I get tired - really tired - of the kids leaving the back door open.  The weather is pretty nice outside here, so the kids are in and out, in and out, in and out.  And apart from that stupid beeping noise that alerts me to the fact that someone has just gone in and out for the one millionth time, the most annoying thing in the world is when I know they have not shut the door because the lack of beeping lets me know that a door is still open.

So I fall into the trap of yelling typical mom things at the kids:  "Shut the door!  Were you born in a barn?!"

I suppose it was just a matter of time until one of the kids got smart about a retort to that question.  It happened today. 

"Will!  Were you born in a barn?!"

He didn't hesitate.  "Jesus was and that worked out pretty well."

Some special things take years for us to realize just how special they are. 

We were working on math homework while Gigi took a nap.

"How was school?"

"Fun."

"What did you do at recess?"

"Played Ninja.  Some of the girls who usually chase me weren't at school today so I got to play Ninja all recess instead of running away from girls."

"Why do they chase you?"

He looked at me.  He takes a deep breath. 

"They want me to be their boyfriend."

"And?"

"And I told them no.  I keep telling them no."

"Ok."  I am relieved.  I am not putting up with a gradeschool romance.  No way.  We've had this discussion - me and Will - and I'm relieved he was listening.  Unfortunately Will hasn't yet learned that when Mama is relieved Son should stop talking.  He nibbles his brownie.

"Yeah, I told them 'I can't be your boyfriend.  My mom is a little nuts.  My mom will go crazy if I have a girlfriend.'  I keep telling them they don't want to make my mom crazy."

So now I have a vision of homecoming 2019 and Will is unable to get a date because everytime he asks a girl she says "No - remember in 1st grade you told me your mom was crazy?  No way I'm going with you."

Wilson heading out for his first day of school in the First Grade.

As I write this I'm sitting in an auditorium waiting for my son to perform in a musical.  I'm scribbing this on the back of an old grocery list.  I'm having "a moment".  "A moment" is one of those times where events are taking place, things are not living up to your expectations, and you may burst into tears but you may not so you occupy yourself so the crying in public does not happen.

Driving home from the store tonight Will decided to let me know he's been thinking about the future:

"Mom, when you get older and older and I'm an adult, I'll take care of Reagan and raise her for you, ok?"

"She'll be an adult too by then."

"No, you're having another birthday next year.  I don't think Reagan will be an adult by then and you'll just be too old to care for us next year.  I'll take care of her for you though, so don't worry."

I was feeling ok about turning 30.  Until today.

Wilson waiting for the bus.

We had Wilson's birthday party today.  We tried to think of something fun, something active, and something not in our house to do with 5, 6, 7, and 8 year olds.  Not wanting to go to Chuck E Cheese again, we went for a bowling party.  We invited our friends and birthday plans were made.

We have international friends as many of you know.  Our South Africans and Ukrainians were happy to come to Wilson's party, but the Ukrainians seemed very uneasy about "bowling".  I asked if they had bowling in the Ukraine.  I received an uncertain "yes...."  I asked if they had ever been bowling - that's when I learned that bowling alleys in the Ukraine are incorportated with certain kinds of dancing clubs that one does not associate with a 5 year old's birthday party.  So our Ukrainians had never been to or in a bowling alley.  I assured them this was a family place.

The kids all had a great time bowling, eating pizza, cake, and playing arcade games.  Pictures are in the photo album. 

Tonight I put Will to bed and he said "Mom, I'm going to bed a 4 year old, but I'm waking up 5."  I really just can't believe he's five.  Everyone said the time would pass so quickly, I just didn't want to believe it.

This is it.  This is the moment I've been dreading.  This is the moment when he knows, without a doubt, his mom doesn't know everything. 

Last year we decided to let Will pick out the Christmas gifts he wanted to give to us.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'm starting to see a lot of the "really great ideas" we had this time last year were the product of a 8-month-pregnant-and-tired-of-it mom and a tired-of-taking-care-of-8-month-pregnant-wife dad.  In other words, it seemed like a great idea at the time, but I can assure you we weren't really in our right minds.

Last year for Christmas the boy bought his father IDog for his IPod.  Will thinks it's the best invention ever,  For me he picked out what every mother wants to get from her son - a diaper bag.  Yes, a diaper bag.  Chris shrugged and said "It's what he said you needed."  And it was a lovely diaper bag.  We thanked him for the gifts. 

This year he already has his shopping list.  The one problem is that he shared his shopping list so we know exactly what we are getting from Wilson.  Here's the list:

• Reagan - a Batman bottle
• Chris - a ham
• Jolene - cheese and crackers ,and if it's not too expensive, sausage

Why does Chris get a full ham and I get a Hickory Farms cheese and cracker basket (and if I'm lucky there may be sausage)? 

I love stream-of-consciousness writing.  I'll be honest though, I never considered stream-of-consciousness to be a form of verbal conversation, but here's the one-sided conversation on the way to pick up the dogs from the kennel last night:

"Today Mrs. Dianna told me to stop running so I stopped running and she said 'Come here' and I went over to her and she said 'Tell your mom and dad hi', so 'Hi'.  Cat starts with a 'c' mom.  There's a 'c' on that sign over there and there's also a 'w' on that sign.  I can't read.  You know that?  I can't read.  I'm going to be happy to see the dogs but I think Reagan won't be happy to see them.  Reagan's very pretty, but not when she cries.  I sure am thirsty.  Do you think we can get me something to drink?  Are there any places with slushees around here?  Dad - Dad - you know what?  Um....  Ummm....  Oh, I don't have anything to say."

Really?

Fun while cleaning closets.

The other night after his bath I instructed Wilson to go put on his pajamas.

"I don't need them."

"Yes, you're going to bed. You need to put on your jammies so we can read a book and then you're going to sleep."

"I'll go to bed but I don't need jammies."

"Why?"

"I'm just going to sleep in my underware. I'm a man, you know."

And he did. After we read Goodnight Moon, he went to sleep in his Spiderman underware - just like a man.

Wilson's Fairy Tales, 2006 Edition - Updated and Revised

Humor is in the ear of the beholder.

We have a Panda Express near our home.  We went out to eat and as we are sitting there, eating happily, Wilson held up his fork and examined it. 

"Mom," he said "is this real Panda?"

It was actually chicken, but we're pretty sure he won't be eating Panda Express anytime soon.

"Mom," he says tonight as we're watching football on tv "I know what I'm going to get you for your birthday."

"Oh, what's that?"

"A toy.  You know what kind of toy?"

"What kind of toy are you going to get me for my birthday?"

"A boy-toy."

His father glanced over at us with a raised eyebrow. 

Chris and I were discussing one of Wilson's friends who has a very, very pronounced accent.  The boy is cute as can be and his accent sounds like he's straight out of the Deep South, which is funny because he was born here in Texas and has been one of Will's friends since they were about a year old.  So we were discussing accents and why some kids have them and some kids don't. 

Wilson piped up.

"I don't have them."

"You don't have what?"

"Accents."

"We know you don't, but your friend does."

"Yeah, he wets his pants all the time.  He has lots of accents."

We laughed all the way through the grocery store and tried to explain the difference between accents and accidents.

We are all experiencing strong feelings here.

Days when the drive thru at McDonald's doesn't look like such a bad decision.

Aspiring preschool author of best selling relationship book.

"Announcing the Wild Rumpus!"

What to do when your child is a worse backseat driver than your own mom...

They grow up. 

Junkmail and Motorcades

Our most requested Wilsonism

Here they are - some more Wilson insights:

Into the mind of a three year old...