Granddog

I have a granddog. Her name is Bailey. She is a Wheaten Terrier.

She belongs to this couple, my son, Jordan, and his girlfriend, Natalie:


When she grows up, she will look something like this:


Right now, she looks exactly like this:


It has been interesting seeing my son care for this baby puppy, including getting up in the middle of the night to take her out.


Zoe is not sure about her ... niece??

Not that she feels sorry for herself. {Sigh} But sometimes, she just feels as though she blends in with the background when Bailey's around. Actually, she does blend in with the background most of the time.

The new granddog is adorable, but Tiny Tater Tot is still number one in my heart.

Mom Moment

Mostly my kids dont need me anymore. But sometimes, like when my 21 yr old son squirts mustard on his shirt at lunch, I jump into Mom Mode circa 1994, rip the shirt off and vanquish the yellow monster in the mud sink while everyone else finishes the meal. I still got it.

He Arrived March 8, 1989

He is 21 years old today. The world sees him as just another guy. Just another man on the planet. But he is so much more to me.

His name is Jordan Michael.
He is my only middle child.
He is my only son.
He is my pride and joy.
He is everything I hoped having a son would be, and is NOT everything I feared a son would be.
He is smart (very smart), sensitive, compassionate, loves justice and equality.
He loves to laugh.
He used to love the Ninja Turtles, his blanky, his pacifier (boopy) and milk.
Today he loves sports, being around his girlfriend and his life in general.

He is 21 years old. Twenty-one. Twenty-one years ago today, the longest pregnancy in the history of mankind came to and end, and I had a son.

He is my great, great joy.

Love you, Jord. Happy birthday!










Coconut Cake

Ingredients:
1 box yellow cake mix (not the kind with pudding in the mix)
14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk
1 sm. can cream of coconut (about 1 c.)
1 envelope dry Dream Whip
1 container Cool Whp
Coconut flakes for topping

Directions:
Bake cake as directed; cool 15 mins.
With the end of a wooden spoon, poke holes in cake 1" apart, half-way down, all over cake.
Mix together cream of coconut and sweetened milk. Pour over cake, making sure to pour into holes.
Refrigerate 24 hrs. If you can't do 24 hrs., remember the longer it sits, the better it gets.
Ice with mixed Dream Whip and Cool Whip. Sprinkle with coconut.

The Tale of the Thanksgiving Miracle of 2009

Recently I mentioned that my son, 20, now has a girlfriend. (His name is not actually "20" as it appears in this awkward sentence. It is Jordan. He is 20 years old.) I am very happy about this situation because she is a great girl. I keep trying to make a good impression on her, and yet, I fail.

But this is the tale of the Thanksgiving Miracle, so I'll move on from that unpleasant topic.

Interestingly, since the girlfriend, I've noticed that Jordan is more in touch with his nurturing side.

For instance, he and his girlfriend bought a fish together, a male Beta named "Barry," short for "Barracuda."

I asked him, "So, does this situation make this fish my 'grandfish'?"

Yes, apparently, it does.

I would have preferred to have a LEGITIMATE grandfish, but I have vowed to love this fish unconditionally.

So when he came home for Thanksgiving break Wednesday night, Jordan came in the door with laundry, Barry and a live plant in tow.

I'm having visions of diaper bags and car seats because everyone knows once you have a fish AND a plant, you're just a step or two away from a dog. And then everyone knows what happens after that: diaper bags, strollers and car seats. Oh wait a minute, that's just MY dog. Most people have a baby after the dog and then get the car seats, etc.

Anyway, Jordan brought Barry in a small container and proceeded to put him back into his regular bowl furnished stylishly by the girlfriend with snazzy black pearl foliage and sparkle rocks. Did I mention I like this girl?

As he did this, he told me all about how talented and brilliant Barry is. It seems that Barry has been following Girlfriend's finger up and down. He has also been anticipating his feeding. And he blows bubbles.

Not that I'm bragging, but have you seen my grandfish??

So Barry gets all situated in his bowl, and we put him in the family room. Jordan is on the computer, and I'm watching TV. Occasionally I glance at Barry and note how talented he is.

However, at one point, Barry looked ... sleepy.

I said, "Jordan, does the fish sleep a lot?"

He said, "Yes. He always does that."

I said, "OK. But does he kind of float like that when he sleeps?"

So Jordan goes to Barry and says, "Uh oh." He pokes him with his finger. Barry does not respond.

You can imagine what was going through my head: "The Girlfriend is never going to trust me or my household again!" In an instant, I considered the old sit-com switcheroo where you run out and buy a look-alike replacement and hope the owner is none the wiser.

People on Facebook offered helpful ideas such as: "Maybe he died of SFS, 'Shaken Fish Syndrome' from the car ride."

Jordan tried several times to revive Barry, mainly by poking him, but alack and alas, Barry appeared to have already crossed The Rainbow Bridge.

So my son, being the man of honor that he is, said, "Guess I'd better go make the bad news phone call."

I yelled after him, "Tell her it wasn't my fault! Tell her I didn't cause it!"

So he broke the news and walked away with the fish bowl.

The next day was Thanksgiving. Later in the day, I said, "So did you flush Barry?" Because I'm all sensitive and everything like that.

And he said, no, I put him in my room.

???

I'm not sure why he did this, unless he just needed "time" before the flushing ceremony. But he's 20, not 2.

Anyway, Jordan went to his room and returned with unbelievable good and joyous tidings: "Barry is alive!"

"What?" I say in disbelief. "But I saw you poke him and how he floated! He was, as Ebenezer Scrooge said about Bob Marley (wait, that was Jacob Marley) 'deader than a doornail!'"

Jordan said, "I know, but I just saw his fins moving. It's like he's hibernating or something."

And do you know that as the days have passed, that fish has rebounded. Not 100%, but he's returning to us.

Apparently, he still has work left to do here on Earth. And I get another chance to win over the Girlfriend.

And that is the story of the Thanksgiving Miracle of 2009.

How was your Thanksgiving?

Bing Bong

My son can be a bit of an odd duck sometimes, and I mean that in the best sense of duck oddness. He seemed to be born laughing, although I'm sure he was probably not laughing at me but with me in that perilous moment of his birth. No, I'm pretty sure it was at me. Here he is at 3 months, yukking it up with a photographer.

But seriously folks, he is a silly 20 year-old kid, and you never know what quirky thing he's going to come up with next. (Gosh, how he takes his quirkiness after that dad of his because you all know I am not quirky in the least.)

And now I shall share a story of quirkiness.

But first, pertinent facts in order for this story to be appreciated: Of all my kids, he was the neatest child and the most likely to call for a ride home in the middle of the night if he spent the night with a friend. He hates insects and mice and is allergic to cats. He has been known to turn down vacationing with friends he loved because he did not want to suffer through a balmy tropical vacation (doesn't tolerate heat well at all.)

So you can see why it came as a surprise when, late last winter, he announced to us that he was not planning on moving home this summer but that he was going to live with a bunch of guys in a campus house. There was no discussion about this; he simply made up his mind and informed us. We never saw the house before he moved in.

Therefore, the kid who hates heat has been living in a veritable un-airconditioned sauna house inhabited by messy college guys since May. So far, he has done as well as can be expected. I'm proud to say he has never once called home in the middle of the night for us to come pick him up, in spite of seeing, in the first week there on his own, a mouse in the sauna house kitchen pictured at left.

A couple of weeks ago, when the boys were out having an adventure at McDonald's (It's a small college town--very small) they spotted a little black kitten abandoned in the parking lot.

They took it home (of course!) and being the uninitiated cat owners that they are, immediately fed it tuna and milk, which they soon discovered was not a good idea. Turns out, kitties don't tolerate the bacteria in milk well. I asked him why they didn't just buy canned cat food if they were going that route, and he said, "We didn't think about that."

(Note to self: When Son is grown and married, make sure he knows how to feed newborns before wife and baby come home from hospital. Or parking lot.)




















One of my son's most endearing qualities is his nurturing side, which I've often seen when he deals with Zoe.

And now, this side of him has completely blossomed with the cat whom he has quirkily named "Bing Bong." Apparently, many names were up for discussion amongst the boys, but the winner was my son's choice: Bing Bong.

I said, "Let me get this straight. You're going to take that cat to the vet, and they're going ask, 'What's his name?' and you're going to reply, 'Bing Bong?'"

"Yep. Bing Bong."

Well, Bing Bong has been to the vet now, and that is how we know I have a grandson cat. Also, they found out he was approximately 1 week old when they found him, a lot younger than they thought, and that they nearly poisoned him with milk and tuna, which would've been unfortunate. At three weeks, he weighs 1 lb 9 ozs.

So the moral of this story is: There is no moral. But there is a denouement, a "tying up" of loose plot strings, if you will:

Apparently, my son is no longer allergic to cats.
The mouse who could not be vanquished with poison or traps has now wisely decided to lay low because of the cat.
The heat wave has subsided, so the boys are doing more than lying around lifeless on dirty futons with a kitten clawing them.
They have learned something about how not to feed kittens.

And now I present the newest addition to the family, Bing Bong:

30 x 5 Update and What Happened When I Kissed My Son

All I can say is, "Wow!" What a great start we had yesterday! I couldn't get around to visit everyone's site, but I sure would love to. And I was so excited when your reports started rolling in. You are all my new heroes.

I'm sharing this picture of a budding tree to make a trite point that millions of people have made before me, but what the heck: We are this tree. We look kinda sketchy just getting started and all, but we hold promise. You'll notice that the one bud in the crook of the limb is kind of more advanced than the others. That would be those of you who exercised AN HOUR on the first day. You have a halo. Or, that bud could represent those of you who simply worked up a sweat, excuse me, I mean "glow."

At any rate, you did not disappoint. Please try to visit a couple of people on the list at the right so that we can encourage each other and build community.

And now I move on to another topic because I just can't be all "leader-y" all the time. I need a break from me.

As I'm writing this, it's actually 10:28 pm Thursday, and I'm sitting with a blanket wrapped around me because I'm cold (this happens a lot at night, kind of like reptiles cooling when the sun goes down).

I'm really wishing I had a Snuggie right now because I'm rolling all over this blanket in my desk chair and tolerating make-do sleeves, which now that I've been enlightened that blankets with sleeves exist, I know I should not have to do without one. Did I tell you my college son and his dorm mate ordered Snuggies? Just because they think they're ridiculous.

Oh, my son. He is a piece of work. When he was here for his birthday, as he left, his dad said, "Hug your mother." So Jordan stopped, and I hugged him, and he tolerated me like I was a blanket with no sleeves. I mean he was just waiting for the moment to end, while I was hanging onto every moment and remembering how sweet he was when I would pick him up from his naps, etc.

Anyway, something possessed me to kiss the boy, which I haven't done since, like, 1992, and when I released my hug hold on him to back up slightly to kiss him, he juked me. Yes, you read that right.

For those of you like me: "Juke" = mislead, distract the opponent by making a planned diversion (in football); fake, perform a diversionary tactic, feint; move in a zigzag manner.

He zig zagged to escape and ended up with a big ol' kiss planted awkwardly and yet precisely on his right eye.

He said, "Oh, ugh! You kissed my eye!"

Immediately I remembered Lucy's rant, ""Auugh! Get hot water! Get some disinfectant! Get some iodine!"

But I checked the sarcasm and said, "If you hadn't been in such a hurry to ditch your mom, you would've had a kiss on the side of the face, like a normal person."

We are a warm and happy family.



But from now on, I'm going to treat Zoe with a little more respect when she kisses me. Even if it's on my eye.