Oh Caroline

I'd like to say that dinner was typical last night, and I guess it was--just not typical in your Leave It to Beaver kind of way. No, the conversation was pretty much typical Doyle which is more PG 13 than G. Caroline had been talking about walking through the lingerie section of Dillards--of course she calls it the boobie department. In an effort to be a semi grownup, I suggested we call body parts by their correct names. So then we had to listen to a litany of body parts--scrotum, sac, well you get the picture.

I thought the conversation was moving in the more mature direction when Christopher mentioned that his moles had gone away. He's been very concerned about them and the possibility of cancer. While I have complete empathy for this fear, I have also been trying to down play it. Me, "Well that's good, I guess it means they weren't cancer." Christopher, "No Mama, it means the cancer has gone into my skin. You're going to be so sorry if something happens to me." Chris, "You don't have cancer." Christopher, "Keep telling yourself that when you're lowering the casket." So I respond, "Christopher I'll make an appointment, or we can do it at your next check up."

Caroline, "Don't you mean his next puberty check?"

I was feeling good

This past week I spent a great deal of time in the car--269 miles in four days to be exact. Lots of togetherness time with the children, particularly Caroline. And here is our recent exchange as she sat behind me.

Caroline: "Mama, are you just letting your hair turn naturally gray now or are you going to keep coloring it?"

Me: "I'm going to keep coloring it for awhile longer. I'm getting it cut and colored at my next appointment."

Caroline: "when is it?"

Me: "Sept. 26"

Caroline: "You may want to see if you can move that appointment up."

That Would Be Cheaper

Caroline got a new puppy for Christmas. She's trying to take good care of him, and I'm trying to teach her to take care of him without me telling her what to do.

Last week at dinner Caroline was very proud. "Mama, I washed Bobby today. He was covered in mud. But I didn't get it all; I need to work on it some more." I was so proud of her. "Maybe I can help you. Where is the mud you couldn't get?"
Caroline, "It's underneath him. There are two balls of mud. I pulled and pulled and he kept whining and wiggling, so I stopped. I think I might get some scissors and cut them out."

The boys start laughing hysterically while at the same time trying to cover themselves. "Caroline," sputters Christopher, "Those are his testicles."

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!