The Fight

My boys are 11 months apart in age. I think God is still chuckling about that one.

They are very close, but it was not always that way. I brainwashed them when they were little. They would irritate each other endlessly, but I kept telling them that they were best friends. They didn't buy it for a long time. We implemented some rules like never cheer against your brother in a game, never speak badly about a family member, and always protect each other. Slowly, they started appreciating each other more, laughing at each other's jokes, and even enjoying each other's company.

They are now 13 and 14 and complete opposites. Josiah is older, looks like a grown man, and plays every sport. Drake is smaller, does not enjoy sports, and is hilarious. They are a team. They have their own way of thinking, and they completely understand each other. They are unbeatable during a game of Pictionary.

They both have trouble with a group of mean boys at school. These boys hang together and enjoy being punks to anyone who gets in their way. You know the type.

These mean boys have been sitting next to Josiah and his friends during lunch, and began tossing food onto them. After letting it slide for a few days, Josiah and his friends began tossing the food back. Then it all escalated. One kid threw some food that landed on Josiah's sandwich. Josiah threw it back and happened to hit the other kid's head with it. The guy stood up and marched over to Josiah and shouted inches from his face to quit throwing food. Josiah shouted the same thing right back. The kid introduced Josiah to every usage of various swear words and stalked away.

According to the school rules, Josiah should have just remained silent and let the incident die down. He didn't. He called the kid a name. Not a nice one. He only said one word, but that was enough. The kid turned around, stared Josiah down for a few seconds, then, while Josiah remained sitting at his lunch table, began hammering him. He first punched the side of Josiah's head near the temple. Then he grabbed Josiah around the neck from behind and punched the other side of his head. Then he held Josiah down with both hands and kneed him in the back of the head several times. All of this happened in about thirty seconds.

I asked Josiah why he never hit the kid back. He said he knew he would get in a lot of trouble if he hit someone, and he knew he was bigger and stronger than the other kid. He thought he might hurt him and didn't want to.

As the kid was being pulled from Josiah's back, Josiah laughed. All day long people were making comments about the boy who took a beating and laughed about it. It pretty much elevated him to hero status. They are saying he laughed because he is so tough the punches didn't even hurt. They are saying he laughed because he knew the other kid would get in a lot of trouble. If you ask him, he will tell you he laughed because the first thing he saw when he looked up was Drake standing front and center with a goofy expression giving him a double thumbs up. He was proud of his brother for finally standing up to this bully. His goofy look made Josiah laugh.

Josiah was okay except for some goose eggs on his head and some bruises. Drake walked around the school like only a proud brother can, and Josiah got a one day suspension for the name calling. I think Team Hintz was a success.

I Sorry

When my son was two years old, I learned a really important lesson. I learned that when you have a conversation with your two year old and it begins with the words, "Mommy, I sorry," you are about to be shown something that will not make you happy.

My son was adorable when he was two. He had these cheeks that looked like they were stuffed with jelly and they jiggled every time he took a step. He had huge blue eyes and soft blond hair that barely covered his bald head.  I believe that he really did want to be a good boy. being bad was just so much more interesting.

So when I was folding the laundry and he tapped me on the shoulder to say, "Mommy, I sorry," I knew I should be afraid.

"Why are you sorry," I asked.

"I show you," he whispered as he grabbed my index finger with his warm, chubby hand.

He led me into the kitchen and opened the door of the refrigerator. It took me a moment before I noticed the problem. The inside of the door, and the contents thereof, was covered with dripping egg goo. There was a convenient place at the top of the door molded perfectly to hold a dozen eggs. My son had obviously decided to see what an egg would do when smashed by his fist. He knew it was a bad thing to do, but when it exploded and egg goo dripped down the ketchup bottle, he just couldn't resist doing it again. And again. Until all twelve eggs had exploded and dripped their goo. And when the fun was over, he fessed up.

I remember standing there with my mouth agape just staring as goo dripped onto the kitchen floor. And, although I knew I shouldn't, although I knew it would be much harder to clean once the goo was dried, I just closed the door and walked away. A little later I had a talk with my son, and during nap time I tacked the project of cleaning the refrigerator. But at that moment, I couldn't help it and I just had to have a laugh.

Baby Waterfall

Pregnancy hit me like a waterfall - it just kept coming. After five years of babyless marriage, the day we found out a little one was on the way was joyous and delightful. When that baby was three months old and we found out a second little one was on the way and had the exact same due date as the first one, February 4, we were shocked but happy. When the second baby was three months old and we discovered a third little one was on the way due February 4, our eyes glazed over and we did a little howling. I blame that on the fact that we hadn't slept in two years. Howling can happen due to lack of sleep.

After feeling horribly betrayed by modern medicine, we accepted the fact that we were going to be parents of three babies under the age of two and moved forward. We bought everything in triplicate. The baby was born and was perfect. Nine days after his birth, our oldest baby turned two. Four days after that, our second baby turned one. We took shifts sleeping and tried to talk coherently. We failed.

Because we were smart, we moved to a new city where I didn't know anybody and moved into an apartment on the third floor. My husband took our only car everyday to work, so I was friendless, carless, and stuck in an apartment with three babies for days on end. This is how they should test the mental stamina of astronauts before sending them to the space station.

Then the best thing in the world happened. I made a friend and we moved next door to her and her husband. I rediscovered adult language. I changed out of my pajamas and started brushing my teeth before noon. And since things were going so good, we decided to have a fourth baby.

People thought I was crazy or uncontrollable or uninformed. I agreed with them. I never really pictured myself as a baby person. I didn't even babysit that much in high-school. But babies are such a good idea. Who else loves you every minute of every day? Who else looks at you with complete trust in their eyes? Who else makes you feel like Queen of the Universe just because you made Macaroni and Cheese? Who else can pull off the scent of soap mixed with Play Doh?

Being a mom made me grow up fast. It made me a deeper person. It forced me to be patient when I wanted to stomp my foot and scream. It forced me to forget about myself and think of others. It made Christmas exciting and it made the Tooth Fairy real. It made bedtime special. So special.




Basically, it made life worth it.

Grandpa

My grandpa is 91 years old. That is old. By now I believe the man has earned the right to do pretty much anything he wants to. He also believes this. And that is what he is doing.

My grandma died a short time ago, and it was terribly sad. She was a wonderful woman and couldn't have been more loved by her family. We miss her all the time.

My grandpa, who has lived with my grandma in the same house for over 40 years, decided to move the day after my grandma's funeral. He wanted to move into a retirement community. He said one person in such a large house seemed a waste, and, once his decision was made, he wanted to move quickly. I think the real reason was because he heard that once you move into a room you get food everyday. He doesn't care for cooking.

One of the first events he attended was a group birthday party where cake is served and all the birthdays for the month are celebrated together. The activities director was wrapping the event up at the end by going over a few announcements in a microphone in the front of the room. After he mentioned a few things, he asked if he had forgotten anything and if anyone had anything to add.

My grandpa stood up. My grandpa who has ever been short on words stood up. My grandpa who had only lived in this building four days and did not know anybody stood up. My grandpa who has never even once done any kind of public speaking stood up and walked to the microphone.

"Sometimes," he cleared his throat, "sometimes when I hear my own voice in a microphone, I get embarrassed. Fortunately my song is very short." And then he sang a song.

As far as I know Grandpa has never been involved in any kind of singing group, church choir, ensemble, or music venue of any kind. But, he wanted to sing, so he sang a song. A battle hymn. Why? Nobody knows. Was it time to sing? No. Does he sing well? No. He sang because he is 91, and when you're 91 you should pretty much do what you want.

New Puppy

We've been through several dogs. We didn't mean to go through them so quickly.

The story begins with a boxer we called Canaan. He was awesome, obedient, playful, ginormous. Too ginormous. We had four small children at the time who just couldn't compete with the dog. After many thousands of dog related injuries, the dog had to go.

Then there was a bichon frise called Posy who we loved for four months before she died suddenly while we were not home one day. It was traumatic. Then came two dogs at once - a puggle called Nairobi and a long hair chihuahua called Dallas. We had Nairobi for two days before she got sick and had to go back to the breeder and died in the night. The breeder graciously replaced the puggle that died, which we creatively named Nairobi, just like the first one. Dallas made it for two years at our house before his unfriendliness earned him a one way ticket to my wonderful cousins house.

Through all of this my husband has dreamed of having a husky. It is is favorite dog. He literaly has dreams about huskies. But, after the boxer and the havoc ensuing from owning a large dog, I gently told him something like, "NO MORE BIG DOGS EVER!!"

But, I have a hard time sticking to my guns, so for his fortieth birthday I got him a beautiful siberian husky. She was gorgeous with silver hair and blue eyes. She was two years old, and I thought that was brilliant since an older dog would be housebroken. She wasn't. And she had this annoying habit of biting people. And making them bleed. She stayed with us six months before relocating to a dream house out in the country.

That settled it. Nairobi was the perfect dog for us. She was chubby, lazy, calm, nice. I loved her and told the family we would never get another dog because Nairobi was the only dog we needed. I clearly remember saying that as I sit here with my new husky puppy chewing a toy on the floor next to me, and I think to myself, "What happened?"

I'll tell you what happened. One calm evening my husband said we should go somewhere and loaded me and the kids up in the car and drove us to the animal rescue league. When we entered, we immediatley heard the whimpering of small puppies. Husky puppies. Five of them. Eight weeks old. Cuter than life itself. Five sets of begging, blue eyes and one puppy kiss later, we were driving home with our new puppy in my lap. I love puppy kisses.

Strange Things Are Afoot

When you look around and notice what's going on, do you wonder how everything got so strange? There is this concept called normal, but I've rarely seen proof that it does indeed exist. Upon making a decision, we all set in our minds how the course of events should play out. We envision this should, accept it and welcome it. We then move forward only to discover that nothing works out as it should, and everything ends up either a little or a lot off the mark. We are then left with what is instead of what should be.  


When I was in high school, I watched a widely mocked movie that I loved called Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. I loved this movie because it was simple and funny. There was a scene in that movie where Bill and Ted are in the parking lot of the Circle K and suddenly a telephone booth from the future thumps loudly onto the concrete and a man exits and begins speaking to them. Ted looks at Bill and profoundly says, "Strange things are afoot at the Circle K."  


Silly as it may be, this sentence rang true for me and became somewhat of a slogan I use often. Strange things are always happening, and, when they do, I feel the need to tell the story. I believe strange things, whether good or bad, should be noticed and told. So, here we go because strange things are afoot.