Home Security

It was hot. Dang hot. So hot you could hardly breathe.  I threw the covers off and looked at the clock...4 a.m. I got up and walked over to the sliding glass door of my bedroom and reached through the blinds to unlock it.  As the 'louder than expected' click echoed through the room, the blinds simultaneously clanked into one another and I realized my mistake.  It was like slow motion as my head turned toward the bed to see Kelly, flinging bed sheets and pillows and going from a prone position to a standing posistion all in one move.  His fists were clenched and he was furious.  He looked like a giant, white hulk, ready for battle as he roared, "WHO-ARE-YOU-AND-WHAT-ARE-YOU-DOING-HERE?!"
"STOP! STOP! IT'S ME, IT'S ME!" I screamed, as I threw one arm up defensively and pressed my body to the glass.  It may seem hard to believe, but my sudden crouching position was both defensive and offensive.  I was prepared to pounce if he came any closer... and I had a target in mind. 
He stood there for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, the only sound was our mutual heavy breathing and the blinds bouncing off eachother. 
"What are you doing? Why were you outside?" He demanded.
"Holy crap! I was just opening the door, it's hot in here!" I demanded right back.
 Silence. Blinds.
"I'm sorry...I was just protecting us..." he said, and tentatively reached out to touch my arm.
"It's fine...I'm going back to bed..." and I did.
But then I had to get back up because now I had a scratchy sore spot in my throat from screaming and I needed a drink and a cough drop...and to go explain to Savannah what Daddy and I were talking about. But I feel safe knowing he's there...mostly! Love you honey <3

The father of our country...German style

In order to keep things real around here, I have to share the real things that happen around here...even if it is during family scriptures study.  There we were, seated on the couches in our living room, scriptures in hand and it begins.  Someone (probably a boy) bumps someone and that someone proceeds to call the bumper a "dirty German."  The whole name-calling thing has been on my priority list of things to rid our family of.  The boys recent fascination with WW2 movies has not made it any easier.
 I scold, correct, try to get back on track.  Quincy says, "don't call me a dirty German, I'm a dutch man."  Only he says 'dootch' which brings about a round of cackles from the peanut gallery (Isaiah) who says, "you're a douche?!" Now I'm fully engaged, scolding and correcting King Peanut, and explaining to Quincy that the word is deutsche (you can bet I had to look that up!) and it's pronounced 'doy-ch.' Well, now all the little ears have perked up and the giggling has intensified.  Brayden wants to know if 'douche' is a bad word and I explain that "no, it's not a bad word, it's just a word that means wash, but it's not a word he should be saying.   Quincy then proceeds to tell us that his body wash says 'gel douche' on the bottle and I say, "I know! It just means wash!" Brayden thinks for a minute and then says, "so in German it would be George Douche-ington!"
We laughed uncontrollably for ten minutes.  Finally I had to get control of the group and I knew I had to make sure this didn't leave the house.  I settled them down and said, "Listen, we do not talk about this to anyone, it would be inappropriate! This is not a word we use." Without skipping a beat, Quincy chimes in..."unless we're in the feminine hygiene aisle!"