One of those magical mornings of childhood...

Sometimes "special" breaks out without even a moments notice. 

"Mom, can we have a tea party outside?"
Sure...  so I sent out cups, saucers, small plates, cookies (freshly baked yesterday, thank goodness that today I'm the mom with good snacks), and the neighbor kids set up the picnic blanket. A 1/2 gallon of pink lemonade later and an impromptu tea party has broken out on my front lawn.

I love that.

I love that we have neighbors that my kids will have such special memories of, that are a huge part of their childhood.  They run back and forth all the time, but sometimes for just a short while it's extra special. Something that they will share with their kids when they talk about being kids themselves.

My next door neighbor kids lost their grandfather last night.  I'd like to think that for a moment he and my mom were next to each other and looking down at their grandchildren having such a wonderful, innocent, honest moment of being sweet kids... one of those unplanned moments in life that is just so happy.  And they will smile at each other.  Because is there anything grandparents love more than their grand kids?

I truly believe that this moment of special was brought to us today by the Universe.  Because sometimes as a mom the most special moments don't happen to you directly.  They happen when something blossoms in your children and you get to watch.  From the shadows, but you get to watch. 

And then it's over. 

I'm guessing that moment of peace and quiet and friendship and sharing will shortly be replaced by a water fight.  Because that? Is what Summer Break is all about.

(In Memory of Jerry Warren Gilman: September 24, 1941-July 17, 2012. Thank you, Mr. Gilman, for giving me my friend Jen.  She and her family are such a blessing in our lives.  You have earned your rest, enjoy eternity with your Heavenly Father. Give my mom a hug for me, and thank you for sharing your stories with me. I love that you remembered so much detail about meeting your wife! One of life's great romances.)

You'd think by now I'd know...

Why, in the middle of the night, when I am suddenly woken up by someone standing over my bed does it never (ever) occur to me that it might be one of my children?

Why on EARTH would it be an intruder? 
It's never been an intruder.
Are there many intruders who are under 4' 10" who run around in nightshirts and messy hair?

And yet, my first thought is never "Oh, just one of the kids".  It's always "(GASP) WHAT? WHO ARE YOU?"  Sure that the waking poke was from a knife (which might not be the case if I made them cut their nails more often), I'm certain with every fiber of my being, for that split second in which I first notice that someone is standing over me trying to wake me up, that I am in mortal danger. 

And then I'm cranky, because really?  Being woken up by an intruder is scary.  Trumping any nightmare they might have just had, which is probably why they are standing ominously over me, poking me, trying to wake me up.

You'd think I'd learn.  But no. 
Tiny little intruders with teddy bears, calling me mom. 
Clearly you can see why I'm terrified.

The 80's to the rescue!

Hmm, yes.  I'd scream too if I saw this on mom's bathroom counter top...



 How is a mom to handle this when dad is out of town?  Probably the same way she'd handle it when dad was IN town - since being the CEO of Bug Killing makes him roll his eyes.  First? You panic.  Because even though it was maybe only an inch long, it's still a centipede.  And GROSS!

Then?  You grab THIS...

The good thing about having my formative "hair" years in the 80's is that you can still to this day find a can of extra strength hair spray in my bathroom.  ALWAYS.  This is non-negotiable.  And, as it turns out, quite handy.

Then you grab the water glass that is always in my room (and there is always a water glass in my room.  Sometimes several.  I'm a big forgetter when it comes to taking them back downstairs), and empty the stale water in to the sink. You SPRAY THE HECK out of that stupid centipede... and they're kind of fragile looking so I thought the hair spray would act more quickly... but that thing ran all the way around the back of the sink before starting to stiffen up.  I may have been screaming "Die! Die!", but there were no witnesses to confirm.

Then?  You cover the hairspray engulfed creature with the glass and leave it to die a slow or quick death.  I'm not sure if the Big Sexy Hair fumes affected him the way they seem to affect my dog.  Which is to say she makes a huge production of leaving the bathroom when I spray my hair, like I've done something to personally offend her.  Whatever.  You leave it to die.

I'm guessing this thing should probably stay there in his "death curl" for at least two days before I dare to raise the glass and quickly smash him with a wad of Kleenex - because what if it's NOT dead?  Do you KNOW how hard it is to get dried super fabulous hold hair spray off of the counter tops?  Better safe than sorry. 

So, in the end I think we've all learned a lesson. 

And you might want to apologize to me now for making fun of my hairspray addiction. 

The line forms to the left.