Western Stand-Off

I went home early today, not feeling very well. After resting ,I laid listening to the sounds of my house with Cold Play quietly singing from my radio. Scarlet and Billy bickered in the living room, then left to cruise the neighborhood. Ashley mowed the lawn in the backyard.

Wyatt started crying, awake from his nap. Going in, he actually let me carry him from his bedroom, which he rarely let’s me do now that he’s a “big boy” of 2 and ½. Settling him down to eat (top activity for my littlest man) I went to go check on Ashley’s project in the backyard. A few moments later Wyatt’s calling me back in.

With Conner, our horse-size dog, on my heals I walked in to find Super-Wy and Hazae the Psycho Cat in the heat of a Western Style Stand-off. Hazae, seated on the table, leans in with his stare of death aimed at the brave Super-Wy. Super-Wy, defender of the lunch, has his fist on the food and is staring back with his fiercest returning glare.

They are at an impasse, the tension fills the air.

“No, Hazae, no!” Super-Wy harps strongly.

Hazae responds with a narrowing glare and flick of the whiskers. Super-Wy purses his lips in determination.

I sit at the table and tear off a little piece of the food, giving it to Hazae.

All is right again in the world as the moment of danger passes.

Wyatt and Hazae return to some unknown conversation only the two seem to understand; I get to sit and bask in the success of my mission.

My First Little Guy

This weekend was one of those relaxing weekends you wished you could experience every time.

The only thing missing was my oldest son Billy, then it would’ve been perfect. He’s part of the Sea Scouts and had color guard this weekend. I don’t get to experience these events with him; it’s something he does with his “guys” and his dad.

It’s hard watching him grow up; mixed emotions seem to be a constant at this phase of parenting. Pride at what a great young man he’s becoming. Sadness at what a great young man he’s becoming.

This weekend I couldn’t help feeling like I was losing him. I know, I’m technically not. He’ll always visit and I might get lucky enough and he’ll live in the same town or nearby.

But I AM losing him…

Soon he won’t be my Billy anymore. The young vibrant skater/Sea Scout. Waking up on weekday morning’s complaining about school and me getting him up late. Walking into the kitchen and seeing him eating his bowl of cereal. Him coming in excited because he accomplished some new death defying skateboard trick, or explored some new part of town with his friends.

No, he’ll turn into Bill…or William. He’ll get an apartment after college; get a job (hopefully one he loves). He’ll call once a week to remind me he still loves me and that he’s still alive. He won’t think about me every day. Won’t be thinking about what his dad’s going to cook for dinner. He’ll be wondering what he’s going to cook for dinner.

He’ll become the world’s Billy and I’ll be a backdrop in his life.

I might be getting a case of nostalgia; Billy’s 8th grade promotion is coming up and he'll be going to high school next year. I got like this when he graduated elementary school.

The little boy so like me when I was a kid: artist, creative, adventurous. My first little guy, the one who started me on this voyage of motherhood. Showing me the greatest parts of life as I watched him grow and explore his new planet.

Man I love that kid, and the man he’s growing into.

Day at the Races

Yesterday was a trip to the Race Track for the family. The night before I worked diligently to prepare for it: diapers, wipes, extra clothes, snacks, Advil…you mother’s get the drift. My husband Ashley was gone fishing and my two older kids were roaming the neighborhood catching up on their social networking and whatnot.

The little boys were busy with the task of derailing my preparations at all costs, succeeding quite well. The front room was a war zone of toys and blankets (sorry, “tent coverings”). The hallway was overflow from the front room massacre. I’m not even going to start on the state of their bedrooms.

Needless to say, they were at their highest form, Brothers in Arm, against the enemy of cleanliness and order and their charge master, The Mother. But, by American Idol time I had conquered, and my daughter and I were happily enjoying the competition.

The next morning we actually headed out only about 20 minutes later than scheduled and were on our way to the racetrack where an action-filled day of engines, tires, asphalt, grand stands, and short men in very tight suits awaited us.

It was the best trip we’ve had with the little guys. I was expecting the normal hyperactive, whining, tantrum filled day that usually describes our family trips. They can’t help it…what do you expect when you try to take two toddlers to an aquarium and they CAN’T jump in to swim with the fish? Or you visit an historical submarine and they CAN’T actually go behind the barrier to the underbelly (and coolest part)?

No, today I realized we were in THEIR element. This was the spirit of two young toddler’s and their older siblings. The loud roar of the motorcycle engines, the squealing tires on the asphalt, the men with their toys (sorry, I mean tools) tinkering away at over sized matchbox cars.

This was the real-life version of their front room war zone! All the little action figures were life size in racing suits, the larger than life vehicles...with actual moving parts. The race tracks of huge proportions just waiting for the next green light.

It was their imagination come to life and mom and dad wouldn’t tell them to clean it up before bedtime.

The Inaugural Blog

After taking the twenty minutes to start this new venture of mine (after over complicating my anticipation of the event), I paused for several minutes…now what?

I could give a million word biography of The Life of A.R Norris that would thoroughly bore those unwittingly enough to drop in. That probably wouldn’t be a good start. How about right in the middle, no back filling, no autobiography? Just jumping right in…okay, nose plugged, here I go.

Splash!!!

My third child, Brenny, had his fourth birthday this week. He’s beautiful with wonderful auburn hair (think shiny new penny), bright blue-eyes, and sun-kissed freckles. All this implanted on a wonderfully pale face, which I’m sure will darken like his father’s over time. But, for now I get the cute china doll paleness.

Of course, he’s also a holy terror, wreaking havoc on those unsuspecting victims naïve enough to approach him like a beautiful china doll. Those not prey-like enough to notice the gleam in his eyes are usually left picking up the pieces of their patience and nerves by the end of the visit.

Brenny started out quiet enough, though indications were there. During his birth he gave no hint it was starting and less than two and a half hours later he was here. Nevertheless, he fooled us the first 4-5 months. Quiet as a little mouse, wouldn’t even give a full cry when he was tired or wet.

Those nice family and friends title him a “Red-Headed Dennis the Menace”…those I’ve gotten to go places with me while he’s in tow akin him to the red-headed boy from the movie Problem Child. And those sucker enough (I mean, nice enough) to take him for a couple hours …well let’s not get into the Omen just now.

He’s so darn cute and good-natured enough to throw his brilliant smile, that everybody still loves and adores him...as long as they don’t have to watch him.

He turned four, and just for the day, nothing he did was wrong. He is so wonderfully adventurous, ready for anything, and full of inspiring energy. And when he’s asleep, with his not yet gone baby fat, his cheeks, heart-shaped lips, and long lashes give him that angelic look.

No matter what havoc he wreaks on the world, it would be boring without him…and not quite as fun. Below is a video my wonderfully innovative and creative husband made to celebrate what is....our own enigma that is Brenton!

Next blog: the details of my long standing alien snatching dream...