chatty cathy

every once in a while one of my kids will go out of his or her way to make me the proudest momma ever and every once in a while i'll get a ring side seat to endure witness it and when it's an opportunity to make me really, really proud there will be others there as well. it goes something like this. we're invited over to some friends for dinner and another family that we're friends with is also invited. we enjoy a lovely dinner, some good conversation and all and all it's a pleasant evening. between us we have 9 children and 3 of these are teens enjoying the teen privilege of eating with the adults. of course, one of these teens is tb, and it hasn't been too long since he acquired the t in the tb. and it's probably important to note that of these three he's the only boy. okay, i think that's enough set up. oh, almost enough. i forgot one really important thing... and that would be that the friends who invited us over - well, the husband - he's also a pastor at our church. now, i'm ready to tell my tale.

where was i... lovely dinner, pleasant evening, oh and then tb forgets to shut up. i mean he becomes the biggest conversation hog ever. and does he have things to share. i'm not even sure what he's talking about; i'm trying my darndest to tune him out. but i become aware that all ears are on him. so i figure i better start listening too; and he's going on about how they have a word of the day everyday at school and i'm not exactly sure why everyone is paying such close attention to him - i guess they're just trying to be polite; they are awarded greatly for this courtesy, because tb goes on to say, "one day this week, the word of the day was b#$%@rd."* i'm not sure what was said after that, it was like i'd been knocked unconscious for a short while and when i came to it seemed one of my fellow dinner companions had changed the conversation to what we were looking forward to in thailand. tb, who seemed to be totally oblivious to the fact that his mom is sitting right beside him twitching in a most unnatural way, jumps into this conversation with both feet - because he. can't. shut. up. and he lets everyone know that the one thing he really isn't looking forward to is eating elephant penis soup.

*for those of you who are now concerned about the quality of tb's education - his teacher was appalled when i asked him about this word of the day. we're not sure what happened, but an investigation is now underway.

and i do believe tb better pay close attention to what he's served in thailand.

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rear window psychology

i'm not the youngest in my family so i have no idea what it's like to be the last, the baby. i do know a youngest, but i don't think he's a reliable source. from what i remember he was the one who got away with everything and i'm pretty sure my parents thought he was the bomb. so trying to figure out how my youngest thinks and feels isn't all that easy for me and my source for this analysis is a little unorthodox, but i think i'm starting to figure it out. see for the past 6 months, maybe even a year, i think something has been weighing heavy on #3's mind. after consulting the best experts money can buy google i think i have it all figured out. he's not happy as the baby. he wants what #1 has... maybe he even wants to be #1. it's kind of like when jacob stole esau's blessing and since #1 isn't hairy, #3 has found the next best thing. i will now produce exhibit a - and give a little bit of the back story.

here's exhibit a only...


the labels on this picture fit the original post. names have been changed since then. now it would be, the man, me, #1, #2, #3

one day i was out running errands and i glanced into the rear view mirror and noticed something wasn't right with the #1 on the rear window of my car. i figured the sticker was coming apart. slowly, more and more of #1 went missing. enough that friends had begun a #1 watch and they would report to me anytime more of him was gone. i couldn't figure it out. then i caught him - #3 was scraping a small piece of #1 off the window and cackling one of those mad scientist kind of laughs - i was surprised i hadn't figured it out sooner. #3 was slowly trying to blot out #1. peal him out of existence. now, i'm thinking if i was the baby and i knew that was never, ever, going to change maybe i would take some drastic measure. and the audacity of skipping over #2 - of course, i'm pretty sure no one would really choose to be the middle (trust me, i know what i'm talking about) - to go straight for the oldest - what moxie. Perhaps he's been doing a little internet research of his own and found this...

a child's birth order position may be seized by another child if circumstances permit

and this is just the circumstance he needed.

then again, i could be missing it all together and it's not #1's birth right he's after, he just wants the spot next to mom, after all, that spot is the bomb.

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i am from

i came across an "i am from" poem at owlhaven and thought i would try it. if you would like to create your own you can find the format at fragments from floyd. poetry is not a gift i have, but here it is...

i am from

i am from fig trees outside of bedroom windows, from k swiss tennis shoes, and sail boats.

i am from an old ranch house, fix-it ourself renovations, a lucked into color of combined paint remnants, and rip roaring fires.

i am from the buzzing bees in a hydrangea bush that separates yards, and the hiding places of a giant pecan tree.

i am from spring break camping trips with family friends, holidays with cousins seen at most once a year, and domino games. from con alberta and wilma lafaye and races and daniels and mckenzies and chandlers and grigsbys.

i am from the dullness of depression and the hope of optimism.

from "always save some of your money" and "if that grows together you’ll die".

i am from Jesus loves me this i know, from salvation through Christ and God’s forgiveness from sin, and learning the hard way that the "little c" church offers no forgiveness.

i'm from generations of texans, from chicken ‘n’ dumplins, banana puddin’, and a cold bottom being the price paid for hand cranked ice cream, from sweet tea and blonde coffee

from a life preserving fear of a boundary that drew an older brother to live on the other side and a twin brother to see if it would stretch.

i am from quilts that have gone missing, 35mm slides in a box, pictures stored in photo albums and shoe boxes and from generations assembled with stories to share.

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