Just Stop

The Hintz family has had a rough week. Instead of attending her prom, Makenna had her wisdom teeth pulled. Her face swelled up like a helium balloon, and she threw up for two days straight. Then she had to be treated for dry sockets, which is the worst thing I've ever watched happen.

Josiah broke his hand during a rugby game and is out for the rest of the rugby season. That doesn't bother him nearly as much as not being able to drum until his cast is off. The boy who drums on the countertop, his dinner plate, and when all drummable surfaces have been removed, his chest, is no longer able to drum. He may explode.

Even more disconcerting though, I have to write his homework for him. His handwriting is barely legible under the best of circumstances, so having him write with his left hand is laughable. I now get to spend my evenings drawing wavy physics graphs, writing in Latin, and writing complicated trig equations. I don't understand a single thing.

Hoping the madness was settling down, I went to the gym and enjoyed a stress reducing workout after all the kids left for school. When I was done, I noticed I had a text on my phone. It was from Josiah, which is not a good sign since he was at school. I unlocked my phone and read, "The plastic part of my headphone came off in my ear and I can't get it out."

I have just one thing to say to my kids.

STOP IT.

Hemi

My husband sent me to the auto store to pick up an air filter for my Jeep. I walked in confidently with my daughter and tried to pretend that I knew my way around. I saw a sign that said, "Filters," so I felt sure that my shopping experience would be short and painless. However, although the boxes stretched to the ceiling and down the length of the aisle, they all stated that they were specifically oil filters, not air filters.

Humbled, I approached the front counter and faced the large, sour-faced man guarding the cash register.

"Whaddya need?" he asked, and from his tone I could tell that I had interrupted some very important activity he had been doing. He was probably just about to set a new record for standing in one spot.
"I need an air filter. Are they with the oil filters somewhere?"
"I have to look it up," he grunted, and moved reluctantly from his record-setting spot to the computer. "What's the make and model of your car?"
"Jeep Commander, 2007," I answered, proud that I knew the information.
"What's the motor size?" He asked and yawned at the same time.
"Motor size?" I panicked and searched my mind for the knowledge. I begged the recesses of my brain to dig deep and find the motor size quickly.
"Motor size," he restated.
"Um," I deflated, "is there a way I would know that? Like, does it say it somewhere in the Jeep?"
"I'll have to pop the hood and take a look," he growled with a roll of his eyes.

We walked to the Jeep, and I spent the journey begging God to infuse me with knowledge on how to pop the hood with confidence. He waited at the front, unwilling to waste extra steps, while I took Emery with me to the driver's door and quickly found the lever with a picture of an open hood on it. Thankfully, I did the trick right, and the motor size was quickly discovered. Grumpy man waddled back to the computer and entered the unearthed information.

"Oh!" he said, staring at the computer screen. "You have a hemi."
"Yes, I do," I answered because I had seen that word on the back of my Jeep as I loaded groceries.
"A hemi," he nodded and raised one eyebrow. He looked out the window at my Jeep, and then he gave me a thumbs up.

I gave him my credit card, and he chit-chatted with a smile as the computer settled my bill. He waved to me and winked at Emery as we exited the store.

"What is a hemi?" Emery asked I started the Jeep.
"Apparently it is something that makes you awesome."

Later that same day I dropped my iphone in water. "It was completely submerged," I told Emery, "and look - it is still working!"
She looked at my phone, tested some of the apps, nodded, handed it back and said, "Maybe it has a hemi."

Farm Folk

It happened. We are farm folk.

I apparently lost all control awhile back, and now baby chickens live in my bathroom. We started with 10, but now we have 9 because we also have a chicken-loving husky. I'm not sure how it happened, but I'm pretty sure this wasn't my idea.

Nine baby chicks in my bathroom wasn't enough though, so my husband decided to build a chicken coop. I thought he was going to build a small, safe place for the baby chicks to live. What he did instead, though, is built a mammoth chicken mansion and filled it with grown-up, pecking, clucking chickens.

"Well," I sighed when I saw it, "at least the baby chicks will finally be out of my bathroom, and I can stop guarding them from Arrow all the time."
"Oh," he mumbled, "actually the baby chicks can't live out here."
"They can't?"
"No. The big ones will end up killing the little ones if we mix them."
"So, where are they going to live?"

They are in my bathroom. I'm guarding them.

Sense of Humor

Some families go to exciting, exotic places for spring break. We went to the Ozarks in Missouri where it rained and snowed the entire time. We chose to go there because it was cheap. For obvious reasons. During those four days we watched more movies and played more games than we will from now till Christmas.

After a particularly rowdy card game one evening, Emery was staring at me as if she was trying to solve a mystery.

"Is something wrong, Honey?" I asked, smoothing her golden hair.

"You were really funny tonight," she answered, bewildered.

"Um, thanks?" 

"No, it's just that you were really funny."

"Um, thank you?" 

"I've just never really thought you were funny."

"Maybe you just don't get my humor sometimes."

"People have always told me that you are really funny," she explained, "but I have always thought that they must have a really dull sense of humor."

Thanks for making that perfectly clear, Sweet Honey Child.

Love Eggs

Saturday my church sponsored the Special Egg Event. It was a customized Easter egg hunt for kids with special needs. Kids who were unable to walk were able to use a wand with a magnet on the end to pick up magnetized eggs all by themselves. Kids who were unable to see were able to use their sense of hearing to find eggs that were beeping. There was a quiet egg hunt for kids who were anxious about noise and commotion. There was a general egg hunt for kids who could do it all just fine, but just didn't want to compete against kids who were quicker.

We were able to have the event at Drake Stadium, so there was plenty of room for the 1000 plus people who turned out, and, thankfully, the rain decided to come again another day. As a bonus, Famous Daves fed everybody, Blank Park Zoo set up a petting zoo, the Easter Bunny was available for pictures, crafts were available, and Mrs. Iowa spent time loving on kids.

One time I spent my afternoon getting a pedicure. I loved it and felt great when I got home, but by the next day I had lost that lovin' feeling. Saturday I stood on concrete loading meat onto buns, and when I got home I was tired and teary-eyed. And I thought to myself, "That was a day I will remember till I die."

The Special Egg Event wasn't only special because it was for kids with special needs, it was special because it was an honor to be a part of it.