Come on Truckers, give us a honk

My kids love to pump their arms up and down at every truck we pass on the highway. Wow the memories that brings back. Remember when we use to do the same thing. Back before game boys kept kids entertained on the highway. Back when families took Sunday drives together. Back when gas was not our biggest monthly expense. Remember the thrill of a trucker honking that horn, just because you pumped your arm up and down?

Our kids added a twist to the game. They keep count of the number of truckers that pull that rope and make that big ole semi honk. Our van fills with the laughter and squeals of children. Even the older teens laugh, probably more at the younger ones than at the truck and it's horn. Then there are the truckers who just stare at them... and go on past, no honk, no wave.... leaving sad little kids and a Mommy saying, "Maybe the next one".

One day, in a 3 hour drive, we only got 2 honks on 4 major truckin highways. Maybe gas prices had the truckers down, but no one was in the mood to make kids laugh that deep down belly laugh. Their faces were so sad, time after time... as truckers speed by with sour faces.

When they get a honk, their faces are plastered against the window and they wave with all their might. Even with windows up and highway noise.... I bet some truckers can hear the screams of happiness. Surely they can see the joy that little pull of the rope brings.... One trucker made their day by speeding up, then slowing down, so they could pump those arms over and over. What a grand man. His antics cost him nothing, the enjoyment of my kids.... priceless.

Last week we made that same 3 hour drive and got a ton of honks; at least 20. Today, we made the trip again... but without any young kids in the van to pump their arms up and down. I missed the laughter, the squeals... the plea's for me to speed up and catch that truck... Oh slow down there are three behind us.... speed up and catch that one getting on the highway.

What a simple way to help a little child make it thru a long, boring drive.

Any truckers out there? If so, come on, forget those gas prices for just one tiny second... and pull that rope... then watch that little face light up, the waving that never ends, and try to see if you can hear those screams. I can assure you the Mommy driving can hear them. And maybe those excited little faces will remind you of something wonderful... maybe it will make you forget those gas prices for a few minutes.... maybe you will feel a little smile build from somewhere deep inside and if you are not careful, you may find yourself smiling back just as broadly as those little faces pressed against the windows.

So truckers... keep honkin... Here's hoping our next 3 hour trip gets 50 honks!!!!

Pumping arms up and down for a honk.... been there.... done that... hoping for many, many more.

I am the Worst Mommy ever....

I have this on the authority of six experts in the field of rating Mommy's.

The proof

1. We do not own a dirt bike, a four wheeler, a go-cart, a horse and to top it off, we don't even have a Wii.

2. We assign our children chores - slave labor I tell you. I have been told repeatedly that we only adopted children so we could have free slave labor (it doesn't matter that I re-do their chores once they are in bed and that 90% of those chores are a direct result of children living in our home)

3. We cook instead of eating out. And we dare to eat meals together.

4. We make our children apologize when they harm someone else, yes hurt feelings are considered harm in our family.

5. We apologize to our kids - if we weren't so horrible, we wouldn't need to apologize, right? My children swear this is true.

6. They have consequences for poor choices (and often ignore the fact that periodically, we reduce those consequences when we feel God wants us to be merciful)

7. We have to know the parents, before our kids can go in another child's house. (Is this really so awful. Do I even need to explain why?)

8. We expect homework to actually be completed and turned in (We don't always get this one, but we do expect it none the less)

9. We expect our kids to check in, when they are out playing, running around, at least every hour. (Common sense again, if we have to drive to look for one child, that means five kids have to stop what they are doing and ride along. It isn't fair so please, just call and check in).

10. We expect respect from and towards everyone in our family

And those things... those things alone, are proof we are horrid parents. As my youngest, Boo, tells me when I make her clean up her toys...."You are a meanie Boobeanie". Well yes I guess I am but those toys still need to be picked up.

Our older boys... they once had this friend. He had the coolest parents alive. We were constantly compared and found lacking. They had been to every Island paradise known to mankind. They had been skiing in the Alps. They took a month trip to Italy/Rome. The wonders of these parents seemed never ending. Yet this boy... he was always at our house. Once as we prepared for our cheap trip to Florida... we asked him about his trips all over the world. He replied, "Oh I never go on those trips, I stay here with a sitter. My parents go on those trips". Yet we struggled for years to pay off the debt we incured taking two of our boys to Vietnam to bring their sister home.

This boy with the incredible parents came in one day as my husband was playing chess with our boys. My husband started teaching him to play chess. My husband asked him if his Dad played chess.... "I don't know" was the answer.

He would come over and play basketball with our kids. He was very tall and pretty good. We asked why he didn't play. He said he use to play but quit. We asked if his Dad was upset at him for quitting. No he never went to the games.

He was an only child, had all the coolest new toys.... but no one to play with, not even his parents it seemed, although I truly don't know enough about them to judge.

We have since moved away and his parents divorced.

You know what, I guess we might be meanie boobeanies.... and I just want to give a shout out to all those meanie Boobeanie parents, just like us, all over the world, who are not perfect, far from it, but who love their children, who vacation with their children, who play with their children, and who do their best to raise children who will one day... be meanie boobeanie parent's themselves.

Meanie Boobeanie Mommy.... Been There, Done That... still doing it come to think of it...

Honoring truly Grand Grandparents

My parents. Wow, how much I appreciate and love them. Hard to describe really. And it hit harder home this past year as twice, my Dad was faced with life threatening illnesses.

Once with cancer... which is in remission and he is doing great.

Second time with a reaction to a medication which left him bedridden, then in a wheelchair, and finally, walking with a walker/cane, probably for the rest of his life.

It was tough, seeing my dad humbled this way. Seeing my Mom exhausted caring for him. Me being hours away and only available to help on weekends. Dumping the bulk of the care on my brothers who live closer. It was tough.

But during it all, good came. Dad found Jesus. Family spats seemed to have dissolved when faced with losing the Dad we love, whether to death or the mental state the meds left him in temporarily. It was a taste of what is one day to come and it was bitter. But at the same time, so many things to rejoice.

My children have really struggled at times, and the people who helped us most, both sets of our parents. Instead of enjoying their retirements, they jumped in and helped us with struggling teens. And they did so without hesitation. Their grandchildren needed help and they opened their doors, in one case for a year. Literally allowing one of our kids to live with them a year while therapy helped him deal with issues. They drove him to therapy, to the orthodontist. They made sure he did his schoolwork and passed with excellent grades. They made him bath (probably their hardest task). And Grandpa helped him become a young man, giving him real tasks that Grandpa could no longer do and making sure he realized that without him helping, these tasks would have cost Grandma/Grandpa. So my son felt valuable and needed.... and it did him a world of good.

Then my daughter, who was born in Vietnam. Oh how Grandpa loves this child. She is his reason for getting up each day. He calls several times a day, just for updates on her antics. He even learned how to use a computer so I could send pics and videos on a regular basis. And now he uses his email to talk to his siter in another state and a nephew he rarely gets to see. Back to Boo.... He loves her spunk. He loves her meanness.

When we first adopted, my Dad was so sad. He said, "You were my angel and when you grew up, I kept telling myself that one day, you would have a little girl, and I would have my little angel back. Now that you are adopting, I will never have my angel".

The very day I got off the plane with Boo... my Dad's heart melted. Out of 20+ grandchildren, he had his angel. I still worked 4 hours a day. He and my mom told me to fire my babysitter, they were keeping this one. They had never babysat, on a regular basis, for any of their grandchildren. My dad even changed diapers for Boo... something he never did for his own children. He took her everywhere, smiling with pride as people turned to gawk at her beauty.

As her personality grew, he swears she became a young me. Her eyes were just as big. We both had one dimple. As a child my eyes were almost as dark as hers so was my skin. But it was the spunk that clinched the deal. Boo was not going to be stopped. Anything she wanted, she would find a way to get. She crawled at 5 months, walked at 8 months, ran by 10 months and hasn't stopped since. Nothing is impossible for her. And Grandpa glows with pride.

My Dad, who swears he will never ride a plane.... told me one day... When Boo wants to go back to Vietnam, to find her birth family, I hope I am well enough to go with her. She might need me. And I want to see her family.

I can just picture him hugging Boo's b-Mom and crying with her b-Grandparents in Vietnam. That is just my Dad. He knows we benefited and have been so blessed by someone else's loss, someone else's tragedy.

Where ever Boo's family is in Vietnam, or if any other birth families in Vietnam read this... I hope they know they are not the forgotten family. Boo will always know she was very much loved and wanted in Vietnam. We know her families story and will share it with her as often as she will let us tell her. And one day, I know she will get off that plane in Vietnam... off to meet those who loved her first. Like my Dad, I only hope I am healthy enough to be there... if she needs me.

My husband's parents are equally as grand as my own. They too have helped us out anytime we asked. Last fall, I was very ill. They drove 10 hours to be with us and care for their grandchildren while I recovered. And they did it with joy. My children flourished while I was ill because the Grandparents they love... love them too.

So this post is dedicated to the Grandest of all Grandparents.... my kids are blessed with four of them.

Wonderful parents/Grandparents ..... Been there... Done That.... Thanking God daily for them...

Are we kid label happy???

OK most people know we have five children who were once in foster care. It never fails that when people hear this, they ask about fire setters and animal killers. And in both cases, I can honestly say my children have never set a house on fire (that I know of LOL) and never harmed an animal (at least not after they had lived with us six months and before that it was more rough play than intentional harm).

Here is the thing though... I did as a child. I harmed animals. Now granted it wasn't on purpose. I loved animals. I still love animals. We lived in the country and I had a lot of pets. Unfortunately.... more than one died in my care. I will tell you how, but first, I just want it noted that if one of my kids, who spent time in foster care, had the same record I had as a child, they would be labeled as psycho kids and most likely would never have found an adoptive home.

And the sad thing is, I find myself labeling my kids too. I have read so many adoption books that sometimes normal things, I tend to label. Every undesirable behavior, I see a potential for labeling. And in reality, I have some pretty great kids.

OK back to me.... and my childhood. My dad raised rabbits. The cutest rabbits you ever saw. He kept them in cages about 3 or 4 feet off the ground. He also had coon dogs. Funny thing about coon dogs, they didn't limit themselves to only hunting coons.... rabbit was a favorite too. So my dad put cinder blocks on top of the rabbit cages to keep any coon dog who got into the rabbit area, from actually snacking on a rabbit.

Well as fate might have it, the rabbits gave birth. I was probably 4 or 5 ish.... Dad let me play with the baby rabbits during feeding and cleaning time. They were so cute and cuddly. We lived in the country and Mom tended to let us play outside, often unsupervised. During one of these times... I decided to play with the baby rabbits. Getting on top of the cage was not a problem. Getting the cinder block off was. Somehow I dropped it into the cage and it killed the Mommy and most of the babies. The rest died eventually. I cried. I cried a lot. I loved those bunnies.

So that was my first animal slaughter. Completely accidental.

Then there was the kitten walk. I loved kittens. Dad would let me take one anytime anyone's cat had kittens. I dressed my kittens. I wrapped them in blankets. Most of my childhood pictures are with me holding a cat/kitten.

My very best friend loved them just as much. Someone gave us each a kitten. Boy did we love those kittens. We were next door neighbors but being out in the country, it was a good walk, up a steep hill, thru a clearing, a horse field, to travel between our houses. After a while, we got tired of playing dress up with our kittens.... and we took them for a walk from my house to hers. We were afraid they would run away so we made homemade leashes.... out of yarn. Since we didn't have collars, we simply tied the yarn around their necks. We got to her house, and her very pregnant mom fainted. Seems we strangled our kittens, pulling them behind us from my house to hers. Her Dad took our kittens and later told us they ran away. It was years before we learned the truth. Now neither of us remembered dragging the little things to death. I remember the fainting. I remember her Dad taking the kittens. I remember them running away. The killing them, I don't remember and never realized until I was older, that we had strangled our poor kittens.

Then the snake... We caught a snake. We both loved snakes, my friend and I. So we took our beautiful snake to my Mom and asked her if I could keep it. She screamed. We took it to my friends mom.... who wasn't pregnant anymore, but she still fainted. Seems we could always make that woman faint....

We took the faint as a NO NO NO NO.

OK we couldn't just let our beautiful snake go. So we found a jar and hid him in my friends basement. Then we went to play and sad to say.... we forgot all about our snake. We also forgot air holes, food, water.....

It was about six months, maybe a year, maybe two, later (honestly, do kids remember time), her dad was searching for something in his basement and our jar was broken. The smell was so bad they had to move out of their house while professionals came to clear the air.... I can't remember if her Mom fainted, but there was screaming and lectures from both sets of parents.

OK along those same lines... one bunny died a natural death. I want it known we did not kill this pet. We were both in school at this time, so maybe 2nd grade'ish. One of our teachers told us that the air made dead bodies decompose and if we could keep dead bodies away from air, they would never decompose. We loved that stinkin rabbit and we didn't want his body to decompose. So we put him in a jar. Now we both still remembered the snake/jar thing and decided NOT to hide him in the house, just in case the jar got broken.

So we buried him in a secret place in the woods. Every few months we would dig him up to make sure he had not decomposed. He hadn't. But eventually moisture filled the jar and we could no longer see our little rabbit, so we stopped digging him up. He is probably still in those woods. Still in that jar.... 20,000 years from now, that jar will be found, and scientists will be wondering about the ritual of some unique mummification. In reality, two 7 or 8 year olds didn't want their rabbit to turn to dust.

Now both of us grew into pretty decent women. We are not psychopaths. Both are Mommy's. Both are Christians. Both married High School Sweethearts, and both of us are still married to those same men. Yet we lost touch over the years. Wonder if she ever thinks about that bunny, buried in a jar in her Mom's woods.

Maybe it is true that your kids give back a bit of what you gave to your parents. Maybe I did do something, or many somethings, to deserve some of the things my kids put me thru. Too bad society... and even me.... are so quick to label kids these days. Maybe, maybe, they just do things because it makes sense to them.... or maybe they just forget snakes need to breathe.... and that you never tie yarn around kittens necks to take them for a walk, and that when Daddy says don't play with the bunnies unless he is there too, it is for a good reason. Maybe kids don't always think things thru. Maybe that's why they need parents more than they need labeling...

Hmmmm... maybe I need to laugh more at the things my kids do and quit the labeling, quit the wondering if everything is a sign of some bigger issue... and maybe let them make some mistakes. Maybe one day they too will look back on their mishaps and use them to help them parent their own children.... maybe.

Labeling every undesirable behavior of my children... been there.. trying to stop doing it...

Bet my Mom's head spins faster than yours.....

Surely I am not the only Mom in the world who has days where her head rotates, a good six inches from her shoulders. When things she could normally handle just make her want to scream until sweet people in white come to take her away to a peaceful place…. Where she glares and speaks in a voice that surely makes demons envious….. Yet her own children stand looking at her without fear.

What set me off today…. Well I didn’t lose it when Blondie flooded the bathroom and our kitchen ceiling lost some drywall…. I didn’t lose it when security brought Ducky home…. I didn’t lose it when Spanky broke an ink pen and not only stained his white carpet, but the beige carpet in the hallway. Nope not when the screen was removed from Spanky’s second floor window, so he and Ducky could see what it was like to walk on the roof over our front porch. Not over the screen being taken off our large patio door (still haven’t learned why), or over my grill brush disappearing because the neighbor boys wanted to have duels at the fort in the woods…. Nor over my broken rake… my missing hoe… did I mention the basketball marks all over our van where they… and their friends decided to have some type of contest that involved bouncing the balls off our vans. We have gone from 30 to 5 glasses, because they kids carry them off now that the weather is good… which I truly don’t mind, if only they would bring them back. I don’t wear much makeup, but what I do have is expensive stuff… or should I say was… Blonde practiced on herself and Boo. Good thing I don’t wear it often and besides, I am 43 now, way too old to try to look good with makeup, at least according to Blonde. I guess makeup is for the youth and I am not young. Dad right now is hunting for his new thingy magiggy that goes on the garden hose… he just bought it. It is gone. Didn’t lose it when Teen1 decided to help me by fixing my unbroken garage door opener (it is now broken by the way), or when he took apart the riding mower to fix this little gas surge it seemed to have (now we have pieces everywhere and Dad gets to help him rebuild it with the pieces that are not lost).

Oh I am sure there are more examples of when my head does not rotate off my shoulders… so what causes me to lose it. A simple lie about homework. No kidding. My poor husband has no clue how to deal with a wife who doesn’t lose it on big things and then screams, yells and cries over a lie….

Are there any other mom’s out there like me….. My head is now back on my shoulders, thanks to the Coke my husband rushed out to buy me (the kind you drink!!!). I was addicted to it and gave it up. Now I only drink one when I really, really need it. Today was that day. Now that my head is back where it is suppose to be… I wonder why myself. Why can I deal with my kitchen ceiling sinking in from an overflowed bathtub… but not a simple lie.

Those of you who pray, pray for Mrs. Mom. May God keep her head on the shoulders he created to hold it!!! Elevated, rotating head… been there, done that, probably do it again.

First Day of School

You have to love it when your friend, whose son is in the same class as yours, calls to say, “Did you hear what our boys did at school today”. On the very first day of Kindergarten. I said no and asked what had happened. She said, "Your son came in first place, he won the contest". Oh goodness, this did not sound good. “What contest”, I asked? Now why did I ask such a question? Had I not learned that ignorance is bliss?

She responded “The seeing who could pee the furthest up the mirror in the boys bathroom”.

I turn the phone slightly before bellowing, "GET IN HERE!!!!!”

UhOh, the other mom feels bad. I am not taking it quite as lightly as she did. I didn’t find it so funny. I ask my son if it is true, he says, “Oh Mom I forgot to tell you that part. It was soooo cool. My pee went over the top of the mirror, it almost hit the ceiling. No one else’s even came close”.

I asked him what his teacher said about the pee contest. “Oh she doesn’t know. No grownups know. Just us kids”.

Well that might have been true on day one, but day two… I get the phone call, “Mrs. Mom, could you come in to discuss the contest your son and several others competed in yesterday”.
I guess the janitor was more like me than my friend. He didn’t find it funny either.
So peeing contests in the boys restroom… Been There, Done That, What Now?

Who is Teen2 - Dennis the Mennis that's who

Teen2 not only acts like Dennis the Mennis, he looks like him. He joined our family at age 4, almost 5, and was a tiny, spitfire, full of never ending energy.

I have to admit that 60% of the phone calls from school officials have been in regards to Teen2. I think they keep us on speed dial. Mr/Ms Secretary, please press #2 and have Ms. Mommy come in for a conference regarding teen2.

Now these conferences are not fighting related, drug related, grade related, attitude, behavior... or any of the traditional reasons... No Teen2 is unique and as a result, so are the calls from school.

His second grade teacher swore she was retiring early after a year with him. It was the year of the great pencil caper.... Daily, sometimes multiple times daily, she would call,”Mrs. Mommy, he has done it again. The pencils are gone, all 100 of them. How do 100 pencils vanish... simply vanish. I tell you they are not here. They are no longer in the school. All the teachers are watching for them, so are the janitors. I have emptied every desk, every locker, every nook and cranny has been searched. What is your son doing with these pencils? I have to know. It is driving me crazy".

I told her I would be there shortly and would bring more pencils. A quick trip to the local discount store and 10.00 later, I rush to the school, this time with 10 packs of 20 pencils each.

I say this time, because it is Friday... and I have taken pencils to school, everyday, for almost two weeks.

The first day... Ms. Teacher was polite. Teen1 just needed some pencils. I drove some to the school. Just a pack of 10. After all 10 pencils should last a few weeks, right? Wrong.... I get back to work and my phone rings again. Mrs. Mommy, did you leave those pencils, did you leave all of them? Why yes I had. Mrs. Mommy, he has no pencils. Not even one. I tell her I will return with more pencils on my lunch break.

Another trip to the discount store, another pack of 10, and back to school I go. This time she and I carefully write his name on the pencils, assuming another child is stealing his. After all, pencils all look the same.

Later that day, another call, "Mrs. Mommy, those pencils are gone and I cannot find them anywhere. I have checked all desks to find the thief and no one has the pencils with his name on them... no one I tell you. I checked the trash. I checked the boy’s restroom trash. I asked the janitor to check the lunchroom trash. Those pencils are not here. I have decided there is no thief and your son is playing a very cruel game on me. I am not happy.”

I assure Ms. Teacher I will bring unique pencils the next morning. I go to an office supply shop and buy a pencil/pen set that attaches to the desk, as well as 10 more pencils.

When Teen2 gets home from school, I ask him where those pencils are going. He looks confused and swears he does not know. He is hyper and easily distracted so it is possible he doesn't remember or that he truly isn't paying attention to silly ole pencils. I am sure there were bugs crawling on the outside of the classroom windows that interested him more than pencils.

The next day, I take the new pencil contraption to school and stick it to his desk. I give the other pack of 10 pencils to his teacher, explaining that I am certain the chain pencil will vanish too, so could she hold the 10 pack and give them to him, one at a time, and hopefully make them last.

She smiles and agrees this should work. But she still wants me to find out where the 20 pencils from yesterday went. As she said this, she looked at him as if he was some type of mystical monster with sorcerer powers....

Now my peanut of a son is the tiniest second grader you ever saw. He was about the size of a typical 3-4 year old. He had the cutest freckles all over his elfish face. Truly he was adorable. But not in her eyes. In her eyes, he wasn't quite human.... not human at all.

I think we made it past lunch that day... before I got the call. The pencils were gone, could I bring more.

Now all these pencils were very brilliantly colored.... I could not imagine that any other child had pencils like these. Yet they were nowhere to be found. When I arrived at the school, the principal was there with the teacher. Both wanted me to do something to make this pencil vanishing stop. It was really freaking the teacher out. The Principal tried to find the pencils, tried to watch them disappear. They seemed to just vanish. One minute he was writing on his paper, the next his hand was in the air asking for another pencil. They even checked his mouth to see if there was any sign he was swallowing them.

During this almost two week period, his teacher became more and more disheveled. I started bringing in two packs of 20 at a time. My boss was getting upset. My son still looked bewildered. The teacher was almost out of control... nahhhh... she was totally and justifiably out of control.

The last day... I took 100 Pencils and again asked her to keep them in her desk. She called almost in tears. They were gone. She gave him the last one; he turned to leave her desk, then turned back around and said it was gone. She had the nurse pat him down. She said it vanished, almost before her own eyes. He had not even left her desk, just turned around, then finished the circle, and the pencil was gone.

I drove back to school with a new batch. The whole class laughed when I walked in. All except Ms. Teacher and Ms. Principal. I saw my son giggle at a really cute little girl who just happened to sit at his table.

I asked her if she would be my son's friend and give him his pencil for assignments and then take it back after assignments and hold it for him. She said yes. He smiled the biggest smile ever.

No more calls from Ms. Teacher.... well no more about pencils. Teen2 moved on to losing paperwork.... before turning it in. And of course, it could not be found anywhere.

Yes my last conversation with Ms. Teacher went something like, "I have my 30 years in. I can't deal with this anymore".

30 years of teaching... yet my son, my cute little elfish son, pushed her over the edge and into retirement.

I didn't dare go back the next year to verify that she really retired.... Instead, my son was moved to a new building, with new teachers, and a new principal.

Bet not many other parents can say they have Been There and Done This one.... What Now?

Who is Ducky? A ghost buster that's who

Ducky is our pre-teen son. Our youngest son.... I call him Ducky because... well this is a hard story to tell because it makes me look horrid. When we took Ducky in as an 18 month old foster child, he was all head and no body. His head was bigger than our 6 year old's, almost as big as my husband's head. He truly resembled Huey the Duck... thus Ducky. He has now, finally, grown into that huge head.

His head was so large, when we had family pics taken, my primary concern was placing Ducky so his head did not look even larger. Our three and four year old's had tiny heads, so he could not be placed by them or he looked a bit deformed. I didn't want him hating his childhood pics so we worked hard to minimize the Duck look.

Now before anyone thinks he was a homely child, let me assure you he was a giggly, smiley, beautiful toddler. And he now informs anyone who comments on his head size in his baby pictures.... that God had to make his head large to hold his huge brain. Since his IQ is incredibly high...I think he makes a good point.

So that is why we call him Ducky.

Not only is Ducky extremely intelligent, he is imaginative and creative. A dangerous mixture. His mind is always going where no one else's seems to go. And he is smart enough to know how to get around people and barriers... how to sneak past ever watchful adults... how to manipulate teachers and administrators... and how to sweet talk his way out of virtually any situation.

Just this past Tuesday, I had taken two other children shopping, when my phone rings... I answer it and my husband, in a struggling for control voice, says, "Guess who just left our house? Security, that's who, security. "

Well we have three children, out of six, who might do something to upset security... and I had two of those kids with me... so I asked... "What did Ducky do?"

Turns out Ducky and a friend decided Stinky house was haunted. They found the side garage door opened and went in to search for the ghost.

What is stinky house? Stinky house is an empty house that was recently forclosed on. Two years ago, when we were house hunting, we saw this beautiful six bedroom house in a perfect gated, private community (sounds ritzy huh... it isn't it is more a gated Mayberry). Our agent took us to see it even though it was listed by another agency. She opened the door, and the stench was overwelming. Boo threw up. Seriously. To this day, when we walk or drive past Stinky house, she exclaims, "There is stinky house, it made me puke".

Turns out, whoever moved out of the house, left a garbage bag full of dirty diapers in the house. It was summer, hot, no air conditioning on.... the mix created something very toxic.

We ended up buying a house two streets over. Smaller, but at least we could walk thru it without puking!!!!

Well recently the new owners of stinky house lost it in forclosure, and my close friend, who is a real estate agent, is now in control of the house.

Thank God and his angels watching over my kids, she was at our house when security brought my delinquint son home. She told security she was not interested in pressing charges so my son and his friend got off easy.... at least from a legal standpoint.

I rushed home from shopping and asked Ducky why he would do such a thing. We have taught him better... he knows better. His answer...."Mom Stinky house is haunted and we had to catch the ghost".

"Ducky, why do you think Stinky house is haunted".

"Mom, it has to be. No one has lived there for a long time, yet there is a light that is always on. It has to be a ghost".

"Ducky, maybe it is just Ms. C. Maybe she leaves a light on to keep people from breaking in and causing damages... or getting hurt".

He ponders that a bit, then says, "But there is more Mom. Everyone knows Ghosts like basements and attics. Well we were in the basement, hunting the ghost, and we heard him above us. The floors creeked. They creeked a lot, like a ghost walking across them".

"Ducky, today was a very windy day. Houses creek when the wind pushes them too much".

Ducky gets a sad look. Maybe there was no ghost....

As mad as I am at Ducky for trespassing in an empty house (don't even get me started on all the things that could have happened had his angels not been on duty), I am also feeling a bit sorry for him and a bit admiring of his imagination.

"Ducky, why don't you hunt for your ghosts in our woods. I bet there are tons of them in the woods".

"Why would a ghost be in the woods?"

"Well, this area of the US is full of good hunting, creeks, rivers, flat land for farming, everything pioneers and American Indians looked for. I bet a lot settled here and that there are forgotten graves in those woods".

"How do we find them?.

"Well, you could use your metal detector because they always buried their dead with jewelry. You could also listen for the wind blowing the trees hard. Oh and the birds, when they stop chirping... it is a sure sign a Ghost is around and watching".

"I am going to get my friend and go hunt now".

"Ducky... you and your friend are both grounded, remember?".

"Urrrrr... how long?"

"I believe your Dad said until you are 18 and he is no longer legally responsible for your actions."

"No fair, you know Spanky will break the metal detector before then".

OK now I can add, trespassing and having security deliver a child to our door, Ghostbusting... to our Been There, Done That Database..... What Now?

Who we are

Mom and Dad, plus Teen1 and Teen2, the first of our blessings, sweet boys, adopted at ages 5 and 6. Followed shortly by Spanky, the chubbiest two year old boy, who looked like Spanky from our gang, with the biggest blue eyes and longest lashes. Followed way too closely by Blondie and Ducky. Blondie, our only daughter for the longest time, was three at adoption (and does not have blond hair), and Ducky was 18 months old and twice the size of Blondie. Boo, our baby girl, was adopted at age 4 months, our only true infant. To protect their identities, I will be using the names above when telling their stories. Going from zero children to five, in less than a year, was challenging to say the least. Once I thought if we ever got them all out of diapers, our life would be easy. Then, I thought, if we can just get them all past elementary school, sight words, spelling test, never ending homework, life will be easy. Now, we have decided, life will never be easy. Nor is it boring. Nor is it typical. I am not sure what you would call our life, our family... but we are somewhere between Eight is Enough and the Simpsons. The stories I will be telling are true. Just part of our daily lives.

Our days end with us wondering how we could have screwed up at parenting so much in one simple day.... and begin with us realizing we are not such bad parents.

Our days end with us wondering what we did wrong to deserve such constant stress, constant problems, constant phone calls with child related issues.... and begin with us waking up, wondering what we did right to deserve God trusting us with these six amazing kids. Realizing how wonderful our kids are and that they are just kids, who sometimes do really dumb things.

And just as God wakes us up... with this newly, rediscovered joy in parenting.... the phone rings... or the doorbell sounds.... and we think...."WHAT NOW".

And sometimes, sometimes, I get a kick out of a new negative experience.... one we haven't "been there, done that" before. As stressful as it is to hear that your child did something really dumb... it is also intriguing when one does something that no other child in our family has done in the past.

For instance, I thought our kids had been suspended from the school bus for virtually every offense possible... well until Ducky snuck Easter eggs on the bus and started a great boiled egg fight. That cost us two weeks of expensive gas driving him to and from school..... but.... none of our older kids had ever thought of that one!!!!

See what I mean, frustrating... but at the same time... a bit exciting to get called about something new.... not the same ole, so and so pushed so and so on the playground, or so and so refuses to participate in gym.... Something new, I had never even considered. I mean, who would even think of a boiled egg fight on a school bus. Creative kid. School gave him two weeks. I, because I really feel for poor bus drivers, gave him 1000 sentences and grounded to yard for same two weeks he was off the bus. Plus made him write a nice apology letter to bus driver and hand deliver with verbal apology. Yet isn't there something creative in his poor judgment? I mean four older siblings, who all did their own time suspended from the bus... and yet... never an Easter Egg fight. Makes me wonder... What now. And I can add a new one to my "been there, done that" database.