Exposed

Today while I was innocently sitting on my parents porch, my mom pulled into the drive way, and walked over to me, shaking her finger and saying, "We have a problem."  Uh, yeah. To put it mildly. She handed me a piece of paper.
"When the boys were at Sharon's they were so good. They stopped to visit Grandpa [at the nursing home] and while they were there Gabe drew a picture, which was immediately hung up on the wall next to Great Grandpa's bed. Today, " my dear sweet mother continued, "I took that picture down."
This is what my eight year old son drew. What was hanging next to my grandfather's bed for two weeks.

(Photo has been censored.)

It was a conversation I wasn't planning on having with my son for at least a couple more years.

Holiday Hilarity Part IV: It's in the Bag

For John's birthday this year I had a silly whim and decided to wrap all of his gifts in Victoria's Secret bags.  Although I'm sure the idea came upon me due to a lack of wrapping paper, it did strike me as a really funny idea, so when he came home on his birthday to a giant pile of pink bags, varying in size (hmmm, I like to think ALL of my Victoria's Secret bags are small!), I, for one, was giggling.
When Katy announced on Christmas Eve that she had decided to wrap all of her gifts to her friends in Victoria's Secret bags, the idea began to seem less appropriate. However, parenting -especially teenagers- is a constant tension of choosing which "battles" to fight, so I let it slide. An additional preface to the upcoming horror story is that sometime during the advent season, my oldest daughter and I had discussed the old tradition of including an orange in people's stockings. Katy was horrified, having never eaten an orange, and also having embraced wholeheartedly our family tradition of chocolate gold-wrapped coins that are in the very bottom of her stocking each year.
John and I narrowly escaped having to leave church during the Christmas Eve service this year due to our uncontrollable giggling; when the last song ended we heaved a collective sigh and stood up, ready to wrestle our kids into the car, into their pjs, and into their beds so we (I) could finish wrapping gifts (yes, I did spring for buying wrapping paper this time around).  We were just turning to collect our coats when a young man, a friend of Katy's that we are fairly well acquainted with, came over to us, a Victoria's Secret Bag in his hand,a frown on his face.  He quickly approached John, my formidable looking husband.
"Um, your daughter gave me this, " he said,"and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to have it."
He held out the bag to John, who peered into it as his eyebrows shot up to somewhere above his hairline.  Katy's friend continued to hold the bag out to John, whose expression was vacillating between confusion and horror. 
I rushed over, taking in the situation, knowing Katy thought it would be funny to use the lingerie bags as a joke, but not realizing she was going to pass them out IN CHURCH.  Peeking in the pink bag, my legs just about gave out - lying at the bottom was a banana and a small container of clear gel.
"That better be hand sanitizer!" my husband thundered.
It was. Katy had decided since we didn't have any oranges she would pass out bananas, and then apparently decided to throw in anything else she found lying around the house, since due to a lack of funds she hadn't actually bought gifts for anyone.
Her poor friend was trying to give the bag to John, probably worried he was about to get his arms ripped off, and I rushed away to try to stop my innocent daughter from handing out any more of her holiday "packages".  I found her outside, and did my best to navigate the conversation without sounding like some kind of pervert.  She gave me a blank look, and said, "Well, we didn't have any oranges, what was I supposed to do?"
Next year we will be assembling gifts together, maybe those jars full of cookie ingredients.

communion of the saints

This morning during the church service we had communion, and as usual Gabe and Zach participated, with many whispered prayers and reassurances that while the crackers were indeed delicious, they also were paying attention.  Usually communion is a good time to reinforce some basic tenants of our faith, and today Gabe had a couple of questions regarding the "bread" and "wine" (crackers and grape juice).  After explaining as quietly as I could about the juice, I went on to his next question, the gist of which was Jesus as the bread of life.  We went back and forth for a minute, all the while I was delighted at how astute my son appeared as he considered these weighty matters. Almost done, I continued my explanation, then wrapped things up, or so I thought. As I settled back in my seat Gabe's eyes got wider and wider.
"Jesus was made of wheat?!"
I had a little more explaining to do.

Holiday Hilarity Part III: the Godseys get the Giggles

Every year by Christmas Eve I come to the sad re-realization that I am a procrastinator.  The nights leading up to  Christmas involve staying up into the wee hours, wrapping gifts, making lists, baking, etc. Throw in a big pair of red pants and forget to wax, and I'd be just like St. Nick himself. This year was particularly grueling as we had a newborn and I was working, so sleep was precious and hard to come by. Our tradition has always been Mexican food, followed by the Christmas Eve service, with Uncle Bill who was always up for the holiday. We missed him this year as he celebrated with his  new family in Texas. But I digress.
We invited my friend Lara and her parents and siblings to attend the service with us this year, and it was the first time I met some of them.  Taking up two rows, my growing family and her grown up family all were able to sit together on the right side of the church, and things were going fairly well until Rilla had her bottle. At just seven weeks, Rilla was still needing to be burped throughout her feedings, much to her brother's delight.  Just as someone (I still don't know this lovely lady's name, and plan to never find out) stepped up to the mic and began a mellow, melodic rendition of "Mary, did you know?", my baby burped, which led to Zach squeaking out a giggle.  In the reverent silence, Rilla's burp rang out like a ram's horn, but for some reason she couldn't stop.  Burp after echoing burp, my tiny daughter continued, rivaling the song for length and volume. Zach was beside himself, with big sidesplitting giggles, and John and I were elbowing for all we were worth, one on each side.
At this point, the unthinkable happened. John started to giggle.  In my sleep-deprived state, it was a useless battle, and I gave in as well. So there we sat, on Christmas Eve, listening to a meaningful, spiritual hymn, surrounded by guests we had invited to experience the beauty of the evening, laughing like demented hyenas. Great big tears rolled down my cheeks as I tried without success to somehow mute my laughter, Zach's giggles, Rilla's burps, and John's cackling.  Lara's family sent bewildered looks our way, then trained their eyes forward in an attempt at politely ignoring our insanity.  The song ended, and so did the burping. And giggling. But my face stayed red long after it was all over.

In the Eye of the Beholder

John has worked in a nursing home for many years now, and often the boys and I stop in to say hello, smile and hug some of the residents, and occasionally visit  the giant fish tank up on the fourth floor.  This last activity was especially popular with the boys when they were a bit younger, so we took many elevator rides up to the fourth floor with Daddy  when they were around ages four and five.
One time we were just finished staring at the fish (really, watching three fish swim about for five minutes was somehow the highlight of their young lives, which is thrilling to any mother who is searching for cheap field trips - a nursing home and a fish tank - I may be considered a skinflint, but it worked!) and were headed down the hallway towards the elevator when I spotted a resident parked in the hall in her wheelchair.  Whenever we encountered folks in the hallway, I would encourage the boys to say hello, knowing what cheer small boys can bring to the elderly.  Gabe gallantly walked by with a polite wave and equally polite greeting.  Zach veered straight over to the lady, who was admittedly a bit hunched over, most likely about a hundred years old, kind of bent, with one eye open, and did a quick wave, while exclaiming,
"Hello, little monster!"
Praying she was hard of hearing (eek, is that even allowed?) I was quick to grab my youngest son by the shoulders and steer him into the elevator before he could elaborate.

Easter Sunrise Surprise

Every year our family attends the Easter sunrise service at church; it's a lovely way to celebrate the day, and being held in the field across the street from church, it's truly beautiful. Although casual (when Easter falls in March is it especially casual, as I have to bundle everyone up in snow suits, blankets and boots, usually on top of their pajamas), last year Katy and her best friend tried their hand at "dressing up" for the occasion, and nearly put the me through the roof when they came out of her bedroom at 5:30 in the morning dressed in:
Short colorful dresses
over metallic leggings
with tall boots
colorful scarfs, hats,
and on top of everything
A red velvet  hooded cape and
Gabe's Darth Vader Star Wars hooded cape.

All ready to go,  and with NO IDEA why I made them go change.
Attention, anyone?

A Parable about Keeping an Eye on the Kids

One way John would often help me when the boys were younger would be to take one of them with him while he was running errands; as any mother knows, little boys (maybe girls are the same but I guess I won't know for sure) love to egg each other on, especially little boys like mine who have very different interests.  My husband loves to read, loves buying books, looking at books, collecting books, et cetera, and many times stops in at the local Parable Bible Bookstore to peruse the shelves. 
When Zach was three and freshly potty trained, John was out with him and decided to stop in at this particular store; the ladies there are very sweet but mostly a bit older, giving the impression that they have forgotten what small boys are like - it was my own personal nightmare to take them into the Bible bookstore due to the numerous glass figurines placed on low shelves all throughout the building.  However, where books are concerned John is fearless, so in he and Zach went.
John ushered Zach over to the children's play area, where a veggietales movie was playing and a table of giant legos waited to be played with.  As he was skimming over a book, one of the sales ladies  came over with a small smile.
"Isn't he cute?" she said, gesturing to Zach.
"Mm Hmmm, " my vigilant husband replied, politely glancing up before returning to his book.
"Yes, he's really something." She kept the conversation going, waiting for John to reply.  He finally got the hint and lowered the book, only to see his son racing around the store, completely naked from the waist down.