I’ve been a terrible blogger.
Oh the stories are there waiting. The material is fresh daily.
(I mean, seriously?… I live with a redneck. And a kindergartener whose classmates think it’s hilarious to use OFFICIAL names for body parts.
But lately, my blogging time gets stolen by that thing I can’t talk about. Do you know how draining it is to deal with an adult bully? Physically, mentally, and I-can’t-stop-crying emotionally? Do you know what it’s like to have your husband worry more about you getting sick on the way to work every morning, than he does about his own cancer treatment?
I’m just beat up by the time I sit down in front of the computer and try to find the funny.
(I totally need that on a t-shirt).
But the good stuff is still there.
Easter is a big deal to us. I mean, beyond the yearlong hoarding of eggs to be blown, then decorated, then smashed on unsuspecting victims…
Yes, that is my sister and my 81 year old grandmother.
For shame, Ju. I think you are officially out of the will.
I apparently was an early target. See my name on May-May’s egg?
I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad; we’re raising some political geniuses:
But really, what it was all about? Celebrating the fact that NOTHING is stronger than God. Not death, not the economy, and not a bully.
Apparently I miss all the good conversations. My mom shared that Itty Bit had listened carefully to the story of the resurrection and spoke what was on his mind.
Grandma? Why did Jesus grow up and then die? Why didn’t he die when he was a baby?
Well, because he had lots of things to do. He told people about God and he healed lots of people. He healed blind people so they could see, and deaf people so they could hear.
Awww…. I wish my Mommy had been born then.
You know that funny feeling you get in your throat when you realize you haven’t screwed your kid up entirely? Because he wishes something like that for you. Because he talks to Jesus in his head after we go to bed. Because he lets his mom force him to wear polka dot bowties.
Yeah, that one.
I had to swallow around it.
And then the combination of my redneck mister and my hilarious potty mouth boy rocketed us straight back to The Truman Show.
See. Mr. Daddy has totally set himself up for a very awkward conversation when Itty Bit reaches a certain age.
While reading a book about animals, Itty Bit suddenly looked up and asked how baby kittens were born.
And because I was considerate enough to bear my husband the SON he wanted, I naturally defaulted to the parent of the male gender.
And without missing a beat, Mr. Daddy looked straight into our child’s eyes and said, “they say ‘knock knock’.”
You told our child that babies are born by saying KNOCK KNOCK??!?!
Good luck with that in about 10 more years.
(Oh dear Lord, we do have TEN more years, right?)
Would you believe that I felt mildly robbed?
Considering that my son now thinks it’s UNFAIR that girls get to have babies and boys don’t.
Because a miniature ninja KNOCK-KNOCKing inside of your stomach sounds fun.
This led to a completely random conversation that (thankfully) was not in a public restroom.
Mommy! I gotta go pee!
Okay fine honey. Go.
Why don’t girls have pee-pees on the outside?
Umm… They’re just different. That’s how God made them.
Well… that’s not FAIR!
That’s not fair!
Sure it is honey. You get to pee outside on the strawberries.
You get to have babies!
Umm yeah honey. It’s fair. Trust me on this one.
(He thought for awhile…)
But they poop the same. So THAT’S fair.
Then he wagged his little finger in my face and smiled a smug little smile.
He left me speechless.
But that might have been kind of the point.