Reese Joslyn.
My youngest turned three last week.
When I was little I remember how time used to drag by. Each Christmas and birthday took eons to get here. A trip to the Champion Hills Department store was the longest drive when i was young. When my parents gave me an extra 15 minutes of playtime, it felt like freedom.
Now that I am.. ahem… older, time whizzes past. My wedding, then a baby, then another, then another, then another. Christmas, then birthday after birthday. Crawling then walking. Cooing then talking. Diapers then big girl pants. Gray hairs then wrinkles.
Where does the time go? Why does it feel so much faster?
I think Reese has all the answers. At the ripe age of three she contains the wisdom of all the ages:
1. Live right now. Taste. Feel. Breathe. Be. When you are young all that matters is right now. As you age you become acutely aware of time and of it’s passing.
2. Don’t be self concious. Get messy. Get sticky. Get dirty. Be naked. (I am not just talking literally here.) It’s hard to enjoy a 2 pound sucker when you are worried about getting your face sticky. You can always wash it off later.
3. Be grateful. For what you have right now. For what you feel right now. Appreciate it fully. Revel in what you have. Cuz life tastes so much sweeter when you do.
Thank you, Reese Josyln. My enthusiastic cascade of laughter. May you always help me to see things through your eyes. Pure and perfect.
We need 100cc’s of Ginger Ale! Stat!
And Ramen Noodles. And popsicles. And to make our couches into beds. And drag out all our pillows into our living room. And force all adults to watch cartoons. To keep the thermometer within reach AT ALL TIMES. And for my arms to get sore from rubbing backs.
Because this, my friends is what sickness means in the Neff House. It is a ritual we go through when each child shows signs of any illness. And yesterday we didn’t just experience one sick child, but three. Three children, all with the same complaints,: “Mom, my neck hurts.” and “Mom, my head hurts.” and Mom, my belly hurts.”. If you have children, then you should recognize these maladies as symptoms of strep.
So now we wait for the doctor to open his doors. A mere 10 minutes from now I will begin the calling to try to get through to a doctor’s office whose phone lines will be, no doubt, busy from all the other parents trying to get their children in to see him today. We will pray for favor. Amen.
Below you will enjoy picture of each ailing one.
First Reggie. Notice she is pretty excited about the prospect of getting to stay home. “Mom, do I get to stay home from school tomorrow?” She likes to see the glass half full. She enjoys what she can outta this experience. She is also an original child and has decided to mix it up with an additional complaint, “Mom, my one ear hurts.” She always has to be the best. (Over achiever. Humph.)
Reese, ah my baby. She was pretty upset about this whole illness thing. She acted as if someone gave it to her on purpose. Like we did it TO her. And she let us all know. Oh, the grouchiness that has ensued after the onset of the, “Mom, my neck hurts!” Oh, the grouchiness. But, oh, the change in her that was wrought with one dose of Motrin. Ah, Motrin. In my prayer time last night lifted up thanksgiving for the person who invented Motrin. It is in my humble opinion, a miracle drug. Thank you, God. Amen.
Keni, though reacts differently. She has a super immune system and never ever gets sick. (She’s like her Dad.) And when the day does come that her body submits to a germ, she is very disappointed. In herself. “Mom, what about my homework?” and “Mom, what about my test?” and “I CAN”T miss my test!” and “I will get in trouble!” and “What about my library book?” She runs through all the possible horrible implications of missing her schooling. The little brain just won’t let her rest. It is bad enough she is being tortured in body, but I think the mental torture she puts herself through is much worse.
She should embrace the situation. Like this:
Catching Up.
A massive tower built by Reggie. A proud moment. (Moments after this picture was taken it toppled.)
Keni’s big accomplishment this holiday? She fell and kissed the cement. In return the cement took most of her two front teeth.
Me after eating 8 days of Christmas goodies. Side note: Reese took this picture. Another Side note: My manicure? Press on nails.
Our tree.Which I love. It is so pretty. The girls decorated the whole thing themselves. I will be hiring out my little elves next year. Make your reservations now.
Oh, Snap!
I try to avoid trendy catch phrases like my title.
For a few reasons.
For one, I have kids, and they just don’t let you get away with that kinda stuff. The amount of eye rolling and uncomfortable looks that they give me following such a phrase cannot be good for their little eyeballs. So I avoid uttering them for the benefit of their visual heath.
And number two, I am a pasty white, red-haired, freckled, 30-something year old mom of four, I really can’t pull it off.
But it was a cute title to go with my pic today.
That is a turtle we found in my side yard. Hello? IN MY YARD! PEOPLE? Are you listening? That snapping turtle (being held up by my animal lovin Pa.) could bite off a toe! Or a finger! Or somehow creep through my pipes and climb out of my toilet where it might chomp a Neff tushie!
We can’t have that folks. Not here. Not ever.
There was many plans for Ol’ Snapper.
1. Crush him with Chuckie’s excavator. (This was Chuckie’s first pick.)
2. Bury him alive under a dirt bike jump, then name the jump, “Turtle Jump”. (This was Chuckie’s second choice.)
3. Gentle transport of God’s precious creature to a lover-ly little pond or lake far from here.(And my hiney.)
Now, all you who know my husband can guess what happened.
But my Dad intervened. (I told you he was an animal lover.) Ol’ Snapper was given a ride to an undisclosed location. Where he can grow to an even more frightening and limb threatening size.
And because of him the Neff family took the high road and did not contribute to animal violence.
This week.
Lucky Charms.
We’re always after her lucky charms. (Hat courtesy of Reagan.)
Tis the season.
My children are sick. Various bodily fluids are leaking from various places. Whines are bellowed from room to room. Thrashing aching bodies distract people who are driving by my house. Throats are red. Fevers are high. (Yes! It’s that bad.)
My usually merciful heart is raging battle with the irritated woman in me who just wishes to be alone for ONE GOSH DARN SECOND! IF YOU DON’T MIND?
I am torn betwixt two very different me’s:
1. The “take care of me Mommy.” mommy.
2. The feared, “Get the frick out of my face!” mommy.
I hate to see my kids be sick. I do. You can’t help them. You just watch them suffer. It’s awful. Really. Really. Awful.
But after 2 weeks of running noses and coughing. A couple days of what my kids like to call the “fast poop”. 3 cases of strep throat. One night of a kid yakking up her antibiotics. And all along the way the snot continues to flow like milk and honey.
Needless to say the feared Mom has come.
The merciful Mom has found a place in the darkest corner of my heart where it cowers in fear from the me who rules my personality right at this very moment. (Just ask my husband… or as I like to call him, “Would it KILL you to change a friggin diaper?”)
Splenda. (a.k.a. sweet.)
We’ve all done it. Used our socks to pick up a little dust here and there. A scant dribble from a glass of kool aid. The dusty remains of breakfast toast.
Hey, if you own the right kind of socks they can easily multitask.
It’s all about working smarter, not harder.
(I once used Alina’s 3 year old body to dust under her bed, when we had hard wood floors, but that’s another story.)
I want to get hard wood floors just so I can slip these puppies on and glide my way to a clean living room.
Rambling. At 7. am.
The art of time management is indeed a gift. One that I lack. (Case in point, I am here on my computer. Rather than, well, pretty much anywhere else.)
I have laundry to do:
I need to collect it all and smoosh it down the chute.
I need to sort it into piles of different color. (I think I do that wrong. I am pretty sure laundry should be sorted by material?)
I need to get a load in the wash, then remember to revisit the basement in 47 minutes to flip the load in the dryer.
Then in an hour, I need to remember to go back down and pull out the massive heap. (My mother in law tells me I put too much in. But she doesn’t get the rarity with which I do the laundry. I try to make the most of it.)
Then I sort it out by child or adult, putting the frocks in corresponding baskets.
At this time we will not be discussing taking the child’s or adult’s clothes upstairs to their rooms and eventually their drawers or closets.
Why does the seeming clear cut chore seem to be such an ordeal to me?
And why does my lack of domestic abilities make me feel utterly deflated?
And who knew I could fill a post (with 255 words no less) about the process of laundry and my inability (seemingly so) to keep up with it?
I think I need breakfast.
Applejacks are calling me. (Eat your heart our Neil.)
Bric a brac.
I’ve been putting of posting cuz, well, I feel there ain’t much to discuss, but for the tens of you who listen…
Summer is almost over and quite frankly, I am happy to see it go. I love fall. It’s my favie! Cool air. The trees in color. Taking walks in the woods behind our house. Hayrides. Bonfires. Pumpkins. And the welcome return of hearty soups. I am such a cheesball!
On a similar note… School has started. All hail the public educational system! I gaze in happy wonder as all but one of my offspring are carted away on a yellow bus of glory! I am now the proud owner of 2 hours of personal time. Which is no easy task.
6:00 Wake up (truthfully, it’s more like 6:30)
7:00 Alina on the bus
8:00 Mackenzie on the bus (Alina goes to middle school now so they start at different times and ride different buses,)
8:30 – 11:30 Chasing Reggie and Reese, cleaning and whatnot.
12:00 Reggie on the bus. (She’s in half day kindergarten.)
12:30 Reese in bed.
12:30 – 2:30 Here’s my personal time. (Rejoice with me, won’tchanow?)
2:30 Alina gets out of school.
3:45 Keni and Reggie get home.
3:46 Chaos ensues.
In other news… Charlie is having a birthday tomorrow. Turning 33. Yep. 33. I asked him if he feels old, to which he replied, “I feel as cool now as I did when I was 23.”
Ah, the wealth of ego that lies in that man’s brain. I could read an endless pile of self help books and NEVER feel as good about myself as he does on a perpetual basis.
My good friend Lauren had her baby, Emma Rose. I have yet to see her and her little one, but have seen the video and hope to get to the hospital today for a sneaky peek.
Also, let’s take a moment and pray a new lawnmower (with one of those baggers on the back?) into my life. The one I have is over 10 years old and only works in one gear and only starts when Chuck opens the metal thingie and sticks two screwdrivers inside its belly until sparks fly then the engine starts. It’s like he’s magic or something.
So let’s pray… so I can mow on a regular basis… so I won’t have to rake piles of clippings… and Chuck will be able to stop his use of black magic as I am sure our good Lord doesn’t approve.
The apple trees are pregnant with apples a plenty. I think I might make a pie.
All in all, not much is ahappening.
My life is certainly something to be envied forsure.
Cha-ching!
My mom in law and I are having a garage sale.
Yesterday I made $12.35.
Let’s all go to dinner! On me!
