Getting ready for breakfast, I reached for the toaster on the top shelf of our cabinet.  Beside the toaster, was a bottle of hot sauce that came flying down.  
     The bottle made a surprisingly large crash as it shattered, breaking glass everywhere and splattering all over the place.  The kids were in the next room and ran into the kitchen to see what had happened.
    "What broke Mommy?  What was that?"  
    Trying to stop them from running in, I threw my hands out to keep them from the broken glass.
    All four of them reacted with the most horrified expressions.
    "MOMMY!  You're BLEEDING!"  Christian yelled, "Call 911!"
    Oh no.  Was I?  Was I bleeding somewhere that I didn't realize due to shock or numbness?  Was there a chunk of glass stuck in me?  I didn't feel anything.  A wave of panic came over me, masking the pain I assumed I was supposed to be having.
    "Where am I bleeding guys?  Tell me!"
    "EVERYWHERE!  You're bleeding EVERYWHERE!" 
    And then I realized.  They didn't know what had happened or about the hot sauce.  In their little minds, all they knew was that they heard something break, then ran into see this...   

     My pajamas were covered, but they of course, thought it was blood. 
     "Guys, it's okay!  It's alright."
     Explaining what had happened and showing them to stay back from the glass, I was able to clean everything up. 
     My skin still has a light tint of reddish/orange to it where the hot sauce was and I've strangely been craving buffalo wings ever since...but one thing's for sure - even though I spend many days covered from head to toe in something and I haven't felt put together or half way attractive in years...at least now I can honestly say that these kids actually have one hot mama. 
    ...Now that I think about it, celery and ranch dressing sound kind of good too.
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    It officially happened.  Last night was the first football practice. 
    All day yesterday, our two younger boys worked on their made up plays and wore their helmets to lunch, while our oldest son Christian, begged not to go.
    6:00 inevitably came around though and the three boys grabbed their cleats.  For two hours they would be put through conditioning.  The first of many practices. 
    As we approached the field, the smell of fresh cut grass was magnified by the storm that had just passed.  Whistles blew and coaches gathered their players.  
    The three boys found their teams and began to listen.  Their coaches introduced themselves and began by telling them what would happen throughout the season. 
    Our two younger boys sat just itching to play, while Christian stood with his team and held his stomach.  His eyes met mine and his fear hit me.  I wanted to get him out.  He was scared to death.  Thinking that it was just my mothering over him, he even looked younger than the other boys. 
    I began to ask some of the moms how old their sons were and the ages ranged from 10 to 12.  (What?)  Christian is nine.  He'll be ten next week but right now, he's technically a nine year old out there with kids up to twelve.  
    Finding the team mom, I asked if we could pull him down a level.  She said that because he was such a big kid, it was based on weight limits.  He weighed too much for the younger bracket.  
    Feeling like we had made a mistake and wanting to get him, I looked back towards Christian.  He was raising his hand.     

    The coach began to approach him and my heart went to my throat.  What was Christian doing?  What was the coach going to do in response?

    He was wonderful.  The coach showed compassion and concern, while talking Christian into giving it a try.  
    The next two hours were something to behold.  As we rotated from the three fields to watch the boys, my husband said, "I have never seen anything like this".  
    He was right.  It was the most organized and impressive practice you could imagine.  Kids of all ages running drills and learning techniques.      

     Christian hung in there.  He was dead last in everything he did.  He was the slowest, most uncoordinated and the clumsiest kid out there...but he stuck to it. 
     I wanted to help him.  I wanted to run beside him as he tried to catch up to the others.  I wondered if the other kids were already annoyed by him and couldn't help but think that the coaches dreaded having him.  Then it happened. 
    Christian didn't catch a pass and had to do push-ups.  When he stood up to join the others, one of the boys turned and put his hand up.  Catching my breath, I watched to see what would happen. 
    Christian went to the boy and "high fived" him.  Tears welled in my eyes like the ridiculous mom that I am, but I couldn't help it.  Whoever that child was, he'll never know what he did.  He'll never know that Christian stood a little taller, pushed a little harder and grew a little stronger.  That one boy made Christian part of the team. 
    The drills continued and the coaching went on, but eventually, the first practice was over. Christian stuck through until the end.  
    Joining his team in the huddle, he was exhausted.     

   As we walked off the field though, Christian wasn't nervous anymore.  Tired and covered in sweat...but not nervous.  His two younger brothers were running circles around us and hitting like young bucks while Christian walked with us. 
   "Sorry I didn't want to play before."  He quietly said as we moved. 
   "Buddy, it's okay.  It's perfectly alright to be scared of things and you don't have to be the best.  We just want you to try."
    "Yeah, I know.  It actually wasn't that bad."
    It was a simple sentence, but my spirit swelled a thousand times.  
     It's going to be a long season and we know he'll definitely be the weakest player on the team.  To us though, no matter what, he'll always have the heart of a Giant.  
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     I used to babysit a lot when I was a teen.  I took care of kids who were everything from wild and crazy, down to easy and calm.  I would sit for different homes that ranged from a house full of all boys to two little girls.  You name it, I probably saw it. 
    I learned that even though there were many different families with sometimes opposite styles of childrearing, one thing rang true...kids are kids.  
    I think to the little ones, getting a babysitter meant the same thing as having a substitute teacher for the night.  All bets were off.  I have been chased around the house by a five year old with a wooden spoon, soaked by a hose from head to toe, jumped on, climbed on and zerberted. (80's kids and Bill Cosby know what this means.)   
     All in all, there wasn't a bad kid in the bunch.  Sure some were more wild than others, but they all had loving hearts.  I have the best memories of sitting and reading together, running around the house, playing with cars and dolls and even the simple things like brushing their little teeth.  It was a time to take care of the kids and make sure they were safe, but also to have fun and share in their childhood.  That's what babysitters do.
     With that being said, we've never had a babysitter.  WHAAAT?  I know.  Our oldest is nine and in all these years, we've never had a sitter.  
      We're lucky beyond words in the fact that my parents watch the kids and take care of them like they're their own, but other than that, the kids have never had a sitter.  This weekend though, it finally happened.
      Mom had surgery last week and some friends wanted to see a movie.  They have a cute teenaged daughter who is a babysitter.  Our friends thought we were crazy that we've never had someone watch the kids so the plan was set into motion.  They came to get us on Saturday night with their daughter, left her with the kids and took us with them to dinner and a movie. 
     It was strange to leave.  A thousand different thoughts raced through my head from, "Will they behave?  Will they be scared?  How long will we be gone?  How much should we pay?  Will the poor girl survive?"
    I know how much it can be to take care of one child, let alone four.  People assume we haven't had a sitter because we were worried about the safety of the kids, which is true.  In all honesty though, I was worried about the safety of the sitter.  It's impossible to be in four different places at one time and if all the kids decided to scatter, God love her.
     Throughout the night, I was nervous and hopeful at the same time.  If the kids had fun and liked her, it opened up a whole new world. 
     We got home a few hours later to a house that stood upright and four little ones in their pajamas.  They were all smiling and seemed to be intact.  The sitter wasn't covered in paint or have bubblegum stuck in her hair.  
     They hugged her "Good-bye" and waved when she left.  That was it.  All that worrying for nothing.  The kids ran upstairs and got into bed when our four year old little girl asked, "Mommy?  When will she come back again?"  
     -whew-  
     My heart was happier than all the zerberts in the world.   If you like our little blog, Please Vote!  Thank You!       

     Being born and raised in the great state of Ohio, it's not uncommon for a baby's first words to be, "Go Buckeyes".
     We breathe football.  There's a certain feel in the air even now, just knowing that the days of Summer are beginning to flirt with the Fall temptation that is "Scarlet and Grey".  
     I've literally seen entire wedding parties huddled around a TV for the big game, not thirty minutes after the couple have said, "I do".
     You can imagine my joy then, in having three boys in a row.
     I could all but picture the plays they would run in our front yard, pigskin in hand.
     What I didn't expect though, was that our first son, Christian, would hate the game.  No, I take that back.  He hates sports.  All sports.  Any sport you could think of?  He hates it. 
      Now I know that you can't force your children to be something they're not, but in his nine little years, we've tried like mad to get him involved in athletics.  Not just in football actually, but in any sport.  Basketball, baseball, soccer, hockey...we wanted him to learn the value of being a part of a team with the importance of working together.
      What makes it even harder on Christian though, is that his two younger brothers could eat, sleep and breathe sports.  They run around the house jumping up and down in front of the TV with my husband during games - and can hardly wait to "suit up" for any sport you throw at them.
     We ended up making a deal with Christian this year.  If he played football with his brothers and tried one last time, really tried with a positive attitude, we would never sign him up for a sport again unless he asked.  
     My husband Adam and I understand that it's one thing to have a seven, eight or nine year old child do something to try to expose them to new things.  When they're older though, they deserve the right to know their own likes and dislikes.
     With that agreement, the boys just had their football camp and Christian gave it his best.  When the last day of camp was over, the kids climbed into the car with their sweaty heads...the two younger boys beaming with their Gatorade mustaches... Christian...well, not so much. 
      "Mom, Dad?  Why do I have to keep doing this?  You know how much I hate it."
      "Christian, we know.  Didn't you have any fun at all though?"
      "Not really.  You promise I don't have to do anything else when this season is done?" 
      "Yes, little man.  We want you to try though, okay?  What do you want to do if you don't play sports though?  You need to figure out something that you're interested in."
      "I know what I want to do.  I even know what I'm going to be when I grow up - and it won't be a football player."  
      Looking at his little red face with beads of sweat running down his forehead, he was as serious as he could be.
      "Okay Buddy, what are you going to be?"  Adam was driving the car and looked at me with a raised eyebrow.  We were both interested in what he was about to say.
      "I'm going to design video games.  I already have a whole game figured out for Pokemon.  It's going to be cool."
      Trying to hide our smiles, Adam and I agreed that it really would be "cool" as Christian could hardly contain himself, telling us about his game.  What he was saying was as foreign to us as the game of football was to him. 
      Our two younger sweaty boys listened to Christian's descriptions with bated breath as we headed home from camp.  (The car smelled awesome by the way.)
      Sitting at the kitchen table that night, Christian told us how he would draw some of the characters from his game so we could see.  He tried to explain how they would "evolve" as he drew.  If you know anything about Pokémon, this would make sense to you.  If you don't, then come sit by me.  
     From what I can understand, the Pokémon go from a childlike phase, to a teenager, to an adult.  What he drew though, surprised us. 

    Adam and I sat there sort of gob smacked.  We didn't really know what to do with it.  Sports...we know.  What do you do with the energy and excitement of a child when it's something so unfamiliar though? 
    His passion was evident as he continued to speak his foreign language regarding his ideas.  He was as detailed as he could be about this whole world with well thought out plans. 
    It looks like we'll need to start learning more about computer camps instead of football from now on.  We have no idea where to begin but I guess that would be a good place to start. 
    And who knows?  Maybe one day, Christian really will create some video game with cool graphics and concepts.  I'll get the biggest smile though...if only just for fun as an inside joke...if he names one of his characters "Buck-eye". 
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     My mom has to get surgery today.  She likes to ride her bike in the mornings down this road... 

    ...and she's been doing this for years. 
    As you can see, it's not a busy road.  It's out in the country and you'd be hard pressed to see a car or two.  What you DO see though, are a lot of animals.
     Squirrels, rabbits, deer are not uncommon in this area.  Mom rides with their dog by her side to keep her company and they enjoy their morning routine.
     A few days back though, another dog ran out and ran right into her.  The dog nailed her bike which flipped her over, landing in the road.  She was by herself and didn't have her cell phone so she picked the bike up and pushed it home.
     Her helmet was on but she still managed to bang up her right leg, ribs, arm and a little of her face.  She said that her head hit last but there was still swelling by her eye from where her glasses took the impact. 
     She's been healing and hobbling around but her leg has gotten worse.  
     Mom can be as stubborn as they come so she has refused to go to the doctor.  No matter what we said, she would reply (in her New Jersey accent) "Ehhh, what are they going to do?  If I cracked a rib, it's not like they're going to put me in a cast or anything."
     I ended up talking her into coming to work with me and some of the Physical and Occupational Therapists took a look at her.  Thank God they did because they told her to see a doctor and she actually listened.  
     Evidently, the swelling in her leg is the main concern since from the knee down, it's turning different colors now.  The doctor tried to aspirate or lance it two days ago but decided to turn to surgery instead in fear of a blood clot.  I think it's a pretty simple procedure but it's hard to see your mom have to have anything done regardless.  
     It's a relief to know that she's finally getting things taken care of.  With her though, she'll be right back on her bike within a week or two.  
     I know that anything can happen in life.  One minute you can be enjoying a bike ride...and the next...
     You can't live your life in fear but it's so important to love your family and friends with all of your heart.  You never know what may come. 
     Get better SOON Mom.  You're the toughest person I know.  I'm making a jumpsuit out of duct tape and bubble wrap for you though.  Happy riding.  
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     Many (many) years ago when Adam and I were newlyweds, we used to celebrate "Christmas in July". I remember it being so much fun that we even had a little tree.  We'd make popcorn and watch classic Christmas movies while dreaming of one day having children to share it with.
    Then we actually had children.
    It's funny how when you don't have kids, you think of all of the things you would do.  When they're actually here though...running wild around the house...well, you get the picture.  
    I remember thinking that if we had little ones, we could cut out paper chains and string popcorn to put around a tiny tree, then make "Christmas in July" cards for each other.  I probably envisioned each of our children lovingly giving us hugs and kisses as they ran off to say their prayers, surrounded by puppies.  
     Maybe someday I'll be organized enough and be able to plan ahead for a fun and festive "Christmas in July" like Adam and I did years ago...but for tonight, bowls of ice cream and a family movie of "Frosty the Snowman" will be good enough.
     So happy "Christmas in July" from our home to yours!  May the Spirit of the Season be forever in your heart...no matter what month it may be.    
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     I was at work yesterday when the news broke.  A patient had been glued to her TV all day waiting for the announcement.  
     She smiled with her hands to her face.  "I've been on pins and needles since this morning and I think it's about to happen!"      
      I turned towards her TV in just enough time to see the words, "It's a Boy!" flash across the bottom of the screen.  Her reaction was something I'll never forget.  Her eyes watered and her face beamed as she whispered, "Oh...it's a little Prince!" 
     I guess that's when it hit me.  It really WAS a Prince.  It wasn't some Fairytale or movie, it literally was a real live Prince that was born.  
     Being raised in America, it's hard for me to comprehend this I suppose.  I can't begin to imagine what it would be like to have a Royal Family with the history and lineage that it brings. 
    As I watched her reaction to the news though, it was nice to see how overjoyed she was.  The announcement of the birth brought her such happiness.  When there's so much negativity on TV today, it was nice for a minute to see something good happen. 
    So welcome little Prince!  The world celebrates your arrival.  May you and your family be forever blessed with your very own "Happily Ever After".
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    I'm beginning to see ads for "Back to School" shopping.  It seems like the kids just had their last day of school about a minute ago and as impossible as it may be, we're already down to the final days of summer. 
    In our house, the four little words of, "Back to school shopping" evoke somewhat of a conditioned response.  The concept brings a pit to my stomach that seems to grow by the year.   
    Don't get me wrong, there's something completely addictive about the smell of a new box of crayons or the flipping of pages from a crisp clean notebook. 
    It's not about that though. 
    You see, I almost left my husband in the middle of Target last year over a roll of paper towels.  Yes.  Paper towels. 
Let me go back...
    Our kids get a "School Supply" list each year.  I don't know if every school has this, but at their school, it's about a mile and a half long. 
    It's not just the supplies though, no.  It's a DETAILED list.  One item of this brand and two items of that and the older they get, the more specific the list seems to be. 
    The first year we received "The List" (as it has come to be known in our house) was when our son Christian began Kindergarten.  It took four days and about six different stores until we had everything exactly right.
    The next year became harder as he moved to the First grade and our second son, Ethan began Kindergarten.  I wrangled Adam in so he could help me find each specific thing.  Over the years, I've become more lax in the details, so when "The List" says a box of "Ticonderoga Pencils" I'm okay with any ol' box of number twos. 
    Enter...my husband. 
    I don't want to say that he's Type A or anything, but sweet baby James.  It might be a man thing, a military thing...I don't know what.  But if the list says:
 *8 ounce bottle of Aleene's brand Tacky Glue
 *1 dry erase Expo brand non-toxic and low oder marker of any 
  color (non black)
 *Staples brand Brights 500 sheet multi-color printer
  paper and
 *AC Moore Heavy brand 9x12 500 sheet multi-color printer
  paper
  (...and trust me...these are all on "The List") then that's EXACTLY what Adam is going to get.          
   This brings us back to Target.  As we stood in the paper towels section searching for an 84 single roll of "Scott" brand towels, I had officially had it.  Throwing any roll that I could find into the cart, Adam looked at me wide eyed saying, "We have to match the list."
   "No, we need to get paper towels and move on."
   "Bea, we have to get what the list says!"
   "We did.  Paper towels.  Let's go."
   Round and round we went with each meticulous item until we could barely stand anymore.  
    Finally resorting to the divide and conquer method, we each took our share of things to find and eventually got it done. 
    This will be the first year that all four kids will go to school.  I get a nervous tic just thinking about it.  
    Lauren Elizabeth will begin preschool and here is a copy of "The List" for her alone:     

     I'm glad there are no paper towels.
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    Last week our oven caught on fire.  We haven't been able to use it since, so in the meantime I've been playing around with different ideas for meals in our trusty crock pot. 
    It's actually been quite nice on these hot summer days to throw everything in the crock pot early in the morning to have dinner all ready later that night. 
    There's been no standing over a hot stove or baking in the oven after a long day.  I've tried a few different meals but here's been the family's favorite recipe so far...
            Roast
    (insert 'oooooo...ahhhh' here)

    1 four to five pound beef roast
    1 package of baby carrot
    4-5 potatoes cut into bite sized pieces (peeled or unpeeled)
    1 onion, quartered
    1 (1 1/4 ounce packet) of dry ranch dressing mix
    1 (1 1/4 ounce packet) of dry brown gravy mix
    1 (1 1/4 ounce packet) of dry Italian salad dressing mix
    1/2 cup water
    
    Pour the water in the crock pot then place the beef, carrots, potatoes and onion in.  
    Combine the dry ingredients (ranch, Italian and brown gravy mixes) in a bowl together then sprinkle over the meat and vegetables in the crock pot.
    Cover with lid and set on low for 8 to 10 hours.  
    Uncover and Enjoy! 
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    Back in the 1980's when I was a kid, things were different.  We didn't have the internet, an Xbox, a Wii...we barely had shows to watch on TV except for the sacred Saturday morning cartoons that seemed like an eternity to have to wait for each week.  Mtv was ACTUALLY Mtv and other than an "Awesome" game of Q-bert or Donkey Kong on our Atari, my big brother and I would pretty much just go outside and play.     
    That was it.
    We would wake up on a summer morning, eat breakfast and go outside.  No cell phones, no communication with our parents...our only rule was to come in before dinner.
     I couldn't DREAM of this today.  I don't want to think of myself as a "helicopter" parent, but if I hear so much as the front door open on a beautiful summer morning, I am like a rocket - shooting through the house making sure that all four kids are safe and accounted for.  
    With that being said, I have to remember that when we're at my Mom and Dad's house...things are different.  They raised us in another time and think we're all but crazy for the way we do things today.  I'll give you an example.
    Our youngest son, Preston has been begging us forever now, to let him ride his bike.  He has a Lightening McQueen bike with training wheels, but he wants to "do it himself" like the big kids.  
    When I was young, my parents (I'm not kidding) put me on the top of the front hill of our yard, held onto my back as I clenched the handlebars of my bike with a death grip, then pushed me down the hill yelling, "PEDAL!"  Their rational was that because it was "really soft grass", if (when) I fell...I wouldn't get hurt.  
    Fast forward to today, and we have our child all but covered in bubble wrap from his helmet down to his training wheels.  Needless to say, my parents think we're nuts.  
    We were visiting them this weekend and Mom took our younger two outside.  Within no time, our four year old little girl ran in the house screaming, "PRESTON'S RIDING HIS BIKE!  PRESTON'S RIDING HIS BIIIIKE!'
    From behind our daughter - out in the yard, I faintly heard my Mom's voice yelling, "Pedal Preston, PEDAL!" 
    (Oh no.)
    Running to the window, I saw that my parents had taken his training wheels off and had flung him down their back yard.    
    Before I could muster a scream of maternal gut wrenching fear...I saw his little face.  His smile could sail a thousand ships.  He was free....and he was doing it.  His little legs were pumping through that grass like he was born to ride and nothing could hold him back. 
     My heart swelled as I watched our "baby boy" hit this right of passage. 
     After more practice, we all headed to the driveway and watched as he took to it like a fish to water.  My husband helped just a little, but in no time, Preston and his big brother Ethan were cruising together with the wind at their back.  
    They had the best time on a beautiful summer day, riding free and being brothers. 

    At the end of the day, I know that times are different and we're going to have our own ways of raising our children.  As much as we try to keep them safe and protected though, there is something to be said about letting them go.  As hard as that is to do, nothing compares to their happiness and well being.    
    Thanks Mom and Dad for always reminding me to pedal.  
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