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Never underestimate the power of a young boy's brain to make connections other than the ones you expected.

Out errand running and treasure seeking in the china isle of a thrift store my 12 year old son found a navy blazer in perfect condition and the size of my 6 year old.  Now generally speaking when I'm thrifting for china my boys are thrifting for nerf guns not church clothes so I was a little surprised by the level of excitement engendered by the discovery of the jacket.

When we got home my 6 year old raced inside and changed from brown cowboy boots and jeans and a tee-shirt to black cowboy boots, jeans and a dress shirt.

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I am a morning person and have always been one.  Some of my earliest memories are of watching my bedroom clock while straining to hear the first hints of movements from any other human in my childhood home.  I could not fathom why, Why, WHY did everyone but me insist on staying in bed past 5 a.m.? Why was no one as impatient for the company of my conversation as I was for an audience?

My mother has had the last laugh, in that mysterious payback system of grandchildren. It is my youngest child who is my earliest riser and of all my children, his activities have always been the most unpredictable;  he's amazingly handy with screwdrivers, scissors, door bolts...

Recently, I've found something that produces a quiet morning state in him- Gong Fu style Chinese tea.



  It amazes me how quietly he will sit drinking his tea when he is allowed to pour his own.


Quiet is something I encourage.  Even quiet punctuated by slurping.  The Chinese lady in the tea shop taught him how to slurp very loudly because slurping is polite in Gong Fu Tea.  I think she is just a very clever sales lady- what 6 yo boy doesn't love to slurp?

I don't mind the slurping- a small price to pay to postpone early morning talking, or shooting sounds.



He loves White Peony tea the best.  Oolong second.  It cracks me up to hear him ask for Oolong by name.

Wait a minute! I suddenly understand why my mother started allowing me to drink coffee when I was 5 years old.  Growing up we had a huge Sunday meal complete with company and conversation and yummy desserts.  I thought it was the ultimate luxury and mark of my own maturity to be served a cup of coffee during dessert and allowed to scoop my own sugar and serve my own cream and sip my very own, very special grown-up cup of coffee....  I had no idea what my mother was really up to.

I guess I'm just continuing her legacy of caffeinated quiet.



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Two of my daughters somehow discovered that they harbored deep seated and complimentary desires.

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Normally I'd be at the gym right now.  I love the gym, especially early morning populated-by-grim-and-quiet-zombies sort of gym.

I love going in the early early mornings because I can get up and remain semi-comatose until halfway through my work out.  The semi-comatose part is a vitally important part of my routine because my semi-comatose brain is very obedient to patterns.  All it knows is: sit-up, start moving.  My semi-comatose brain isn't awake enough to say things like- I'm tired, I'm sore, I don't have time today, chocolate is good, I really need to...  It just does what it does every weekday morning.

I love going super early because that helps me finish before the cute and well-attired women show up and snag all the elliptical machines.

I hurt my knee two weeks ago.  I'm grounded for a while.  Yesterday I wrote a sheet of knee and core exercises to do today.  At home.  I have a computer at home.  Computers are easier than exercising a hurt body.

My gym does not have computers.

Now my children are up and desiring silly things like breakfast and parenting.  My conscious brain is fully engaged and predictably/persuasively argumentative.

I miss the early morning gym.








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I opened the mail today and found many many more doctors, hospital and lab bills from the last two months.  I don't know for sure why I open them any more; I read them as if I understand them, nodding my head with pretend concentration and comprehension, when in truth I lost track several E.R. visits ago.  For all I know this pack included charges for worming shetland sheep in Montana. The bills will get paid and then there will be more bills because my kids keep coming up with creative ways to generate new bills.

I got to wondering what would happen if one didn't pay medical bills.  Can anyone repo your health?  Merely a short flight of fancy and then-

This came to mind.  It's funny and gross.  Really really really gross.  Definitely the kind of gross that's not for children sitting in your lap while you waste time reading my blog...  but funny.

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Sometimes it makes no sense:

Well o.k. then.  Glad I cleared that up.  I haven't even had my coffee yet.

Speaking of coffee, why is anyone kicking before coffee when that's clearly a violation of morning energy output regulations?

Oh, and who's whining now?





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Sometimes the end of summer comes with a crash.  Or a crash followed by a smash and then a shoulder sling.

The two minutes of, "Go to the car and wait for me to lock up," is a time rife with danger.  More clothing, shoes, and body parts have been damaged or lost in that tiny window of opportunity than during all other parts of the mothering day.

I need an immobilizer ray gun.  Picture it: I have all the kids dressed and holding required backpacks for whatever outing we are attempting... Then, ZAAAAPPPPP!  There my children stand, frozen to the spot in the driveway, until my purse, cell phone, calender, snacks and keys are in my bag. The house is quietly and efficiently locked behind me.  Then, ZAAAAPPPP! My children are unfrozen, and enter the vehicle in an orderly fashion while calling me blessed.

No muss, no fuss, no fractured coracoid apophysis* on a last frenetic trip down the slide.  No chance to inexplicably lose a shoe or leave a backpack resting behind a car tire.  No chance to engage in a "discussion" over who gets to climb in the car first.

Beauty is a ray gun. Schematics and proposals now being accepted.





*Pain generally precedes learning the name of obscure bones.

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