Three males huddle around the laptop watching women’s sabre fencing. Medal round coming up in moments.
I can live with one TV. But I am so happy we have two computers.
Update: American Women Sabre fencers rock! Tomorrow morning we’ll be watching the Men’s Epee – Bill’s weapon of choice from long ago. Exciting stuff.
I just downloaded about 120 blurry pictures of birds on our back deck.
Kids.
Here is a non-blurry photo from my camera. Subject matter must have been important to the photographer.
Of all the photos, this was only one that interested me. Uncle Tom and Mary. Bonding. Uncle Tom took more pictures, but then accidently deleted them all. This is the only one we took from his visit.
VBS is for Volumizing Body Size.
First there are the goodies in the adult lounge. Then there’s the fact that I’m spending 4 hours a day with the 3 and under crowd and a roomful of Goldfish, graham crackers and vanilla wafers. And they enjoy sharing.
Oh, and my morning run has been replaced with sitting and holding babies instead.
My scale is groaning.
VBS stands for Very Busy Schedule. Is it Friday yet?
My husband managed to find some time to blog about my beer drinking. I had intended to keep a log of my reactions to the beer, but it never made it from head to paper, so it is gone. It was funny while I remembered it.
I did tell Bill that he reminded me of going to the eye doctor as he questions me day to day about the flavors. “Is it better now…or now?” Although I can tell some difference, at this point it doesn’t matter. Bill and his brother were laughing at me as I described taking a sip in such a way as to avoid a direct hit on my taste buds.
Yesterday I had a playdate with Denise and her boys, which was nice. She got to hear me describe Bill’s expectant questioning after my nightly drink as akin to a new bridegroom’s pillow talk: “How was it, honey?” Oh, the performance anxiety!
Denise recommended black and tans, and said her husband thought I should skip all the light stuff and go straight for Guinness. It’s so good to have support and encouragement for my endeavors – from her and other friends, from friends’ husbands. Touching.
Now, off to see if the baby will let me take a shower.
Yesterday morning, Fritz walked out of the house, hands full with a fishing pole and sleeping bag. I chased after him, stopping at the door. “Bye, honey, I’ll see you in a week! I love you. I’ll miss you!” He barely looked back, but I could see him smile. “Bye, Mom.” Then he was gone.
We waited at the window to wave. As they drove off, Bill told me that Fritz said, “Yeah, Dad, she’s probably crying right now.”
So what if I was?
I did think about him all day long, hoping that he was doing okay and having fun. And missing him. In the late afternoon, I passed Billy rehydrating himself in the dining room. “How are you doing, sweetie?”
“Not too well,” he confessed. He then gave me a litany of all the things that were going wrong. Mosquitoes biting him, too hot, too sunny, etc etc etc.
I took his hand. “You miss Fritz, don’t you?”
He burst into tears. “It’s just not the same without him,” he cried. He went on about how he really wanted Fritz to come home, that he just couldn’t go the whole week without him. I told him we would all be fine, that we would have to manage, to comfort each other, to just get through this difficult time. Heavens! I thought. It’s a good thing he’s only camping!
Billy, comforted but still unhappy, went back to his water, and I checked on dinner.
A few minutes later, the phone rang. It was Fritz’s den leader. Despite checking in advance, the group got all the way to Goshen before being informed that the camp would close down due to an e Coli outbreak. Of course, everyone wants the kids to be safe, but it would have been nice to be spared all that driving.
I accused Billy, “Were you praying that Fritz would come home?”
He promised me that he wasn’t praying, just hoping. I told him that he needed to keep his happiness to himself, since Fritz would likely be extremely disappointed.
A bit later, Billy said, “Mom, I can’t remember Fritz.”
“Fritz? The guy you share a room with? The guy who’s been around since before you were born?”
“I know who he is, I just can’t remember what he is like.”
“Billy, he’s been gone one day! You saw him this morning! You’ve been apart from him for a day before.”
“When? When I was a baby? I don’t remember…”
Somehow, when Fritz got back after 9 pm, we were able to reintegrate him into our lives without too much effort. Yes, he’s disappointed, but I think he’s happy, too.
The LORD God said: “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a suitable partner for him.” Genesis 2:18
If you read any decent books on men-women relationships, they’ll tell you that men seek companionship. If you’re a guy, you might think, “Well, duh.” If you’re a woman, you might think, “But I hate taking him shopping.” The trick, of course, is in finding shared interests. Strangely enough, men don’t think the kids or the work around the house counts.
I am not capable of feigning interest in guns or cars or military history long enough to outlast my husband’s capacity to discuss them. Current events and politics and the Just War Doctrine are topics best left alone in this household. If you want to see tempers flaring and cast iron skillets flying, casually bring up capital punishment.
Cards? I handily beat him most of the time. Scrabble? He is so mean to me.
We do like to do things together. We’ve played tennis, and since we’re both bad, it’s okay. We ran in the Army Ten Miler together in 2006, and, except for the last mile or so, it was nice. Walking, hiking, biking, exploring, spelunking, going to museums, trying new restaurants, even window shopping and discussing ways to spend that lottery money we’ll never win are all things we can do together. But most of these activities require a babysitter or taking the children along.
So, we watch old movies instead.
But I think it would be really nice if we could have a common love. And I’m not so sure I want a husband who loves sewing…or reading Charlotte Mason…or pouring over cookbooks.
No, I need to cross over to the other side.
Assuming that some tastes are acquired, I am going to attempt to acquire the taste for beer this month. I resolve to drink a little bit of beer every day, hopefully working my way up to a whole glass by the end of the month. Bill is excited beyond measure and has been plotting for weeks the best program by which to introduce his favorite beverage. He writes, “If I do this right, I will have a lifetime drinking partner.” The prospect makes my heart go pitter-pat.
I have a feeling that this month’s resolution will make for some interesting supplemental blog posts. Wish me luck.
What is a New Month’s Resolution? Every month I look at where I need to focus my attention. Perhaps I’ve been procrastinating on certain chores. Perhaps I need to spend some extra time with one or more of the kids. Perhaps I’d like to try a new habit. New Month’s Resolutions are not grandiose plans to lose ten pounds or declutter the entire house or give up smoking (of course, I don’t smoke, but if I did, this would not be the venue in which I would give it up). New Month’s resolutions are short-term commitments; they are easily attained goals; they focus on what is needed right now, instead of what is best for a lifetime.
Do you have a new month’s resolution?
Fritz overheard me making arrangements for a playdate next week. When I got off the phone, he said, “Next week, Mom? But…but…I won’t be here!”
He’s going camping with Scouts.
I guess he thought we’d sit around and wait for him to come home before resuming our regularly scheduled lives.
He did laugh when I suggested he not roast any marshmallows or go on any hikes lest he have fun without us. It’s amazing to watch him mature right before my very eyes.
Really.
I just don’t know what else to say.
‘Designer Vaginas’ Blacklisted in Australia
“In one case we heard of a man bringing in a Brazilian pornographic photo and saying: `Make my girlfriend look like this.”’
Reit This Way 