LEARNING AT THE POTTER'S WHEEL

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.

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!

When I was 21, I was the smartest thing you’d ever seen. My grades reflected what my teachers said: I was gifted and smart. I knew everything I needed to know and everything everyone else needed to know (I thought). I also believed that if my family and friends had all just listened to me, things would have gone SO MUCH BETTER!

Honestly, I took offense when people doubted my "wisdom" – which I dispensed liberally. No matter how many times I was proved ‘right,’ I lacked credibility. Why wouldn’t they listen? Why did I always have to explain my reasoning? Why couldn’t they just take my word for it? I wasn’t STUPID! It puzzled me that people struggled with things that seemed so straightforward and simple (to me, anyway).

I was well-read. I had passion. I was disciplined. I was inexperienced. I had drive. I WAS 21!

NOW, I’m far past that age. I’m still smart, but I’m a whole lot less cocky about what I know. I’ve got a lot more questions than answers, and I’m constantly checking (and re-checking) my sources. I’ve seen bedrocks of human wisdom crumble on more than one occasion. . . . And I’m starting to find that there was a lot MORE information than the surface stuff I was satisfied to swallow in my younger days.

Take praying, for instance.

I used to bend God’s ear with long diatribes about what was wrong with the relationships in my life and ask Him to fix those people who were just driving me nuts. With sobs of emotion I begged Him to change my loved ones. I would ask Him to make others more patient, loving, caring, and attentive . . . to ‘grow’ them into the people they ought to be (so that they could love an appreciate me as – as He would want them to, right?). I would tell Him how bewildering it was that they would treat me so carelessly . . . Me, the child He loved so well. I would picture Him cradling me in a gesture of sympathy.

I don’t know how He stood it, but He did and loved me in spite of myself. He showed me that I didn’t have the first clue about what was really needed . . . and that He was using “those people” to work some things out in my own life. Smart as I was, He knew I needed some tweaking (a BIT! ).

Praying for my husband is a place where I’m continuing to grow. My prayers for this man used to be that God would make him more this or less that because it was hard on the children or me or our circumstances or WHATEVER. I was praying for God to give me the kind of husband that would make my life easier . . . because things would be easier if everyone just did what God told us to do, right? Isn’t that what this life is all about? Smooth sailing for those that serve well? . . . Not really!

Silly woman that I am, I had forgotten that God had dibs on my man. God made that man for a reason and has a plan for his life. I was created to be his help meet. God’s designs for my husband aren’t subject to my comfort. This life is a proving ground for things yet to come. In the myriad of details, it’s easy to lose focus of that.

I read where someone had been praying for her husband to develop the traits described in Titus 1 and I Timothy 3 even though her husband isn’t serving in any of those offices. The thinking was that if God finds these things important for a man to be a leader, then she wanted her husband to have these things worked into him THAT HE MIGHT BE READY TO SERVE in WHATEVER capacity the Lord needs him . . .

Ooops! I needed to sharpen my focus. If you read them, you’ll find that those verses have a bit to say about the wife of such a man . . . We need to get ready too. Ulp!

So, here I’ve been praying for a life free of conflict and struggle for me and for my dear husband. I hadn’t been asking God to prepare us for whatever HE wanted. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I did ask Him to have His will and way, but my earnest prayers were towards my own desires. I had forgotten that the Potter already had something in mind when He began to shape and mold us.

Now, I’m looking at my wonderful husband and seeing our circumstances in a new light. He’s in God’s boot camp, and God is working some things into his life and my life that we are going to need. I’d think we were too old for that, but God doesn’t. Those are muscles being formed in God’s refinery. No one must have told God about how old dogs can’t learn new tricks. . . . Then again, He made the old dogs. Guess He should know what can hunt and what can’t.
[Apologies for the country, hound-dog analogies ]

At any rate, my prayers have changed to asking God to work these things into my husband’s life that he will be READY for what GOD has in store and not to satisfy my small vision . . . and that He make me a wife worthy of this man He has chosen to use.


My! The years do change perspective. I believe that’s a good thing, though!