I Worry About the Future...

I worry when I hear the following comments coming out of my children's mouths.

Parker: "At Scouts we were talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up. Everyone wanted to be video game testers. I was thinking, 'Guys, don't you realize there's no money in that?'"

McKay playing Barbie and the Three Musketeers with her friends: "I want to be the green one, because she's the one who loves boys."

Oh my.

Growing Up

This morning, I was doing McKay's hair for church. After several minutes of chest-level staring, she began to notice a problem with my attire. She patted me on the bosom and said, "You still need to grow into this dress, don't you mom?"

Sad Day

Last Saturday, New Year's Resolution fresh on my mind, Chewie and I decided to go for a run. This lasted approximately thirty seconds before Chewie was too tired to go on. Whew, I thought, I tried to run, but my dog wouldn't let me. This reminded me of another excuse--my dog ate my homework. Perhaps my dog ate my exercise.

Yesterday, we had great plans to finish painting McKay's bedroom. All of her stuff had been dragged into the library. Between Barbie houses and princess dress-ups, you could barely walk through the upstairs. We looked like people who should be featured on Hoarders. As soon as we were done with breakfast, we planned to attack that room with paint, reassemble her room, and let normalcy ensue.

Normalcy appeared to be the enemy of the day, because when I went to feed Chewie after breakfast, I found him laying on his side, struggling to breathe. I knew he was dying. Chris carried him to the van. Drops of blood trailed behind him, and I knew Chewie wouldn't be leaving the vet alive.

The vet pronounced cancer of the GI tract. We made the decision to put Chewie to sleep, but we didn't have to follow through. Chewie died while we were filling out paperwork, and the vet was readying his tools. Everyone was sad, except for Deacon, who didn't seem to get it.

But I was wrong about Deacon. He snuggled up next to me last night and asked, "Mom, would you drive me to heaven, so we can pick up Chewie? He needs to be at our house."

I wish I could, Deacon. I wish I could.

Bedtime

It's 9:30. Chris and I are in bed reading books that are making us laugh. I will read something, giggle, and read it to Chris. He will not laugh. Then he will read to me, and I will not laugh. We begin to question the other's sense of humor.

In walks a very grumpy Parker with Deacon in tow, mumbling something, but all I caught was, "...my brother..." He grumps out of the room. Deacon happily climbs into our bed, blue bunny blankie in hand.

Chris rolls over, very grumpy, mumbling something, but all I caught was, "...my son..." He turns off the light.

Chris believes Deacon has a personal mission to insure his spot as the youngest child in the family. According to Chris, Deacon accomplishes this mission by climbing in between me and Chris and spending the night kicking Chris in sensitive regions. Chris is not thrilled to see Deacon crawling into our bed.

I have a gift to ignore my external surroundings and focus on the book I'm reading, and I begin exercising that gift. A few minutes into my reading I become aware of the fact that Deacon is eating trail mix in my bed. I am, however, unaware of how he acquired the trail mix. I keep reading, and Deacon chatters on to me. I ignore everything he's saying, but a phrase does stick out. "I love you, mom, but monsters are not real."

Finally Deacon starts begging me to turn off the light. "O.k.," I say, "Let me go to the bathroom, and then I'll turn it off."

"I'll help you."

"No, this is a task I've mastered. I don't need any help."

Deacon jumps out of bed and follows me anyway. A trail of peanuts and raisins follow him. I begin to understand the origins of the word "trail mix."

I'm washing my hands when a few drops of water splash on the blue bunny blanket. Deacon becomes indignant. "You got my blue bunny blankie wet! I don't appreciate that!"

A glass of water later, and we are finally tucked into bed. At this point Chris has begun to snore.

"What's that sound, mom?" Deacon asks.

"That's daddy snoring."

"I can't sleep in here," he says, covering his ears. Three seconds later he jumps out of bed and heads out the door.

"Good-night, mom," he says, closing the door after him.

"Good-night, kiddo."

Family Home Evening

I love this picture.

Putting Deacon to Bed

Step One: Tell Deacon a story about his birth. Explain that he used to be a baby, but now he is a big boy. Big boys sleep in their beds all night long.

Deacon: "I'm your baby. I'm baby Buzz Lightyear."

Step Two: Tell Deacon to close his eyes and try to sleep.

Deacon: "No. I need my pop gun."

Step Three: Remind Deacon that we do not sleep with guns.

Deacon (tearing up): "But I just need my gun."

Step Four: Sing a lullaby to Deacon.

Deacon: "Shhh, mom."

Step Five: Listen to Deacon talk to himself.

Deacon: "Where's Daddy? Maybe he's under my bed." (Rolls over and peers at crack between bed and wall.) "He's not there."

Step Six: Listen to Deacon pretend snore. Try not to giggle.

Step Seven: Sneak out of room when pretend snores turn into real snores.

Festivus: For the Rest of Us

At this special time of year, our family gathered together to share in a cherished family tradition--Festivus.

If you do not know what Festivus is, you perhaps also do not remember when Thursday nights were "Must See TV." You may not have memories of sitting in Mr. Meyer's math class having a heated discussion about how lame the final episode of Seinfeld was. You may not one day stand accountable for the hundreds of hours you have spent in your life watching Seinfeld reruns. But if Stott blood flows through your veins, then not only do you know the meaning of Festivus, you celebrate.

Our celebration includes traditional Soup Nazi soup. We also try for other Seinfeld themed foods. Once I found a loaf of marble rye bread. Some years we have had a Festivus pole, watched Seinfeld, or played Seinfeld trivia. This year we decided to do some Feats of Strength.

First, since we were trying for Feats of Strength, we decided to test the strength of our feet. Clay won the "how many marbles can you pick up with your toes in thirty seconds" contest.

And though he didn't win, I had to say I was amazed and impressed that my father could stand on his head for almost thirty seconds.

Peter might have won the headstand contest, but I think my hubby won the "best picture of person looking like their head is about to explode" contest.

Deacon won the "person who has not changed out of his Buzz Lightyear jammies since he got them on Christmas Eve" contest. Yes, there were many tears when I would not let him wear them to church today.

Jace won the "I will humor my sister by allowing her to take goofy pictures of me pretending to be Uncle Ricco from Napoleon Dynamite" contest.

Let me close with some final thoughts from the Festivus originators.

Frank Costanza (on a tape recorder): "All right, George. It's time for the Festivus Feats of Strength!"

George Costanza: "No! No! Turn it off! No Feats of Strength! I hate Festivus!"

Frank Costanza: "We had some good times."

Yes we did.