houpley

Eli, did you have a good day at school today? Well, I didn't get in trouble today so in my world ... that's a good day.

It's been a little over two years since we had to put Elvis down. He was 13 and enjoying his grumpy-old-man-retirement. Until one Sunday in October, he woke up from a nap, started stumbling a bit and looked at me, confused. It was as if he'd had a stroke. He was confused about his inability to walk but he also wasn't clear on who I was. At first he wouldn't eat - which if you knew Elvis you would know that was the No. 1 sign of trouble. Elvis would eat anything at anytime - including the 6 corncobs and 1 grape stem we had to have the vet remove years ago. But this day was different. After a few attempts at eating a hot dog and stumbling in the back yard, we knew. Sometimes, you just know. We were fortunate to have that Sunday. It gave us time to let the kids hold him and say good bye. To let him eat whatever he would like. To tell him how much we loved him. To take a moment. The next day we took him to the vet and he had a very peaceful transition. Eric and I

You guys. Eli just had his graduation ceremony from Pre-K. He was too precious with his white cap and gown. They had a talent show portion which included all types of talent from Eli reciting his poem and singing his song to other kids joke telling to singing to piano and ending with a batman demonstration. I was doing ok with minimal-mom-emotion until they announced: Please applaud your future graduating class of 2030! And then I fell in between the church pews into the fetal position. In fact, I'm writing this from under the kneeler.

Eli, are you all cracked out from DQ? No. Oh, ok. Wait. What is DQ? You know, Dairy Queen? Oh yeah, yeah, I think I am. What did you think I meant? I thought you meant the end of the world, mama. From now on, I'm going to call DQ: hard boiled meatballs. K.

Jack, did you have fun at the birthday party? Yes. Was the mom nice? Oh, yes. Party moms are always the nicest.

With the anticipation of a child barely able to go to sleep on Christmas Eve in the hopes that St. Nick will be popping down the chimney with gifts, was Jackson's own anticipation for the day he can start wearing deodorant. For the last year, he has had two priorities: to acquire a phone and his own deodorant. Weekly he has asked me for each. The phone is an entry for another time. The deodorant was simply on hold as I kept telling him he has no body odor. He would regularly fling his armpit in my face for a sniff test. Nothing. My precious baby boy, I would say, you simply have no stink. After a soccer game there would be more armpit flinging. Nothing. Sorry, I would say to his crestfallen face: No stink, sweet boy. After a baseball practice, a dog walk, a Nerf gun battle, a field trip mining crystals, mowing the lawn .... nothing. No stink. You smell as fresh as the day you were born, baby, I would say shaking my head. And he would walk away his head held low. Guys,

Eli, what are you doing in the bathroom? I'm having a staring contest with the guy in the mirror. Oh...ok. Ha! I win! He blinked!

Jackson, what does your toothpaste taste like? Bubblegum. Bubblegum? Yes. Well, mine tastes like Star Wars.