Nothing is Sacred Anymore in this House

Not even semi-cute pictures of moi.



Ouch. And I think my son has found his calling in life.
Go ahead. Click on it and treat yourself to the full size version. I dare you.

Desktop

I was looking at the thumbnails on my desktop and saw this:

Despite the fact that Lewis' bulging eye is disturbing, this one made me say, "Awwwwwww." Do you know what we did on Tuesday? Celebrated our 15th anniversary. It wasn't terribly romantic, there were 16 shrieking teens over celebrating Dainon's 14th birthday. Lewis was outside supervising an "Ultimate Water Balloon Battle" with a microphone and ginormous speaker blasting a blow-by-blow and teen music for miles. I was hiding in my room with a book. I didn't need the whole romantic scenario, we just got back from a working weekend in Charlotte. My cup was full.
But take a second look at this creation Dainon made. He entitled it "Welded". Could there, perchance, be a little bit of symbolism involved? See how we've 'become one'? And look in the background. Could those be the very flames of passion? A very perceptive young man.

Here's another one I found, "Ultimate Present".

This is my current background for my desktop.

It's an original composition. He's really into political commentary right now. I never know what I'll find when I log on, but last week it was this:Who is he? I know all about him. I shouldn't, but I do. I have a certain son that treats me to Chester trivia on an almost daily basis. Did you know he was so excited to try out for the band that he left his birthday party early? I'll bet you didn't.

Classic Lewis

Lewis tells the corniest jokes. His mind is fertile soil for puns. They just pop right out. Usually, they relate to something he's recently seen. We standing in line at the airport when he came up with what might be his best joke ever. Are you ready for it?

What do you get when a 'woman of the cloth' handles your finances?





Sure you're ready?







Nun of your business.

Did I Just do Something Stupid?

I have a nasty kitchen floor. It's laid with really thick, as in more than an inch, rounded terra cotta tiles. The tile is old and pitted, and dirt is impossible to get out of all those tiny crevices.
I had a brainwave this morning, though.
Instead of taking hours on my hands and knees, what about making use of my husband's treasured toy?



Did I just use 3000 psi jets of water on my kitchen floor? Why, yes. Yes I did. My floors have never been cleaner. My ears are still ringing, I smell like gas fumes, but it was so stinking fun. Was it stupid? Absolutely. Did I flood anything downstairs? Only a little. Was it worth it? Uh-huh.

Labor and Delivery on the Way to Church

We were going to be late. Lewis was already at church with the older boys, and I was in a blur of hurry putting Liam's sandals on. They weren't his dress shoes, but what can you do? As I looked up into his eyes to tell him to go buckle up, I noticed a telltale bulge on his tummy. "There's a baby bunny in my tummy!" he chirped, in answer to my questioning eyes. I shrugged and told him to head out to the van. I mean, it's church, right? Who's going to condemn my preschooler for an unplanned cross species pregnancy?

As I drove the five minutes to church, I was treated to all the sounds of his labor and delivery. "Wah, wah!" the baby bunny cried. "He wants to come out!" Liam kept me informed on his progress. By the time we arrived, I was a proud new.....Grandbunny?

Just for You, Shannon

*I asked for Dainon's permission before sharing this story.

For many years, I've had to share a bathroom with the family. What does this mean? It means I can never just sit down on the toilet without taking a really good look at the seat. It means my makeup gets desecrated by artists and my beauty tools disappear. Sniff.

It was tough.

But following a cataclysmic flooding event last year, a remodel was in order. And I got my own bathroom. It's not quite finished. My new bedroom that adjoins it still has no pad or carpet. It's still very much a construction room; but my bathroom, my inner sanctum, is beautiful.
One day I was enjoying my new double headed shower (I can rinse both armpits at the same time!) while Lewis was painting in the bedroom. Dainon poked his head around the door.
"Don't come in here!" Lewis warned.
Dainon just assumed he meant that there was wet paint and decided to walk in anyway. Just as I was stepping out of the shower.

Our eyes locked.

He screamed.

I howled with laughter and shouted, "BEHOLD THE HOTNESS THAT IS YOUR MOTHER!

He dashed from the room and cried out in anguish "Burn this image from my retinas!"

I grabbed a towel and collapsed in giggles.

And now, he always knocks.
True story.

Dainon needs a teenage Bill of Rights.

Last night our front room was a war zone. Dainon is almost 14, and really feeling it. He needs a lot more freedom. He should be able to blast Linkin Park and Disturbed throughout my house. MY HOUSE. The very walls that usually shimmer with folksy bluesy peaceful vibes. I listen to him defiantly making his case and the scene blurs before my eyes. I see two girls of a similar age writhing in agony as their father plays 'easy listening' on the stereo of their yellow station wagon. We won the right to blast Pour Some Sugar on Me, A Little Respect, Boys Don't Cry, and Will Smith's Parents Just Don't Understand.

Remember these guys? Ahhhh, those were the days.

We reached a bit of a compromise. He turns the music down, or changes songs when I go into fits on the ground. He's not fighting to play anything evil, just testosterone drenched noise.

We've declared an uneasy truce, so we've moved on to bedtime.

9 o'clock is way too early to have to go to bed. It's practically abuse. NO ONE, not a single soul at his school has to go to bed so early.

I smile and explain to him that at 9:01, his father and I strip down and walk about the house totally naked. If he wants to stay up and see that, he's sick.

He doesn't buy it.

He takes his case to the internet, and consults ask.com. He saves the answer to my desktop, offering it as damning evidence against the wisdom of our parenting skills.

"Your getting a little "old" for bedtime. 9 o'clock was my bedtime when I was 8 years old. Id say at 13 your have to learn to take care of your own daily resigme to learn to mature. If your parents keep telling you to go to bed at a certain time, then you will need learn to take responsibility for your own sleeping paterns."

(emphasis added by a mom who hates spelling errors)

Hmmmm..... Teens offering advice on parenting over the internet. What do you think, guys? Did it work on you?