Isn't it funny how the English language can be used? So many words have several meanings, and depending on how they are used, can get you into big trouble. Especially if you are a seven-year-old. Take the word "suck" for example. When used to refrence a lollipop, it is perfectly acceptable. When used on the playground to accentuate your dislike of a certain person or object, and overheard by the first grade teacher, well, you get the picture.

A recent Saturday trip to a favorite hamburger joint was marred with very bad words, with the initials G.D., uttered quite clearly by our favorite daughter when she was exasperated by her brother "messing" with her. "WHAT?" the three of us exclaimed, although what she said was very clear. "Where did you hear that?" I hissed. "Travis" she replied. I don't think so. But I guess if you are going down, you might as well take your tormentor with you. What seemed to make it worse was also there at the eatery was a fourth grade teacher from our school, the assitant principal and his wife, and two people we know from church. The place was packed, with a seat being filled as soon as it was vacated. Thankfully, all those people were far enough away and it was noisy enough that probably no one we knew heard her. For the record, that did warrant a spanking, and a lecture from daddy about the ten commandments.

"WE" don't normally talk that way. I doubt Travis has used those words, but as an added precaution, I told him no matter how old he was, as long as he lived with us he would get the same as his sister if I heard that coming out of his mouth. Ahh, but the parents, what can I say about them? Both of us, having been around that certain group of people who are known for their smoking, drinking and cursing (a/k/a lawyers)* have had bad habits in our "former lives" we had to drop. Certainly age has matured us to the point where our language is acceptable around children and little old ladies. Having accepted Christ has also changed me from the salty-talking person I was in my early twenties. I am the better version of me, right now, than back then, but still hope a newer improved version emerges. "Mary 47.0" is due out next March.

So where did this gem come from?? I think I am beginning to understand. Today, another lunch incident occurred at school, in the hearing of the same first grade teacher. This time, the offending word was "sex," and used in the context it was, got our favorite daughter a trip to the assistant principal (yes, the same one from the hamburger place) and an all-day detention, which includes lunch, recess, enrichment classes and PE, in his office. That sentence is to be served tomorrow, the day after the offense.

I found out about it the same day by email. You gotta love technology. I picked her up first from school, and while waiting for her brother, I pressed her for an explaination and it was clear that this was something picked up from a friend at school. The same friend that introduced her to the word "suck" and other shockers. "Do you even know what sex is?" I am sure she didn't. "Yes" and she proceeded to go into detail about how her little friend's mother and father woke her up with their "kissing" and then she saw... "STOP!" screamed her brother, who by now is in the van. He's 14 and does not want that discussed in front of him. So we have to have the talk. The talk about how sex is something only grownups who are married do, in private, with each other, and it is certainly something that children do not talk about. God did not intend for us to joke about it, because it is private. Actually, at this point I am not sure what all I said, because I had hoped that it was not a conversation I would have with my daughter, at age 7, in the car, on the way home from school. I think I must have failed miserably. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a verse I helped Travis memorize for AWANA comes to mind: "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God," or something like that. I think I fell short today, but I will ask for help from HIM next time! I think I will need all your prayers in raising this girl!

The Savant

Savant: (noun) a person of learning; especially one with detailed knowledge in some specialized field (as of science or literature)

Idiot Savant:
1 : a person affected with a mental disability (as autism or mental retardation) who exhibits exceptional skill or brilliance in some limited field (as mathematics or music) —called also savant
2 : a person who is highly knowledgeable about one subject but knows little about anything else-- Merriam-Webster online

Today, when shopping, I got a free canvas bag from Albertson's for spending more than $10. It had the number "82" on it, with the Dallas Cowboys' colors, and an "autograph" at the bottom that I couldn't read. When I got back to the car, I asked Travis who could it be. He immediately said he thought it was Jason Witten. And upon closer inspection of the autograph, I could see he was right.

He's very into football. This is something that has sprung up beginning about the end of 5th grade. Now he talks, eats and breathes football. He knows every team and the name of every coach. He knows stats that I didn't even know existed. He can name the college players that are most likely to be drafted this year, and the ones that will go in the first round. I am pretty sure he knows just about every player's name in the NFL, position played, former teams, how long they have left on their contracts and whether they are playing with any injuries. It is amazing.

Which leads me to the above-definitions. How is it someone who can remember so many details about football, past and present, doesn't know he is missing two papers-- one in history, one in science-- and now has a zero on those grades because he "forgot" to do his homework? It's the third late paper this six weeks in just science. I know he doesn't have any mental impairment that keeps him from doing the work. He is a very bright boy, IQ testing has proven it. It is amazing how he can turn it on when he wants to. He made over 100 on his last Earth Science test. He made a 60 on a constitutional quiz, then the following week make a 108 on the real test over the Constitution. I just wish he would turn it on more consistently! By the way, he has now finished the past-due science, but forgot to bring home his history folder with the missing worksheet. (big sigh).

Today I started up one of my ancient rituals: I mowed the grass. Or rather, today I mowed the weeds. I know it's time to mow when the grape hyacinths drop most of their purple tops and the dandelions are taller than the hibernating St. Augustine. I really love to mow. It gives me time to think.

Mowing was my first real-paying job. When I was about 13, I started mowing yards in Jacksboro. I got pretty good at it, and had several customers. It was a hard job. I didn't do trimming (I didn't even know what a weed-eater was back then) just grass. It was hot, dirty work. But I liked it because I could daydream about my life and earn money. I loved earning my own money. I am sure I daydreamed about the day I would be a lawyer in a big city, have my own apartment, dressing up every day, make lots of money, own a Porsche and never, ever get dirt under my fingernails again by mowing yards.

Ah, but here I am. Not a big-city lawyer. A lawyer, yes, but working part-time. I hardly ever "dress-up" unless I know I have a big court case. I don't make lots of money. But guess what? I don't want to be that person I wanted to be when I was 12 or 13. I really love my life now. I like having kids to pick up from school, and dogs and cats to take to the vet, and a kitchen floor that needs sweeping (and mopping) and yes, even a yard that needs mowing. I now own my own weed-eater*.

I still like to mow my own grass. Have you notice how neighborhood kids don't go out and mow grass now? the majority of people on our block have a "service" company come out to mow. It's just not the same. They roll up in their heavy-duty F250's, roll off the riding lawnmower from a trailer, and while one guy (or gal) mows, someone trims, and the third person uses a leaf blower. They are done in 15 minutes! That's not even time to get thirsty! I remember being really thirsty and drinking out of the garden hose. That's a unique taste that bottle water can't duplicate.

Now I have a 14 year old. He just started mowing our yard regularly last year. It's hard to push a mower if you aren't tall enough. Now he's as tall as I am (which I am pretty sure I haven't grown since I was 12 or 13, at least not in height!) Right now Travis can't mow, due to the cast on his arm. So today I did it. I don't think I am entirely ready to give up my mowing/thinking time. At least not until it gets above 95. By then, I don't think I will be nostalgic anymore.



*I recently "upgraded" from an electric to a gas powered. I can't start it! It hurts my shoulders ( especially the one I had physical therapy on last year.) I wonder if the 13 year old me could have started it?

why my real family

Why start a blog? Does anyone really care to read about "my family" or my life? I decided to start this for-- me. I think of it as a diary, a reminder of things that happened. I have to do this because now, it seems, I forget more than ever. I am not even really sure I will share this with anyone, but for right now, writing for myself seems to be worthy enough.

Why did I chose the title "My Real Family?" It kinda just popped into my head. My youngest, now age 7, is adopted. She has sometimes threatened me that she will "run away to my other mother/family" -- done dramatically enough to try and elicite the most shock value. I have sometimes heard adopted children refer to their biological family as their "real" family. Well baby, I am as real as it gets. Usually, I just ignore those threats (she is such a drama queen) because after all, who hasn't threatened to run away from home? And to add that special stab in the heart-- to find our "real" parents.

I decided long ago that it was OK for her to want to know her bilogical mother. But sometimes, fantasy gets in the way of reality. One time we were driving through Country Club, an addition in our town that as you can guess, has some really big, old mansions, and out of the blue she asked me, "is this where my other mother lives?" "Umm, no," was my response. At what point, if ever, do you tell your daughter that her mother that bore her has a life far from the one her child is living right now? I think probably never. I think she will figure it out on her own, someday. Right now, it is OK for her to love her biological mother, and to fantasize about where she lives (surely she has horses) because I know that just like I can love two children, my biological child and my adopted child, she can love two mothers. And someday, I am sure she will understand that I am her "Real Mother."