Fashion Models:
My Boy Child

"How long is our pool?" Little Billy asks loudly while sitting at the end of the pool with his feet dangling in the water.

Me - I'm sitting under the umbrella at the pool-side table, "I don't know - maybe 25 feet long" I say, eyeing my son.

"I'm gonna swim it," he jumps up excited. "I have to do a swim test for Boy Scouts - I've gotta get some practice," he begins to flex and swing his arms about his head - preparing to jump in. "We have to swim 75 feet," he hesitates. "Or ... 75 yards," he stops again. "Or ... 75 meters," he looks in my direction, "I think it's meters," he concludes, still looking at me - like I have the foggiest idea what he is talking about.

I smile.

He says, "So ... How many meters is it?" fully expecting me to know this answer. "How many meters is our pool?"

I look to my left ...

Nobody there.

I look to my right ...

Nobody there.

Nobody around - but me and ...

Little Billy.

Nobody around to help me with this answer.

NOPE - Not a soul.

I am on my own!

"Son ..." I begin. "Son ..." I reach up - put my hand in front of my face to block the sun from my eyes - I say, in a high pitched squeal, "I don't know about meters and such! I don't know!"

"I'll just swim back and forth 3 times - maybe it's feet," he dives in the pool.

"You do that," I chuckle.

On the upside ... "Where's a doggone Boy Scout with a ruler when you need one?" I mumble, as I watch my little son do a bit a flailing across the pool - water splashing everywhere.

I look to my left ...
I look to my right ...

Not a Boy Scout in site anywhere! Well ... except for the dark-headed one swimming laps in my pool - that is. The one that needs to STOP ASKING ME THESE MATH QUESTIONS I WILL NEVER KNOW THE ANSWERS TO!

Constantly --- Little Billy is asking me questions about his homework.

Constantly --- Little Billy turns to me for advise.

Constantly --- Little Billy depends on me to know the answers to his questions.

Recently, Little Billy was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

He SCREAMS, "What is here-diddy?"

"What?" I yell back.

He SCREAMS again, "What is here-diddy?"

"What?" I yell back.

He SCREAMS loudly, "What is it? What is ... here-diddy?"

"Spell it," I SCREAM back.

"H-E-R-E-D-I-T-Y," he yells out all of the letters.

"Oh."

On the upside ... Sometimes, it's a good thing that I am around - you know? A good thing that kid has me to clear some things up!

I will take my shower.

I will put on my pajamas.

I will crawl into my nice cozy bed and turn on the TV.

About the time I am completely relaxed and even on the edge of dozing off to sleep ...

HE RACES INTO MY ROOM ...

HE THROWS HIMSELF ON TO MY BED...

HE BEGINS TO BEG ...

"Please - Please - Please ... Will you rub my back?"

I often give in.

It's not that big a deal.

He really loves it.

But ...

After he takes off his shirt and I tickle and rub every inch of his scrawny back ...

He will then ...

Fling an arm across my lap ...

For it to be rubbed.

And then ...

Fling the other arm across my lap ...

For it to be rubbed.

And then ...

When the arms are done and the back is done ...

He will ...

Roll up the pant legs on his pajamas and ...

Lie sideways across my bed ...

With both skinny legs draped across my legs ...

To be rubbed.

Then ...

When the fronts of both legs are done ...

He will flip himself ...

Like a pancake ...

To have the backsides of those legs rubbed.

When his back and arms and legs have all been thoroughly tickled and massaged and rubbed ...

He will lay his head on my lap ...

And ...

I will run my fingers through his dark brown hair and over his forehead ...

Down his neck ...

Across his shoulders ...

And ...

Somehow ...

He has managed to get me right back ...

To rubbing his BACK ...

Once again.

On the upside ... When I am all rubbed out and my arms are limp and sore from massaging and tickling my boy's back and arms and legs and neck and face ... he will slither off the side of my bed like melted butter. He will generally look back over his shoulder, on his way out of my room - he will say, "Thanks, Mom," with a glazed look in his eyes and limp and relaxed limbs hanging from his scrawny body. He will have a very satisfied look on his face. He is like a buttery pancake and I am like his maple syrup. We are like an IHOP combo that the boy can not get enough of. He'll be back ... most likely tomorrow ... for the daily special.

There once was a mother.

She had herself a set of twin girls.

Five years later... she had herself a son.

Four years later ... she had a little daughter.

She had herself ... 4 more children ... than she ever saw herself having and yet ... she became a mother.

She spent many, many, many years - raising all these kids.

Sixteen years - to be exact.

Raising all these kids.

One day ... the boy child, sat upon the mother's bed.

"Why do you do all that typing? Writing stories and such? Why do you do that?" the boy child asked of his very devoted mother.

The mother looked at the boy. "I like to write. I like to come up with stories," she said, and then smiled most sweetly into her little boy's face.

The boy child jumped down off of the mother's bed, turned to walk out of her room and then looked back and said, most casually, "It would be really good if you were a real writer," he took another step. "That way you would have something to do."

And ... then he was gone.

On the upside ... If ... having been a mother for 16 years is representative of "having nothing to do" - then ... this particular mother would absolutely not be capable of taking on a profession - such as that of a honest to goodness real writer. Nope - she could never handle it!

We are starting to have that talk with Little Billy.

You know.

The talk.

The ... sex talk.

He asks questions.

We try to answer.

He hasn't asked all that many - but, a few.

It's a lot of fun.

When he was still in school, earlier in the spring, all the boys and girls saw the film.

You know.

The film.

The ... sex film.

When Little Billy got home from school, I asked, "So ... how'd it go?" referring to the film.

He knew what I was talking about and got a little giggly. He shuffled his feet. He looked at the ground. He said, "All I know," he shuffles some more, "Is ... I saw some things I wish I didn't see," he laughs.

"What do you mean?" I was very curious.

He blushes.

He sputters.

He finally says, "Just some talk about Va-J-J's," and then he runs out of the room.

On the upside ... I yell after him, "Do you want to talk about it?" He yells back, "Nope." I let it alone. Honestly - I didn't want to talk about it either. Sometimes, when he asks about that stuff - I tell him to go watch Animal Planet and call me if he has any questions (tee hee). I learned that "redneck" tactic from the boy's daddy.

Little Billy was sitting across from me at the dinner table.

He was not eating his food.

He was fiddling around - messing with his ears.

I watched.

Like watching a little monkey.

He stopped.

He picked up his fork - took a bite of chicken.

It was then that I saw ...

He had been ...

STUFFING QUARTERS IN EACH OF HIS EARS - you know - flat like, stuffed in there sideways, filling the quarter-sized cartilage area (*mom squints her eyes trying to make out the COIN DENOMINATION*) .

He sat there and ate with those quarters in his ears.

I let him.

Then ...

Into the evening, I went to his room to say good-night.

I saw he was chewing on something and so I said, "Give me the gum - and go brush your teeth," I cupped my hand under his chin for him to spit the gum into my palm.

He spit it out ...

A RED RUBBER BAND!

(*Mom shakes off the squirrely chill that slithers across her neck - eeek!*)

A few days later ...

I was in his room straightening up.

I made his bed.

I picked up the dirty clothes off the floor.

I put books back on the book shelf.

Then ...

I peeled the ...

GUM FROM THE KNOB ON HIS NIGHTSTAND AND ...

THREW IT IN THE TRASH!

On the upside ... That kid!! He's like a bored little bubble-gum-chewin'-stickin'-quarters-in-his-ears zoo monkey that has too much time on his hands! And me ... I'm like the zoo keeper just watching the spectacle from the other side of the glass and ... only entering his cage every now and then ... to spray the poop off the walls!

We are in the car driving home from Applebees on a Friday evening.

There is not much discussion going on in the car - we are all quiet and just listening to the music playing on the radio.

My husband suddenly interrupts the silence, turns to me and says, "How's the blogging going? How's the blog?"

I shake my head, indicating all is okay and then I say, "It's going alright - pretty good."

"What have you been doing lately - anything new?"

"No - not much," I snicker. "I did do that interview on TV, you know?" I look over at my husband and smile.

He smiles.

My son - sitting in the seat behind his dad - listening to our conversation, joins in on the discussion and says, "You know what I am going to do, Mom?"

I turn in my seat so I can see his sweet little face. I say, "What, Hon? What are you going to do?"

He is smiling big.

He says ...

"When I get my band," he holds his hands in front of his body like he is holding a guitar (air guitar), "When I get my band ... I'm gonna talk about you at the beginning of my shows and I'm gonna talk about you at the end of my shows," he strums on imaginary guitar strings. "I'll be famous and I'll make you famous - a famous blogger," he is so pleased with this idea - this plan.

I laughed out loud and then ...

As I gazed into his sparkly eyes ...

I could swear that I could almost see him standing on that stage ...

crowds cheering ...

lights beaming ...

music blaring ...

On the upside ... I smiled and put my fingers to my lips and ... blew my little rock star a kiss. He lowered his guitar, smiled a big rock star grin and ... blew an air kiss right back.

If dreams were wishes and wishes were dreams come true - he'd have wishes to relish and many to share with me too!

When Little Billy goes to school, he and Alexis always ride the bus.

There is entirely too much that goes on around the On The Upside household for Little Billy's mother to take the time to perform parent pick-up or parent-drop off, everyday!

NOPE! All the kids take the bus.

Little Billy's mom loves the public school bus system!!

She started sending Little Billy to school on the school bus, when he was 5 years old - Kindergarten.

She made sure he attended school everyday for 6 years - all the way through 5th grade. This is a total of approximately 190 or so days a year; 1140 days over the course of 6 years - that she has been putting him on the bus and sending him off to elementary school.

That is, with the exception of one day.

His LAST DAY of school.

The LAST DAY of elementary school.

The LAST DAY of 5th grade.

On this day, he asked to be driven to school by his dad - in the Corvette - and be dropped at the front door of the school (parent drop-off) - to mark the occasion.

His dad happily obliged.

Little Billy's mother was up early, getting herself ready to go to the ceremony at the school that morning. She was locked away in her bathroom - when her son was chauffeured away to school by his father.

Little Billy's mom managed to make it to the school just in time for the start of the ceremony.

She found a seat.

She prepared her camera.

And ... settled in with all the other anxious parents ... for the commencement to begin.

As the children began to file in - to take their seats at the front of the auditorium - IT WAS THEN THAT ... Little Billy's mother REALIZED that ... she had....... FORGOTTEN SOMETHING!

She'd had 6 years ...

1140 days ...

Many, many mornings and many, many bus rides ...

Leading up to this day.

This LAST DAY of school.

This LAST DAY of elementary.

This LAST DAY of 5th grade.

This DAY OF GRADUATION!

Why then?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why had she not prepared more properly?

Planned more thoroughly?

Why would she have ALLOWED her 11 years old son - the GRADUATE - the namesake of the On The Upside family - to step up on that stage ...

To accept his certificate and recognitions for "A Honor Roll", The Presidents Award For Educational Excellence (90 GPA or above all year long) and the Citizenship Award ...

WEARING ...

CAMO?

Not a suit and tie - like most of the other 5th grade boys.

Not nice attire like all the 5th grade girls.

Nooooooo ...

Little Billy ...

The family's namesake ...

The pride and joy boy-child of the On The Upside family ....

was ...

WEARING ...

CAMO!

CRAP!

CRAP!

CRAP!

This was all Little Billy's mom could think as she focused on her son through the viewfinder of her camera - CRAP!!

On The Upside ... Hey - Billy's Mom!! What are you going to let the boy wear when he walks across the stage for his high school GRADUATION - Surfer shorts, a muscle shirt and FLIP FLOPS? (*Little Billy's mother hangs her head in shame*)

I love talking to Little Billy.

I never know what will come out of his mouth.

Sometimes, he is very serious and sometimes he is so goofy that he makes me laugh until tears well up in my eyes and my mascara begins running down my face.

Not too long ago, I was lying in bed and he came to lay beside me.

I was watching "I Am Sam" (with Sean Penn - great movie) and Little Billy got into the movie with me.

When the movie was over - me in tears and Little Billy admitting that he got teary eyed a few times himself - we got to talking about mentally challenged children.

Little Billy said, "I think they probably make the best friends," really serious.

I agreed and explained that they are often children that are very lovable and sweet and aren't often mean because they don't have those tendencies in them. We got to talking about the boy in his class that has Downs Syndrome.

I said, "Do you take care of J, when you are at school?"

He said, "Yes ... sometimes the teacher asks me to walk him to his other class."

He then went on to say that he and J were friends, but that he was probably not J's best friend.

I asked who was J's best friend.

Laying on his back on my bed, with the pillows all propped around his head, Little Billy began his story. "Well ... there's this other kid in our class that thinks he is J's best friend," he says this a bit harshly. "He's not always that nice, though. And ... he has been missing a lot of school lately, He was out for 3 weeks straight, " he rambles off subject.

I know the boy he is talking about and ask, "Three weeks - that's a long time to be out. Why has he been out - what's the matter with him?"

Without missing a beat, Little Billy takes a deep breath and says ... "I think he has gingivitis."

*ACK!*

I tried.

I tried really, really hard.

But, I couldn't help it.

I knew this was a serious conversation.

I knew we were having a good moment - a good discussion.

I. COULD. NOT. HELP. MYSELF!!

I started laughing so hard that I began snorting and tears were flowing ... I nearly swallowed my tongue, trying to get a breath of air in between all the gagging laughter!

Little Billy giggled a bit - let me have my little laugh and then smiled sweetly and said, "Oh ... that's something that has to do with your teeth," and he pulled the pillow over his head.

On the upside ... He meant to say tonsillitis. That boy cracks me up! It sure was funny and a lot funnier story with him saying gingivitis! Oh good Lord - here I go again - *HAHAHAHAHA! Can't breathe - snort - snort*

When I was a girl ...

I loved my share of boys...

Now ...

All of my love goes to just one boy.

I will never love another as much.

Sometimes, a fight is in the air just waiting to be unleashed - let out in an avalanche of rage - in the On The Upside household.

It was one of those mornings.

Somehow, Little Billy made the huge mistake of sitting in front of Courtney and Chloe's computer.

He came running up to the kitchen with tears in his eyes, "It's not fair," he squealed, "The girls won't let me go on the computer - they think I'm the one who got the virus on their computer and so now they say I can never use it again." He was in such distress.

I immediately became - distressed.

These fights - this bickering - is enough to make me resort to all sorts of tactics to resolve matters that seem to find only fuel to escalate the problem when rational suggestions are offered.

"Ask for your own computer for your birthday," I say loudly, knowing the words from my mouth will float past the boy in front of me and downstairs to the ears of his "mean" sisters. "Ask for a laptop," I suggest and then smile.

Little Billy smiles back.

Suddenly, from the family room emerge two angry sisters, bellowing loudly their disbelief that a mother would suggest such a ridiculous idea. "YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" one would scream, "IF HE GETS HIS OWN LAPTOP - I'M MOVING OUT OF HERE," another one threatens. "HE'S ONLY ELEVEN YEARS OLD!" the words are spoken distinctly and spewing spit is attached at the tail-end of the sentences. They were enraged and besides themselves with anger.

They tried and tried to determine if their mother was serious or merely suggesting such an outrageous idea to make a point. They were unable to determine which.

I smiled.

Little Billy snickered and smiled.

The mother knew that the pacifying of the boy child by her suggestion was obviously provoking the two daughters to almost uncontrollable anger - but, she did not back down. The angrier they became - the more she wished a laptop for the boy. It was a test, of sorts - this little game - that THEY FAILED!

The mother shewed the girls out of the room - tiring of their loud voices and angry faces. Once gone, she turned to the boy child, pulled him toward her and whispered in his ear "You're my favorite," and he smiled real big - with a look on his face that suggested that he never doubted this fact.

Little Billy stayed near his mother in the kitchen - probably in an effort to stay clear of angry sisters. After a little while, and several conversations later, Little Billy got up to leave the room. I called him over, "By the way," I said, "You're not really my favorite," I had to set the record straight.

He giggled and then his eyes got big, "W-hat? W-hy?" he was shocked. "Well ... then who is?" he asked seriously

"Well - you know I can't have favorites," I explained, "I love all you kids the same. I was just kidding."

"You can have a favorite - sure you can," he suggested confidently.

"You're my favorite boy," I ran my hand through his hair.

"I'm your only boy," he snarled and then ... walked out of the room.

I screamed after him, "YOU'RE MY FAVORITE BOY IN THE WHOLE WORLD."

No response.

On the upside ... After Little Billy left the room, Alexis cozied up next to me,"I'm your favorite - right?" and smiled real big.

"Are you fighting with anyone?" I asked.

She answered, "No."

"Do you want to move out of this house?" I asked.

She answered, "No."

"Do you want a laptop for your birthday?" I asked.

She answered - "Can I have one?"

I answered, "NO!" and shewed her on her way.

-

So ... we were eating out at one of our favorite Mexican restaurants.

Little Billy is sitting next to me and across the table from his daddy.

There are lots of conversations going on at our table and yet, over all the girly gibberish going on around me, I hear my son talking to his daddy about the girl he likes at his school.

I turn to Little Billy, "What are you talking about?" I say.

He giggles, like a ten year old boy and then says, "Well, you know how I like D, right? Today, I was teasing her about such-and-such and she says, 'I don't care what Billy says - he's dumb.' So then her friend G tells me, 'If she says dumb, like she was saying it with 2 m's (dumm) - then that means that she doesn't really mean it. If she says it like dum-b ... then she means it. How did she say it - dumm or dumb?'" and Little Billy looks at me and laughs.

I sooooo understood this logic, but could not believe that my son - a BOY - was capable of comprehending it, and so I asked, "So ... how did she say it?"

He said, "D-u-m-m. That's how I think she said it - she didn't mean it."

I looked over at my husband, who was smiling a big grin by this point and then said to Little Billy, "I don't really get this whole dumm vs dumb - thing. Do you?" just curious to see what he would say.

"It's a girl thing - I don't really get it either," and he then shoved a bite of his cheese quesadilla into his mouth.

On the upside ... These little girls are 10 years old. My son is 10 years old. This one bizarre conversation leads me to believe that it is very evident that ... these 2 little girls are already very clear of their role in the male/female relationship and how to creatively manipulate those dynamics.

It is also very clear to me that their "while-we-completely-understand-the-logic-of-our-silly-codes-and-signals-but-the-male-of-our-species-will-never-quite-comprehend-what-the-heck-we-are-talking-about" tactics ... have very successfully confused my son (a male of the species) to the point that he somehow thinks he came out of this unscathed.

I didn't have the heart to tell him that dumb - means DUMB, no matter how you spell it or say it. I just left it alone and let the poor thing enjoy his cheesy quesadilla.

There once was a mother.

She was a very busy mother - as most mothers are.

On this one night, she looked at the clock.

It was getting late.

She yelled, "Time for bed! Get your pajamas on - your teeth brushed - your face and hands washed - your hair brushed - GET IN BED," she was using her drill-sergeant voice!

She walked down the hallway near her little son's bedroom.

She stopped.

It hit her.

"Son, " she stuck her head in his room, "Have you had a shower lately?"

The son, in a jovial voice, said, "Not since Monday, Mom."

The busy mother took in a deep breath and hung her head.

Could it really be possible?

Was he telling the truth?

Think back - think, think ... she frantically thought to herself.

Yes - he was right.

"Okay - GO GET IN THE SHOWER!" she raised her drill-sergeant voice and waited in the hallway to see if her son would come running.

He did.

On the upside ... The mother is a very busy mother. The mother is also a very lucky mother. Lucky .... that her son has not yet realized that a mother that does not insist that her son have a bath or shower for five days ---- is normally viewed as miserable mother. She hopes the boy will continue to be oblivious - at least until she, one day soon - hopefully ... gets her pathetic act together. (*sigh*)

My son - he loves a sleep-over.

He goes to his friend's houses and they come to ours.

He has several friends that he prefers and often wants to have them over.

Lately ... he has gotten to where he takes it upon himself to schedule these sleep-overs with not even one minute of discussion with me or ANY OTHER GROWN-UP!

He will choose the night.

He will pick up the phone and call his little friend.

He will schedule the time to meet.

He will outline the events to unfold (ie: movie, play games, order pizza, go miniature golfing ...).

He will not tell a soul.

His little buddies will show up at my house at exactly 5:30 p.m. on a Friday evening, with SLEEP-OVER gear slung over their shoulder in a back-pack, money in their pockets to go miniature golfing and parents waving from their cars saying, "Have a good time, Joey - see you sometime tomorrow."

And there I am ... standing in the driveway - just a wavin' back.

I swear!!

He came home from school on Monday and asked, as soon as he stepped in the front door, "Can someone spend the night, " he's out of breath from running up the stairs, "On Friday?" (*pant-pant*)

This time he asked.

I got on him for scheduling these sleep-overs without asking.

But ... IT WAS ONLY MONDAY!

Lots could happen between Monday and Friday.

I could be dead by then - not that that would matter - he'd still have those boys over and they'd just go right on playing XBox even if they had to step over my dead body to get to it.

On the upside ... I want to have sleep-overs with my friends. I want to go to the movies and play games and go play golf on miniature courses (well, not really - I hate miniature golf). I want a mom that will just let any ol' kid straggle in here and sleep on the floor of my room. I want his slumber-party life!

I am sitting on my bed.

I have my face buried in my laptop, not too aware of what is going on around me.

The TV is on and American Idol is blaring - people singing - people clapping - people cheering.

Suddenly, I hear a noise.

I look up.

Out of the corner of my eye ... I see my son.

He is sneaking down the hallway outside of my bedroom.

He is crawling on his knees towards the stairs.

He has roller blades on his feet.

I scream, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE HOUSE WITH THOSE ROLLER SKATES ON YOUR FEET?"

I scare him to death and he nearly jumps out of his skin!

"You scared me!" he exclaims, "I needed to get something out of my room," he begins to slide down the stairs on his backside.

"I'm going to scare you - if you don't get out of here with those skates," I am no longer screaming, but he knows that I am irritated with him.

Suddenly, he crawls back up the stairs and heads towards my room; I think he must be loosing his mind, to be moving in my direction. He pulls himself along the hallway floor, like a two-legged dog that has lost function of his rear legs - pitiful. He's saying, "They are not roller skates (*huff-huff*). They are roller-blades," he is getting closer and closer to the door of my room.

"What are you doing? Where do you think you are going?" I am looking down at him as he pulls himself along on the carpet next to my bed.

"I'm gonna go out your door," he is making his way to the deck off my bedroom and he is trying so hard to show me that he is not going to let these roller-blades touch the floor - he knows he is treading on thin ice.

I just watch.

He makes it to the door.

He stands up.

He walks out on to the deck and shuts the door behind him.

He heads for the stairs.

I have images of him tumbling *thump-thump-thump-thump-thump* head over heals down the stairs - roller blades and all.

I walk over and look out the door to make sure he is okay.

It is at this moment that I see what he has in his hands.

The thing he was so determined to retrieve from his room ...

On the upside ... I am thinking ... What is that boy going to do? Was he outside on the driveway just skating around and it hit him --- "I gotta go get my yoyo and ... maybe, one of Alexis' jump-ropes. I'll just skate on into the house and go get those things."

After I saw that he made it down the stairs successfully, I went back to sit on my bed. I didn't need to stay and watch - I knew what he was doing - he was ... JUMPING ROPE WHILE ROLLER-BLADING AND WALKING THE DOG WITH HIS LIGHT-UP YOYO - all at the same time.

What can I say ... that boy is destined for greatness.

Oh Good Lord!

I am sometimes preoccupied!

Let's just say ... I don't always hear everything that my children say.

Sometimes I am busy.

Sometimes I am tired.

Sometimes - Yes - I have even been know to ignore their voices, if those voices are gibbering - jabber, whilst I am in the middle of watching shows like ... LOST!

I have.

Well ... I woke up the other morning - rolled over in my bed and it hit me.

I sort of ... (*tilts head sideways and then backwards and then forward again, hoping the memory will rattle its way clearly to the front of her brain*) ... sort of ... recalled - as I am coming out of my slumber ---- agreeing ---- the previous evening ---- around 8:30 p.m. ---- during my preoccupation and lustful infatuation with Sawyer -- I mean ... during LOST ... with my 10 year old son ... that it would be fine --- THAT HE COULD START A BAND, USE OUR GAZEBO AS HOME BASE, A BAND TO BE CALLED DOUBLE K-B (Kool Kid Band) OR SOMETHING, INVOLVING 4 OR 6 OR 8 BOYS (not clear), HE'S BEEN WORKING ON THEIR FIRST SONG -- ALL HE NEEDS FROM ME IS AN ELECTRIC GUITAR AND ONE AMP-LI-FI-ER!

On the upside ... This could have been a dream. I surly would not have agreed to such a thing! Surly I have been a mother long enough to know that you do not answer ANY QUESTION while under the influence of shows such as LOST! Surly I am stronger and smarter and capable of resisting the seductive lures of a sexy man on TV long enough to pull my melting mind to the here-and-now in order to simply say, "Maybe," or "We'll see," or "Let's talk about it later." Surly I didn't commit to anything under duress ... (*puts face into pillow and SCREAMS - thoughts going through her foggy mind of small 10 year old, spiked haired, tatoo wearing boys - ROCKING OUT to Van Halen ... in her backyard gazebo*).

So .... Little Billy's hair was definitely getting too long.

We were having a hard time finding time to take him to have it cut.

On this one night, I said, "Just come up to my bathroom - I'll cut it. And ... make sure you take off your shirt - don't want to get hair all over your pajamas." and so he did.

He walked into my room ...

Looking like this:

Isn't he cute? That stragley hair? Those skinny little legs and arms? Those CRAZY socks?

I say, "What's up with those socks?"

"I found them in the girls' room -they're cool - they fit on your toes like a glove."

"Oh," I said.

As we were standing in the middle of my bathroom, scissors and comb in my hands and he standing in front of the mirror, he begins to ramble.

"What is up with the lunch ladies, anyways?" he asks, out of the blue.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are they so ... creepy?" he says and can't stop moving around.

"How do you mean - creepy? And, stand still," I insist.

He hesitates for a minute and then says, "Not - beautiful," he giggles.

I laugh.

"I didn't want to say - ugly," he sort of whispers.

"Are they ugly?" I am curious now.

"They are," he exclaims. "They have no teeth - some of them. Or rotten teeth," he wrinkles his brow.

"That's not true of all of them," I insist.

He looks at me seriously, "Yes it is! And ... they don't wear those hair nets anymore and there's always hair in the food."

I'm a bit grossed out. "You don't even buy that much food there - how would you know that?"

"You wouldn't believe the hair I've seen," he is quite the expert now. "And ... you don't want to mess with those ladies, "he goes on, "They are huge!"

I laugh, "Huge?"

"I don't mean like fat. I mean like BIG women," he says. "And I don't mean buff - you know."

"Oh," I say, trying my hardest to make sure that I am paying attention to the hair-cutting job I am supposed to be doing *clip-clip-clip*.

"And, that food," he continues to ramble, "It isn't real food at all anymore. Like that pizza -- it's like clay."

"Like clay?" I wasn't sure I heard him right.

"Yeah, like they slap it down - a big ol' blob of clay and smear tomato sauce on it, put some cheese and pepperoni on it - clay pizza. It's nasty. I only ever eat the pepperoni."

"Okay," I say, brushing the hair off his skinny shoulders and back. He looks at his freshly cut hair in the mirror - seems pleased and then ... he scampers off ... in his multi-colored elf socks - to go to bed.

On the upside ... Aside from the patron wearing the funky socks, no clothes on and lack of a red/white/blue barber pole - I felt just like a barber. And ... No offense to anyone who is or was or knows someone who is or was or wants to be a lunch lady ---- this is probably only a condition common to those ladies that work at Little Billy's school. I'm not even sure I would take his word for all of these observations - he's only 10. And ... you saw his hair - it was most likely his OWN hair that was in his food (highly likely) and ... I'm pretty certain that they are not using clay to make the pizza. That kid - he cracks me up!

While at church recently, I noticed that a young minister we have come to know had cut his hair. He had been wearing it much longer.

After church - while sitting at the table of one of our favorite Mexican restaurants, I commented that I liked this minister's hair much better short.

My twins were besides themselves and began complaining that he "Definitely did not look better with the shorter hair!"

I am telling you - HE DID LOOK BETTER!

Little Billy - sitting to my right, was deep in thought.

Seeing the distress on his furrowed brow, I said, "What? What's the matter?"

Picking up on the fact that his older sisters preferred boys with longer hair ...

And knowing that his mom had recently insisted that he cut his straggly, long hair shorter ...

Little Billy whimpered, "See Mom ---- You're keeping me from all the girls."

On the upside ... Yes, Sweet Boy ... for just as long as I can!

-

I am screaming through my house - looking for Little Billy.

He has been home from school for about half an hour and it is time for him to start his homework.

I can not find him anywhere and I am getting annoyed - to say the least - screaming and walking and screaming and walking ...

WHERE IS THAT BOY?!?

And then ... I go into my bathroom and look out the window - into the front yard - and this is what I see ...

I had to RUN and get my camera to take a picture of this phenomenon!

I had to zoom my camera in a little closer to make sure I was in fact seeing what I thought I was seeing ...

Could it really be possible?

And not just any old book - but ... HARRY POTTER?

I almost FELL out of the window!

On the upside ... I quit my SCREAMING and just let him be. I knew it would not be long before I might hear that -- *squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak* -- of that pogo-stick again, but ... until then I had to enjoy this miraculous moment. This moment when my 10 year old son, put down his toys to actually READ A BOOK! I could not believe my eyes!

One day, not long ago, Alexis came home from school. After discarding her backpack and eating her snack, she walked into my bedroom carrying a bottle of bright red fingernail polish and she said, in a very bossy tone, "I need you to put this on me before we go to dinner." I stopped what I was doing just long enough to grant her request. As I began painting her nails, she watched closely and then said, "This is such a beautiful color." I laughed.

She knows beautiful when she sees it. As does her brother - especially when he was small. Sometimes when we would go to Wal-Mart and wander through the jewelry department, there was a period (when he was three or four) that every time he saw a necklace with glistening crystals (plastic), he would just have to have it. He would hold the necklace in his little hands and look at me with those big brown eyes and say, "It's just beautiful, Mama." I always agreed.

One time, he saw a bunch of these necklaces in five colors and begged to have them. I bought them for my little boy and he wore them proudly, everywhere. He wore them around the house and when he would go out to the yard. I would look out the window and there I would see him with his beautiful necklaces wrapped around his neck - chasing after the dog, throwing rocks or climbing up a tree.

Some people worried that I would buy necklaces for my son, but not me, or his father either. We knew it was not threatening to our way of thinking. And, if one day he were to show a preference for that sort of thing, well ... we will just cross that bridge when we come to it. At the time ... how could I deny him this thing he so admired - they were beautiful.

He's ten now, my little boy. Today is his 11th Birthday. He doesn't wear necklaces anymore, but if he did, I'm not sure I would be so surprised, with all the girls he has to compete with around our house.

When he was born I wrote love poems to him that hung on the walls of his nursery. The first poem I wrote was:

Dear God,

In my world of little girls
Of hair bows and dolls and lace
I never imagined a little boy
Could ever find his place

But then one day ...

I looked above
And gazed up to the sky

You opened up your heavens gates
And smiled into my eyes

You gave to me a special child
For me to call my own
A little boy so wonderful
I never could have known

He smiles across the room at me
And giggles at my touch
I can't believe you gave to me
This child I love so much

When I look into his face
Or kiss his soft warm cheek
I feel the love you have for me
And often hear you speak ...

"How is it that ...

In your world of little girls
Of hair bows and dolls and lace
You never imagined a little boy
Could ever find his place?

Don't you know ...

I choose the child ...
For each and every home?
A special soul, in every child
For each to call their own?

When I chose this boy for you
I knew he'd find his place
I knew he'd melt into your heart
And fill the empty space

I know this child
I know his name
He's now your little boy

May Billy bring you love and faith
And happiness and joy."

I could have never imagined the love and faith and happiness and joy he would bring into my life. He is so special ... this boy child of mine.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY SWEET BILLY!

WE LOVE YOU VERY MUCH!