the everyday. . .ordinary. . .routine. . .

went out the window this morning.

With the usually happy little boy awakening at 6am. . .snorty. . .snuffy. . .and unable to drink his milk because it made him cough so hard his eyes were watering.

Tried snacks and juice. And nothing helped.

So he laid with his buddies to watch over him, and tried to rest.

I got one load in the wash. Two loads on the bed, half-folded. And the toiled cleaned.

And then "the big one" came to ask me why the red light was blinking with that noise.

Huh?

And he led me downstairs, and I had an immediate panic attack that our home was filling with carbon monoxide (I prefer the optimistic approach, it seems). It turns out the dogs' invisible fence was going off. The battery? Oh no. It's plugged in.

My immediate thought, of course, was that Bella had dug up the lines (which she tried in the beginning, I think I remember?). But, the dogs were in the house. I peeked out the windows and didn't see anything. So. . . I thought it must be a squirrel and ventured out in my jammies.

Obviously my mother never taught me anything.

Out in the back, a boy (and when I say boy, I mean anyone under 30, because they are all starting to look alike to me. . .have you seen the I'm old post?) was digging by the gas meters. That has to be wrong on so many levels. Panicked again, I start yelling, Hey! [crazy woman in her jammies]. The boy, replete with some kind of iTechnology doesn't hear me until I tap him on his shoulder.

I explain my fence alarm dilemma and ask if he's seen a wire. And he looks at me blankly. No.

OK.

Why would you put wires by a gas meter, he asks. He, with the pick axe by the gas meter.

Whatever.

I asked that if he found a wire, could he please let me know.

Several hours and panicked phone calls later. . . The wires have been found [Yep. He dug them up.]. The hole is huge. And the homeowner responsible for our gateway to China is coming tonight to fix the broken wires.

Can't see the wires, can you Rusty?

Yep. Ordinary Wednesday. So much for "Let's go to the park since we have nothing to do today."

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe. . .

not to be out done by. . .

Luke's new favorite game: Pop-trock-ica. [or, Poptropica. . .an online game Jack discovered in school this year.]

Luke has just discovered it (he loves to watch Jack. . .excuse me, Jaxon, play games). And Jack created him an account. They have played together for a few minutes. . . And Luke knows enough to be almost dangerous.

So, yesterday, while taking a brief break from Stinkin Head, he was playing Pop-trock-ica. He sailed a boat. He cavorted around some pirate island. He played a good 20 minutes until Mama said time's up.

Dada asked him about what he did during the day at dinner.

I saw the Diarrhea Man, Dada.

And Sam gave me the look. You know: the what the heck have you been doing all day look.

We went on to find out that one of Jack's favorite stories, The Diary of a Wimpy Kid, has a character on Poptropica. So, the Diary of a Wimpy Kid's character is wandering around Poptropica advertising a new book coming out. Or, in Luke's world, the diarrhea man.

Nice.

A new Zeli classic phrase is born.

you're-a stinkin head

OK. Yesterday the "routines" continued. [Although, not so much today.]

Got up. Made the bed. Had some coffee. Washed some dishes. . .ran the dishwasher. Two loads of laundry washed and folded.

And grocery shopping.

Monday is always grocery shopping.

We did the abbreviated version. Running only to Deliverance-mart and Giant Eagle. The boys love Giant Eagle. And who wouldn't when you can go and play video games while Mama shops and then get a cookie on the way out.

And, because they were soooo good, and we got done in under two hours. . . I let them get a gumball machine goodie. Their choice for 25 cents [I only had two quarters. . .and these days, everything seems to cost 50. . .hmmm....]. So, the best of the worst seemed to be giant plastic dice.

A black one for Luke. A white one for Jack. [I might say something about irony here, but I won't.]

On the way home, a new game was born.

Stinkin Head.

It seems that two crazy little boys shake giant dice cubes around in their hands. Until one of them (usually the bigger one) yells

Stop!

They then call out the number in hand. Six is the most desired, winning number. However, the highest number wins. The lowest number becomes the stinkin head.

As in: You're a stinkin head!

And I heard it all the way home. All afternoon as I put away groceries. . .made dinner [por-q-pine balls on high in the crockpot]. . .and all evening [as the game got a little rowdier, and the dice were thrown across the kitchen floor].

Boy fun. Who else could create Stinkin Head?

and tonight. . .

After an Ethan bath. . .

And getting Jack into his bath.

And running downstairs for a baby bottle.

I ran upstairs to find that he had rolled over for the first time onto his belly.

Trying to get into Jack's room. Into all new toys.

On the move, I tell you.

All too soon.

routine. . .

There's something to be said for routine.

Today we stayed home. For the first time in a long time. No plans. Nothing to do. It was just routine.

After a week of packing and preparing for vacation. And then a week gone on vacation. Only to come back and immediately start a full week of Bible School (evening. . . 2.5 hours each night. . .travelling 40 minutes to and from total).

Today was nothing.

But laundry. And dishes in the dishwasher and in the sink. Sitting at the dining room table (among the Legos), after breakfast, having coffee and reading the Sunday paper. And making a menu for next week. Clipping coupons. Sorting more laundry. Watching a movie together [Where the Wild Things Are]. Taking a walk with the dogs. Sitting outside and just talking. Eating popsicles. Giving the boys baths. Putting out fresh towels for the week. Reading stories before bedtime.

A day of perfect nothing.

And it felt great.

And loving it.

Somehow, the tedium of day after day makes routine stale. But, after weeks of absolutely no routine. Running unscheduled. Willy nilly. Routine is a welcome change.

Looking forward to a week full of it.

scenes from the trail. . .

old. . .

I feel it. . .

When I wake up in the middle of the night and my arm is asleep under me. And my bones creak when I wake up in the morning.

When Luke tells Jack that he is "going to be an old man" on his 8th birthday (and if he's old at 8, what does that mean when I'm 40?).

And when I see the "boy" in front of me at the baseball game texting someone at the speed of light. Thumbs a-flyin. Paragraphs of thumb-sputtering text. In seconds, I tell you. I was awestruck. Especially when it takes me three tries and 20 minutes to send a sentence of four or five words.

Old, I tell you.

And what does this "<3" mean?

I see it all over online. In emails. (And on the scoreboard at the baseball game????). My brain tells me it has to be some kind of "math thing". Which also isn't "my thing". But I know I'm wrong. Because saying "less than three" all the time just doesn't make sense.

I'm old. Technology is passing me by. . .

"In my youth," I laughed when my mom couldn't figure out how to program our VCR to record her soap operas to watch when she came home from work in the evening (Tivo was still a twinkle in some baby's eye at that point).

And here I am. Old. Text-o-logically illiterate.

Sam and I laugh that the boys are going to be rolling their eyes and groaning when we can't figure out how to use our "new-fangled" transporter to come visit them in our old age.

I guess "old age" has arrived a little sooner than I anticipated.