Please Don't Judge Me.

I have a little confession. I hate tomatoes.

HATE EM.

Other than bananas, they are pretty much the worst thing I have ever put in my mouth.

Unfortunately, tomatoes are a staple in culinary life. And as much as this puzzles me, the rest of you seem to think they are worth slicing and eating, pureeing and putting on pizza and even adding sugar to and dipping fries in.

WEIRD.

Because I like to conform to society as much as a geek can, as well as set a good example for my kids I have tried to overcome my dislike of the fruit that thinks it is a vegetable. I no longer scrap the sauce off of my pizza, make spaghetti frequently and actually enjoy sun-dried tomatoes. I still do not dip my fries in ketchup, but if a drop of ketchup gets on one of mine, I no longer think it is ruined forever.

Raw tomatoes are a different story. Those things are still NASTY.

The other day I was at a friend's house for lunch. A new friend. One that is kind of unaware of my MANY quirks. When I first meet people I do try to present myself as geek free as possible to avoid scaring them. THEN, as we become friends I slowly peel back the onion that is me, and let them see all the layers.

But this friend and I aren't really into the peeling stage. SO, when she asked if I would like a Mediterranean salad for lunch I said "sure!"

She had listed off the ingredients as tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers. My active imagination added garlic, onion and a healthy dose of feta.

I can eat anything if there is feta involved.

There wasn't.

No onions.

I think I saw a pepper chunk or two, but I cannot be certain as it was lost among all the tomatoes.

For the two of us, It think the woman chopped about eight tomatoes. And a quarter of a cucumber. It was really past all reason.

So, we started in. I tried to alternate. I'd have a bite of bread and then throw the tomato in past my taste buds and try to survive that way. Unfortunately, there isn't enough bread in the world to make my scheme work.

Still I kept on.

And started to gag. Ever tried to hide the fact that you are gagging, and trying to turn it into "JUST LOVING THE SALAD?" Not all that easy. But I kept trying.

(Yes, I am aware that I might have some small people pleasing issues, but unless that really bothers you, I do not plan to change.)

Then it happened. The MIRACLE.

Her phone rang. She left the room. Her five year old and Sprout began to engage in an animated conversation about the trampoline.

And while everyone else was busy, I began operation "Dump the Junk."

One nasty red chunk at a time I took the tomatoes from my plate and put them back in the salad.

Oh yes, I did.

I don't even feel guilty.

It was either that or puking and somehow I don't think that presents the cool image I was going for.

That's my Boy

I don't know if I've mentioned it a time or two, but Spud is not an athletic sort of kid. He does get outside and get busy, but mainly because I make him. There has been more than one occasion where he has been locked out of the house screaming and crying and told to "go have fun." Yes, I do see the irony in that situation.

Left to his own devices, he would spend the day in a semi-comatose state watching TV and playing educational computer games. However, I have no desire to have him living in my basement when 30 and doing just that, so, activities of all kinds are foisted on him.

Some more successfully than others.

A few weeks ago we were practicing printing skills. Which in his world ranks right up there with water torture. He started in quickly telling me that this was "no fun.".

He got no joy. He still had to print.

So, being nothing if not persistent, he tried another tactic.

"Mommy, I am not a do-er boy. I am a relaxer-boy. I just like to relax. I need to rest. I'll just go listen to my CD's as I do not like doing.

Still no joy. Well, at least not for him, I still get the giggles every time I think about it.

But, he is nothing if not persistent.

While walking to school he tried again. Someone really needs to tell the boy how futile this is on a teacher.

This time I reminded him that the Bible says if a man wants to eat he must work.

This is where I learned that he actually does pay attention in church. "but mommy, the man said we are to relax and be still. So let's just go home and I can be still with God in my room."

If the relaxer-boy thing doesn't work as a career choice, he really should try lawyer-boy.

I Would Imagine Roosters are Cleaner Too

Long ago I told myself I would only blog when my kids were asleep. It worked for me. Kept me focused on the two small men I was home for and the house they were determined to destroy.

However, my kids don't sleep much these days. Naps are something I remember with fondness and some days I am convinced they are part rooster. Up before dawn and determined to have everyone else up too. Although roosters are quieter. MUCH quieter.

Just this morning I slipped out of the bed at 5:00 am to pray and was greeted by a six year old who had obviously been up for some time. While am a morning person, this baffles me. 5:00 is for sleeping or a bit of self-sacrifice. Not for sitting and thinking about Toy Story Three (which is what he had been doing.)

I am SO tired of blaming everything on the dumb surgery, but I still am weary to the bone when those little boys hit the bed to dream of dinos and movies and mommies who give them big desserts. (the dessert thing will only happen in their dreams.) The last thing I want to do is think. I feel like the mommy of very little brain.

All this rambling to say is that I have not found the time to blog like I'd like. I've gotten out of the habit of writing. And when you break a habit, it's hard to get it back.

But I'm gonna.

I miss it. I miss talking to myself. I miss talking to you. I miss making myself laugh (even if no one else does.) I miss spilling my thoughts out onto the screen. I also miss recording the everyday stuff that I will want to read again when the roosters have flown the coop.

So bear with me. The grammar will be rusty, the sentences far too long. But come heck or high water I am gonna try.

More than the Ocean

Dear Spud,

Today you started grade one. It was, by your account, a very good day. There was snack, you played at the play park and a friend was there from kindergarten. All that was missing was a computer game or two.

I put you on the bus this morning. Your eyes shone so bright as you sat there, your backpack nearly as big as you, so proud to be going by yourself. I thought it would be hard to wave goodbye, but your delight at this new adventure made me smile so much I forgot to cry.

I followed your bus to the school, all the while worrying a little. The traffic was quite heavy so you were on the bus for nearly an hour. What if someone picked on you, what if you were lonely, what if you got scared? What if?

And then you got off the bus and headed for the door. I think you'd grown another inch on the bus as that backpack didn't seem to dwarf you so much. You were so tall, so confident. You've never been there before on your own but you went into the building as if you'd been doing this all your life.

We worry about you sometimes. You are so sweet, and so innocent and so gentle. We are afraid that this world will take advantage of that. We forget that you are also determined, outgoing and resourceful. Today you showed me that you will be just fine.

I love you more than the ocean,

Mommy