LEARNING AT THE POTTER'S WHEEL

The Creator of the Universe is so wise and wonderful. I cannot express what His grace has meant to me.

There was a time when I was certain that HE could never really care for ME. I am so glad to know now that I was wrong. This is not something brought about by any merit of my own. Rather, it is a testament to His steadfast love that would not let me go.

It is easy to imagine that a person filled with joy is a person that cannot understand or comprehend the difficulties you’ve seen. ‘How dare that person rejoice?! Don’t they know there are people hurting?! How cruel to smile while others weep! What a flippant thing to suggest that FAITH alone could solve THIS!’

At one time, I believed joyful people were happy because they had never known pain. I assumed they were immune to the depth of hurt I had known.

That was before I came to understand what Solomon wrote: “The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 1:9.

There really is NOTHING new under the sun – not even the kind of pain I’ve known. My history isn’t really all that unique. For what it’s worth, here’s a small portion of where He brought me from:

Dealing with emotionally broken people is not enjoyable for me. It isn't because I don't know how to handle myself. Rather, it's because these situations have a cold familiarity. I know too well what it is like to be at the mercy of those that love explosive conflict, drama, faultfinding and gossip.

Much of my childhood was a bewildering adventure where I tried to reconcile actual events to the interpretations of adults that were convinced every difference must mean war.

I felt more secure at school, but even there I often heard young teachers swapping stories and laughing about other students, their parents, and each other. So, though I was thankful for the predictability of graded approval, it was a relative security.

I learned it was in my interest to NOT cause adults embarrassment by revealing the truth I knew. There were MANY topics we weren't allowed to mention, lots of secrets. It became a matter of survival to learn how to read the faces of the adults in my world. I was always searching for the meaning behind the words, because in my world, words hid coded messages.

I only recall once or twice when I attempted to describe these things to a trusted adult. The people in my day-too-day circle weren't interested in what a child thought, and fewer wanted to hear it. My uncertain efforts met with well-meaning lectures on how I should try harder to be a good girl that didn't disappoint.

Much of my time was spent trying to figure out how to best position myself to stay out of trouble. I often wore a look of concentrated puzzlement. My facial expression meant that photographers were always a little frustrated that I had to be told to smile. I met that frustration with a quizzical stare, wondering why I would smile when I wasn’t happy. I don’t know of any childhood pictures where I wear an un-posed smile.

One day, quite by accident, I discovered a valuable key to navigating this confusing time. I was watching my mother and another woman go through a bag of clothes that were not appealing to me. The colors were faded earth tones, and the reds looked orangey-rusty. There weren't any play clothes in the bunch. For a small girl that liked to climb trees, there wasn’t much there to like.

The women were ooohing and aaahing over all of it as though these items were lovely. Taking a cue, I ventured, “That’s a pretty dress.” Honestly, I did not like the color or the fact that it was a dress, but the cut was nice and it had a ruffle around the hem that made it tolerable.

The change in the room was electric. Suddenly, I was drawn into their circle. They began to include me in the conversation. Their faces lit up, and they asked my opinion on many items. I saw that they only held up things THEY liked and were only looking for an appreciative audience. So, for my mother and her friend, I became a reflection of what they wanted. I offered them encouragement, and it actually tipped things in my favor. It’s still a vivid memory to me -- the day I complimented an ugly dress and FINALLY received approval.

It was a valuable lesson to learn. It served me well, but it made me somewhat cynical of individual motives. I still have to occasionally remind myself that spotlight seekers aren’t always oblivious to the needs of those around them. I’ve often been brought to the place where I had to choose to offer grace to those who enjoy sniping and backbiting – even when my instincts tell me to use the skills I learned surviving treatment by those who were MUCH more intimidating. Yes, HE is a very patient Teacher to His children.

Thankfully, these things are my history. They haven’t robbed me of the present or my future.

My parents have actually turned into ideal grandparents. I love them dearly. Forgiveness brought healing, and I came to understand that their own childhoods were the things of nightmares. I learned that the world isn't such a frightening place when you are held by the hands of the ONE that spoke creation into existence.

Managing associations and friendships with people one on one and in large numbers has been largely uneventful. Knowing God has helped me to re-focus my thinking to what pleases Him and how He sees me rather than what ugly human imaginations can dream up. However, few people ever get very close to me. I don’t have much appreciation for feigned familiarity.

There are, a few friends that are happy exceptions to this. Along the way, I have been blessed with friends that DO value me as a person. These same friends trust my fidelity and goodwill. They rejoice when good comes my way and weep with me when I grieve. These are friends that pray for me regularly even when I’m not aware of it -- whether or not I ask for it. These are friends I may not see for years at a time, but it’s like we’ve never been apart when we come together. I call them my heart-friends.

When my heart-friends ask my opinion they are genuinely interested in an honest response. They want to know how I see the world, and they delight in and value my perspective – whether or not they agree with it. They aren't so self-absorbed or insecure as to think opinions and points of view must always line up perfectly. They don't assume that my words have hidden meaning or are born of manipulations. They don't demand that I hide myself in order to make them feel better about themselves. When you know who you are in Christ, you don't NEED to hold others hostage to your emotions. You are free to just enjoy each other -- differences and all.

. . . . And, if you ask me today what I think about THAT . . . I’ll smile a wide smile that makes the corners of my eyes crinkle and tell you from the depths of my soul that I think that’s just BEAUTIFUL!!

My husband is the king of kidders. When we married, every prank and tease he had been saving up because he missed living at home with his brothers and sisters came back to him. It's been interesting, to say the least.

His humor has meant that I have sons that love to joke and tease as well. They've seen me bubble over with laughter at their dad's antics, and they love to contribute to the fun.

The other thing my husband passed on to his sons is an EXTREME honesty. This means, that sometimes when silence might serve your interests better, you just burst forth with whatever pops into your head . . . Like the time Duke asked a friend (with a new haircut) if she had walked into a buzz saw. Thankfully, she appreciated his humor and thought it was hilarious.

I am hoping that my middle child will gain the social graces and skills necessary to not scare of all future prospects for a spouse. . . I may need to shift those prayers to more in the area of protection after this past week. . .

We went to run errands. All of us piled into the car and had a good time walking through the store. We look a lot.

As we went through the checkout, I opened my bag to pull out my wallet. Duke stopped me, and said he wanted to break a $100. I knew he needed a haircut, but it struck me as humorous when the young girl took the bill and held it up to the light, squinting at it. I couldn't help myself. I burst into laughter.

Next in line was the middle son. He handed her his $20 which received NO extra checking.

This tickled me even more and had me laughing as we walked out to the car.

In the parking lot, the child in question said, "Hey Mom."
"What?" I asked as I stopped and turned in his direction.
"Look," he was gesturing at his legs (he was wearing long shorts). "You know, with this breeze, it sorta tickles my legs."
I looked at the very thin legs extending below the bony knees. "Really?"
"Yeah," he continued. "That's because of the hair."
I squinted to see.

"You see," he explained, "That's what happens when you get to be a man. I'm getting hair on my legs."

Now you try walking to the car without laughing and not hurt yourself after that statement.

Next, we pulled into the gas station to fill the tank. This meant that Duke was doing some creative maneuvering around the other cars and pumps. While he was in the store paying for the gas, I slipped into the drivers' seat, buckled the belt and adjusted the mirrors.

When Duke returned, he asked what I was doing in HIS seat.
"I know it's not as exciting when I drive," I smiled sweetly up at him, "But you deserve a rest. I'll wake you when we get to the next stop."


Trying to help, the middle son interjected:

"Yeah, Dad, your driving is more . . . . ADVENTURESOME!"

Duke growled, muttered something I couldn’t quite make out, and climbed into the passenger seat.


Yeah, I need to pray more for that boy.

I'm a mix of emotions as I post this entry. . . . and that's fitting as parenting is just that, a mixture of so many things.

I'm excited for my youngest, Z-man. He's been potty-trained now for two years, but the nights haven't all been dry. Yet, in the last couple of weeks, the dry nights have moved into the majority. My writing brought me a few pennies, so the last time we were out running errands, we stopped into one of those box stores.

This was during the tax-free weekend, so all kinds of stuff was placed for prominent display. One of those items were the draw-string twin sheet sets that you buy for kids going to camp or college. They were on sale. We didn't NEED any sheets, mind you. The ones we have are fine, but they are old.

I looked down at Z-man and told him how proud I was of him that he wasn't wetting the bed any more (mostly) and that I thought he deserved to have brand new sheets. He was thrilled and picked out a bright apple-green color to have on his bed.

That night, we put his sheets on and tossed the others in the wash. His brother had also gotten a set. They were both quite proud of their selections and couldn't wait to hop into bed.

Would you believe it? Those sheets are worth their weight in gold. Z-man has something HE chose, HE picked out and HE wants to keep nicely on HIS bed. So far, the magic sheets have done their work nicely. All dry nights . . . One accident happened en route to the restroom, but the green sheets? Dry as a bone. Thank you very much!

So, why the mix of emotions?

Because tonight, there is a family making arrangements to have their their son released from the hospital to come home. There aren't any magic sheets for this young man. The cancer has done its worst, and the end looms. Hospice has been called, and prayers are being said. They've taken their last vacation.

These parents who have kissed the boo-boos and soothed the hurts are now facing an unimaginable loss, but there is no time to process all of that. For now, they must keep track of pain meds, care schedules and the endless telephone calls. They will not sleep much during the next while. Someone will always need to be awake. The one that should be resting likely won't be able to. They will make arrangements that no parent ever dreams of making.

They aren't just running out of time, they are losing time they thought they had. . . The holidays yet to come . . . The milestones not yet met. In an almost cruel twist, weddings, births, deaths, graduations, and new friendships will all continue to occur . . . time will march on . . . oblivious to this crushing blow.

For now, I live in a world where green sheets can work magic. But I have also known the sorrow that comes when nothing I could do would fix it. I know what it is to go on living when one I love did not . . . and I grieve for this mother and this father and the task that is before them.

Tonight, I'll tuck Z-man into his still-new green sheets, and I'll pray for this family as they settle in for the night. I'll be thankful that when these times come I know there IS comfort and peace because the Potter holds me firmly within His skilled hands.

This morning before breakfast, I had one of those moments that just leave me a bit awestruck.

I know that boys need men to teach them how to be men. I understand that. So, it should have come as no surprise to me that my efforts to teach manners were not always well received. In reality, a female demonstrating to a boy how he should conduct himself in public is . . . well . . . a FEMALE telling a boy how to be a MALE. At best, such an endeavor would result in a facsimile of maleness. My boys weren't interested.

The difficulty for me was that I grew up in a home that emphasized manners. Both of my parents taught manners from before I could speak. It is part of my DNA somehow. It was just something I endeavored to teach my boys as a matter of course.

From time to time I've been called upon to attend some formal events (not often, and long ago). So, you can imagine how I'd look at my children and sometimes think , "If you do that in front of dignitaries one day, I'll just faint!"

My boys would just respond with giggles and laughter.

Before I tell you what happened at breakfast, I have to backtrack a bit. We've been going over events that led up to the founding of our country. In that process, we've started learning about the challenges presented to the defenders of the colonies when they decided to revolt against England. Forces of nature were brought into play such that men that should have been decimated lived to fight and win another day.

Learning about the circumstances under which George Washington found himself leading troops (well, eventually, they were troops) was like experiencing an episode of some survival reality television show, and whatever other action-adventure program you can think of all wrapped up into one. Knowing the outcome didn't make it any less amazing. . . . But that was watching it through my adult eyes.

My little guys, on the other hand, were mesmerized. Their grandfather was named after this man. This guy was starting to tower above Davy Crockett and Lewis and Clark -- and that's saying a lot in this house. Not only did this man manage to be successful in war, he was a LEADER of MEN. My guys were more than impressed.

That brings us to this morning.

"Mom, can I read to you?"
"Sure," I replied expecting to see the latest dinosaur book from the library.

Instead, he pulled out a small red volume. One of the books I had collected long ago thinking that ONE day, SOME day, I would share it with my kids. None of them seemed interested, so it had sat on the shelf for years.

That's the book he pulled out.

George Washington's Rules of Civility and Decent Behaviour In Company and Conversation

I was stunned and listened as he began to read over President Washington's list. This was a list made by a man that was humbled by the office of the presidency and the weight of the responsibility of the men and the nation he led. This was a man concerned with not causing unnecessary offense. He knew war. He knew how to fight. He seemed keenly aware of the scrutiny he was under and sought to not cause embarrassment or discomfort. He could have swaggered and preened. Instead, he maintained a humble dignity. This was not a man without passions. This was not a man unfamiliar with hardship. This was a man with considered priorities, and he determined to discipline himself first.

THAT appealed to my young son.

So, I listened as he read from George Washington's book. He read the same things my parents had taught me. He read the same things I had tried to tell him before. But THIS time, it came from a MAN that was a LEADER -- A man of integrity and honor and faith. It wasn't just mama saying not to scratch in public. This was the father of our country saying:

"When in company, put not your hands to any part of the body, not usually discovered."

Thanks George, I couldn't have said it better myself!

I am thankful that the Lord of my heart knew how much this would mean to me and allowed me the privilege to witness it. God is SOOOOOOOO GOOD!

Note: If you are interested in using any of these materials I've mentioned, feel free to use the link I've provided in my Recommended Reads widget below. THANKS!

Okay. It seems that cheap peanut butter and the old standby for rodent control proved to be just the right blend to get rid of our house guest.

Duke rose to the occasion and emptied the trap when he left for work early. He woke up my little hero to show him the results of a rodent encounter with a spring-loaded trap. (ugh!)

The boy was so impressed, that he couldn't wait to describe it to me before breakfast.

I agree that those who abuse or torment animals should be stopped. When it comes to having my home invaded, however, I'm happy to bring these fellows to a quick and certain end. He didn't live long enough to be abused . . . although his last meal wasn't organic. . . I don't think it made any difference in his overall health.

Meanwhile, I think I'll leave the traps out for a bit to be sure he didn't leave a forwarding address for his friends.

Well, it's official. We have an uninvited and unwanted guest. He or she didn't even have the decency to knock and had the audacity to leave little calling cards in the dog's dish.

That's right. A mouse is in my house.

No, I'm not a squeamish woman. I enjoy watching films of surgery, and watching Duke get stitches (which he seems to do at least once a year) is an intriguing pastime. If you've read about some of our spec-poop-ular times, you know I've got that covered also. I'm not afraid to squish a bug or two in the name of domestic tranquility. At one time, I begged my parents for a snake.

But rodents are another matter. They defecate where they eat. . . and where I eat; they carry plagues and disease, and they destroy property.

I looked up from my work and out of the corner of my eye saw a fuzzy blur dash across my kitchen floor. I'm old enough that it could have been just a spot or something with my vision, so I got up and checked behind the trash can. Nothing.

I got back to work and looked up just in time to see varmint poke his nose out from underneath the fridge.

That was enough to prompt a telephone call to Duke at work -- not something I do often. (And yes, I KNOW that isn't what I would look like in a chair! LOL) I told him about our interloper and offered to remove myself from the premises if he had no other solution. He was sure there was another answer.

My middle son saw an occasion to play the hero. He went and donned his camouflage jacket, his plastic gun, his plastic knife, and an assortment of sticks. Also he put on his shoes and then assured me that this mouse was toast. He armed his brother with a fly swatter and then (it's sad that THIS part is my legacy to him) he made a list of mouse weapons and had each of us sign the list as he provided us with munitions. I told him I would be fine, thank you.

It was all I could do not to laugh when he went and got a plastic piece of corn and placed it before the refrigerator. I asked him what he was doing. He said he was trying to lure the mouse out into the open. This was after he started placing some crumbs around. I put a stop to that as I didn't really want to FEED the mouse.

We ran errands after Duke got home. On the way back to the house, we stopped to get some traps and cheap p-nut butter. What? I'm not givin' him the GOOD stuff!

So, I dabbed the cheap p-nut butter onto the traps, set the trigger and placed them strategically. To Duke I said, "I'll load them, but I don't unload them."

Duke grinned.

That's okay. I know who my real friends are. That's the little guy that organized a mouse posse and got out all of his best weapons to take care of his mama. When it comes to taking care of me, my boys are loaded for BEAR! That boy gets the BIG piece of chicken tonight.

We've started the adventure of flea marketing. Duke has decided that we need to simplify our lives, so to that end, we've started lightening our load of 'stuff' at the local flea market. He's been quite pleased with the process . . . AND, it turns out, has just one or two extra coins in his pocket as a consequence.

This has meant that in the last month, we've actually been able to visit our favorite eatery a couple of times.

A couple of weeks ago, dear friends were in town and we went there after a day of fun in the sprinklers. While there, we celebrated their 4-year-old's birthday by singing to her with the whole candle in the chocolate chip cookie thing.

This past Saturday, we went there for lunch after the flea market as Duke's treat to us all. It tickled me to realize that our boys have now just accepted a couple of things as fact. The 9-yr-old has decided that it is a GRAND bargain to get tokens for the arcade and trade tickets he's won for about fifty cents worth of plastic. I agree that it's well worth the entertainment, but I couldn't help but grin hearing him talk about all the 'stuff' he'd won as though it were treasure. It's his money, he'll figure it out soon enough that he could have bought three times as much 'stuff' at the dollar store for that same amount. I doubt he'd have had as much fun, though.

His perspective came to light as we enjoyed our lunch and "B" spoke in glowing terms of the 'champion' of ticket winners. That guy had his picture on the register along with his 3,000 tickets. Boys love having something to conquer! What I see as pennies worth of plastic is to him the spoils of war!

Then there's Z-man. Remember in my earlier post (Happy Normal Birthday, Z-Man), when I said we didn't get out much? Well it's true. So, this month has been an exciting change of pace. However, for Z-man, The Flight Deck has become the place you go to eat a meal, and then have everyone come out, clap and sing "Happy Birthday" with a lit candle in a cookie. Well, it happens every time we go there lately. Seems like a logical conclusion, right?

This tidbit of information came to light as Z-man polished off his lunch and then looked around expectantly and said, "Okay, NOW Happy Birthday!"

We laughed and explained to both boys that no, we don't have to play in the game room every time we eat at Mr. Ted's, and no, we don't have to end every meal there with a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday To You.

*happy sigh*

It's nice having children remind you what fun it is to find occasions to celebrate.
Let's party!

I'm shaking my head as I sit here. Not because I'm surprised, mind you. I'm shaking my head because I should have seen this coming. I should have known better. It's my own fault really. I know what sort of people I'm surrounded by, and I continue to operate under false assumptions. Like:

• I assume you have a grasp of the English language.
• I assume that when I emphasize something, the listener grasps its importance.
• I assume that eye contact and nodding accompanied by associated noises imply you were listening.
• I assume that I have effectively communicated something when I heard myself say it to a person I thought was listening.

You can see where I'm going with this, can't you? Or, at least you THINK you know where I'm going with this. *wink*

This post isn't about husbands or children. It may be in defense of them. Rather, this post is about how we wives and mothers often think it's just limited to our own household that these oddities exist. It isn't. In this world of electronic gadgets constantly vying for our attention, you pretty much need an orchestral sound track and backup singers to be SURE you have someone's attention.


I'd forgotten that. I had started to think that it was just MY children and MY husband that sometimes just can't 'tune in' to my channel. Boy, did I get a reminder!

How much? How often?
A male relative came over to my house for me to help him with a poultice application. I sent him on his way with several items. Included was a colon cleanse that included an ingredient to get things moving along. Another item helped pull out toxins. They work together.

I instructed him on how to use both products, how often to take them, what amounts and when. I reminded him that the labels were marked clearly if he forgot and that he should call me if he had any discomfort (which shouldn't occur if you follow instructions). He nodded, asked questions and seemed to easily comprehend all that I said. In fact, he drove himself to my house, so I KNOW he was alert enough to operate heavy machinery.

Today, I asked him how he was coming along. He said he wasn't doing too well and hadn't been able to really do the cleanse because the first ingredient (that moves things along) had really been harsh. I asked him if he had cut back to only one capsule (taken with the evening meal, 1x a day). He said, "Yeah, one capsule with every meal, just like you told me."

"WITH EVERY MEAL?!!"

That poor man had not heard what I said. He hadn't read the label and he had just proceeded as he thought he should. He didn't hurt himself, but he sure feels a lot lighter.

When I corrected him on the application, he defended his actions by saying, "You know you have to get my attention first. Just because I'm looking at you and nodding doesn't mean I was actually listening."

I had to laugh as I replied, "I'll bet this is one bit of instruction you won't forget." He agreed.

The funniest part of all of this is that I've mistakenly believed that this behavior is odd or uncommon. It's not. It's all too common, and I forget too often to move within that reality.

Good Advice Too Late
Duke has had the reverse experience trying to live with me. He couldn't figure out what was so confusing to me when he tried to warn me of impending danger. When we married, I can't tell you how many times I nearly got hurt because I was constantly confused by him calling out to me 'careful.'

In my grasp of the language the term careful means to take care, to stop what you are doing and rethink your method. So, when Duke would say, "CAREFUL!" I would stop and try and figure out what I was doing that was so dangerous.

Apparently, where Duke comes from, it doesn't mean that. "Careful!" means to take cover, duck, get out of the way. It's like a golfer yelling, "Fore!" or a military lookout hollering "incoming!" -- at least that's what it means to Duke.

He also employs the term to children that have fallen and hurt themselves. By calling out "CAREFUL!" the moment after an injury has occurred, the blame of the hurt is placed firmly upon the victim and the person calling out the word is absolved of any responsibility. As a parent, Duke calling out "Careful!" is the playground equivalent of "Not it!" The funny thing is that the children (having grown up this way) understand Duke's use of the term perfectly.

Imagine someone carrying a large heavy object on a collision with another human yelling "Careful!" while the other party (me) stands there looking confused as to what to do (because I didn't see it coming and I'm not doing anything to be careful of), then you've got a pretty good idea of what we are talking about here.

All this time, I thought it was something that was unique to Duke, but my male relative and Tim Hawkins reminded me today that I'm the one that's odd. Watch the video below for further explanation.

Living with men has led me to discover a few things that they take for granted, but which are foreign to females. The funny thing is that I get the strangest looks from those I live with when these things occur. Because I am the only female in residence (besides the dog, and she'll go along with anyone that feeds her), they look at me as though they suspect I'm either in need of medication or just very confused.

• When it comes to movies, plot is never as important as action, fight scenes and pyrotechnics. If plot is part of the mix, that's okay, but not necessary.
• It's considered clean if you can't see the dirt. This includes dirt outside of your direct line of vision.
• It's still food it you picked it up off of the floor before the dog got to it.
• Ice cream is one of the major food groups.
• Having MEANT to say something is the same as having said it and you should have known what they meant.

There are different rules of conduct for the house depending on whether or not mom is in the room. I'm not sure where all of these differences lie, but all of the suspects males quickly settle down and look a little too innocent when I enter the room after hearing a herd of wild buffalo run through the house -- This even includes my spouse!

There are many others, but if you've lived with men, I'm sure you get the idea . . .

The scary interesting thing is that the longer I reside with these male creatures, the more their ways seem normal to me. Every now and then, I have to get around a group of females to recapture my femininity.

I just had to laugh at this video when I saw it. I believe it illustrates such a wonderful moment when this father realizes that he really IS the father of a GIRL.

I know that boys can talk, but I have gained a new appreciation for a LACK of communication after watching this! Too too cute!

As I sit here at my computer, my middle son is in our front yard talking to strangers. That goes against a lot of my maternal instincts.

When I got up this morning, he was already there, flagging down customers.

Customers!?

My husband took one look at my expression of concern and explained that he had sent him out there to get rid of our stash of video tapes.

He meant for his explanation to comfort me. Instead, it gave me additional concerns about my husband – momentarily.

I pulled myself back together and went to fix breakfast. This was going to be a learning experience for all of us.

I got a refresher course in trusting my husband’s judgment and protection over our children. He hasn’t left the window or door watching to be sure the little guy is okay. Of course, he does it just beyond the line of vision of the boy.

I also learned from watching my husband that this letting go business isn’t really any easier for fathers than it is for mothers. Duke was alternately cheering at every sale and expressing concern for whether or not the kid was chatting up costumers, remembering all of the prices and the tips he gave him for sales, etc. It was a good thing he was in the house, LOL.

Our son made several new friends and a little guy that rode his bike over to sit and chat with this new kid entrepreneur. He also learned about dealing with distractions, counting change, and that a Saturday spent in the front yard could earn him some money. Later today, he will likely learn a lesson on who to trust, depending on whether or not the neighbor who took several tapes returns to pay him the money.

The greatest return on the experience has been the excited look on B’s face when he comes running into the house to announce another dollar in sales. I do believe he is taller today as he contemplates the possibilities of his own ability to earn money and how that will only increase as he gains years and experience.

It’s been nice to see how gracious our neighbors are. Those boxes are full of westerns, war documentaries, classics and children’s videos. Ironically, grandmothers are the ones that have stopped and proved to be his best customers – God’s best encouragers.

Me? I’m having a ball watching it all. I keep trying not to grin too widely as I watch the menfolk navigate this new water. It’s nice to see solid proof of what I already knew. We've got some wonderful boys that take after their father. Duke is alternately concerned and delighted to see all he’s invested bearing fruit.

Something tells me that there is a trip to the dollar store coming soon.

You haven't really enjoyed a game of Uno until you've watched a game with Duke, myself and my parents. My parents are . . . well . . . experts at verbal sparring. Some might call it bickering.

My Dad is a stickler for details, to say the least. It's never a surprise that the game begins with him pulling out and reviewing the rules. Then he pronounces that the scoring is too complex and that he knows a better way. Rather than giving the winner of each hand the total points still held in the hands of the losers of that round, he decides to just tally each individual's points and play to 500 that way.

You might think this would make the game last longer, but keep in mind that if we are ever to START to play this game, we have to keep Duke and my mom interested. They are our two reluctant players. Mom just wants to enjoy the company and Duke doesn't really see much point in board or card games, but he's a good sport and competitive. So, at this critical juncture, debating how to keep score with Dad would be unwise and ensure that the game ended before it began.

While Dad offers unasked for explanations on how we proceed, Duke and I decorate the score sheet. Everyone has a column: Mom, Duke, Me and at the top of Dad's column I write "STICKLER." We hand Dad the sheet without comment, giggling as he mutters, "Well, this must be ME."

While Dad examines the score card, we hand Mom her head gear. This is necessary for her as she has the dickens of a time telling the difference between blue and green cards. She has other difficulties also, like remembering whether or not it's her turn, whether or not the draw 2 card is the same as the 2 card, what the funny symbol on the skip card means, etc. At any rate, the light clipped to the bill of a baseball cap gives her a good way to see whether or not she's holding green or blue cards and that is at least ONE problem solved.

So, now we have the Stickler and the Miner assembled and ready to play.

This leaves Duke to his own devices for a bit. By the time the Stickler is satisfied that we will not be breaking any moral codes of fair play and justice, it is likely that Duke has decided he needs to get some refreshments. Remember, he's a reluctant player, so he may spend some time trying to find reasons to instruct children. Eventually, he runs out of excuses distractions. It is at that point, that he sits down and becomes the Card Shark.

While Duke shuffles the cards, he calls out rules about Aces being wild, something about Jacks and things that would be considered cheating in some wild west saloons. He will often accuse others of dealing from the bottom of the deck and ask Mom if she is hiding cards in her bosom. To make matters even more interesting, he will play off of Mom's confusion and pretend that he forgot the rules also. This keeps my Dad in a bit of a tizzy as our resident Stickler.

The result is a hilarious evening of fun that the inventors of Uno could not have ever envisioned.

The Stickler cannot figure out why his score is so terrible as he struggles to keep the Miner and the Card Shark on track. The Card Shark is SURE that it really isn't required that he call out 'Uno' with his last card and feels that he is unjustly required to pick up penalty cards. The Miner keeps forgetting how to switch on her light, which the Stickler thinks would be a great addition to his fishing gear.

Me? I just laugh until I hurt.

Guess who won? I almost did. I went out several rounds before anyone noticed that I was winning. Then, things got a bit serious.

Yep, the Card Shark won. Figures!