Having enough quarters to do all the laundry.

Balancing the checkbook post-vacation and not crying.

Taking advantage of a lack of sub jobs by going for a walk with the dog.

Not needing so much as a sweatshirt on the walk.

Having the patio door open all day.

Watching the cat attack leaves on the patio through the patio door.

Fresh berries for lunch.

Calling to clarify the requirement rules after receiving notice that LM did not qualify for the gifted program only to learn that he actually did, they just sent out the wrong letter. (He qualifies for English, but not quite for Math. Now to just figure out how he’s going to GET to the program at 1:30 in the afternoon every Tuesday…)

Having a good friend lend an ear when you need it most.

Steam Fresh veggie bags. OOh the simplicity!

Doing the right thing, even when it’s very very hard.

Actually having something thawed for dinner.

Watching the Cheerios box be tossed into the recycling 5 days before grocery day, knowing that you still have 4 boxes of Jiffy mix muffins to carry you through.

Finding a charity that welcomes your 12 year old son as well as yourself.

A day filled with sunshine. Lots and lots of sunshine.

Three kids who rode like angels for over ten hours in the car. (No, they didn’t spend the entire ride all crammed together in the back, this picture was taken while they were all enjoying the portable DVD player.)

Realizing that even Jesus is a football fan.

Help in the woodshop. I returned home with a beautiful walnut jewelry box made from wood taken from a tree from the land my dad lived on when he was little.

The joy Birdy found when G’s girlfriend introduced her to beading.

Watching the kids play washers – better than I did most times!

Playing catch with Dad. (And not getting hit!)

A field trip instigated by G’ma Judy that turned out to be not only fun but educational.

The look on LM’s face when the soldier asked if anyone was interested in hearing and seeing the musket fire.

Finding the proper implements (and learning how to use them!) to extract LM’s stubborn teeth.

Realizing how tall LM is getting (he’s officially taller than his aunt now!)

A visit from the cardinal couple.

For three kids who are used to boating and swimming nearly every day while at Papa’s house, they were remarkably understanding and flexible about the weather not being warm enough for either. But a dip in the rec center pool was eagerly enjoyed!

A smile!

Giggles!

Trumpet skills put to use on vacation.

All the great sights in the south.

Getting in a game of pool – even if I did get my butt kicked by my brother.

Passing along the Jane-family love for the great game of Yahtzee!!

That it is somehow logical for kids to drive and dogs to ride at Papa’s house.

That no child was injured during the filming of this crime scene.

A view I will never grow tired of.

Thanks, Dad and Judy for another incredible vacation. We are so grateful for your hospitality, generosity, love, support and laughter.

G brought a girlfriend to Tennessee. In an attempt to explain why George is “George” and Bird is “Bird” and why on earth there are children running through the house calling me “Aunt Fred”, we end up retelling the story of how the nicknames came to be. In particular, we retell the story of how I became “Aunt Fred.”

I tell her about how George was very little and how I hadn’t seen him in a year. I was already at the house with LM when my sister and her family arrived. Bird was quick to come in and give me a hug, but having been so long since he had seen me, George was admittedly a little shy. He latched on to his dad and would not for the life of him come to see me and give me a long over-due hug. In an effort to get him talking and more comfortable with me, I pretend I couldn’t remember his name. I start making guesses, “Is it Ben?” I asked him. “Noooo!” comes a little giggle. “Is it Sam?” I tried again. “Noooo!!” And on the game went for quite some time. Finally deciding he is never going to tell me his name, I simply declare his name MUST be George and proceed to call him that at every turn. “George, do you want some milk like Bird is having?” “George, do you want to go out on the boat?” “George, let’s get your shoes on!”

Although George is now talking to me and has overcome his initial shyness, he doesn’t think much of this new name but is still too stubborn to tell me his real one. He runs to his mother and tells her that I am being mean to him by calling him ‘George’.

Always the teaser, I tell him and the rest of my listening audience, “And your mom, always the smart one, told you to SUCK IT UP.”

George thought this new version of the story was hysterical and nearly fell off the patio furniture laughing.

I tell G’s girlfriend that no, actually, George’s mom explained that I was teasing him and that what he needed to do was to think of a crazy name for me and tease me back. Which is when George came bounding up the stairs and declared that I was now officially, “Aunt Fred!”

Sitting there, all together today, I looked at George and pointed out that I didn’t call him some girl name and I didn’t see how THIS name was at all fair, even after all these years, because it’s a BOY name and surely I didn’t deserve to be stuck with an ewwy gross BOY name for all of time. And as I teasingly moaned and groaned about the nickname I have always embraced from my favorite neice and nephew, George, without skipping a single beat, looked me right in the eye and said, “Aunt Fred, SUCK IT UP!”

Sometimes, God, I lose my way. I think I can make good choices on my own; I forget that I am but human, with a sinful and fallible nature. My confidence, at times, exceeds my abilities. There are times, Father, when I know the decision I make may not be significant on myself and those around me. At other times, like today, Father, when I fear I have once again allowed myself the delusion that I can not only handle things on my own but I attempt to in such confidence that it may be of detriment to those around me.

Father God, you know that several weeks ago I voluntarily suggested that I not only drive LM to Tennessee to meet up with his dad for a few days of vacation, but that I also take along Bird and George so that we all might visit Papa and G’ma Judy while we are in the area. Father, as the only adult, the only driver on an eleven hour journey, as the owner of a sedan without a DVD player attached to the roof, as the woman who wants to remain the fun aunt and not “the woman who tried to sell us at an ebay store in Cincinatti”, all I can say is:

WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?!

Help us, God. Help us all.

Amen.

I’ve had a piano since 1995 or so. Since we’ve lived in a townhouse/townhouse/rental house/apartment/condo, I’ve rarely played it out of consideration for my neighbors. I just think it’s rude to subject ANYONE to my pounding on the ivories.

Since LM was 4, and up until 6 months ago, we always lived in an upstairs unit. I have spent half of that time telling him NOT to stomp on the floor. To slow down, don’t run. Don’t bang your toys on the carpet. And so on and so forth, always conscious of the folks down below.

Now we live in a downstairs apartment with concrete walls. Nothing can penetrate these walls (unfortunately not even a neighbor’s broadband). Sound is rarely as issue, although I can clearly hear the upstairs neighbor’s alarm clock when it goes off at 10:30, 10:35, 10:40, 10:45, etc. every single night when I’m trying to fall asleep (she works the late shift).

It would seem, however, that our neighbor across the parking lot didn’t get the “be kind to your fellow apartment-dwellers” memo when they moved in. Hanging from their balcony is a windchime longer than I am tall (I may exaggerate just a smidge). The thing is HUGE. I can hear it all night long. I can hear it while I’m watching TV. I can hear it when we’re eating dinner. AND I DON’T HAVE ANY WINDOWS OPEN.

The blasted thing is chiming right now when it’s still too dark out to even consider being awake.

I put in a nice call to the office. I’d speak to the people directly, but we have security doors in our buildings, so the best I could do is just shout from the ground to their third floor unit and hope they could hear me over the racket of the chimes. I’m hoping management asks them to take it down. I cannot imagine how it must sound to oh, say, the people right below them?! But, if it’s still hanging there next week, I may just have to climb up three balconies in the middle of the night and remove the darn thing myself.

File under: What are people thinking??!

…I think we just found the love of LM’s life.

http://d.yimg.com/static.video.yahoo.com/yep/YV_YEP.swf?ver=2.0.45

– A three year old explains Star Wars Episode IV

LM came in with the mail. Always good things for him, bills for me. Today he says, “something from the SAT came.”

“It can’t be your scores,” I replied, “it’s too soon.”

We both had envelopes addressed to us, with the same SAT return address. I ripped mine open faster.

Cricital Reading 580
Math 500
Writing 480

Let me translate that: In critical reading, LM scored higher than 74% of college-bound SENIORS. In math and writing, he scored higher than 45% of college-bound SENIORS. (As an aside, knowing how much he lacks for good writing skills, I think I’m suddenly VERY concerned about the writing ability of high school seniors.)

He needed a 520 in Math and a combined 900 to get in for English. I’m hoping that this is close enough to qualify!!

I think we’re both still a little shell-shocked.

While I don’t regret the move to Michigan for a single instant (neither does the boy), there are things I miss about our home in PA.

I miss the sunshine that fell through all our windows.
I miss the open space we had, the clean, uncluttered feel to the house.
I miss having a park to walk the dog or ride bikes right around the corner.
I miss my birdfeeders on the deck.
I miss all my plants. While several survived the move, I have less than a third of what I used to have.
I miss people at our church, especially our pastor.
I miss our dishwasher that actually understood its function of cleaning.
I miss my beautiful cherry kitchen cabinets.
I miss having laundry right in my home that doesn’t require quarters to operate.
I miss the sound of the R/C airplanes from the field just down the road.
I miss taking Gabe to the dog park and then for a bath.
I miss the warmer weather and the green grass, instead of snow and cold this time of year.

but today, most of all, I miss a certain picnic table at a park not an hour from home. If I were in PA today, I know that’s where I would be right now, watching the sunlight on the lake, wondering about matters of the heart.

Eli has taken to growling this funny little growl when he wants to go outside. I’m not sure why he’s started doing this, we take him out just as much as we always have, but lately he seems to think we need a nudge or two. So he does this little growl thing. And it makes me laugh.

“I know I shouldn’t laugh, and I shouldn’t encourage him to keep doing it, but it’s just that the growl is so darn cute. I can’t help it.”

LM, wishing I would stop indulging the dog (because he’s the one that ends up taking the dog out at these times) turns to Eli and says, “Mothers. Was your mom like this?”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.

LM asked me what was so funny.

“I shouldn’t tell you. It’s inappropriate.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I was just thinking of Eli’s response.”

“Which is…”

“No, dude. My mom was a bitch.”

LM fell off the couch he was laughing so hard.

(Please send all mail to Miss Eliza Jane c/o Satan, P.O. Box Burning In Hell…)