The Cat Said Meow

She came into the kitchen with a little pout on her face. She sat down on the stool beside me, put her head in her hands, and let out a big sigh. I tried not to laugh. She's just about the cutest thing in the world when she sticks that bottom lip out and flashes those big puppy dog brown eyes. I asked her what was wrong.

"I've looked for Analiese everywhere. I looked in the backyard. I looked in our room. I looked at Tessa's house. I even asked Tiger and all she said was meow and that's not very helpful."

Oh, my Sicily. It's very disappointing to find out that a cat isn't a reliable source of information.

A Boy Party

6 Boys
3 large pizzas
20 cupcakes
3 bags of pretzels
2 dozen cookies
2 bags of popcorn
5 pitchers of Kool-Aid
2 game systems
1 movie
3 board games
10 hours of partying through the night

equals

1 very tired, but very happy birthday boy

Happy Birthday Chris!

Today my firstborn turns 10! I was looking through pictures and I swear his baby pictures were taken just a couple of years ago. The last ten years have gone by so fast. That's a very cliche thing to say, but it really does feel that way. We're halfway done with him and I still have so much I want to teach him. But if I really look at him I know he's turning out just fine.

He is strong. He is strong of mind, strong of will. He is determined and motivated. He's a Lego building, video game master. I see more of my introverted, melancholy self in him with each passing year. We can sit in complete silence at the breakfast table and find great companionship in that. But he has his father's mind. Questioning and quick. He's fiercely protective of his little sisters, yet very annoyed by their girly quirks. He loves Junior Mints, Double Bubble Gum, and Whoppers. He recently convinced his grandma to send money for meat because he's not a fan of our near vegetarian cuisine. But our hippy ways have worn off a little. He's kind to animals and loves to hike. And dirt is his best friend. So much so that I have to bribe him to shower especially since he thinks swimming in a muddy creek counts as a bath. Luckily for him he still hugs his mama goodnight and that covers a multitude of sins.

He is my boy. And I love him deeply. I'm so very proud of him. Here's the last ten years. (And yes, putting this post together did make my cry. I bet it will get a few of you too.)

1 month

1 year

2 years

3 years

4 years

5 years

6 years

7 years

8 years

9 years

My ten year old, Christopher Michael

Friday Favorites...Ikea

By this point of the summer, I am usually pulling my hair out. The kids are starting to argue more. The constant noise is grating on my last nerve. The house is trashed. It's time for a change of scenery.

Yesterday that change of scenery came in the form of a mini Swedish vacation. Yes, I'm talking about Ikea. I love Ikea. It's not about the mass produced ceramic mugs or the cheap sofas, although those things are great. The things I'm most in love with are the free childcare and the ability to have a crazy shopping spree for $10.

If you've ever been to an Ikea without children you probably don't know that it's a parents escape paradise. You walk in, hand your children over to the smiling girls in the yellow shirts, and are free to shop at a snails pace for the next hour. Then because everything is so cheap you can justify filling the shopping cart that you are idly leaning on and feel like you've been on an outrageous shopping spree. That is my idea of stress relief.

The boy has outgrown the play area. So after we dropped the overly excited girls off (they love the ball pit and the wooden shoe slides) we bought a box of cookies and walked around laughing at funny products and funny people. We shopped for a future cousin in the baby section and laughed at funny looking stuffed animals. We lounged on sofas and hugged super soft pillows. We just talked for an hour. It was lovely.

When the hour was up, we went back to get the girls, who were sad to leave. Then we walked up to the restaurant and ordered four 99cent bowls of meatballs. We found a table and sat back to watch the movie that was playing.

I'm telling you, mini-Swedish-vacation. That's what it is. We all left much more relaxed than when we left. In fact, we were all so happy when Steven got home that he said he felt like he had been seriously deprived of some good leisure time.

Don't worry, honey, we'll all happily go back. It might be a happier place than Disney World. Ok, that might be stretching it. But it runs a close second in my book.

Toasting Bankruptcy

We took our little silver dog, moved him along the board, and landed on Park Place. Then we turned over all of our money, mortgaged all of our property, and still didn't have enough to stay in the game. So we were declared bankrupt.

If we had just finished a game of Monopoly we would laugh about the loss and go on with our life. But we weren't playing Monopoly.

Yesterday we went to a little room full of stressed and angry people. It was full of well dressed businessmen and betrayed, divorced women. Older couples who just couldn't hold it together any longer and young couples who never got a chance to try. One by one we were called in front of the group to tell the world we were down on our luck. We heard our names called and sat down at a table where we raised our right hand and swore we were out of money. The man before us looked over our case, gave us a smile, and said, "alright, you may go". And just like that we were bankrupt. Our debts forgiven and the freedom to move on was granted. Nineteen months after listing our house and nine months after actually selling it we are free of the beast.

I pushed through the double glass doors and wanted to scream into the wind at the top of my lungs. But we were on the streets of uptown Charlotte and I might have given the blue shirts a heart attack. So I waited until we got home and I cried. I cried relief.

We have a long way to go and a lot of residual stress to deal with, but a big chunk of our wall was broken down yesterday with a big sledgehammer called bankruptcy. I never thought being declared bankrupt would let light into my life. But "I never thought..." seems to headline every event of my life lately.

So raise a glass to us. We're bankrupt. Cheers.

I'm Hot, or So I'm Told

You don't know how beautiful that picture is unless you have ever spent a 100 degree southern summer without one. But no more. Folks, we have a working air conditioning unit.

You're all probably voicing a collective "Hallelujah" because your tired of me whining about having no air conditioning. Sorry, but it is seriously hot around here. And being hot leads to two things: sweat and grumpiness. We have had plenty of both. Grumpy, sweaty kids. Grumpy, sweaty parents. Grumpy, sweaty hamsters. We were just a grumpy, sweating mess, until my husband got fed up with all of the grumpiness and demanded that our landlord put in a new air conditioning unit immediately.

Now one of the perks of having a lawyer husband is that some people hold lawyers in high esteem. If you live with one and know all of his lawyer friends, your esteem for the career of attorney might be lower than average. (No offense, love. I admire you for so many other reasons.) But our landlord happens to be one of those people who thinks lawyers have a superior intellect. So when Steven calls demanding that something needs to happen right now, things generally happen right now. I, on the other hand, am just a lowly house wife and have garnered no esteem from this man so my complaining has gotten a nice pat on the head and an explanation of how fans work. We have decided that Steven is the only one allowed to talk to our landlord if we need something done. You know, because he's a respectable lawyer and all.

Regardless of how we got it, I am thankful that we have cold air flowing through our house. The man who installed it was a gem. He's a spry 80 year old man who did most of the work by himself. His skin was pure leather from years of working in the sun and he spoke with the rasp of a lifetime smoker. On the last day he was here he was showing me all of the work he had done and then he paused.

He said, "There's something I've been wanting to say, but I don't want you to take it the wrong way. But I've got to say it because I think women should be told these things. You are a good looking woman. You are. You are just a good looking woman. And if your husband doesn't appreciate it, he's an SOB, and you should go find better. You are a good looking woman. I just thought you should know."

Well, thank you, Gene. (*blush*) Thanks for the air conditioning and the ego boost. I needed both.

Weekend Friends and Food

We had a wonderful weekend full of good friends, good food, and good conversation.

We warmed a friend's new house. We talked about the beautiful 1940s bungalow with a backyard full of hundred year old trees over hamburgers and chocolate chip cookies the size of your head.

We saw friends we had gone far too long without seeing. We watched our children play and had a long chat about what it means to have Jesus-like forgiveness over plates of barbecued chicken, potato hash, and fruit pizza.

Then we came home and, while I put the kids to bed, my husband prepared a lovely dessert of raspberries, honey, almonds, and chevre. He set them out in dainty white bowls, lit candles, and poured drinks. Then I sat down with my very best friend and we talked long about grace. Real prostitute-loving Jesus-grace.

I think my husband could have been friends with Dostoevsky. They could have had long talks about this thing called grace. They could have lamented over how misunderstood it is. I think they would have had to meet in Germany though. My husband's not much of a vodka man.