How to Ruin a Book . . .

Just a note: if you ever want to ruin a book, I know how. It's really easy, actually. You just give it to Spe, my two-year old. He is wickedly destructive with books.

Just so you know, I'm the mom who used to look at nasty chewed on books at the library and shake my head with disdain. Who, I would think self-righteously, lets their children chew on books? I'm the mom who used to about have a mental breakdown when my oldest daughter would accidentally rip a page. "Oh, honey!" I would say gravely, in the same tone that I would use if she were to take permanent marker to our couch or piano, "Books are VERY special. We NEVER treat books this way." She learned very quickly to take excellent care of her books. She doesn't even lose the pieces to those puzzle books. I'm the mom who used to congratulate myself on raising a careful, enthusiastic reader.

And then Spe came along. Spe LOVES to read, which I'm thrilled about. However, I'm not so thrilled with his utter disregard for the proper care of books. Now I'm the mother who stops at the library desk and furtively looks over my shoulder before saying quietly, "Umm. . . my son chewed on this book. I don't think he meant to, but . . ." I endure the withering glare of the librarian, and worry that she will take my library card away. Now I'm the mother who sets aside a few hours every month to repair all the books that Spe has torn. Now I'm the mom who's thinking that Veevs has my book genes and Spe must have Rhett's.

I really don't think Spe means any harm to his books. He's just SO enthusiastic about turning pages and seeing the next picture. When I give him my grave, sad little "shame on all book destroyers" talk, he kind of looks at me blankly, like he's trying to figure out who I'm talking about.

For now, he's on a strict diet of BOARD books only. I still find myself taping and repairing (board books are NOT indestructible, oh no, they aren't!) but at least the shreds are in tact so I can repair them. The other day, I heard the sound of ripping coming from Spe's room and then I heard Ivy say, "Oh, Spe! Books are VERY special. We NEVER treat books like that."

At least I've gotten through to one of them.

In the foreground of this picture is my nephew Drew, who was completely book safe by the age of one. In the background is me and Spe, who received all board books for his one year old (and for that matter his two year old) birthday. Sweet little Spe . . .

Chick-a-Bam-Bam-Ban-Ow!

We're not nice people. I'm just forewarning you so you won't be too surprised when I tell you this next weird, quirky thing that we do. Just keep in mind, I already know we're not nice, so don't pepper me with comments about how mean we are. I already know!

In the course of our married life, Rhett and I have had the opportunity to move around a little bit, and every time we do we have to meet a whole new group of people at church. But sometimes we're a little bit lazy about learning names at first. But we still like to talk about people (especially crazy comments that they might make in church, etc.), so we have our own system of describing people to each other. And it's kind of mean.

We nickname people. Here are some of the nicknames we have used over the years to help each other understand who we are talking about: Man-Talker (obviously a woman with a very, very deep voice), The Giants (This whole family was over six feet tall! They were huge!), Big Hair Lady (I think this one speaks for itself), The Weasleys (a family of redheads), and my favorite, Chick-a-Bam-Bam-Ban-Ow! (let's simply say that there was a very . . . um . . . interesting sense of style associated with this one).

The problem is sometimes (like in Chick-a-Bam-Bam-Ban-Ow!'s case) occasionally we would get to know these people and really like them. But still, we called them by their nickname in private because as I think I've mentioned before, we're just not that nice. But we did feel a little bit of guilt . . . but not enough to make us stop nicknaming. Another drawback was that Ivy picked up on the Chick-a-Bam-Bam-Ban-Ow! nickname and she started saying it whenever she saw that lady too. She was two years old, so we really should have been teaching her to be nice. But whatever.

One time my brother Josh (you know, the famous organist power player) came to church with us. Rhett was pointing out all the people whom we had nicknamed. He looked at us like we were crazy mean (which we are), and then he pointed to a woman in a wheelchair. "So, what do you call her? Hot Wheels?"

"That is SO mean!" I protested. But I have to admit, that's what we called her from then on. I just recently thought that maybe other people do this too, and I wonder what they would nickname me. A few thoughts: "Lady who can't dress her kids in matching clothes," or "Horsey" (since I rarely am seen these days without an accompanying ponytail . . .) or maybe "Pauncho" (since I haven't quite lost the belly from my three children).

What nicknames have you had for people? (And don't pretend you're all better than me, you know you do this, too!) What do you think people would nickname you?

Justify my love . . .

Who lets their child run around with hair like this? I'm just saying . . . it's not a pretty picture!

Do you ever feel like you have to justify your love for your kids? I totally do all the time, and I wonder what it says about me.

For example, Veevs wanted to wear her own outfit, which as any mom out there can tell you, meant she wanted to wear something that didn't match. Not even close to matching, really. And then the shoes! Oh, laws, the shoes were from a different world. So, all day long I found myself trying to work it into the conversation that she dressed herself. I'd even start up conversations with people so that I could casually drop in that she is generally dressed fashionably (okay, at least matching) but today was a DIY (do-it-yourself) moment.

Walmart checker: How are you today?

Me: Fine, except my little girl wanted to dress herself today.

Walmart checker: Oh.

See what I mean?

McDonald's drive-through attendant: That will be $7.68 at the first window.

Me: When we get there, I just want to clarify that my daughter dressed herself.

McDonald's drive-through attendant: Oh.

Okay, that didn't actually happen, but I really had the urge to say stuff like that all day. And a few days ago we had a cold snap and I couldn't find the socks that I tossed into the car for my little Wristy (seven months) so he had to go barefoot. I felt compelled to tell everyone, "I'm not a bad mom, really, I just can't find the socks!" I can be pretty tricky though. So I might pretend I'm talking to my baby and say, "Oh, Wristy, I'm so sorry I can't find your socks. Your feet must be so cold!" 1) Wristy doesn't care, and 2) neither do the people I'm trying to make sure hear, and 3) why do I care so much? (I eventually did find the socks, by the way, shoved into the butt pocket of my blue jeans. Not only a bad place to keep something I'm looking for, but I have a hunch my butt wasn't looking too hot, either!)

It's like I have to justify the fact that I really do love my children despite not being able to dress them properly. But then I remember my sister, Bucky, as a baby. That girl brushed her own hair (with a wet toothbrush!?) from the ages of two to five. And she looked awful. And I remember some of us trying to get her to wear matching clothes. And my mom told us to leave her alone. My point here is that this need for justification is not genetic. But then again, Bucky was the eighth child. I guess by the time you have eight kids you don't have to justify anything to anyone anymore.

I'm going to take a page out of my mom's book. I love my kids, but I don't have to prove it to you by dressing them all cute. And from now on, I'm going to start judging everyone else--if your kids match, it probably means you're stifling their individuality and creativity! So there.