My husband was born and raised in the Air Force.  He has incredible stories of his childhood and experiences.  He then went into the Air Force himself.  I met and married him while he was in, which gave me a whole new respect and appreciation for what people in the military do for our country.  If you take his life and completely flip it, that's how I was raised.  I grew up in one hometown.  My friends from home are still to this day.  Nelsonville, Ohio is where I'm from.  It is a town where everyone knows everyone.  I couldn't imagine a better place to grow up.  Some of the best memories of my life come from home.  Just yesterday our high school wrestling team went to the Ohio State Championships where two of our boys placed first in the state.  I could feel my town's excitement even states away.  My older brother used to wrestle back home so it was wonderful to see his friends and teammates now take the role of parents and coach. There's something about my hometown that I can feel even years later as I raise my own children.  When our house turns into "WWF" and our boys pile onto each other as they flip head first off the couch, my husband and I begin the ritual of our discipline routine. I often find myself fighting a little grin though, remembering how my brother and I would all but clobber each other when we were young.  I guess no matter how you were raised, moving about or growing in one place, the memories and loved ones that stay with you are what matter the most...and the truest of those will last a lifetime.       

 I often refer to our house as the "Testosterone Dome."  With a husband that is an avid sports fan and three boys to follow, I used to pray for a baby girl to have an ounce of pink, fluffy, happiness fill our home.  Even now as I write, the Carolina/Duke basketball game is piercing through our house with one grown man and three boys wildly jumping up and down in unison.  I remember being pregnant with our fourth and final baby, all but knowing it would be another boy.  My husband told me early on that his family "couldn't have girls."  He said that it had been almost 60 years since a girl had been born in his family.  I didn't really think too much of this until we had our third son in a row.  I quickly became a believer.  For whatever reason, maybe they didn't carry an X - chromosome, it seemed impossible to have a girl.  When the day came for the delivery, I prayed for that one final glimmer of hope.  I'll never forget when they pulled the baby out, held it up and said, "It's a GIRL!"  It was the ugliest cry I have ever had in my life.  The nurses actually thought something was wrong with me.  I couldn't control myself.  Since that day, that little pink bundle of joy has learned to hold her own in a house full of boys.  Carolina/Duke basketball games and all.

The repair man came today and fixed the washing machine.  There has been the familiar and soothing swoosh of load after load ever since.  As I began folding the first clean pile, I got called into work for this evening.  By day I'm a stay at home Mom and by nights and weekends - a Speech Therapist.  If a nursing home or facility calls me to come in, I wait for my husband to get home from work so we can "switch out."  I love being a Speech Therapist but it becomes tricky knowing what words or sounds our kids should or shouldn't be making.  Take for instance when our youngest son was three.  He didn't have an "r" sound at all and he turned all of his "g" sounds into a "k."  Why should this matter you ask?  Well just around the same time, he became infatuated with frogs.  If  you take the "r" sound out of "frog" and change the "g" to a "k" guess what you get.  That's right, the Grand Daddy of them all.  Everywhere we went, our three year old was spouting out the "F" word to all those around him.  The worst was once in a store as he sat in the shopping cart with his younger sister.  Our two older boys walked beside us as a sweet little elderly woman happened to walk towards us.  She had that, "Look how lovely those little children are," smile on her face.  At the exact same moment, we happened to be passing by a display of summer toys.  Sure enough, front and center were frogs that would squirt water.  As soon as we got beside the little old woman - our son saw the frogs and screamed, "F@#K!"  "F@#K!"  "MOMMY!!!  F@#$%^&#K!!!"  The look of shock and horror came over her as I tried everything to stop him.  It was useless.  It only made him louder as she scurried off in disgust.  He has since learned to make both his "r" and "g" sounds which I'm thankful for as his Mom and a therapist. I'll have to say though, I don't think I'll ever see a frog again without laughing just a little. 

Wellllll, our four year old accidentally wet the bed last night.  That's no big deal except that earlier this week there was a wet bed too.  THAT'S actually no biggy unless of course you take into account that our washing machine exploded over the weekend.  As my husband and I were upstairs with our two younger kids, our two older boys were watching tv downstairs.  Out of nowhere, the boys came flying up screaming, "It's RAINING in the HOUSE!!!"  "It's WHAT?!" Was all I could get out as my husband was already half way down the stairs.  By the time I got to the top of the staircase he was already on his way back up.  He started yelling, "We have to shut it off!'' as he flew by me heading for the laundry room.  Our bedrooms and laundry room are all upstairs.  This is great for convenience and design but not so great for a flood of mammoth proportions.  The washing machine had been pouring out water which flooded down through the floor and then the ceiling below...hence the "rain."  We managed to shut it off, clean the floor, go downstairs and clean with buckets and towels, then finally pull out the sopping wet load of laundry.  The repair man has a convient opening for this Friday (thank you) so until tomorrow, each and every wet bed equals a whole new pile of laundry to add to the mountain that awaits.  I think maybe tonight there won't be drinks of water before bedtime.  :)