When you eat chocolate, but it’s really poo …

Plate full of delicious chocolatesChocolate and poo are on opposite ends of the gourmet spectrum {even though one turns into the other … eventually!}  I know this is a topic that may turn your stomach, but some stories just must be told!  And I should thank my husband, at this point, for being the best “blog material” around.

He has been known to “steal” chocolate from our children; and they have grown up with the knowledge that if their Dad can see it, it’s fair game.  So, they now hide all chocolate from him.  He even sleep-walks to the fridge and eats chocolate when he’s unconscious.  Truly!  {My post “I married a scary sleepwalking zombiewill enlighten you about his night-time antics!}

But one Easter, Karma paid a visit to the big chocolate thief.

Our son was a toddler at the time and was walking around the house eating his nice tasty Easter Egg, dropping much of it and leaving chocolate bits across the floor.  A bit like “Hansel and Gretel” leaving a track of bread crumbs to follow.  Like a starved sniffer-dog his Daddy was following him eating the chocolate trail.  But son didn’t just drop chocolate bits.  Unbeknownst to his Dad, a little poo land-mine escaped from his pants and landed amongst the chocolate pebbles.

I watched as my husband’s eyes bulged and his salivating tongue lolled out when he honed in on the largest brown nugget yet.  Like a seagull on a hot chip he swooped in and threw the brown morsel into his mouth, moaning with desire as he began to munch it and swoosh it around his teeth.  He froze.  Silence.  His face turned to one of horror as he leapt towards the kitchen sink, bent forward and began barfing into the bowl.  I ran to him, eyes watering, as I smelt a puff of his poo-breath when he screamed “THAT’S NOT CHOCOLATE!”  Oh, how we reap the seeds we sow.

Lesson:  “Just because it looks like chocolate … doesn’t mean it is!”

© 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site

Image courtesy of stockvault-chocolate138839

 

 

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Shocked by the call girl who rang me

Lips with bright red lipstickThere’s one thing a woman never wants to hear when she picks up the phone …

“Hello, I’m Jenny and I work for an escort agency. I’m sorry to ring you but I need to speak to you about a call I received from your phone number last week.”

I was speechless. I had no idea how to respond, so I just said really slowly “Okay.”

I withdrew into my bedroom and shut the door so my children wouldn’t hear the call. Then she told me the news.

She received a couple of calls from my phone the previous week asking the prices of certain services. She said she is a mother too, and when she realised it was a “little boy” on the phone, and there was another one in the background giggling, she decided to let me know. Lucky for me, our phone number was displayed on her system.

She finished by saying “I just thought you might like to know.” Bless her little cotton socks – I wanted to know alright! I’ve never met a call girl or escort or prostitute or brothel worker, and I was so very, very grateful that she cared enough to ring me. She sounded absolutely lovely on the phone. I couldn’t thank her enough.

Now it was time to deal with those two rascals of mine.

I called the boys together and sat them down, and told them about the call I’d just received from the nice lady on the phone. They both confessed and said they were just joking and promised they’d never do it again.

However, Son 2 tried to win some brownie points and show how intelligent they were and said:-

“Don’t worry Mum, we didn’t use our phone. We used your work phone!”

WHAT???? They used a Government phone! To ring an escort agency! And now there was a record of it!

I was shame-faced as I reported my boys’ actions to the CEO of the Government Department I was working for at the time. He couldn’t help but bellow with laughter – because he has sons – and knows all too well the antics they are capable of.

Disaster averted.

© 2015 CEW

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Shocked by the amazing MIRACLE HEALING!

This is a true story about praying for my son just to “shut him up”. What happened next shocked us both …

Angel praying on kneesWhen my son was 11 years old he hurt his ankle quite badly. The doctor sent him for X-rays fearing it was broken, but it was severely sprained. It was his second day home from school, and my second day home from work looking after him. He and I are not good at sitting still, and even worse when we feel like caged animals. We were like bears with sore heads. It was only a matter of time before one of us ran out of patience with the other.

Due to intense boredom, I cooked us all a steak for dinner. In case you are wondering, I am renowned for not being a good cook.  (See my post The Sausage Casserole that was banned for life! for proof.) I hadn’t cooked steak in over 10 years, but I was older and wiser now; surely it couldn’t be too hard, could it?

It was; the steak was a disaster. And truth be known, even I had sore jaws after sawing through it! But son’s patience was up. It started with “Mum, I have a sore tooth.” Then, “Mum, I HAVE A SORE TOOTH!” I replied “Try using dental floss” and “Go brush your teeth”. He went on, and on, and on; as did I. I was trying to load the dishwasher and his harping was severely grating on my nerves. Finally I exploded “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT?”

He raised his voice right back at me and said “WELL … YOU COULD TRY USING YOUR JESUS HANDS!” “Fine. Go down to my bedroom. I’ll be there in a minute.” He literally hopped down the hallway, trying not to let his sore foot touch the floor.  I really should have gotten him crutches.

I chuckled to myself “Jesus hands? Where did he learn that?” In fact, it really tickled my fancy. You see, I am the only Christian in my home. My husband and sons are not on that journey with me. Yet. But they know that I love to go to Church and pray for others, and they have seen me pray for people, including them, when they have needed it. It seemed son needed it now. I certainly was not going to refuse.

I met him in my bedroom and lovingly cupped his face within my hands. We both closed our eyes, and for a few minutes, I prayed out loud. I must admit, my prayer really sounded quite good, even to me. It sounded like real poetry! Anyway, my prayer finished and I asked him “How does your tooth feel?”

Old statue of Mary and baby JesusHe prodded and poked, opened his jaw, closed it again, put his angry eyebrows into action and said “IT’S STILL SORE! That’d be right! Healing doesn’t work!” He was not impressed. Oh well, thought I, I’m not magic, if he hasn’t been healed, it’s not my fault.

He stormed out of my room and stomped up the hallway. I ran to my open bedroom door and looked at him, completely stunned. I yelled at him “STOP!” He stopped and turned to look at me. I had the biggest grin on my face imaginable. He said “What?”

“What’s happened to your ankle?”

He marched on the spot. He looked down at his feet. He walked up and down the hallway a few steps. He jumped up and down. “It’s healed.”

I looked quite cocky. I couldn’t help it. “Oh, healing doesn’t work does it?”

He stuttered … “Well, Well … I didn’t ask Him for that, did I?” And off he stormed again.

I couldn’t stop smiling all day.

The lesson I learned that day:
When God answers our prayers, he gives us what we need, even more than what we want. Sometimes he gives us what we haven’t even asked for.  If we just step out and pray for others, we don’t need to worry about “sounding” like a prayer warrior, or like a poet, or be amazingly articulate.  We are just called to step out. Pray.  He will do the rest.  I need not feel prayer pressure ever again.

©2015 CEW

 

The terrible joke they played on Nanna

Angry old woman cartoonMy children could be little horrors at times!  Especially when they teamed up and wreaked havoc on the world.  My poor mum, their Nanna, didn’t realise how “good” they were at it until her false teeth became their victim…

When they were little boys, aged 6 and 8, their Nanna was babysitting them while I worked late.  She’d made them a nice dinner and cleaned up my kitchen.  The best babysitter! Unfortunately, she got a bit of food stuck in her false teeth and couldn’t get it out.  It was aggravating her so she asked the boys if they had a spare toothbrush anywhere.  “No Nanny” said grandson.  She explained she needed something “like a toothbrush” and 8yo remembered the nail-brush, which was good at cleaning things, so they ran to fetch it for her.

The little inquisitive boys followed their Nanna into the laundry.  She popped her false teeth out into her hand and started scrubbing them vigorously under running water with the nail brush.  The boys started giggling their little heads off.  Nanny loved the laughter and presumed they’d never seen false teeth before.  She was so wrong!  They started laughing, louder this time, cupping their hands over each-others ears and whispering, as little children often do.

Nanny asked them what was so funny.  They just laughed louder!  Her Nanna-radar was beeping that something didn’t seem quite right.  Surely their laughter should have eased up by now.  She put her false teeth back in and turned to the boys, hands on hips, and asked them to fess up.  “Ok boys, tell Nanny the truth.  What’s so funny?”

Oh, the little angels could hardly contain themselves.  “Well, out with it!” demanded Nanny.  Through fits of laughter, 6yo said “Nanny, you are so funny?”  “Why? Surely it wasn’t that funny, was it?” she asked.

“Yes it was Nanny … ‘cos that’s the brush Daddy uses to get the dog poo off our gumboots!”

The little horrors broke down into hysterics again.

Nanny rushed back to the basin and washed her false teeth with soap and water, muttering under her breath!

Prologue:  Nothing much has changed with those two sons of mine over the years.  They have been completely exasperating at times with their antics.  Those same little boys are now 20 and 22 years old.  Their favourite victim now is their Dad; with Nanny coming in a close second!
©2015 CEW

Reposted from my old blog site

 

How the hell do teenagers think?

Planet in outer spaceIf women are from Venus and men are from Mars, what planet are teenagers from?

I ask this because as I journeyed alongside my two sons through their teenage years, many times I wondered how their little brains worked.  Their logic was skewed, their behaviour was occasionally absurd, and whilst I didn’t laugh at many of their antics at the time I can chuckle now that we have come through relatively unscathed.

My friends tend to focus on their daughter’s hormonal changes through the teenage era.  But I can tell you that when you see your son stomping his feet, jumping up and down on the spot screaming blue murder with his fists pumping up and down, you know boys get hormonal too.  {OK, so I laughed hysterically at my son when he did this which didn’t help matters, but hey, I’m only human and couldn’t control myself either!}

When my boys began morphing into teenagers, the first thing I really noticed was the stench in my car when I picked them up from school.  I would look down at their feet noticing their shoes were still on as my gag reflex kicked in.  How did such an eye watering stink permeate through leather shoes to pollute the atmosphere?  I was sure their feet had turned toxic.  And their armpits – oh my goodness!  I had to open the car window and drive with my head tilted out the window, my lips flapping like those of my dog, eyes blissfully squinting as I refilled my lungs with clean air.  Yes, that’s how I drove home.  “Did you boys use deodorant this morning?”  I’d rage.  “Yes Mum”.  “Well…USE MORE!”

There was one particular episode of “teenage logic” that I will forever remember.  This was the defining moment where I hypothesised that teenager equalled alien.   Our home has evaporative cooling and I was forever telling them that if I wasn’t home and they put the cooling on, they must open some doors and windows.  I arrived home from work one very hot day and heard the cooling system whirring as I walked up my driveway.  {They better have the doors and windows open.}  I was pleasantly surprised that they did!

But something was just not right.  I could feel it in my bones.  I walked from one end of our home to the other, stopping, cocking my head to the side, waiting for my mother’s-extra-sensory perceptions to hit the jackpot.  Bingo! {It couldn’t be.}  I walked to the cooling control panel which was next to the central heating panel.  My eyes were snapping from one panel to the other and back again.  The cooling was on.  The heating was on.  I called the boys over and asked WHY the cooling system and central heating were on at the same time.

Without hesitation …. “It was hot so we put the cooling on” said son.  “Then why is the heater on?” asked I.  They looked at each other as if I was simple.  “Well?” I said. “Mum, it got too cold with the cooling on, so we put the heater on!”  Doh!  Silly me.

I stood there, perplexed, looking at the back of their little alien heads as they walked away.  I was response-less.

There are many more “episodes” from my alien teenage son’s soap opera that I will revisit soon.  Some are hilarious, others not so much.  My youngest son turned 20 a few weeks ago.  I bent and kissed the ground and thanked God that I survived the teenage years.

“Adolescence is a period of rapid changes. Between the ages of 12 and 17, for example, a parent ages as much as 20 years.”   ~ Author Unknown
©2015 CEW

Reposted from my old blog site

 

An Aunt’s Reflection

3 hearts on clotheslineI am their Aunt.

I watched; as they grew inside their mother’s womb. I’d put my hand on her stomach and feel them move. I’d smile.

A boy. He was battered and bruised from a traumatic birth.   I watched his cousins say “he’s beautiful” to his Mum. I told them not to mention his injuries as they’d hurt his Mum’s feelings. I saw; the creation of a new mother’s love come into being.

A girl. I watched; as she entered the world and was gently placed on her mother’s stomach. She cried when she looked upon her tiny daughter.

I watched; when they were 2 and 3 years old and their dad left their Mum. Who would have known they’d grow up in a single parent household. Not I. Not anyone.

I watched; as their Mum struggled to bring them both up, on her own when they were so little. I watched; as she went back to work and put them in childcare so she could keep paying the bills. And I held her when she cried; because she didn’t plan for them not to have a dad living in the same house, like most of their friends had.

I was there for their first day of school. I watched; as they walked through the gate, struggling to hold those big school bags on their backs.

I watched their tantrums and I went to their home to be the “tough” one when they were giving their Mum a hard time. They could be little terrors at times! I heard; when then called me “The Commando”.

I watched; as the doctor told their Mum she had cancer. And I watched over them in the hospital as she had surgery. It was a tough year.

I watched a little girl; struggling with a big vacuum cleaner to try and help her Mum clean the house. I watched a little boy, who would lean close to his Mum when she slept, not wanting to wake her, but just making sure she was still breathing. I watched; as they both went through things that no child should ever have to go through.

But do you know what I’ve seen with all of my watching?

He – is one incredible and amazing young man. He has so much integrity and I’m proud of the man he is becoming. He is only 15, but he seems so much older. A true gentle-man. A man any young woman would be proud to take home and introduce to her parents.

She – is not just my niece, she is “my sister”. A 14 year old young woman, a nurturer, who cares about others with amazing empathy and compassion that most girls her age do not possess. She is beautiful and witty, smart and intelligent. Her heart for social justice and what is right is so powerful in such a young woman.

But I don’t just watch them. I pray for them; I encourage them; and I am one of their most ardent supporters. But more than anything.

I love them. I am their Aunt.

©2015 CEW

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