The Thing Thing

"This is the thing..."

I'm not sure where it came from, but I know who and when we noticed it. My sisters make fun of me because whenever we are in a serious conversation, I seem to always clue everybody into to my conclusion by saying, "This is the thing..." or "Here's the thing."

And we have had plenty of serious conversations over the past couple years. About treatments. About retirements. About surgeries, hospitals, and our parents' tendancy to try to keep us all in the dark about aforementioned issues.

And then last summer, when we were all home for most of the summer, about hospice. About morphine. About Dad's last birthday party, his last days, hours...His funeral, the details of his casket, the military service, pallbearers.

Heavy stuff.

But I was a bit taken back when I noticed a couple of weeks ago that Parker and Peyton have gotten into the "thing" thing, too.

Peyton had been sick and home from school for three days in a row. By Friday she was feeling out of the pre-school loop, as Parker was her only connection to the world of crayons and pint-sized fashion.

"Parker," Peyton began, "this is a sad thing."

Oh, my.

"Taylor said that she was going see me at school and then she didn't and that is sad sad sad."

A couple minutes later, Parker began to describe to Peyton the movie that the kids got to watch that day.

"Peyton," he said, "this is a funny thing. The dog in the movie farted!"

And with that, they have officially entered into the world of high drama.

The Meltdown Thing

Golly, folks, two days in a row without naps and I'm whipped...uh, I mean, my kids are whipped.

Yesterday both Parker and Peyton skipped naps because obviously the excitement of going to a birthday party on a farm that afternoon was just too much anticipatory fervor for them to sleep through. Like they've never seen horses and pigs and goats and rabbits and ducks and a donkey before...psh.

Okay, so maybe 10-15 times. But in their short lifespan, that's 3-5 times a year...

Let me just say, Thank you, Tracy and Matt and little two-year-old birthday boy Chase. This party rocked. And I am being 100% honest. I regretfully admit I am not a fan of the birthday party. I don't even like my own kids' birthday parties.

The first birthday party that Pat and I attended as a pre-children couple, there was a keg on tap in the backyard. Apparently that one birthday party with the adult reprieve in the form of alcoholic beverages was not a long enough transition period, because it's just been in the past few months that these kid birthday parties are anything less than a flat out kick in my rear.

This party at the farm had so many animals--and they were small animals...baby goats, small chickens, miniature donkey and horses, and a 29 year old horse for the kids to ride on. This was the epitome of fun and safety wrapped into one event! After cake and ice cream there was a pinata and more candy than you could shake a plastic bat at.

Serious fun.

Today we met Sabina, Meg, Sabina's folks from San Angelo, and her mom's sister and husband from Germany, and Sabina's neices, Erin and Erica, at the Stockyards in Fort Worth. Again, fun! The stockyards are filled to the brim of the aroma of cow and horse manure, and I love it. Plus, Sabina and her kin are super. After lunch, we went to the Fort Worth Botanical Gardens, which I had never, not one time taken our kids to. It's fun and it's free. Not to mention beautiful this time of year. We played in the fountains, raced across the grass, and had a water fight.

Wait a minute. I mean Erin and Erica, Parker and Peyton, and Meg did all that stuff. I just followed them around and smelled the roses. Erin and Erica are in the 5th and 7th grade, and Meg can still claim a sub-30 age all year round. (Sabina's dad said that she's either truly that young of an age or she'll be cryin' in the morning.) Having those guys there made my job pretty darn easy.

But we're still pooped, to say the least, and with good reason I might add. Tonight during supper Parker couldn't even figure out his bodily functions. He kept getting out of his chair, walking across the living room, and then coming back to the table. It's like his brain couldn't even stay focused long enough to decide if he was going to eat or pee. After three trips half-way to the toilet, he finally announced that he was "having a major meltdown."

I'm with ya, buddy.

A real fat thing

Let me make a short story long...

The Texas State High School Wrestling Tournament (should I put this in all caps? because for the month of February, our lives revolve around this event) was this past weekend. That meant that Patrick took his boys that qualified to Austin on Thursday to wrestle, and the kids and I joined him Friday after school. I really like to watch wrestling. Well, kind of. That's somewhat of a lie. I like to watch good wrestling, but once someone gets twisted so that their shoulder (or neck or knee or ankle) looks like it could snap out of their torso, I tap out. Parker and Peyton are getting better and better at behaving/learning to be entertained at tournaments, but the event is exhausting to say the least. And all I'm doing is carting kids around and giving myself whiplash every other match.

Saturday night after the finals, Parker, Peyton and I drove on down to San Antonio to see Denise and Hank. It was a short visit. We arrived around 9:30 Saturday night and left by noon on Sunday. Then we spent three hours parked on I-35 just south of New Braunsfels because the highway was shut down due to an accident.

Unfortunate for all of us. Parker mooned a man in a VW bug behind us because he couldn't hold it anymore and we were desperate.

My plan was to stop in San Marcus at the Taj Mahal of shopping center. That's right. Prime Outlets and Tanger Outlets next door, back to back. I am ready to embrace my expanding belly and really wanted to get some cute maternity clothes at the Motherhood outlet.

By the time we got to San Marcus, I was about to throw my shopping idea out the window, since my last nerve had escaped there, too, after 3 hours of traffic. But we had been in the car for an eternity, and the kids and I needed to stretch our legs.

That, and the bargains.

So we first went to Old Navy and got the kids some really cute stuff. The Childrens Place was right there, so we went in to that place, too. And I really want some new sunglasses, and Patrick did say, "After your recent experience on Texas's lovely highway system, buy yourself something nice, baby." And I wanted to get Parker some summer sandals, and then the kids wanted a carmel apple, and I was just too weak by this time to say no.

So we'd been shopping for about an hour and a half, and we finally head across the street to Motherhood. After getting a dirty look or ten from a sales lady there because, well, maybe my kids weren't acting like angels, I found a couple dresses and we were back on the road.

And here's the real story, in case I lost you with all of the unnecessary information above:
Monday morning I put on one of the dresses that I had gotten on Sunday.
Parker walks into the bathroom and says, "Mom, why are you wearing that?"
"Because," I say, "it fits and it's new."
"Well," he says, "it makes you kind of ... fat."

Can someone remind me why we teach five year olds to be honest?

And Another Thing...

By the way, I'm prego.

Due July 18, give or take a couple days, and if it seems that I'm revealing this information as an afterthought, well, you can think again.

We went in for our sonogram this morning and found out that the baby has 4 chambers in his/her heart that are developing right on schedule, has a normally-developing brain in his/her head, and his/her spine is completely closed, as it should be. All systems are go...

And for that, I am grateful to God. For multiple reasons. I feel like the huge burden of anxiety and worry has been lifted from my ever-widening body. So this is much more than an afterthought (as we all know this whole child-bearing/child-rearing process never is)...I feel grateful. Humble. Blessed.

We decided (or I did, I can't remember if I consulted Pat on this decision or not...) that we wouldn't find out what the sex of the baby was until it pops out (understatement of the century for those who care). I feel like God has been tapping me on the shoulder a lot this past year, and this time, He is whispering, "You know, Rhonda, you don't need to know everything that I've got in store for you." Which someday I'll discuss with Him, along with other things, when I can have this chat face to face.

So today at the sonogram, instead of being totally consumed with is it a boy? is it a girl? would you please stop looking so closely at the heart and just let me know if we're doing blue or pink around here? and was very anxious about the heart, the brain, the spine. You know, the things that really matter.

What on earth was I thinking? I mean, it's not like I didn't care about Parker and Peyton's pre-natal growth and development. I must have, right? Or was I as shallow as I think I was, because I don't remember worrying at all about that.

Maybe ignorance is bliss...

Anyway, here comes another Dunn...another mouth to feed, another body to clothe...another smile and another pair of feet running through the house. Another round of sleepless nights and potty training...another baby to rock and cuddle (I don't sing) and maybe another opportunity to get potty training "right" this time. Another car seat. Another voice. Another plate at the dinner table. Another. Another one. Another Dunn.

"Thank you, Lord...how can I ask for more?"

These Crazy Things!

No school today! Yeah!

It's icy and cold cold cold outside. Like 29 degrees...at NOON! This does not happen often to those of us who live south of the Red River.

And my lovely children, in an afternoon fit of creativity and imagination, decided to "go swimming."

The Wallpaper Thing

I've spent the last 3 hours of my sacred three-day weekend scraping this off of our bathroom walls:

It's glue from the wallpaper border that used to hang on the bathroom wall, and it has hampered my plans to have the bathroom walls re-painted by the end of the day. This day.

Let me urge any of you homeowners out there who are tempted to glue pieces of paper to your wall to let it pass. There are so many other viable options out there: paint, plaster, wood paneling...

Wallpaper just plain stinks when it comes time to redecorate. This wicked covering was on our master bedroom walls and our kitchen walls, both of which I stripped (with quadruple the pain and anguish) the first year we lived in this house...four years ago. The memory of the scrubbing and scraping must have temporarily fled my memory when I decided to tackle the border in the "other" bathroom.

So my plan was to take down the border and tape off the baseboards yesterday and apply two coats of paint today. Oh, Wallpaper, how you had other ideas! I'm now 24 hours behind schedule because your sticky and nasty layers of paper and glue we're oh so attached to our bathroom walls.

Seriously people, wallpaper must be the WORST excuse for wall decor. It's too permanant. Have a new color scheme hit you in the middle of the night? With a nice, clean painted wall, you just get yourself a gallon of Behr semi-gloss, a little blue tape, and your set. Viola! A new look in less than twenty-four hours. But with wallpaper, it's a wet and sloppy mess before you even get to crack open the lid of the paint.

Honestly, I just don't have the time for that.

So I'm warning you right now, homeowners, you put that mess up on your walls, I'm not buying your house.

On a more positive note, I did repaint the kitchen island that looked like someone had painted it with "Lost your Lunch" color paint. I'm still not totally satisfied with the new color, so I'm not inviting guests until I get it right.

But y'all are always welcome to drop by unannounced and uninvited.

A Language Thing

Okay Friends, this post is brought to you courtesy of my dear sister, Kim. She lives in Iowa and has a darling family that drives her nuts, too. One of our favorite things to do is embarrass our kids (hopefully, someday) by telling each other the crazy things that our kids do. Kim has a 6th grade step-son, Evan, a five year old boy, Ty, and a three year old little girl, Bryn. They do and say some funny stuff.

Here's an email that I got from Kim last week. And I even asked her permission to post this, so no one even try to sue me for plagarism.

Ah, the joys of language acquisition...

I have a funny story about bedtime prayers….. Allen Mathes and his wife had their baby the day after Christmas. We went over to their house on Saturday to visit them and the little guy. His name is Beckett Wilkes Mathes and Ty kept wanting to call him ‘Bucket’ instead of ‘Beckett”. He was getting frustrated every time we would correct him that he finally said, “I’m just going to call him “Baby”. Okay, whatever.

Last night when I asked Ty and Bryn each who their special prayers were for, Bryn said, “My special prayers are for baby Beckett.” (Who she calls Bucket too). So after our prayers were over Ty asks, “Mom, is his name ‘Fucket’? To which I let a laugh escape and said, ‘No. It’s Beckett. B..B..Beckett.”

“Well, that’s just a stupid name.”

I said, “Ty, that’s not very nice to say. Would you like it if someone said you had a stupid name?”

“But I don’t have a stupid name. I have a nice name. It’s just Ty.”

Hard to argue when they make a valid point.

Thanks for the great material, Kimmy. Winks ;)