Sunday, February 26, 2012

You Guys Are The Bomb, Well Martin Certainly Is


With so many birthdays we got mightily tired of sheet cakes maybe ten years ago. Now I let the Birthday Boy or Girl choose what they want, sometimes it's ice cream cones for everyone, sometimes it's Krispy Kreme, as in no one in their right mind ever tires of Krispy Kreme. We also drag out birthday celebrations for several days, Martin's been our Birthday King all weekend and today is the actual date.

Of all people, Chuy, baked a pan of brownies, putting a homemade birthday flag upon it, serving it to my darling buttercup, Martin, at midnight so he could be the first to wish my 18 year old a, "Happy Birthday!"

Go figure. Mr. Stand Offish? Makes me proud though.

Around ten last night Sabrina surreptitiously video taped Chuy dancing in the kitchen, all alone, spinning and dipping, and she'd sent it out to a bunch of my older kids. I just don't think I properly convey here how immensely self-contained and uber self-controlled my handsome Chuy is at all times. I won't put the video up here, but it's adorable.

I'm also just happy to see someone turn 18 properly, not moving out in a self-imposed rage storm, but celebrating happily and with self-confidence.

He was a three year old when he moved in, two months before his fourth birthday, a shy, quiet, toothless and scared to pieces child. We never did get to the bottom of his no front teeth story. His adult teeth eventually came in, but going so long without them had firmly plopped his happy tail into speech therapy classes for many years.

When CW chickened out at the very last minute, Martin put on the little tuxedo and stepped up to the plate to be Sarah's ring bearer 11 1/2 years ago, guiding Lily past her rose petal basket flinging meltdown at the altar, acting kinda like me whenever I'd been the bride.

I've rarely ever even had to raise my voice when dealing with Martin, he's just an easy-going, very good guy. He's crazy about his very beautiful girlfriend. I pray she treats him right, he's a catch.

He has three very challenging birth siblings.

That's all I'm gonna say 'bout that right now. He's long chosen to remain glued to CW's side, very best friend brothers.

I've dogged Martin and nagged him about getting his school work done, that's been a challenge, as it isn't his first priority, but hey, in the grand scheme of things, to have a winning personality and a good attitude overall is gonna get him far in life, this I know.

After church it's time to start sowing flower seeds into flats, zinnias and tithonia, cosmos and marigolds is all I'm gonna do, but it'll be about a hundred of each.

"I grew up in your house," a man called me yesterday in response to me telling Lily, "I don't know these folks," when she'd reasonably asked to go over to someone's house.

After so many trauma-filled years I've morphed into a guarded, opinionated, slightly fearful, over-protective mother. Everyone's a suspect, especially newcomers.

He was the second person I'd spoken to that day on the phone who'd regaled me with growing up tales of hunting down by our Big Creek at the bottom of my property, the first being the Wood Chip Dumping Man, Jim, and his team (sons).

"Yeah," the second man continued, "I stayed many a night in the bedroom next to your laundry room." That was the room I was then standing in as we talked, it's now my office, all the 25-30 holes have been patched, sealed, and covered as I continue to change everything possible around here, to patch up my own scary memories of trauma/drama-filled nights and days we've endured.

He went on to tell me which house his mama lived in up on the paved road.

OK, OK, I get the point. You're a local, not a carpet bagger, something all of us Southerners still think of Yankees who move South and then piss and moan about the ten month of lung-smothering heat. Oh puh-leeze.

Mayra and Tony'd gone up on the dirt road, through our woods on bikes, to see the horses, braving the 50 degree weather, while I, sissy-like, complained about it instead.

Sarah'd also run into an old boyfriend of mine, calling to tell me he was still very handsome, but she'd told him, "Mama's not gonna call you."

Yes I would.

No, I wouldn't.

I should.

No, I shouldn't.

I won't.

I'm not exactly a good candidate for dating. I'm sure not much of a catch what with 39 Demandoes trailing after me. OK, I'm out. Forever alone - which is a cartoon line my kids keep sending me. They're hilarious.

I don't mind being alone at all. Everyone was so boisterous yesterday, but in a good way. I do long for complete silence at times, I'll happily settle for all the peace that's descended here lately.

It's been so wonderful. Why stir anything up? I'm enjoying our family immensely right now. They're the bomb.
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Eight hours later...a small fistfight as Mr. P provoked Mr Emotional, three haircuts at two different salons because Mr Emotional was melting down...these are guys for Pete's Sake. Man up.

Martin had to separate the two combatants on his own birthday, and Mayra needed a trip to Reddy Care right after church for unexplained leg pains. The doc sent her home with naproxen, she's fine now, waiting on Martin's girlfriend to come over here with a cake she made him. Krispy Kreme plans got eliminated when I had to tame the wild one who still hasn't apologized.