Jesus Fell On My Toe (and Other Easter Blessings)

Our little family had a wonderful Easter. We were able to spend time doing all sorts of things … bike rides, visiting, play in the park, and of course, hunting for treats.

One of my most favorite things about Easter this year was that, after a couple of years of searching, I think we’ve found the right church for us! It’s fitting that our first service (and, frankly, theirs) was on Easter Sunday.

So here it is a day later (a day that was not so wonderful as Easter) and we are back to the normalcy of life. Except that tonight, God decided to drop a little Jesus on me. Don’t you love how that happens sometimes??

Little Man and I were getting ready to go to bed when he sort of randomly picked up the crucifix that sits on Husband’s night stand. [He's done this before. In fact, he seems to be very intrigued by the crucifixion.]

Tonight, after he told us that Jesus was nailed [always an emphasis on that word - always] to the cross and died, he looked at me and said, “Mom, this was what yesterday was all about.”

I was stunned. I didn’t think he was listening. Frankly, I should have known better.

We kept on talking about how Jesus got off the cross and the tomb was empty. That He then went to live in Heaven with God.

Without much pause, he said, “Our Odie is in Heaven with God. So’s Skeeter.” [This made Husband, who had just walked in to get something, mushy inside.]

Somewhere in the midst of all of this seriousness, Little Man must have dropped that crucifix on his toe. I honestly didn’t see him do it and he didn’t mention it. But, all of a sudden, his voice filled with tears.

LM: Mom, my toe is hurt and there’s blood, but I’m OK.

Me: What happened? Did you hurt your toenail?

LM: It happened when Jesus fell on my toe.

Me: (smiling) Jesus fell on your toe?

LM: (with the slightest bit of impatience) Not the real Jesus, Mom. The metal one.

Me: Oh. Are you OK?

LM: (bravely and with a sniffle) Yes. There is blood, but I’ll be OK. It’ll heal soon.

Me: Do you need a band-aid?

LM: I think so.

Me: OK, Daddy’s downstairs where your band-aids are. Go ask him for a band-aid.

I took this time to open Twitter … because, really, how many times do you hear the phrase, “Jesus fell on my toe.” As I was composing my tweet, I had to backspace and start over because this is what I heard.

LM: (now wailing at the bottom of the steps) IIIIIII neeeeedddd aaaa baaannnddd-aaaiiiidddd!

Husband: Jen, what happened?

LM: (sobbing loudly) Jesus fell on my toe and it’s bleeding and I need a band-aid.

Me: He wasn’t sobbing when he left me, he had a small cut. Really.

Husband: OK, let’s get you a band-aid and get you upstairs.

So, I’m all a Twitter when the boys get back upstairs. Little Man has calmed down and Husband is helping him with the stress of having Jesus fall on his toe. The conversation resumes.

Me: (sincerely) Love, are you OK?

LM: (sniffles) Yes. My toe will start healing now. I’ll have to walk carefully on it.

Husband: I don’t think Jesus meant to land on your toe, bug.

LM: For real, Jesus is supposed to watch us and take care of kids.

Our Easter blessings were many this year and they continue still … a beautiful day, time with friends and family, a new church home, and a sweet childlike reminder that sometimes we have to go through some pain to get to what’s real and good and true.

For real.

Hope you had a very Happy Easter!

Flush

Nice title, huh? I mean you really don’t know what you’re going to get, do you?

It could be that I’m going to fuss once again about sharing a bathroom with boys (specifically Little Man) or I could be about to share the first chapter of my romance novel between a handsome and strapping (but, of course, aloof and moody) cowboy who is forced to share space with a bonny lass who was dropped on his doorstep by fate. Heck, it might even be a post about a big  video poker win [Vegas, anyone?]!

Yeh, no. This one is about a funeral. You see, I killed Fishdy.

OK, that may be a bit dramatic. I didn’t do it on purpose. There was no premeditation or heinous act. But it happened. [And, to be fair, it's probably a good thing that I've gotten some distance from the whole thing because I was inexplicably upset and traumatized by the whole thing.]

I was actually trying to be a good fish mom. I was cleaning out his tank. I did everything just like I’d done before … only this time the bubble stone broke. So, good fish mom that I am? I set out to get him another one. He was fine when I left … I swear.

Four stores and a 60 mile round trip later, I had the ding-dang stone [OK, first, I'm not exaggerating about the number of stores and number of miles here. Not even a little bit! Second, I also bought him new rocks and a new net ... he was about to be ready for his own segment on Cribs.]

Seriously, we were gone for about 3 hours. It wasn’t a long time.

When we arrived home, I put the stone in and got the clean water a’bubblin’ again. Ahhh … all was well.  I went to check on Fishdy.

Crap. [I may actually have used a different word. It's all a bit hazy.]

He was laying on his side at the bottom of the holding tank. No gill movement. Nothing.

I told Little Man. He told Husband. There was a bike ride.

A bit later, while Little Man was playing with his trucks, I quietly took Fishdy into the bathroom. I told him I was sorry, dumped him into the bowl, and flushed.

As I walked back to the kitchen, Little Man quietly said,

Mom, I know what that flush was. It was Fishdy wasn’t it?

I told him that it was and that I was very sorry that Fishdy was gone. We shared a quick hug and he went back to playing.

Fishdy’s very clean tank is sitting on my counter top. The pump is still on and the stone is still a’bubblin’.  A couple of times this week I’ve had to remind myself NOT to feed the empty bowl.

Little Man has decided he wants another fish … and a hamster.

I’m sure that there is something deep that I could say here about the frailty of life and the resiliency of childhood. I feel like I should make some commentary here – something deep that resonates with readers everywhere.

But, in the end, this is really just another story of a mom, a boy, a fish, and a flush.

Oh My Word!

OK … let’s start with the fact that I wasn’t sure if Blogger would let me log in … been way too long! Followed closely by … I should be sleeping. Clearly, I’m not.

Little Man and Debra J. prompted this post.

Debra J. uses the phrase “Oh my word” a lot. I don’t know if she realizes it, but … . Somewhere along the line, I picked it up from her. Now, let’s be clear here, this is not a bad thing … and it’s likely better than a few phrases she could’ve picked up from me!

Last week, we were out checking up on our new digs and the cows were particularly stinky. So, of course, we went to investigate. What we found was one HUGE feed lot. I mean you can’t believe how many cows we saw. I’m talking about a serious number of cows, folks!

So, I’m driving along … seeing all of these cows and I say, “Oh my word, would you look at all of those cows. Stinky cows.” Little man, never one to miss out on an opportunity to grow his vocabulary, chimes in. That little voice in the back seat says, “Oh my word, look at those stinky cows!” Audio note: Hear, “Oh my wood, wook at does (more than one female deer) tinky cows!”

He then spends the next 10 minutes or so beginning every sentence with “oh my word” – probably because it got a good reaction from Husband and I.

Fast forward to today. We were once again checking out the house and I took a left onto the cow road. Little Man almost immediately begins his chorus:

• Oh my word! Look at that barn!
• Oh my word! Look at that backhoe!
• Oh my word! Look at those cows!
• Oh my word! Look at those stinky cows!
• Oh my word! There’s a barn!
• Oh my word! There’s a choo-choo track!

It was quite impressive. Mind you, the exclamation points in these sentences are very important to the story. He was very much in awe of the moments as they came!

I think Husband was hoping for a more manly exclamation of awe! He looked at me and said, “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

So, Debra J. continues to make a splash down here in the desert Southwest … and Little Man picks up a phrase that won’t get him grounded or kicked out of preschool! Not a bad deal … not at all!

The Lady on the Bus

OK … it’s been ages since I’ve been in here. It certainly hasn’t been for a lack of things to say – as my husband and many of my colleagues will certainly tell you. But, I’m sitting in a hotel room sort of waiting to go to sleep so…

So, back to the lady on the bus. Today, at the airport, we were taking the shuttle bus to the terminal. We were just hanging out on the short trip when the bus stopped. Now, there’s a bunch of construction in the parking area right now so this, in and of itself, is not a huge thing. And, to be fair, there were only about 7 people on the bus. But …

Is it OK for the bus driver to stop the bus in the middle of a route for a smoke break????

I’m not kidding. She stopped the bus in the middle of the lane, got out, smoked a cigarette, got back on the bus, and resumed the route.

We weren’t late and it was so shocking that it was actually funny. Still…

Over and out.