A CLASS ACT

We are a class act, the "H" family. If you've read my blog for any length of time (stand up and be counted, masses), then you know we find ourselves in some, uh, "classy" squeezes.
*Reece checking himself VERY publicly for mud bunnies (here).
*Olivia threatening to throw down with an elderly lady at the post office (here).
*Cierah clinging to me like a 6-toed cat on an angora sweater because she was not about to use a brick glamour twa-lette (here).
*And nothing, absolutely nothing points out the many fine qualities of the H family and our high falutin' class like our stellar Denny's incident (here).
If you know us and know the stories, well then, you know. Class act all the way, baby.

So then, this evening's outing will come as no shock to you reg'lars. Walk with me...
Hubs had a very busy day at the airport and was held for 90 minutes mandatory overtime at the end of his shift (small potatoes as mandatory overtime goes, but just enough to unravel one's last nerve when it's hanging by a frayed thread). Meanwhile, back at the ranch (we don't have a ranch, I just wanted to add that for visual drama), I was being brutalized by four tough little commandos and their brilliant plan to rule the empire.

FREEZE FRAME: Loud crash heard in upstairs bedroom during Liv's math lesson.

Mom rushes upstairs to find a crying Brandon with a rasberry on his chin and buckets-o-tears flowing down his sweet (but not so innocent) little face. The hap? He and Reece decided to make a game out of Brandon jumping on Reece's VERY high bed to try to make slam dunks with Reece's stuffed animals. The hoop? None other than Reece's ceiling fan. Oh, and impish Reece? "I was just the ball return, Mom. I don't know how he got that boo boo." Hmm, seems I recall Richard Pryor once saying that a lamp got broken when his boys ran through the house. On questioning, one son replied, "I don't know how that got broken, Daddy. Why, that lamp was broken before I was even born." ;)

So now that you have a little glimpse into our chaotic day, you'll understand why us grown ups rebelled by refusing to cook dinner. Oh yes I would too do that. I defiantly tossed my kitchen apron in the darkest closet I could find and harshly slammed the door, a firm stand taken against my personal army of pint-sized banschees. Hmmmf! That'll fix their broken wagons! Okay, so I don't really have a kitchen apron. Just roll with me, would ya?

So the waitress at Sals Italian Restaurant takes our order. Our kids have no idea
what they're ordering, but they love to read menus and they think placing an order is aiken to waving a magic wand and POOF, food arrives on a plate in front of them.
Reece: "I'll take the fet-two-chinny with TWO bread sticks. TWO! It comes with two. Not just one. Make sure I get two because it says TWO right here." Naturally, his sisters pipe up and insist that their "feh-two-chinny" comes with two bread sticks as well. THANK GOODNESS for 1st grade readers. I mean, I'm sure the restaurant would have absolutely no idea how many bread sticks to include if not for our little Einsteins and their brilliant and necessary clarification (Toni tries not to fall under the table from embarrassment.)

The waitress brought some complimentary slices of bread to the table. Carl and I enjoy the dipping oils and so we poured some and placed it in the middle of the table for all to share. Reece took a particular liking to it.
"Mom, why are we eating oil?"
"Because it's good with the bread. Do you like it? It looks like you're enjoying it."
"Mmm-hmm. It's good. But it doesn't have any taste."
"Well, there's a slight spicy taste to it."
"No, no taste," then more insistant and sing-songy, "Nothing!"
Perplexed, I continued. "Yes, well,..uh,..then why are you eating it if it tastes like nothing?"
"Right. That's what I asked you in the first place."
(Toni is now baffled into silence, but Reece is NEVER silent)
"If it doesn't taste like anything, I can't say I don't like the taste because it doesn't HAVE any taste. So, I like it."
(Help me, Lord)

The service at SAL'S was uncomfortably slow, so Reece worked toward his inevidible requisite pit stop.
"I have to go to the bathroom."
We reminded him of all the things Reece needs constant reminders for, like walking and not running, speaking in a whisper and not screaming, flushing once and not making a game out of flushing again and again (When he was potty training, his dad taught him to yell, "Fire in the hole!", which Reece would bellow again and again as he flushed...we've got class written all over us.) As he left the table, he became intrigued by the fact that there was more than one passageway out of our area of the restaurant to the side that housed the bathrooms.

"Watch, Mom. I'm gonna wait 'till I get back there to cut over to the bathroom." He walked to the back of the room, turned and flashed a huge red-headed grin, then disappeared through the doorway to the other side.
"BACK AGAIN!", he yelled almost instantly, forgetting his inside voice and scaring the b'jeebies out of me, my feathers all ruffled and my heart a racing.
"Shhhh!" I shot back, insistently pointing back toward the bathrooms.
Again, he disappeared through the doorway.
I waited a few moments.
He didn't reappear.
Satisfied that he was really gone this time, I turned back around in my seat to chat with Hubs.

Suddenly from behind me, "PSSSSSSSST!"

For Pete's sake, what now??? I turned around to see Reece, both arms stretched out, palms facing forward, as he whispered loud as anyone could ever whisper,
"I
HAVE
TO
POOP!"

Now would be a good time to point out that linen table cloths double nicely as full body cover. I nearly pulled ours out from under the overlaid glass, I tell you.

On impulse, I loudly whispered back.
"REECE!
DO NOT ANNOUNCE YOUR BUSINESS.
JUST GET IN THERE AND TAKE CARE OF IT."

He loudly reciprocated. WHISPERING, of course.
"I CAN'T.
SOMEBODY ELSE WAS IN THERE FIRST AND IT'S GOING TO FLOOD IF I FLUSH IT."
(Ewwwwww!!!!!!)

Folks, howz that for class? Didn't help one bit that Reece is in major need of a haircut, put clothes on this morning that were three sizes too big, and basically looked like an extra from a Little Orphan Annie stage production. Proud mama here, all aglow (red-faced embarrassment will do that). Clampetts!

Truth is, I genuinely treasure our quirky, challenging, never-a-dull-moment family that God knitted together.
It's NOT perfect.
It's NOT smooth sailing all the time (or even most of the time).
And it's NOT easy to meet all needs, all the time, all that well.
But it is the family God called me to.
And no matter what happens within the dynamics of us on any given day, I am absolutely certain that His plan is at work in all our lives, individually AND collectively.
Glass half full, it's a beautiful vantage point, there for the taking.
It's God's telescope. Grab a view.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28 NAS

Toni