A Gift from the Heart

Last night Sarah Katherine came in and woke me up. I'm so thankful I was too tired and groggy to fuss at her. She was SO excited! "Look at these Mama," she giggled. I couldn't help it; tears filled my eyes. In her hands was a pink glove--just a regular $1.50 pink glove from Target with the left pinky cut off and the hole sewn shut.

"There for Caroline for Christmas. I'm going to do several pairs. She's always wanted to wear gloves."

A gift from the heart--

Anything Goes

*WARNING* do not read this if you have any illusions that we are a family with tact adn decorum


Dinner the other night was proceeding very well--no spilled milk, no temper tantrums, no tears--it was all going very well. Dinner was winding down and Sarah Katherine was arching her back in her chair. I was trying to give her the "stop doing that glance" so that the conversation was not interrupted. Subtilty is not Sarah Katherine's style--"What are you looking at?" she asks in a not so quiet voice. "Nothing," I respond still trying to maintain decorum. "No really" Sarah Katherine continues and continues and continues. "Moooom, stop looking at me and not telling me why." Caroline is now nervously giggling; Sarah Katherine keeps asking questions, and Christopher, never one to be left out of the fray pipes in, "Why are you looking at her weird like that?" "It's nothing," I say trying to put an end to the conversation. Why oh why did I think that would happen?
"Well," says Caroline, "Mama is looking at Sarah Katherine's boobies because they're bigger than hers but it may just be because she's in her period." I'm speechless; Chris is speechless and thirteen shades of red (that's what happens when you only grow up with brothers.) Christopher, never speechless, says, "How do you know?"--Now you must put on your imagination googles--Christohper is still talking, William is giggling, and Caroline and Sarah Katherine are trying to answer questions as though it's a health class. "It's easy to know," says Caroline, "I heard Mama and SK talking about being in periods." Simultaneously William says, "Is that what all those wrappers are for? I wondered what was in those." Sarah Katherine decides she will go get an example of feminine hygeine to show William so he no longer has to be curious, Chris is still trying to figure out how to extrapolate himself from the table, and Christopher is pretending to be trapped in something hitting against the "ceiling" shouting, "Help I'm in a period and I can't get out."
I have no idea how to prevent this now PG-13 dinner from quickly descending through the ratings--ah, the one tool a mother always has, "if ya'll get up right now, I'll clean the kitchen."
Everyone scattered---

If only I'd had two brothers, I'd know these things

The boys came down this morning in their uniforms, and Christopher's khaki shorts just looked different. So I asked him, "whose shorts are those?" "Well they were in my drawer." See in our house we have squatter's rights on clothes, if it's in your drawer whether or not you incorrectly put it there, it's yours. I pass over this comment and say, "you need to pull them up. They're hanging half way down your hiney." (notice my word choice)
Christopher: I don't like wearing them higher. It makes my butt look big. (notice his word choice)
Me: They can't possibly make your bottom look big. You have your father's bottom--no bottom.
Christopher: No Mama, I have yours big. (Now I'm trying not to be insulted)
Me: Christopher, you're butt (I've lost all decorum) is not big. (And I silently vow not to eat anything for the next week so mine won't be either)
Christopher: Yes it is. William, come here and look isn't my butt big?
William: (lifting Christopher's shirt) no not so much
Me: This is weird ya'll are looking at each other's butts.
Christopher: Mama, that's what boys do.
William: And when we play sports we even touch them.

A Night to Remember

A couple of weeks ago we had an exceptionally long weekend. Many games, ballet performances, birthday parties, and out of town guests. By Sunday evening we were all exhausted (and not in the most pleasant of moods). I just didn't have the energy to cook dinner, so I suggested we ecided to go to the new Mexican restaurant just up the street from our neighborhood. Cheers erupted and we set off. Although everyone wanted to go the arguing began as we were getting in the car. Who was going to sit where? Who was singing too loudly? Who smelled? We arrived to find there there would be a two hour wait--are you kidding? We couldn't get along for the 5 minute ride to the restaurant. I wasn't waiting 2 hours. So back into the car and shouts of where we should go. Chris looked at me and suggested a tried and true Mexican restaurant just down the street. This was met by boos and "we don't want Mexican" (I guess they only wanted new Mexican whatever that means). In some of our better parenting exhaustion Chris looks at me and says, "forget it we're not going out". I groan, "I have nothing to fix for dinner." "They can starve" responds Chris. Right, their blood sugar is already so low they're mean as snakes; they're all emotional from the weekend; and they're all about to eat their left arms because they're so hungry, but not feeding them dinner will fix everything. In a moment of clarity I respond, "We're the parents go to El Tarasco." Pouting begins, but I think they semi believed we wouldn't feed them, so no verbal assaults came.

We enter the restaurant which was not crowded at all; we're immediately seated directly in front of the Mexican man playing the guitar and singing country and 80's hits. As the chips were consummed, the mood began to lift and we even had a few moments of humor. These were punctuated by Christopher "dancing" at the table. The guitar playing man seems to be amused by the children, and little did we know he could hear every word we were saying. He begins to play Johnny Cash which of course means that our whole family must sing. Eventually he stops singing, but we don't notice just keep going--until one of the children notices and starts telling Chris and I to stop singing because we are so embarrassing. I suppose the children thought they were some modern version of the Von Trapp Family singers--they didn't think they were embarrassing at all.

I really do try to not embarrass my children. I was trying especially hard by this point because some of Christopher's middle school friends came in. But, and this was not my fault, Friends in Low Places begins. Really I can't help it--I have to sing. Chris joins in and I truly believe my children may die of humiliation. But they don't; instead they begin to sing along and we begin laughing and singing at the top of our lungs. I think to myself, "these are the times I want the children to remember." The song ends and Christopher whispers (not very quietly)to Sarah Katherine, "I hope they don't play the macarena or Mama may dance on the tables like she and Aunt Meredith did at the Olympics in Atlanta." Why oh why did we take pictures of that? I respond, no I won't dance this time. Sarah Katherine in her teen wisdom eyes my one margarita glass and assures Christopher I probably won't. Again, why did we keep those pictures? Christopher says, "well I would for a dollar."

Remember the guitar playing man who can hear us even though we don't think he can? You guessed it, the macarena begins and true to his word, Christopher stands up in front of the entire restaurant and dances. The cooks come out of the kitchen, the other patrons begin taking pictures, and I am laughing so hard tears are running down my face. A night to remember Growing Up Doyle.

I'm so glad we didn't make them starve that night!

Double meanings

We took the boys to a sports bar for dinner Saturday night. The girls were out and we love watching football with the boys. Auburn was playing UK--suffice it to say my boys respectfully dislike UK with every fiber in their body--that being said, eating in a bar with ALL UK fans should tone them down. It doesn't. They were cheering madly; with every ugly look they received, they cheered even more loudly. There was one particularly menacing looking table who I watched closely. I saw their eyes glaze over and realized they were no longer seeing two young boys, but rather the enemy. I haven't been in a fight since fifth grade, and I think Chris topped out in middle school, so I'm pretty sure we were sunk. So I did what every mother does who wants to quickly remove danger, I changed the subject.

I decided to ask Christopher about cotillion--Here's how the conversation goes
ME: Christopher have they taught you to shag yet at Cotillion?

Christopher and William look at me, turn red, and bust out laughing.

ME: No, I'm serious. Shagging is tons of fun. I love to shag (Boys under the table--Chris keeps saying, "Katherine" but I ignore him because I really want to know) Christopher, seriously you've got to learn to shag. All girls love to shag. I'm from the south, we shag all the time. If you learn to shag well you will be quite popular with the girls.

Christopher and William are about to pass out their laughing so hard. I have no idea why I'm not questioning their laughter. I'm thinking about shagging--Chris is still trying to interrupt me, and the waiter walks up.

WAITER: Ya'll are having a good time.

WILLIAM: My mom's talking about shagging. (Waiter now convulses in laughter as he steps away)

ME: Boys, I'm serious you should really learn to shag; I love to shag; Daddy shags with me sometimes. He's gotten better. We could show you how.

CHRIS: Katherine, have you seen Austin Powers?

ME: No

CHRIS: The boys don't think you're talking about dancing. (Now the light bulb comes on and I turn red--waiter walks back up)

CHRISTOPHER: My mom wants to show me how to shag (Waiter again convulses with laughter)

WAITER: Ya'll have made my night. If I didn't have to get home I'd pull up a chair.

And that was the end of our evening out. Maybe I should have taken my chances with the UK fans.

Two Languages

Per usual, we are running from place to place trying to fit every one's activities and social life into a very short 24 hours with only 2 drivers. I was meeting Chris at the Bishop's dinner; Sarah Katherine was off to ballet and then a football game; Christopher was being picked up for cotillion, and the babies were staying home and watching a movie. As I was leaving, it occurred to me I had not planned a dinner for the children. Oops! I'm frantically trying to decide what's appropriate to wear, not too stuffy, not too revealing--you know an issue that will continue as I continue in this vocation. (Gangan told me I was not to be a dowdy priest!) "Ah ha!" I think to myself. "I'll let the children order pizza. They'll think it's fun and I don't look like the mother who forgot I had to feed my children--win win! Yeah me!" But I realize I don't have time and I'm not certain they've ever ordered their own so I ask, "Christopher, do you know how to order a pizza to be delivered?" (I know he's 13; he should be able to,but we don't do it often and with 4 children I can be a little controlling--makes things go smoother)Christopher looks at me aghast eyes rolling and clearly irritated, "Yes ma'am you just say, 'yo, bring me a pizza to my crib quick like.'" (Remember I'm in a frantic hurry, so not easily amused.) I look at him with my best be serious I'm your mother and this is not time for a joke look. He sheepishly says, "I know Mama, now that I'm in cotillion I have to say, 'Yo, excuse me mister, would you be so kind as to bring me a pizza to my lovely crib?'"

Thank goodness for online ordering!

Please say gender

You just never know where the dinner conversation at our house will lead. And in a restaurant, well let's just say there are still no boundaries! Saturday night we were having dinner out at a very nice restaurant in the mountains of Virginia. It was outside, so there was some background noise. This of course meant the children all had to increase their volume allowing every person on the patio to hear enough of our conversations to wonder what kind of parents we are. Here's a snippet of one:

Christopher: We found a cat the other day.

Me: What sex?

Caroline: Can we please not talk about sex? (This was of course the loud comment) I much prefer to say "gender".

Christopher: Gender--that sounds like a fancy New York hot dog.

William: So we eat different genders?

I Try Not to Be a Nerd

UVA took it to the Tar Heels last night in Chapel Hill--it's awesome! One of my smack talking Tar Heel friends did a lot of smack talking yesterday on facebook. So, this morning I comment on his post with, did you say, "not in my house?" My 12 year old son is horrified, "Mama,you don't use quotes when you're talking basketball smack!"

Really? All we wanted was a clean room

Because I'm in seminary, our family has some interesting conversations (as though we needed something to lead us down the road of interesting conversations)! This J-term I've been taking Feminist and Womanist Ethics. A great and challenging class--lots of discussion around the dinner table.

Saturday Chris told Caroline she needed to clean her room before she could go out to play. Caroline, "Daddy you are being very patriarchal and that is a sexist request!"