change your tactic and instead of dreaming of the day when you can exact sweet revenge, you instead begin praying with an urgency that you haven’t felt or experienced in a long, long time.

Lord, give this boy a child just like him some day.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go have another cup of coffee. After all, I was up before the sun this morning…

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids do the darndest things, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: , , ,

Takin’ Care of Business

October 20, 2011 By Kelli 22 Comments

This post comes to you with a sheepish, yet polite, request for help.  I hate talkin’ shop, but wanted to just toss a few little things out there.  Don’t worry, though.  This post won’t be all dry.  I’ve got a gem of a story to tell you at the end.

It’s my dangling carrot.

So here’s the deal, friends.  I stink at self-promotion.  It makes me wildly uncomfortable.  As I told someone recently, it makes me feel a bit like the girl standing on top of a table in a crowded room and screaming LOOK AT ME!!  And I’ve never been much of a table top kind of girl.

Ahem.

But, my goal in the next few months is to beef up the readership and participation on my blog.  And to do that, I need your help.  If you read something on here that you like, would you mind forwarding it on?  You can hit the little Facebook button at the bottom of the page, or if you’re the Tweetin’ kind, you can give a little Tweet.

You know…if you want.

Also, well I don’t talk about it much and, to be quite honest, I don’t utilize it much, but I DO have a Minivans Are Hot Facebook page that you can like by clicking riiiiiiight…here.  You don’t have to drive a minivan to like the Facebook page, but I will warn you that should you choose to follow the blog AND the Facebook page, you will likely start to feel the pull of the minivan.

Because minivans are bringing sexy back.

Huh?

Whatever.

If you do read something you like and have a second or two to respond, well, I’ll confess – I’m a bit of a comment whore.  I promise I will respond to you…or you can respond to one another.  I like community so let’s build a community of minivan lovin’ (or hatin’ – you know who you are) women…and men, too.  I know you guys are reading.

Finally in the manner of business, I would like to ask if there’s anything you guys would like me to specifically write about.  Is there are particular topic you like better?  Is there something you’d like me to avoid discussing (the frequency of my childrens bowel movements?  DONE! – Look how accommodating I am)?

Seriously – let me know.

Now, on to that carrot:

The Scene:

A beautiful, sunny Florida afternoon.  The kids are playing outside while I enjoy a few quiet moments alone to do whatever I want – which means I’m cleaning the kitchen…again. The windows are open and a beautiful, cool fall breeze is drifting in.  Nothing can break the perfection of this moment.  Nothing, that is, until I hear a scream that rattles the glass throughout the house.

The back door flings open aaaaaaaaand CUE DIALOGUE!

“Mooooooooommmmm!!!” Tia shrieks, running into the house all sweaty and red-faced.  Sloan comes running after her with a tormentuous (this is my blog – if I say that’s a word…it’s a word) grin on his face.

“What in the world?” I say as she throws her arms around my waist and cries.  “What’s going on?”

“Sloan stole my gun!” She cried.  Sloan throws his hands up in mock innocence. “What’d I do?” he yells.

“What gun, Tia?” I ask, detaching her from my leg.

“My pwetend gun!  I was fightin’ the bad guys with it and Sloan took it and now the bad guys are gonna kill me!”

Pause.

Uuuuummm.

“Tia, if it’s a pretend gun, can’t you just get another one?”  I try my best to say this without rolling my eyes.

“Nope, she can’t,” Sloan says with a smirk.  “Because I destroyed all the guns in the imaginary gun shop.”

“Yeah!” Tia cries again.  “And he ate the pie I made for Justin Bieber who was gonna come over for dinner at my pwetend house!  I don’t LIKE Sloan.”  She stomps her foot and runs to her room, slamming her door.

“Whatever!” Sloan yells in return, huffing to his room.

Landon walks in at this moment and strolls past me with string and a crowbar tucked under his arms.

And this folks is why I am slowly but surely losing. my. mind.

The End.

Filed Under: Blogging, Family, Florida, funny stuff that happens, Kids do the darndest things, Landon, Minivans, Motherhood, shameless self-promotion, Sloan, Tia Tagged With: , , , ,

The Field

October 17, 2011 By Kelli 18 Comments

He runs out the door, all red-faced and sweaty and dashes into my arms, crumbling into a heap of bitter sobs.  He who is almost to my neck still needs to be held and I realize that his size belies the fact that he is still no more than a little boy.

Our new neighborhood is teeming with boys, a posse of sweaty necked masculinity races down the street all afternoon.  My Tia, a rose among thorns, keeps up with little complaint, though I know she longs for a companion to sit on the rug in her purple room and play dolls with.

On any given afternoon, they gather in our backyard.  It is a football field, you know.  In fact, I believe my husband has promised Sloan a football birthday party, complete with striping the yard. 

Oy…

At one point, there were ten boys altogether, joined to tackle one another with max force and ample glee.  Sloan is sandwiched.  Most of the boys are 10-12 years old.  A couple are five and six.  Sloan stands the odd man out, eight years old and as tall as the bigger boys in stature, but lacking their experience and maturity.  It starts well, but then he misses the ball.

“Oh come on, dude!” they scream.  “You gotta catch those!”  He tosses the ball to them indignantly and presses on.  Then he’s tackled, he fumbles and second by second he loses control of the game that’s happening in his very own yard.  Finally the moment comes when he gets the ball and doesn’t drop it.  He makes a mad dash toward the goal line only to be clobbered by an eleven year old screaming like a starved goblin.

It’s at this moment that Sloan begins to reveal his age.

The tears and the anger are hard to suppress.  He swears off football forever, he declares his utter disdain for those boys and he sobs gut wrenching cries that break his Mama’s heart.  I’m ready to go out and full on tackle the boys myself, my mom hackles fully bared.

But Lee just sits quietly and calmly as Sloan rants on and on.  Finally, when he’s paused long enough to take a breath, Lee looks straight in his eyes.

“Are you ready to listen to me now?” he asks.

Sloan nods, his eyes shooting daggers and his cheeks flushed red.

“If you want to play with the big boys, son, you’re gonna have to toughen up.  If you can’t do that, then you just don’t need to play ball with them.”

And that’s that.  Such simple wisdom from father to son.  It’s much better than what I planned to say.  My monologue about everyone needing to respect one another and use kind words and not tackle too rough quickly escaped me and we all sat in silence for a few minutes.  Sloan’s eyes filled with giant alligator tears and his chin quivered.

“But I don’t like it when they’re mean to me,” he whimpered.

“I know,” Lee answered.  “But you can’t take it personally.  You have to get up, brush it off and get back in the game.  That’s the only way you’re going to get better.”

We left for dinner with Sloan still holding firm that he would never again play football but a seed had been planted inside the heart of my stubborn boy.

Watching my child grow and face disappointment is painful.  But it’s entirely inevitable and it’s only going to get worse as he grows older.  There is always going to be someone who is better, someone who is bigger, someone faster and stronger and smarter and…

Teaching our young ones to handle disappointment with grace is a beautiful challenge.  Letting them spread their wings and fall to the ground is extra hard on Mama Birds.  If I had my way, I’d be cradling him still, singing Disney songs and stroking his hair.

Lovely.

But with each day, he pulls away from me just a little bit more.  He challenges me harder, cuddles less and fits on my lap like a Great Dane, all spindly knees and elbows spilling this way and that.  My job now is to step back a bit and push him toward his dad more and more.  I take the back burner as the training toward manhood takes place.

Of course, I’m always ready with a cookie and a fierce hug should life’s knocks come a little too hard and fast.  But once the tears are dried and the hurt subsides, it’s time to push him back on the field and let him try to stand on his own two feet.

All I can do is watch and pray that the seeds of wisdom that have been planted begin to take root and sprout a man of character.

Whether he can play football is utterly beside the point.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Kids, Lee, Motherhood, Sloan, Sports Tagged With: , , ,

Big Foot, Roman Soldiers and the Voices in my Head

September 27, 2011 By Kelli 8 Comments

It is quiet and I am alone.  Three children sleep in their beds, the first time all three have slept in their beds since we moved in.

A new house is scary.  There are sounds to fear.  And other things…

“Mom, I can’t sleep,” he said, coming out for the four-frillionth time.  “I’m too scared!”

“What are you scared of?” I ask…also for the four-frillionth time.

“I was just starting to close my eyes and I imagined I was a Roman soldier being killed…”

That is scary.

After assuring him that he would, indeed, not die the violent death of a Roman solider, and also reiterating once again the fact that Big Foot does not indeed exist, we headed back to his room.

“Big Foot is real!” he protested.  “I saw it on TV.”

Yet another reason we did not hook up cable.

“Honey, even if Big Foot were real, he wouldn’t live in Florida.  It’s too hot here.  And there are no mountains or tall trees for him to hide in.  Big Foot lives in Oregon…if he exists…which I don’t think he does.”

Silence.

“But you said bears live in Oregon.”  God help the poor child if he ever has to live in Oregon.  Don’t worry Oregonians (right?), I didn’t pin monsters on you.  I told the kids monsters live in Canada.

S’all good.

“Lay down, babe,” I said, brushing my hand across his silky smooth cheek.  Would that I could bottle his skin up…

“Let’s find something you can hold on to while you go to sleep so you don’t have to be scared,” I said, looking around his room.

“I can hold on to you,” he replied grabbing hold of my hand and looking up with ocean blue eyes.  And I melted…fast.  Knees buckled, a mass of goo, I slid under the covers and held his hand.  Five minutes later, he slept.  All the lights are still on in his room.  Because Big Foot doesn’t like light.  If he did, we’d have caught him and there would be no need for a TV show.

And now I sit in an empty, quiet, semi-organized room.  I believe I have found my writing zone in this new house.  I love this front room.  It’s peaceful and happy and I feel inspired here.  Last night I stayed up, much too late, writing, for the first time focused on my book.  The voices of my characters are swirling and moving again.

I’m going to finish it, friends.  It may mean I have to spend a little less time with you and a little more time with the people I want to introduce you to.  Bear with me as I find my stride.  And in the meantime, if you could all be on the lookout for Big Foot and let me know when and if you find him.

I, on the other hand, will continue to keep the air bed inflated on the floor next to my bed.

Something tells me we’re going to need it for awhile.

Image Credit

Filed Under: Family, Florida, Kids do the darndest things, Novel, Sloan, writing Tagged With: , , , ,

The Tapestry of Now

September 12, 2011 By Kelli 9 Comments

Life’s adventure rarely leaves time for long enough pause to question.  How did I come to this and what brought me here?  It’s only upon stepping back from the tapestry and observing that we’re able to truly see the Artist’s flair.

What looked to be a tangled web of yellow thread was really a sunbeam.

The woven blue lines folding in and out grew into a vast ocean when stepping back.

Did you know that sometimes you can step back and look at even the most recent past and see beauty?  Did you know that if you take just a minute to breathe, you might be amazed at what’s developing right before your eyes?  Did you know that sometimes the present feels tangled and knotted but upon closer examination, it’s really shaping up to be something…grand?

I’m there.  Right now.

I didn’t want to “provide my children with a home education program” as the State of Florida asked me to word it in my letter to the Superintendent.  But somehow I knew I was supposed to.  And it scared me.  It still scares me.

But here we are.  Two weeks in and dare I say we’re having fun?  And if I step back for a few minutes and let the weight of this responsibility slide off my shoulders, I am able to see something beautiful being pieced together.

 

The root word + the suffix =

My kids and I are enjoying one another.  Naturally there are moments of frustration.  There are certain children who are to remain unnamed who, apparently, are so easily distracted that the simplest of tasks can turn into the most painful.  There are whiny moments and at least once a day I have to stop myself from tossing my hands in the air in exasperation.

But, more than anything else – we’re laughing together.

 

Russian lessons

We’re living life together and learning as a whole.  Similes, compound sentences, geography…who knew learning could be such fun?  They can label every state on the map and, as an added bonus, so can I.  Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, eh?

 

Tia loves to do "hard math."

And suddenly, without even knowing really when or how it happened, I became that mom.  The mom who schools her children in the home…and likes it.  I still don’t know if this is a permanent situation for us.  I honestly don’t know.  But for right now, I’m enjoying this bumpy little ride.

 

Taking a compound sentence from Sloan’s journal and pointing out the conjunction. He was also required to use one simile. My poor kids…stuck with a mom who finds a freakish amount of glee in similes and compound sentences.  You should feel sorry for them.

As I look back at the tapestry being woven these past few weeks, I’m in awe of the beauty and the masterful way it’s all slowly coming together.

Even if there are a few stray threads still needing to be plucked…

I wrote out a few conjunctions and turned around to talk with Tia for a minute. When I heard snickering I turned back around to find Sloan had edited my writing slightly.  Silly little boys make the tapestry a little more fun and…colorful, wouldn’t you say?

*sigh*

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Homeschool, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Russian, School, Sloan Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Utah, A Bomb and a Slithering Sea Snake

September 5, 2011 By Kelli 16 Comments

The first week of school is tucked firmly beneath my belt.  This is fancy talk for, I survived. So did the kids, by the way.  Landon barely.  Apparently I neglected to mention to him when we began that school occurs every. single. day.  So on day two, as he toddled into the kitchen, his morning Cup ‘a Joe nestled firmly between his teeth (read: sippy cup of juice), he asked me the same thing he asks me every morning.

“Mommy?  What we gonna do today?”

“We have school again today.”

Shock.

Horror.

Face crumbles, juice falls to the floor and a great deal of weeping doth commence.  “But we alweady did school yestewday!”

Um…yeah.  Apparently school every day isn’t his favorite.  By day five he started to come around, though he never met the news that school was about to begin with much glee.  You can’t please everyone, right?

Not that school was a wash for him.  We worked on learning the States last week.  We labeled them on a map and each day learned to identify a few more.  By the end of the week, Sloan was able to point to and label 30 States.  Tia could label about 15 and then needed a few prompts for the rest.  Landon can point to about 6 when asked where they are.  But all on his own, he can label one State.

Utah.

For some reason Utah. Not Florida.  Not Missouri.  Utah.

Why?

There is no way for me to answer that question.  I don’t know why.  All I know is my three year old can point to Utah when shown a blank map.  I am so proud.

 

We are one with the fish

 

As a reward for a great first week of school, we finished lessons early on Friday and headed to the The Florida Aquarium in Tampa.  We got up close and personal with the sting rays, we growled at the sharks and we made silly faces at the alligators.  And we topped it all off with some good old fashioned water play.

 

Grrrr....

As an impromptu history lesson, we walked next door to the American Victory Ship, one of only four operational World War II ships in the country.  It was the end of the day and they were preparing to close, but they let us have the run of the ship before shutting everything down.  We rang the bells, visited the captain’s quarters and fought mighty battles against the enemy warships and alien droids.

We won each battle with nary an injury.  It was truly a victorious ship.

Just before leaving, one of the sailors aboard the ship took us into the Engine Room and gave us a quick history lesson.  The ship was built 70 years ago (not 60 hundred as Landon guessed…by hey – he can identify Utah, right?).  And the massive vessel was built in only 55 days.  Not 25 years as Sloan guessed.  But hey…he can point to 30 States on a map, right?

“Can you take us out on a ride in this ship?” Sloan asked the Sailor-man.  I just wish my child wasn’t so shy, ya know?

“Well, no.  Not right now.  We’re dry docked right now.  There are a lot of things that need to be done to get a ship out to sea.”

“Oh,” Sloan said, not masking his disappointment at all.  This week’s homeschooling theme is “Tact and How To Use It.”

Seeing his crestfallen face, Sailor-man smiled.  “You know,” he said.  “Every once in awhile we do take this beautiful ship out for a spin on the water.  You have your mom find out when we’re going to do that again and make sure you all come out to take a ride with us, okay?”

Sloan grinned and clasped his hands together at his chest.  “Okay!” he cried, his eyes dancing.  “When we go out, can you shoot off a bomb? Please?” He did use lovely manners making his Mama brim with pride.

“Well,” Sailor-man said, his own eyes twinkling, “Now I’m afraid that’s frowned upon…”

Pause.  Silence.

“What do you mean?” Sloan asked.

And we all laughed.  Me with the “Oh I’m so embarrassed I will explain this to him later” Mom laugh, and Sailor-man with the “I used to be a little boy and I had a few little boys of my own so I totally understand what’s going on inside his head” laugh.  And off we went.

Sunday night brought beautiful, perfect Florida weather.  There was an ocean breeze perfect for fishing and we traipsed down to the dock at sunset where Sloan immediately snagged a beautiful, large blue crab.  After a bit of dancing and a whole lot of finagling, we got him in the bucket and gave him a pinfish to play with.  Lee pulled in a good sized catfish that we all ooed and aahed over until it came time to take him off the hook, then we all scattered and let Lee handle the honors alone.

We’re a brave bunch.

The night ended early, however, when Sloan’s line bent over and he struggled and fought and pulled up a…friggin’ snake. When we figured out that’s what was on his line, Tia sprouted wings and flew 50 feet in less than a second.  I danced and yelped while Lee held his arms straight out and yelled “STOP!  Do not pull that thing in.”  He grabbed the pole and shook it until the long (too long) sea monster finally fell off.  And with our hearts hammering in our throats, we packed it in and marched inside, cooking our crab for a little late night snack.

How was your holiday weekend?

 

Our bedtime snack, courtesy of Sloan.

Filed Under: Family, Florida, funny stuff that happens, Homeschool, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Landon, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: , , , , ,

Eight

July 10, 2011 By Kelli 6 Comments

“Mom.”  Hot breath on my cheek stirs me from the deepest of sleep.  “I have a stomach ache.  Can I sleep with you?”

I mumble something incoherent that he and I both interpret as a yes and he burrows under the covers.  His hair smells clean, freshly washed just before bed.  I’m poised to drift back to dreamland, but for a conscious moment, I relish him close.

He sucks in a deep breath.  It’s sharp.  Pain.

“Are you okay?” I ask, more awake now.  He clutches his side and pants.  It’s probably an air bubble, but in my sleepy haze I immediately assume appendicitis and I push on the lower right side of his abdomen.  “Does that hurt?”

“Ow!  Yes, that hurts!”

“Oh…sorry.”

In the next moment, he is wrapped around me.  Knees and elbows swathed in a narrow frame.  His nose is in my neck, his arm flung across my waist.  He’s hot and I’m immediately uncomfortable.  I’m so tired and my first thought is to push him off on his father who is snoring on the other side of the bed.

But then I stop.  His breathing slows and falls into a quiet rhythm.  In, out.  In, out.

It’s just as it was back when he used to fit a little more snuggly in my arms.  Back when I couldn’t wear his flip flops and his hands weren’t nearly as big as mine.  Back when his hair was a white blonde fuzz on top of his round head.  And instead of pushing him away, my arms engulf him and squeeze tight.

Because I miss back then.  I miss it.

But for a few short hours, I got to relive those moments.  I didn’t sleep much…or at all.  Somehow, though, sleep didn’t matter, just as it didn’t matter back then.  Because the moments fade so fast.  When morning light pierced through the darkness, he finally stirred and unwound his spindly body.  He looked up at me, all blue eyes and freckles.  And eight years passed me by in an instant.

“Hey Mom,” he said with a sleepy grin.  “Can I have some Nutella for my birthday breakfast?”  And as he dashed off to conquer the day, I remained behind.  Tired and teary.  Grateful for a night of little sleep and thankful for those brief, still moments when he snuggled close and held tight.  Those moments will soon be no more.

Happy Birthday, Sloan.

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Life, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: , ,

When Daddy Explains

June 12, 2011 By Kelli 8 Comments

IMGP8919

I was on the phone last week, pacing the driveway.  It was a beautiful day and the kids were all napping or resting.  I just needed some air.  As I spoke with my friend, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.  I turned in time to see Sloan marching by with a twelve foot ladder tucked snuggly under his arm.  He didn’t even glance my way as he walked past, his face cool and nonchalant.  As if carrying around a ladder was normal.

I swear, if that kid had a stuffed tiger I would be living with Calvin and Hobbes.

“Um…I think I should probably hang up,” I said to my friend as Sloan set the ladder down next to the corner of the house and popped it open.  He looked up at the roof, his hand shading his eyes slightly.  I managed to reach him just as he stepped on the third rung, the ladder wobbling precariously on the slanted driveway.

“Whatcha doin’?”  I asked, grabbing hold of the base of the ladder.

“Oh, hey Mom,” Sloan said, still playing cool.  “I’m checking out the bird’s nest up here.”

I looked up and sure enough, there was a nest just underneath the roof.

“Can I?” he asked, looking down at me with his penetrating blue eyes.  Then he grinned.  Stinker.

“Yes,” I replied.  “Be careful.”

So up he climbed to the top rung and he peered over the side of the nest.

“There’s a baby bird in there!” he screeched.  Seriously screeched.  My ears are still ringing.  “It’s so cute!  Aw, Mom come see the baby bird!”

So we switched places and I climbed the ladder with him holding it steady.  Inside the nest was a tiny, newly hatched baby, it’s beak pointed upward, waiting for nourishment.

“Can I see it again?” Sloan yelled, shaking the ladder for effect.  Nice.

He climbed back up and looked in again.  “This is so freakin’ cool!” he yelled again.  To which I reminded him that I was only a few feet below and he didn’t need to scream.  Then he reached for the bird.

“Don’t touch it,” I cautioned.  “If the Mama bird comes back and smells you on her baby, she’ll leave him and he’ll die.”

With one last look and a wave, we pulled the ladder back down and headed on with our day.

Fast forward to this afternoon when we’re driving home from church.  Sloan pipes up from the backseat.  “Hey Mom.  I don’t care if it dies, so when we get home can I get the ladder out and pick up the baby bird and keep it?  I’ll get it worms and I’ll take care of it.  Can I raise the baby bird?”

“No,” I said.  “It’s Mama would be sad.  And we really don’t know how to raise a baby bird.  It’s better if we leave it alone.”

“But I can take good care of it,” came the anticipated protest.

“Hey Buddy,” Lee said, glancing into the mirror.  “You don’t need to try and raise that baby bird.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Lee said, and he paused.  “It would be like a bear coming to our house and seeing you and saying ‘I want to take that little boy home and raise him.’  Bears don’t know how to raise little boys.  That bear wouldn’t know how to feed you – he’d probably just give you raw meat or raw fish, like he eats.  And if he tried to hug you or give you a kiss, he’d probably claw you to death or bite off your nose with his sharp teeth.  Bear’s aren’t meant to take care of little boys just like little boys aren’t meant to take care of baby birds.”

This is the part where I begin clutching my sides, I’m laughing so hard.

“And bee’s should take care of bee’s, wight?”  Tia chimes in.

“Right,” Lee replies.  “Bears take care of bears, bee’s take care of bee’s, bird’s take care of bird’s–”

“And people take care of people!”  Sloan interrupts.

“That’s right!”  Lee pumps his fist in the air.  “Homosapiens take care of Homosapiens.”

And THAT, folks, is what happens when Daddy decides to explain.

The End.

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Lee, Sloan Tagged With: , ,
« Older Posts