I'll Consider Myself Lucky

I'll consider myself lucky.

All week I have found Keagan's treasures stuffed away in the most unique places. First, it was a pair of matchbox cars found in the bottom of the washing machine, then it was a bouncy ball wrapped up in the corner of the clean sheets taken out of the dryer, then it was a football valentine card stuffed in the pocket of his school uniform pants.

However, last weekend he tip-toed into my bedroom pleading in his whisper soft voice for me to tie his cleats. Another football game was in the making, and I was in the midst of my Sunday afternoon nap. I felt confident I could tie his shoes, he would leave me in peace, and I could resume my nap. In my half awake, half asleep mode, I reached down to tie his shoes. I saw something in the corner of my eye. Something swinging from his little hand.

Could it be? OH! MY! GOSH! It was. Keagan had caught a lizard, brought it into the house, carried it around while seaching for his cleats, and then had it dangling in his hand just inches from my head.

I screamed. I screamed again. Keagan ran for his life. I chased him out of the house. Wes jumped up from the couch ready for battle, but because he, too, was half asleep, he jumped up grunting, "Huh? What?" I later found Keagan hiding behind the AC unit scared out of his mind. I found the lizard in the driveway. Tossed aside in the middle of the melee, the lizard didn't survive.

Thankfully, I never had to touch the thing. Thankfully, I never found it hidden in any of Keagan's hiding places.

I'll consider myself lucky.

My New Love

I knew that if I gave myself some time, in this case a lot of time, I would find something to love about Hinesville, GA. This week I think I found it. Let me be honest and tell you my new found love has nothing to do at all with the guys who choose to spend the weekends mudding in the "protected" wetlands located behind my house. If the loud motors and tires were not bad enough, I must also endure the endless hoots and hollars of rednecks pushing stuck trucks.

No, my love includes warm temperatures, shorts, and a sunburn. In February. I have spent every waking moment this weekend in the sun, and for the first time ever, I have my first tan lines in February. I. LOVE. It. I cannot even begin to imagine the poor soul who must endure another month before spring arrives. I have shared the sun this weekend with my new BFF, The Kindle. I read the most amazing book this weekend by Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle. It's a must read for the summer if you haven't already read it. Because it has been out for three years and lauded by the masses, my latest book love is not earth shattering for most, but for those of us who live in the sticks with neighbors who like to go muddin' on the weekends, I guess it could be earth shattering.

I am not the only one that loves this warm weather. Evan told Wes this morning that he felt like Hawaii should be our next PCS move.

Birthday Celebrations

I celebrated my birthday yesterday at work with a class of 20-something ten year olds because everyone else, including Wes and the boys, were off work and out of school. However, I turned my phone on to loud so that I could hear the annoying ring tone that announced a new email and thus another birthday wish. By 1:30, my students were able to deduce that the multiple email notices must mean something important was going on in my life. I have never seen them think so hard trying to figure it out.

The boys picked out a cook book for me for my birthday, and the best part is every meal in the book is to be prepared in the crock pot. For those that don't know, I have an obsession with cooking with the Pot. Because I feel like the Crock Pot is the single most important kitchen appliance, I was very pleased the boys chose this for me. I took my time perusing the wonderful receipes, but I guess the boys had done this, too, because Keagan turned to page 196 and said, "Whatcha waitin' for, Mom? Go cook this." I wasn't cooking anything, though, because Wes made reservations for us at the Olde Pink House in downtown Savannah (where I ate the most amazing meal of my life), and the boys had a reservation with the babysitter and a bowl of Ramen.

Ramen is not a staple in our house. After Wes spent a good four years of life (three in college and one in Korea) living off of Ramen, he cannot stomach the smell of it anymore. I, personally, never acquired a taste for it, and I am not ashamed to say I snub my nose at that aisle of the commissary fairly consistently. Anyway, when we tried to explain Ramen to the boys and the various flavors you can choose, Keagan asked about "flavor chicken legs", and when we gave him a dubious look, he retorted with, "I am serious about my meats, now, it's chicken legs or nothin."

They were relieved to find the babysitter had changed her mind at the last minute and had prepared a pizza. The experimentation with chicken legs flavored Ramen was a no go. No one was more relieved about this than I was. If the boys returned home raving about Ramen, I was prepared to tell them it was a delicacy found only in Far East Asia and thus, completely out of reach for us.

I know I mentioned that I felt like a very appropriate birthday gift for me would be a riding lawn mower, and although I am not changing my mind about such a purchase, I never knew that it would require me to take out a small loan. It appears my revolutionized summer vacation has been put on hold, and my birthday present will be a top of the line push mower. I figure in two more years, I will be able to pass the chore to our in-house lawn guys.

True Love

Now that I am totally over the entire fiasco with the vice-president's wife brushing us off for a visit to an off-post school, I will tell you that my Valentine's Day was completely uneventful.

Let me first add that Wes is home, and because he has been home only two months in the last six months, this is saying a lot. Of course, this does not mean he actually sat at the table with us for dinner, or that he is even home tonight for dinner, but he is in the same state as the rest of the family. We define this as "home." When he returned Saturday night and began to hint that he had no idea what to get me for the holiday, I relieved his anxiety with a quick, "Nothing!" And he looked at me and said, "That's why I love you. You don't expect anything."

This is not completely true, and I almost told him as much. After so many years of marriage, I expect more - nothing in the form of flowers, mushy cards, or cheap chocolates, though. What I really expect is foreign travel and maybe a professional landscaper to fix my backyard that is currently the neighborhood drainage pond. But since the first would require him to actually be home and the later would require something other than a roll of his eyes, I see neither happening any time soon. In all honesty, I really foresee the purchase of a riding lawn mower as our joint birthday and Valentines gift because after pushing a lawn mower in 100 degree temps over one acre of uneven land last year, I feel like a riding lawn mower might just revolutionize my upcoming summer. That and our current lawn mower is held together with rubber bands, and this was rigged together after it visited the local small motor repair shop - twice.

This is how true love should be defined...true love is the purchase of a riding lawn mower for Valentines Day for the wife. Only true love would accept such a deal, or did I confuse true love with desperation?

The boys, on the other hand, hit the jackpot this Valentines Day with money, cookies, candy, and new Wii Games, and because neither boy came home with special gifts from a girl, I went to sleep considering the day a big success!

The Visitor

For weeks my school prepared for the all important dignitaries expected on Valentines Day. We spent days trying to guess who might be coming to Fort Stewart. Meanwhile...

The floors of the school were waxed not once but twice.

Every wall was decorated with student work.

Pest Control visited on Friday.

The classrooms were given new furniture and bright, colorful rugs.

I got new light bulbs for the lights that have been out for three months.

The cafeteria tables were scrubbed with bleach.

Photography equipment was in place.

Welcome signs were hung.

My three legged desk with the duct tape wrapped around the broken leg was replaced.

All of this, and Mrs. Biden never arrived.

For some reason she found it more important to join Gen Casey in the presentation of Purple Hearts to soldiers who recently returned home and were honored today for their bravery while in Iraq.

I think I can forgive her. Afterall, I got some pretty cool stuff for my classroom, and the soldiers honored today have memories that far surpass anything she could remember about a tour of an elementary school. 

Drumming With No Beat

Every time we are in Texas, Keagan tries to play us a tune on my mom's piano. It never sounds like anything except noise; it's annoying, it's loud, and it's far from sounding anything like music. Last week, after we had just spent a long weekend in Texas, Keagan wished he was in Texas to play the piano. It suddenly occurred to me that I should have presented the boys, well Keagan anyway, the option of some type of music lessons months ago. Nevermind that Wes took piano for years and hated every minute of it. Nevermind that I played for two years to master only one piece of music that wasn't something you would hear sung in a pre-school program.

I decided then I would put aside our own misgivings with music lessons, and we would at least explore the option for our one son who expressed some interest in music - however small.

So I boldly asked Keagan if he wanted me to find him a piano teacher, and he replied, "Mom, you think I need lessons? I can already play the piano. Didn't you hear me play at Oma's?"

It appears our talents will remain in the field of sports. I may have just been mildly relieved. I had no idea how we were going to afford a piano.

However, I have since learned that Keagan also believes that he is an excellent drummer.

He might not be able to play an instrument, but his dance moves are still intact.

I couldn't be prouder.

Suns End of Year Party

Before Christmas we were praying for one win, and we ended the season with a winning record of 7-3. It was better than any one of us could expected - especially after that first practice when we had more boys sprawled out on the gym floor after tripping over each other's feet than we did actually playing basketball.

Evan won the prized top scorer with 51 points, and if you would have asked me if I thought that possible back in December, I would have laughed. Evan constantly surprises me.

I asked Coach Tim and Coach Cody if they would be interested in coaching the Suns again next winter, and tonight they asked, "Winter? What about the fall and football?"

Guys after my own heart I tell ya.

See you then, Coaches!

Anthistamine High

There is nothing like a day of living high on antihistamines and cough syrup. I have been lucky enough to have two of these days this week. Although I'm not completely healthy today, I am better than on Wednesday when I was one or two steps away from death. I could blame the sickness on the bad air I inhaled during my flight to Texas last Friday, but I actually think I was the one who brought the diseased air to the plane. I knew something was wrong Friday night when my Whataburger from the I-30 Rockwall location didn't make me want to kiss the Texas soil. 

On another note, the Suns were officially uninvited to Monday's championship game. I don't know how anyone, except for those teams that beat us, could possibly have a better record than us. I have decided the Suns will live on, and next winter the same team, minus five or six players, (okay that would make a new team of three) will rejoin to beat the Nuggets. I know I was pushing the meds pretty hard Thursday night, but I think Evan really did score in the double digits. I even videod the game with my new phone, and then learned I didn't have a data plan that allowed the sharing of videos. I just can't win.

Last, I think we can expect something really big in the coming weeks. I may even go so far as to predict the end times because after four years of fighting the forces that be in the government, my school actually got new air conditioning units. These don't blow mold spores throughout the building. I was even asked if my desk, the desk that only has three legs and sits propped up against a wall with a prayer and roll of masking tape, could be replaced.

My very last point, this week STAR students were announced at the boys' schools. Neither boy has been chosen all year. When I asked Evan why he had not been chosen, he told me the teacher is "trying to pick kids who don't have good homes first so that they feel better about themselves," and Keagan told me, "Don't worry, Mom. Mrs. Banks has to get through all the good kids first, and then it's MY turn."

If I weren't so high on antihistamines and cough syrup, that last statement would worry me.

Narrative Writing

I am posting this so that in June when we are deep into summer vacation, and I pull out the summer vacation journals and require the boys to write, I will have something to remind myself that the torture I'm about to endure with the endless whining, thrown pencils, and desperate cries of "I can't!" does payoff in the long run. This is a story that Evan wrote after the teacher gave him a story starter. It was posted on the teacher's blog in November, and I found it today.

http://maspinwall.blogspot.com/p/podcasts.html

I was so shocked that this was his story, even though I could hear his little voice read it, that I asked, "Evan, are you sure this is a story you wrote? Because copying a story from another book is not writing."

He assures me this is his ending to the story starter, and after he wrote a one sentence essay this week for homework that read, "There are no good leaders in our country," I'm having a hard time believing he has a story with a beginning, middle and end.

Summer journal writing will be taken to a whole nother level come June.