My little boy, I mean man, I mean boy...

Spencer is a pretty funny little dude. 

 Many times when I recount things that he has said, I know that people aren't sure if I am exaggerating.  I assure you that I am not. 

Then even if people believe me, it does lose a little something in translation. 
So please know that even as I type, I am aware that no matter how hard I try, I can never fully capture the silly nuttiness that is Spencer.

One of the funny things he does these days is distinguish himself as being a "man" or a kid."  And of course, it always suits his needs.  For example, I am fussing at them to stop acting up in a store.  He looks up at me with puppy dog eyes and says, "Mom, we are just kids.  Kids having fun." - which momentarily makes me question my fussing.  Am I being too hard on them?  They are just kids, after all.  WAIT A SECOND!  Then I snap back to reality and realize that they can still be "just kids" without Spencer giving Jessa a piggy back ride while she pushes every button on every toy on the entire row while singing "My Diamond Sword."  They can be "just kids."  Just well-behaved kids.

On some days, he will want to be "manly."  "Boy am I hungry mom, I need a manly snack."  Then 20 minutes later, I ask him to kill a spider, you know, something "manly."  Then he comes back with "Manly?  No, mom, I a not manly.   I am 'kidly.'  I can't do that!"

He recently started subscribing to a magazine.  He thinks there are certain times and places that "men" need to be able to read their magazines.  He is relieved to finally always have a magazine to take with him into the certain place at that certain time to read his magazine.  You know, like "men" do?

As we all sit down to supper some nights, he will say, "I am starving!  Hurry up and say the blessing.  Mom!  A man's gotta eat!"  He does indeed.

Now this last one makes me giggle every time I think about it. 
At supper the other night, he said, out of the blue,
"Mom.  Remember when we lived at Scott?" 
Of course.
"And I was in Kindergarten?" 
Yes. 
"And I was in Mrs. K's class?" 
With you so far.
"And I had a locker?" 
Yep, still tracking.

"Did you know I had to share my locker with someone else?" 
Sure, I guess so.
"I did not like that."
Um, OK, what a random thought over tacos. 
I wonder why you didn't like sharing a locker, son. 
Please, do tell.
 
"Well, a man needs his own space." 
(trying not to laugh) 












"But don't worry, Mom.  I don't mind sharing here.  I mean, we do have 3 hooks."

Socks

Socks.  You need them.  You like them.  They keep your feet warm.  The can help you express your style.  They keep blisters away.  They can aid in the prevention of stinky feet.

I always buy the kids way more socks that they need.  The have a habit of losing them.  They take them off all over the place: the den, the kitchen, the car, the front yard, the back patio.

Last week, Jessa's drawer was full of clean pairs of socks.
Tuesday morning, when it was time to get ready for school, she was in her room getting ready.  And she hollered to me, "Mom, I don't have any clean socks!"  I was taken aback.  Less than a week ago, she had ALL clean socks.  I went into her room and saw this:

Looks pretty barren in there, huh?  She was right.  But where could they all have gone?  She has 50 pairs (I am guessing, but I am sure it is close to that.).  It has only been 4 days.  What is up?!

I checked Spencer's drawer.

Hmmm...  Jessa's should look like that, too.

I checked her dirty clothes.

AHA!

FULL of socks.

I asked her what happened.  She explained that she had gotten out of the shower and put on socks.  Then she walked around and decided that those socks were now too dirty for her bed.  So she got a new pair.  And then she went into the kitchen.  And that dirtied the new pair.  So she got another new pair.  And this went on all of the 4 day weekend.  And now it is Tuesday, time for school, and no clean socks.  Luckily there were clothes that I had folded and not had a chance to put away yet.  Those socks got us through the week.

Now it is the weekend.

I am doing laundry again.

Guess who is helping me wash socks??

And now I am considering keeping her socks in the strong box...

Swiffer: Not just for cleaning anymore

I love Swiffer!  I have loved Swiffer since they first came out with just the dry pads.  They are awesome for dusting and cleaning the floors.  I love Swiffer wet pads, too!  Perfect for cleaning up small sticky messes which shockingly occur quite often at my house.  (and sadly, it isn't usually the fault of my kids.  OK, fine, you can still tell what I had for lunch by looking at my shirt...)  I also LOVE those 360 dusters.  They are perfect for cleaning the air conditioner vent in my den.  AND the kids think they are cool, thus inspiring them to help around the house.  All awesome!  I cannot get on board with the Wet Jet.  The kids used to "help" Bay clean his floors at Scott with his.  Way messier than it was worth with my helpers.  But overall, I am a Swiffer super fan!

And now there is Lee and Morty Kauffman. I love those two!  The commercials are just adorable!  Jessa and Spencer even stop fast forwarding through commercials when they see Lee and Morty...  Watching them just makes you smile!

BUT even with all of those amazing things that I LOVE about Swiffer, I have not even told you what I love THE MOST.  Wanna know what my favorite part is?? 
Bug killing.

Please bear with me as I meander to my point -
So I used to be super scared of bugs.  I would scream and call for my Momma or Daddy to come and kill them.  Then I grew up and went away to college, and darn if my parents couldn't drive an hour and a half every time I saw a tiny spider.  I had to get over it, mostly.  I would throw a shoe or a book on the bug and move on.  This practice continued after I got married.  In Germany, David would come home from a couple of weeks in the field, and there would be heavy books all over the floor.  See, I mastered the killing of the bugs, but not the disposing of the carcass.  How gross!  David would shake his head, pick up the books, and clean up the nasty dried bug remains.

Once the kids were born, I had to get over it.  I mean, I can't raise them to be afraid, can I?  Plus, I need to be their hero.  And also, I may have run out of books during year long deployments...

So now, I can do it!  Do I like it? No!  Do I have to psych myself up and sometimes bite my tongue to keep from screaming like a girl?  Absolutely.  I even bought a fly swatter! 

I can smack them and keep moving!  I am tough!  The other morning, I pulled back the shower curtain at 6 AM and saw a ginormous cricket.  I calmly turned around, went into my closet, put on a boot, went back to the bathroom and stepped on it.  Did I think, "Man I wish David was here!"?  Yes, but the truth is, even if he were not deployed, he probably would have already been at PT.

Now.  What does this long, wordy story have to do with Swiffer??  Well, I can step on things, throw books on things, and swat things, but what happens if the bug is on the ceiling??  A wily roach?  Or even worse a wasp or hornet??  Swiffer to the rescue!

 The Swiffer mop is PERFECTION when it come to killing things to high to reach.  This morning, I went into the kitchen.  There was a HUGE hornet on the ceiling.  My initial response was "Oh crap!  How did that get in here?" and "How fast can I move to a new house?"  But once I got my bearings, I walked into the laundry room to retrieve my Swiffer mop.  I stealthily crept back into the kitchen and slowly raised my Swiffer mop to the ceiling. 

This is a dramatic reenactment...  I would never risk not properly disposing of the enemy by pausing for a photo op!

And I squashed it!  I may have stood there for 6 minutes or so to make sure that it was really dead.  Then I lowered the Swiffer mop and disposed of the carcass.  Just like that!

I know what you are thinking.
 Isn't she clever? 
Isn't she brave? 
Boy, does she have nerves of steel. 
You're right, of course.
I am pretty much a super hero.
Off to clean my cape in a hornet free house!

Pssst. What's the password?

Passwords are a part of our every day life these days, right?  Most people have to keep a list to keep up with all of them.  And then the Army makes you change it on a regular basis.  But with technology the way that it is, passwords are here to stay.

Not too long after both children figured out computers, they started watching our fingers as we entered passwords to get them to places they wanted to go.  Sometimes, we would consult them if we were having trouble remembering because they knew them so well.  They know Bay's passwords and May's passwords.  And of course, Jessa had a little bout with passwords several years ago ...  Now, our iTunes passwords are TOP SECRET, though, and we make them turn their heads before we enter it.  Don't need to pay for any more premium Angry Birds games, thank you very much.

And at school, both kids have to remember several logins and several passwords and even a pin code for lunch.  So one would think that sweet Spencer had this all figured out, right??

Well, he came to me a few days ago, all forlorn.

"Mom," he said, "I am locked out of my computer."  I was confused, how in heaven's name could this child be locked out of his computer.  He doesn't have it password protected.  It is HIS.  It never leaves the house.  "Why would it need a password?" I thought to myself.  And then I looked at my sweet child's sad face and asked him, "Son, when did your computer get a password?"  He replied, "Oh, I put one on it."  So I assumed that it was one of the passwords that he has seen us use before.  I typed a few.  They didn't work.  I asked him, "OK, Spence, what do you think your password is?"  And my smart, creative little boy did not bat an eye nor did he crack a smile.  As serious as he could be, he said, "Well, I am pretty sure that it is JaguarPajamaPants."  Um, well, I was not expecting that!  So I tried hard not to laugh because he was as solemn as a judge.  "Spencer, why in the world do you think that would be your password?  What would have made you pick that?"  And he looked up at me, and all matter-of-fact-like  said, "Well, it has always been my dream to see a jaguar wearing pajamas."  There you go.  It was as simple as that.

I was trying to Google this and find a solution.  David was attempting to help me long distance.  The other night, I even had him lay on my bed with his eyes closed and try and remember.  I was trying to pull a Cliff Huxtable making Vanessa retrace her steps and helping her find her report.  (spoiler alert: it was in the freezer.)  And he said, "Well, it used to be MagicOfMagic.  But that was before I changed my user name to Dog Lover 152."  I asked, "Honey, why DogLover152?  Were DogLover1 through DogLover151 taken??"  "Oh no," he said, "I just like the number 152."

Oh, DogLover152!  What is your password??

 So I asked him for other ideas.  "Maybe it had a 5 on the end or maybe it was 55 or wait, 15." he said.  I tried that.  All three.  He said, "Try, YayMeBooYou33."  That wasn't it, either.  In the end, retracing his steps didn't help.  I am no Bill Cosby.  So, I had to take this expensive paper weight across the street to my computer fixer.  I felt like I was giving up, but with Spencer's little brain, we may NEVER think of it.  I am sure David would have already figured it out, but I am not a computer wizard like he is.  After about 4 minutes and $19.38, the computer was unlocked and the nice computer man made me the admin, and I am the only one who knows the password.

And FYI, even after I told him NOT to put a password on ANYTHING else or he would become a sweet little Amish boy who only plays with wooden toys, he sheepishly informed me that he had put a password on his iPod.

I took a deep breath to keep from being angry.
"What is it, son?" I asked.
"Oh, Mom, don't worry.  It is really easy to remember," he said.
"Spencer, what is it?!" I implored.
"PopTartCode45" he replied.
 

Good thing he is cute...

 

Oh. My.

"Hey, mom?"
"Yes, Spencer."
"Maybe the password was JaguarPajamaShirt or it could have been JaguarPajamaNightCap?"
"Good night, Spencer."

My Drama Queen

My Jessa is precious to me.  She is silly and funny and smart and beautiful.  She can be sweet.  She can be nasty.  And I love her more than life.  She makes every day fun.  Fun and challenging because oh boy is this child dramatic!

She is our drama queen FOR SURE.  She worries and makes mountains out of mole hills on a daily hourly minute to minute basis.  When Jessa is happy, all is right with the world.  And not just her world, but everyone who is in her immediate area.  Birds sing, flowers bloom, the sun shines.  But should anything, and I mean ANYTHING not go her way, heaven help us!

(^sign found here)

To illustrate this point, I will tell you about our day.
It is Labor Day.  No school!  Yay!

We slept in, and had a lovely morning.  We were getting ready to go to a friend's house for a cook out later in the day.  I, being the on-the-ball mom already packed a bag with bathing suits, changes of clothes, towels, sunscreen, bug spray, hand sanitizer (for Jessa, of course), etc.  When Jessa saw which towel I packed.  The world almost ended.  It was not the towel she wanted.  It was not the right towel.  How could I have been so wrong??  She proceeded to remove the towel that I had packed (on the bottom of the bag) and take it back to the linen closet and carefully select the perfect towel.  I love repacking bags!

Next, I suggested she wear her Crocs since they are perfect for pool and creek playing.  She looked at me like I had two heads.  Her Crocs?  Her CROCS?!  "MOM!  They are outside and they most definitely have bugs and spider webs in them.  Spider Webs!"  So I told her we could clean them.  She had to get a paper towel to touch them and bring them in for me to wash.  In the sink.  With soap and HOT water.  Then hand dry.  She inspected them and thankfully they passed muster.  But she didn't want to wear them.  She wanted to pack them.  But not in the bag with everything else.  In their own bag. *sigh*
(So she wore her "high heels" instead)

Later they were swimming.  She was jumping off the diving board over and over.  She was having fun.  But several times, when her head would pop out of the water and she would holler "Oh My!  I was not breathing!"  Well, yes, when you HOLD YOUR BREATH, you are not breathing.  The next time her head popped up, "I almost didn't make it!"  Luckily, the near death experiences did not prevent her from continuing to jump into the pool over and over and over.

 Before supper, they were playing in the creek.  She slipped on some rocks.  She did scrape her knees and her ankle.  And she had a pretty big cut on her shin.  But Spencer came tearing up to where we were sitting to tell me.  Everyone briefly got worried until I explained that it was just Jessa, and it probably was not that serious.  By the time I got to her, she was limping along.  I asked her if we needed to amputate it.  She was not amused.  As we walked into the house to clean up the wounds, she sighed and said, "Mom, I don't think I am going to be able to go to school tomorrow."   That's our Jessa!

And finally, after supper, she limped over to play on a swing set.  She was barely gone a minute when she limped back.  She saw spider eggs.  She cannot be near spider eggs.  And once we got home, she was in tears because she knew those spider eggs were all over her.  She hurried into the shower and used 2 soaps and 2 shampoos, just to be sure.

And as she was heading to bed, after changing her bandages, she hollered back, "Can you at least write me a note to excuse me from PE?"

Where's Stewart?

We have been married for 14 years.  We have been on active duty in the Army for 14 years.  Thus, we have just completed our 9th military move.  We always operate a little differently each time we move.  This time, we chose to let the children have a fun 2 weeks at Camp May and Bay while we packed and cleaned and loaded and unloaded and unpacked.  They have a short summer anyway, and I wanted them to have some fun.  We also opted to let Stewart stay in GA with May and Bay as well.  I have heard too many horror stories of frightened cats getting packed in a box or hiding in the underside of furniture.

After the allotted 2 week period, I couldn't wait to see the babies and Stewart!  I brought them all back to the new house.  The house that was full of boxes, except for 3 spaces that were all ready.  Jessa's room, Spencer's room, AND Stewart's area were unpacked and set up.  The new baby gate was in place to keep Stewart safe from Max, who wants to eat him.  So he will spend the days safely in the back of the house, and at night, when the dogs are in bed, he will have the run of the house.  Everything was as it should be.  But still, I always worry about all of the furries adjusting to a new home.  And I hate the "unsettled" feeling that I have when there are still boxes everywhere.

I needn't have worried about Stewart.  Each morning for the first few days, we had a great time trying to find him.  He was always somewhere in the house, in an odd spot.  He LOVES all the empty shelves and boxes and oddly placed furniture.  He may not wear a hat, glasses, and a red and white striped shirt, but we are enjoying searching for him way more than silly old Waldo!
Here are a few shots of the cutest places we have found him. 

"Empty bookshelves?  So comfy!"

"Sideways couch?  Yes, please!"

"Desk, smesk!  I need to rest!"

"Now this is the best spot.  I kind of like the top bunk!"

Moving is such fun, wouldn't you agree??

The big spoon

On my birthday, back in November, I wanted to go to O'Charley's for supper.  David wasn't in town, so it was just the kids and me.  I felt sure that I could talk them into going wherever I wanted.  It was MY day, after all.  So I was talking all week about wanting to go to O'Charley's.  I love the potato soup, the sweet tea, and of course caramel pie for dessert.  The perfect birthday meal, at least that is what I thought.

No, Spencer was adamant that we should go to Red Robin (that is HIS favorite place to celebrate HIS birthday).  I was still pushing for O'Charley's until my awesome friend Tricia delivered O'Charley's caramel pie to my door during the day.  So no matter what, I was getting my pie.  At that point, I let go of my plan and decided to go with the flow.

So we headed to Red Robin where my son wanted to take me for my birthday supper. 
We walked in and before the hostess could ask us how many, Spencer announced that it was my birthday.  She laughed and seated us.
The waiter approaches our table and before he could even introduce himself, Spencer made sure that he knew that it was my birthday.  He laughed and went to get our drinks.

I was a healthy mix of embarrassed by his calling so much attention to me and touched that he was so happy to celebrate with me.

We got situated in our booth and the kids brought out the items that they had packed to bring. 
(They grab things as we leave the house.  They always act like we are never coming home again.)
Jessa unpacked her La La Loopsy friends and got them all settled.  I believe they ordered an omelet.

 Oh, and her ponies, of course.  Because what is more fun than ponies!

Then Spencer started playing with what he brought.
I was puzzled. 
But then again, this is the kid that wears one blue rubber dish glove to the store and carries a soup ladle to a meeting.
I don't question him.
And I was happy because the thing he brought blended right in with some other items on our table.

I mean, the large spoon he brought immediately bonded with his Red Robin knife and Red Robin fork.

We all ate our suppers.  And Spencer kept a close eye on the kitchen throughout the meal.

Then, the moment he has been waiting for, a group of Red Robin employees headed for our table to sing and clap and call attention to me.
As soon as they finished singing and deposited my ice cream, it all became clear to me.
Spencer did not want to make my birthday special.
Spencer did not want to help me celebrate.
Spencer did not randomly choose a strange item to take to supper with us.
Nope.
It was all premeditated.
He had a plan.
The kid brought the big spoon.

Happy Birthday to ME!