Camp - Day 4 and counting...

Remember my concern about my oldest at camp? I received an e-mail from his 'camp dad' and he seems to be surviving just fine without his mom. In fact, he's having a great time! I can just hear the chatter as soon as I pick him up. I am so glad I talked him into going.

Summer fun

Well you haven't heard from me in several days because I have been running all over town with my boys. We went to Geyser Falls in Philadelphia the other day and had so much fun. We got there around 1 p.m. and stayed until they closed at 6 p.m. I only took the two older boys. I had a hard enough time keeping up with them, no way I could have handled the baby too. It was really a lot of fun. If you have never been, I highly recommend it. We got coupons when we ate at Applebee's, so that was a little break on the price. We went on a Thursday and it was busy, but not too crowded. I have no idea what it is like on the weekends. Check it out at http://www.geyserfalls.com/. Have fun!

Also this weekend, I dropped my oldest off at overnight camp. His first overnight camp. My first overnight camp. Yikes! He was a little apprehensive a few days before. I assured him he would have a great time and that he should at least give it a try. Well, really I told him he HAD to give it a try. So I drove him up, the back of the van filled with bedding, towels, clothes and sporting equipment. He grumbled a little along the way, but by the time we got there he was ready to go. As I offered the last bit of motherly advice, I knew he would be fine when he said, "I know mom, I know," in a very exasperated tone. Yeah, he was good to go. I, on the other hand, was a bit nervous leaving. And then I woke up last night, wondering if he was okay. His dad called me this morning and said he did the same thing. So, I think he is going to have a great week. His parents on the other hand...

I want them to have a house.

Remember the Dave Ramsey discussion - give, save and spend? Well my seven-year-old caught up on the 'give' part today. He has had $20 lying around the house for the past couple weeks. I have been trying to remember to go by the bank and put it in his account, but just kept forgetting. So this morning he found his wallet and wanted to put his $20 in it. I told him no, I didn't want him spending that money, it was for his bank account.

I went to pick them up from Bible school and he immediately came up to me when he saw me. I could tell there was something on his mind.

'I gave the $20 to the people who don't have any houses.'

I realized the mission was to benefit Katrina victims, a cause I would gladly have given him money to contribute.

'All of it?' I asked, a little annoyed that he had put the entire $20 in the offering. Then I saw that look. The one they still have when they are young, and have made a decision on their own and really want your approval.

'Yeah. I want them to have a house. They don't have houses.'

'Well, that was very generous. You have caught up on your 'give.' That was a very nice thing to do.'

I could see the relief flood those crystal blue eyes as I offered my approval. He triumphantly walked back to his seat. And I remembered our conversation from a couple weeks ago - 'But I don't want to learn anything.'

Indeed.

LIttle boys and critters...

I found myself on the kitchen floor last night, chasing a really annoyed and slightly damaged, cricket. He is the lastest in a series of small, defenseless insects/amphibians my middle son has captured. He got a bug house for Christmas, but I really think it is more like a torture chamber. It is a series of plastic, round pieces attached with clear plastic tunnels. Really fun for little boys to observe their specimens, but not such a great habitat for the bug. We abandoned it out of reverence for the various little bugs who met their end there, but he was not deterred.

Friday after he captured the cricket he, under the guidance of his babysitter, secured it between two plastic cups. He wasn't sure she was well versed in such matters, being a girl and all, and I heard him ask her, "How do you know how to do this?"

She was holding the cups, urging him to slide the grasshopper into one of them. "Because I have done this before. Now put him in here." She proceeded, very expertly, to tape the cups together and put the required air holes in the top. He was crazy about the baby sitter before, but now his admiration knows no bounds.

Over the weekend he was at his dad's and he called me to remind me to put in fresh grass for the cricket. So last night I checked on our cricket, to make sure he was still with us. He looked okay, but I noticed one of his front legs is missing and he had made quite a mess in his cup. I was in the process of transferring him to a larger, clean container when, of course, he made a break for it. I was sure Evan would be devastated if I didn't find him (he still prays for a fish that died about two years ago). So there I was on the floor in search of the grasshopper. My days as a tomboy quickly came back to me and I scooped him up, placing him in the container.

Evan came through the door this morning with a new and improved bug house, and another cricket. We kept them in separate containers. I'm not exactly sure what it takes to get baby crickets, but I'm not taking any chances.

I just wish the press had been running...

I walked out of The Clarion-Ledger for the last time today as an employee. Okay, let me qualify that. The last time THIS time. This was my third time back, and as I told someone who has seen me come and go each time, I am not ruling out a fourth. The three 'tours of duty,' as I affectionately call them, have spanned almost 20 years. I first walked into the building at the corner of Pearl and West streets in 1988 as a summer intern. One of the last two summer interns to work for The Clarion-Ledger and the Jackson Daily News.

I have read The CL for as long as I have been able to read. Like an old friend, I have loved it and been exasperated with it on and off for all that time. I love to see my 10-year-old pouring over the 'funnies' now, because that is how my love of newspapers developed. There was just so much 'stuff' in there. If you don't read the paper now, I urge you to pick up one. Oh sure, I read it on the Internet too, but there is nothing like having 'the paper' in your hands and a cup of coffee on the kitchen table.

As I walked out tonight, with that last box in my hands, I stopped to look through the second floor window at that big old press, quiet and still but threaded and ready to go for tomorrow's edition. I wondered if I really ever would walk through that employee entrance again, if I would ever again be a part of such a unique and special place.

The employee entrance to the building is lined with modern sculpture comprised of old newspapers, from ledger books and parts of old presses, to headlines from the civil rights era and the moon landing. I have never tired of walking down that hallway and up those stairs. Occasionally I would find myself there very late, and as you come down the stairs and round the corner to leave the building, you can hear the press running. For someone who loves newspapers, there is something about that sound that is exciting and comforting.

Maybe it's that, while change is inevitable, it's comforting to know the sun will come up tomorrow and the newspaper will be laying in the driveway.

Moving on...

I am packing up and moving on to another job this week. It has been so much fun going through all my old stuff because it has given me a chance to look at old photos and stories that I have written. I have worked with and interviewed some really cool people. It's quite a list, from the famous to just regular people who are really nice. I realized how really, really lucky I am. Not many folks can say they are leaving one job they really love to go to one that looks like it will be even better.

Can't ask for much more than that.

Stay tuned over the next couple weeks. I am sure I will have many tales to tell. I am going to have two weeks off before I start my new job. But of course, I can't be still. I am planning a mega garage sale. The kids are going to have to take cover, lest they end up with a price sticker on their head. (I wouldn't really sell one of the kids. But that damn dog better be careful...)

The rolling purse...

The other day I told you all about the mysterious thing that is my purse. Fortunately right now big bags are fashionable, affording me the ability to cram all kinds of stuff in there.

I use the same line of thinking with my vehicle. I drive a minivan. I have never been a 'car' person, so I really have no issue with this. As long as it cranks everytime I put the key in it, has an air conditioner and a radio, I am pretty happy. Oh, and it has to get good gas mileage. (That's one of the reasons I have a Toyota, it had the best mileage for a minivan.) However, much like my purse, it seems the amount of junk I cram in there is directly related to the size of the vehicle.

Right now, in the back of my van I have two bags of play sand, one bag of cement, various and sundry bags of maternity clothes, a baby stroller, a bright yellow garden hose and three stepping stones.

That's just in the very back part...we won't go into what is stashed in various other places. Even I would be embarrassed to confess that.

So, I am sure you are wondering if I am planning on whacking someone and using the cement to dispose of the body, but alas it is nothing that sinister or exciting. Just a gardening project I need to complete. The maternity clothes are probably raising a few eyebrows, but that's not what you think either. I brought my maternity clothes to work for a pregnant friend to look through and she returned what she could not use. And the stepping stones are the result of an art project the boys and I took part in. (when you get the time, go to The Mosaic Shop in Ridgeland. It is a great place for you and your kids to spend an afternoon being crafty. Visit www.mosaicmississippi.com.)

So I am thinking, if I would just take a few minutes to clean out the van I would probably see a significant savings in gas mileage. And I may even have a place to put down my purse.

What's in your purse?

The credit card commercial asks, "What's in your wallet?" But if you are talking to a mom, it is far more interesting to ask "What's in your purse?"

And right now, as the mother of boys ranging from one year to 10 years, I have some interesting stuff.

A Gameboy confiscated during Sunday lunch at a local restaurant. Got tired of saying, "Turn it off. I mean now." Really.

A pacifier, complete with the little cord that keeps it clipped to him. The fact that I have it in my purse apparently means he was able to 'unleash' it somehow and it fell on a floor so dirty that even I would not give it back to him. (I had three brothers growing up, and this is my third boy. I am a big believer in the five-second rule, in most cases.)

And a rock. My second-born loves to bring me 'natural' gifts. A rock, an interesting leaf or occasionally a stick, if he considers it a good one.

I am not looking forward to the time when a lipstick will be the most exciting thing in my purse.

OMG — I sound like somebody's mother

What would you think of a girl who stays out late night after night, partying and drinking with a variety of people, has gotten a couple of DUIs, is seen with various and sundry men in various and sundry settings, wears clothes that barely cover her backside, frontside or any side, does not have a job and does not want a job, and short of just taking up space, seems to serve very little purpose on this earth?

It's called trashy. If she were poor we would look down our nose at her and move our children to the other side of the us if we walked past her in the mall. But because this one has money, some of us overlook it. We watch her television show and marvel about her latest dilemma. The sad thing is, there is more than one of 'her' and they are all sending our children a bad message.

I was pleased to see that Paris Hilton has gone back to jail. She has not appeared to take any of this seriously since it started. And the craziest part — this woman could afford to hire a driver. Instead she chooses to go out drinking and drive herself home, endangering the lives of those on the road with her.

She is rivaled in stupidity only by Lindsay Lohan, who clearly has an addiction and will not get treatment. You want to melt your brain? Go ahead, but hire a driver or call a cab and stay off the road after a night of partying.

As for the rest of us — it's up to us to turn off the television, stop buying the magazines and stop visiting the websites that talk about their latest bouts of stupidity. It is something to protect our kids from, just as fervently as we protect them from people who would hurt them physically. This trash hurts them mentally.

A great day

When my oldest son was about three, he adopted this really cute habit of proclaiming at the end of a particularly good day — "What a great day!"

Well, yesterday fell into the what-a-great-day category. Didn't win the lottery (though that would be a great day), didn't buy a new pair of shoes, didn't do anything really spectacular, it was just a kid-friendly day all around. They had summer camp in the morning and in the afternoon the sitter took them to see Shrek 3.

I arrived home with pizza for supper, then we went to the library to see the Snake Man, who kicked off our summer reading program, went to Brusters for ice cream AND arrived home to have our baby take more than a few steps across the kitchen floor — he WALKED. Took baths, read our library books and fell asleep speculating about the Loch Ness monster (one of our library books.)

It was a good day to be a mom.

It was a 'momma' moment...

No doubt you have heard of a 'senior' moment — such as when you walk into a room and immediately forget why you are there or what you are looking for. Well, I have diagnosed this 'illness' for (much, ha!) younger women, and I am calling it a 'momma' moment.

No matter how many people there are in your family, and no matter how many personal possessions each of them own, once they walk through the door of the house with item in hand it becomes momma's responsibility to put it away and to be able to retrieve it on demand. It happens like this; dinner is on the stove and something is boiling over, burning, etc. The phone begins to ring. One of the younger children suddenly decideds they MUST be picked up, and if not, they begin howling, while the child with the lost item asks for the 20th time where it is. Dad walks into the room, sees the chaos, and simply turns and walks back upstairs. (He eventually reappers after he has worked up the courage.) The momma brain begins to spin, reminding you to step over the baseball bat and the sword on the kitchen floor as you go to pick up the baby with one hand while turning down the burner on the stove with the other hand. Eventually, the phone stops ringing. You look on the kitchen table where the 'item' has been sitting for two days and see that it is not there. Nor is it anywhere in the vicinity.

Thus the 'momma' moment. You remember it being there, you remember you straightened up the house the night before and you suddenly realize you have no idea where it is. Your mind is completely blank. If it were a movie, the sound effect would be crickets chirping in a dark abyss. But only for a few seconds, because then the crickets would be drowned out by the wailing of the 7-year-old who may very well have to go naked to his last baseball game of the season.

Not that this has ever happened in my house, but I hear some moms suffer from this.

So what's the cure for such a momma moment? Find an old pair of baseball pants, swipe your husband's team shirt and tuck it into those baseball pants, practically down to his knees. Hey — it beats playing baseball in the nude.

And remind him the next time he leaves something lying on the breakfast table, it may fall victim to a momma moment and never be seen again.

That d@&# dog!

Around my house there are kid stories and then there are 'Buddy' stories. Buddy is one of our dogs — a cute, fuzzy little terrier mix that put the 'terror' in terrier. As my 10-year-old likes to remind me, "Buddy's not really bad mom, he's just mischievous."

My boys love a 'Buddy' story and there are some doozies. The time he managed to climb over TWO baby gates (stacked on top of each other) to escape from the bathroom so he could have free roam of the house while we were gone for the day. He practically dug a hole in the sheet rock in that excursion. The time we came home from work and school to find the television blaring and Buddy sitting in my chair. The only thing we could figure is that he jumped on the chair (after another bathroom escape) and hit the remote in the process. It was pretty funny though — we came through the door, wondering why the television was on, only to see his fuzzy little head pop up from the chair.

And the best one — the Buddy box. I was looking for sheets I kept stored in a plastic box under my bed. When I pulled the box out, I saw that the lid was partially off and buried among my (formerly) clean sheets were various treasures. A dirty sock, various wrappers and cartons he had dug out of the trash (he elevated trash can-diving to an art form) and some of his toys. That explains why he was running in circles in front of the bed as I was pulling out the box. After that I made sure to keep the lid securely on the box and made regular checks under the bed.

He has calmed down somewhat, though he still has his moments. Such as the other day when we discovered signs he had been on the breakfast room table. Yes, you read that right. Some people have cats that get on the table, I have a dog that gets on the table. He doesn't jump up from the floor, though he probably could. He jumps into a chair, and if it is not pushed completely up against the table, he can wriggle his way onto the table.

When I discovered it, the first words out of my mouth were (for about the millionth time) "That damn dog." So later, I told the boys the latest 'Buddy story' and then said, "When that dog dies that is what is going on his tombstone — and don't either of you repeat this word — 'Here lies Buddy — that damn dog.'

"Mooommm, don't say that about Buddy," my 7-year-old wailed. "You'll hurt his feelings." And the older boy remided me yet again, "He's not bad, he's just mischievous."

I think they cut Buddy so much slack because, like their dog, they aren't bad, they are just mischievous.

A mere $100 for a miracle!

Have y'all seen the 2007 MiracleHome? It's off Hwy. 25, just past Grants Ferry in Hidden Hills (take the entrance into Millcreek IV and go straight). It's gorgeous, from the ash hardwood floors with a dark finish, to the travertine stone in the bathrooms to the Viking appliances in the kitchen. It's really a showplace.

You can buy a chance to win the house — really, win it — for $100. That may sound steep, but consider there are only 5,000 tickets being sold and the house is valued at around $340,000. There are also some really cool prizes in addition to the house. And, really there are no losers in this deal, because the proceeds of the sale of the tickets will benefit Blair E. Batson Children's Hospital. They do phenomenal work at Batson, caring for all kinds of kid-related ailments, from the ones that can be cured quickly and easily to those that devastate families. Consider what you can blow $100 on in a couple weeks, and save it up and buy a ticket.

Go to www.ahome2u.com for more information or to buy a ticket. The house will be open every Saturday and Sunday, from 1 to 6 p.m. until the drawing on Aug. 18. You can find directions on the website.

Just a $100 for a miracle — now that's a bargain!

Curses to you Dave Ramsey!

Surely you have heard of Dave Ramsey? Money guru, who has solved financial woes for thousands. Around here we know him as Marshall's cousin, but to my point...

He has a program for kids called Financial Peace Jr., based on his method for adults called, of course, Financial Peace. Ramsey recommends that kids be paid a 'commission' for chores. Not an allowance, but payment for work, so they begin to understand what it will be like when they are adults. Financial Peace Jr. comes with a dry erase card that has a place to list various jobs and their payment, along with a weekly chart that allows mom or dad to check off each job that has been completed and total how much commission has been earned. Heretofore, I had been giving my kids $10 a week, reducing that amount based on various infractions. Well, I was getting bloody little work out of them and having a hard time keeping up with all the infractions. Then it morphed into them getting $10 a week or, even worse, me buying them whatever they wanted (with about a $10 limit) every couple of weeks or so. I realized they weren't learning anything and they were doing even less to help around the house. Enter Dave Ramsey...

I have come up with a list of chores my guys can do, earning a total of $24 a week, per kid. That's almost $100 a month — not bad for a 10 and 7 year old. But you would think I had installed a dungeon, complete with a rack and other torture devises. The other day the 7-year-old came in from watering my plants ($1 for the back and $1 for the front yard, which I am going to pay him, even though, I looked outside several times to see him trying to see how far he could shoot water across the yard, using the various settings on the hose nozzle) and he declared — "I want to go back to the way it was!"

"What are you talking about?"

"When you just paid us the $10."

"You are willing to give up the chance to make $24 in one week?"

"Yes, just give me the $10."

"Well you seldom got the full $10 because you and your brother were fined for bad behavior. And besides, giving you money isn't teaching you anything."

"I don't want to learn anything!"

Obviously there is no financial peace in my house. Yet. We are going to continue with the plan. Our charts have a special place on the side of the refrigerator. And on a happy note, I owe a total of $4.50 this week in commission. So at least I have some financial peace!

The plan also encourages kids to save and give some of their money away. See it for yourself at www.daveramsey.com. He offers practical, doable advice.

And he's Marshall's cousin.

I am not tired!

My boys have been going to sports camp this week at Jackson Academy. They have had so much fun — running around all morning, doing high jumps and long jumps and Lord knows what else.

Since summer started we have played hard all day and I have let them stay up a bit later, because we can sleep a bit later. I was wondering when the first couple weeks of summer would catch up with them and last night it hit my 7-year-old, but hard.

I noticed every little thing seemed to bother him. He was irritable and his sweet blue eyes were rimmed in red. After a really spectacular fit, I told him to go to his room until supper was ready. He went, but was back down in a few minutes. So I told him he could sit on the couch until I had supper on the table. He fell sound asleep in that 10 minutes. And stayed sound asleep, even as I carried him (no easy thing now that he is almost as big as me) upstairs to his bed. This morning he was raring to go at 6 a.m. Got himself dressed, brushed his teeth and made his breakfast, with no prodding from me. It reminded me of how big he is getting. But it was nice to see that he hasn't lost that enthusiasm that only little children possess — the ability to run until they drop. And it was also nice to hear that high-pitched, exasperated exclamation that was so common when he was younger, "I AM NOT TIRED," right before he passes out from complete exhaustion.