loving their dad

There's nothing more satisfying than seeing your children interact with their father.

It's the same as being entertained at a movie theatre, minus the sticky floors and rear-widening buttery popcorn. I love to observe from afar, like a fly on the wall that goes unnoticed. To them, they are just being. Boys being boys. Wrestling. Secret handshakes. And huge claps of noisiness.

It makes my heart grin.

Like when my husband jokingly grabs our youngest son's muscular thighs, saying 'I'm gonna get those hams. Gimme those hams!' And our son breaks out into laughter so genuine that he has to catch his breath and I can't help but laugh as well.

Or the secret trips to McDonald's drive-thru for a McFlurry after lacrosse practice, where my oldest son is told by his father with a grin, 'This is our little secret. Don't tell Mom.' And every time, I'm told.

Or the time Greg returned home from work and sat on the couch, only to be met by a bouncing 6-year-old, who sprang into his father's lap and squealed, 'It's snuggle time!'

Or last week, when I mentioned to our youngest that his father had a surprise for him, and he told me, 'I'll bet he wants to snuggle with me at bedtime. I just know it!' And to him, time with dad beat any store-bought gift that ever existed.

I love that.

I love that they will remember these moments years from now, as they raise their own miniature versions of themselves. Just like I remember my dad, the Necco wafers, footrubs for a pack of grape Bubble Yum, and 'Debber-Doo' nickname that still echoes in my mind.

All forever etched in my heart.

it's how we roll

Shouldn't we all wear this to get donuts?

9 things that bug me...well, make it 10

We all have things that drive us nuts. Pet peeves. Annoying habits observed from afar. Occurences that leave you unsettled. Just enough to cause you to roll your eyes, or perhaps make the day's lunch slightly rumble in your stomach. Here's some that made the list:

Public dental hygiene. Seeing the person next to me at the stoplight flossing on my way to grab a starbucks wasn't too appetizing. Same can be said for the Target employee brushing her teeth in the women's restroom.

My interest in the Real Housewives series. Sadly, I'm ashamed to say I'm a fan, yet I don't know why. Maybe it's disbelief that people live the way they do, or that they manage to cry in every episode. Yet, I watch. Every. Week.

Buying a new SUV for the very purpose of a DVD entertainment system for our trip to Florida, only to lose the remote. We're the family who turned around once we reached 465 to go home and unpack the car, only to never find said remote. It was, in a nutshell, a looooooong trip.

Telemarketers. So much for a No-Call List, cause let me tell you...They Call. Sometimes more than once in the same day, and always when I'm trying to sleep. Which means I don't.

When my husband puts me on his cellphone speaker, doesn't tell me, then pulls thru a drive-thru. Turns out, the girl at the window heard our entire conversation. And she confirmed it when I didn't believe him.

The smell of broccoli. Yet, I love the taste. So, serve me up a big bowl of the healthy green stuff, say...when I'm plagued with a sinus infection.

Dressing rooms. More specifically, the unflattering light and the depressed feeling when you leave the store. Nothing that a buttery pretzel at a mall kiosk can't repair.

Box fans. Or rather, my husband's need to place one in the path of the bathroom door at night. I've kicked it twice last week while leaving for work, which left me muttering a few choice words as I hurried down the stairs.

Places that only take cash. I hardly ever carry it, thanks to the convenience of the handy ol' debit card. Plus, it's 2011. Join the rest of us.

And finally, bathtubs. More specifically, my husband IN one. Not kidding, the man could live in there and never get out, never once phased by the shriveled-finger look. And when the water gets cold, he adds more hot. Luckily, he gets hungry every now and then.

And that's nine, er, ten.

it's the best medicine

We like to laugh in my family.

The usual stuff...the boys pulling their shorts up over their chest and walking past our windows, my husband doing the Curley Shuffle, or the time I sported the nerdy teeth and spoke with a Southern accent, it's all been done. (By the way, the neighbor kids have requested that one time and again.) I have funny kids, and I like that about them.

Of course, it's safe to say every mom thinks their offspring will one day end up on stage or in the movies, and I'm no different. And I would almost bet money on that prediction when it comes to my 6-year-old. He's more than funny in a silly way, he has impeccable timing with his one-liners and just when you think he's done, here he comes with another one. Which brings us to Saturday, when he began to change his clothes in front of me:

Me: Buddy, you need to change in your room...it's not appropriate for me to see your privates.

Him: Why NOT? You already know what they look like.

Me: Hayden!

Him: Not only that, but I've seen your boobs.

you never have to wonder

Anyone who knows my 6-year-old gets that he's honest. Some might call it frank.

No beating around the bush. If he thinks it, he says it. And these days, I find it refreshing. Except for that one time at the doctor's office when I wasn't sure how to respond to the woman he addressed while sitting in the waiting room. That was certainly a quick exit. Let's just say I won't be asking my little guy if I look fat in my jeans any time soon.

So last night, he quickly shared some unsolicited observations while watching American Idol:

Him: Mom, you know that girl judge in the middle?

Me: Yeah, Jennifer Lopez?

Him: Yeah, her. She wears too much lipstick. Waaaaay too much. I don't like it.

Me: Okay. I can see that.

Him: And you know the guy judge next to her with the long hair?

Me: Yes, Steven Tyler.

Him: That shirt he's wearing...

Me: Yes?

Him: ...makes him look like a girl.

new job jitters

I stopped to pick up a salad yesterday.

It was one of those places where you're shuffled through like 4th graders in a school cafeteria, except I was choosing sunflower seeds and edamame instead of chocolate pudding and tater tots. A place where you feel all kinds of pressure to figure out what you want in a microsecond as to not hold up the people behind you. No chance of being able to ask for a brief moment to scan the choices offered, or you risk being the cause of inevitable eye-rolling or exhales of annoyance.

So, I blurted out my choices and noticed I was STILL the cause of an abrupt line stoppage. I wasn't particulary choosy and couldn't figure out the problemo...until the guy behind the counter announced, 'Sorry for the delay...it's my first day on the job.'

Poor guy.

He was stressed and worried and in a nutshell, freaking out. He could see the line getting longer and was trying to follow a salad guide and searching for edamame while wondering what the heck edamame looks like in the first place and questioning if the salad comes with two scoops of chicken or one, and who orders asian soy dressing?

I felt for him because we've all had first day jitters.

I called myself Deborah 'Honeynut' during my first on-air break 17 years ago, and hoped no one would A) Notice B) Mention it or C) Notice, and all in that order. Yet, we get through the moments of panic and find ways to laugh at ourselves. Not sure salad-guy was laughing yesterday, as he frantically worked among buckets of croutons and candied pecans with secret hopes that his boss would run out of lettuce.

The guy eventually figured it out, (with no help from Pedro, his co-worker), and apologized for my nearly 10-minute wait. The entire scenario was so pitiful that I told him I didn't mind, and a half-hearted smile appeared on his face.

Here's wishing salad-guy well.

loving what you do

How many of us do what we love?

I do. An honest statement. I truly love radio, who I work with, being creative, and the satisfaction it brings each day. (Minus the hours.) And I love other things.

I love writing.

And somehow, five weeks of life have passed between this post and my last one, though I used to make time to write once a day. Maybe one day I will share why it seems I can't find the time to even power on my laptop. It's not because I lost my power cord, which eventually surfaced. I realized just how much I've missed putting my thoughts on 'paper' when I came across this poem last week. It read:

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, trying to be the best. You only have to let your being love what it loves.

And I love to write.

About observations. Life's quirks. And kids' innocent views of this complex world in which we live.

I love it when my son asks me if he's allergic to his bed because he only coughs at night, or how when my youngest exits the bathroom, he'll announce, 'I wouldn't go in there for five days.'

Or how dressing in the dark can result in wearing two different-colored socks to work, which happened to me this morning, but so far no one's noticed.

We all should carve out time to do what we love, whether it is ordering dessert or dancing when no one's watching. Or even when they are.

Do what you love.

an actual dinner conversation

Me: Hayden, tell me your favorite part of your day?

My 6-year-old: Oh, probably coming home and seeing my family.

Me: That's awfully nice of you to say.

Him: Yep.

Me: And did anything happen that you DIDN'T like?

Him: Not really.

Me: Even better.

Him: Yeah. That's what I said, Clark.

Me: Who is Clark?

Him: Can I be done now?

Me: Ummm, yes...you're excused.

Him: Yes! Hayden. Gone. I'm out. Peace.

*Note: I need a translator.