Day One - November 5th

Today is Friday, November 05, 2010, the day I decided to finally start a blog about the terrific trio, Jory, 5, Rowan, 3, and Layla, 2. This blog will mostly be about them though I may post a thing or two about whatever else is going on in my life aka their lives.

My friend, Angela, directed me to her friend, Kelly’s blog, and Kelly posted every day for a year and so I’m going to take Kelly’s inspiration and try and do the same. Side note, how is it that every woman I know named Kelly is just awesome, even the ones I hear about. If I didn’t have the name of my next 17 kids already planned, I would name one of my daughters, Kelly. Well that and the fact that it is sort of a popular name. Kelly Dee Dee would be her name because every Dee Dee I know rocks! Okay, the name Kelly Dee Dee doesn’t real flow, but you get my drift.

I’m excited about this adventure. At the beginning of the year, I asked God to help me do something with my writing and I’ve seen that happening this year. I think this blog will help with that too. Yes, its eleven months or so after I made that request but as always God is AWESOME and does everything in His own perfect timing. He’s an on time God. And I thank Him for all the great people who encouraged me with my little diddles about the kids and sent encouraging notes. So with that said, let’s begin.

On Wednesday night, I came home to a quiet home. There was no Layla or Jory racing to greet me as I stepped foot in the house. There was no “pick me, Mommy,” Layla’s short hand for pick me up. There were no leg hugs from Jory. There was nada. Nothing. So I walked into the family room to find Oma and the terrific trio spellbound by the television screen.

I put my purse down, greeted everyone, and then look at the screen. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the movie as I watched for a minute or two. As I walked towards the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, it dawned on me. Predator. Oma and the kids were watching Predator. Part of me thought, I should stop this. My kids shouldn’t be watching Predator, though it was on SyFy so it wasn’t as gory, and then I realized that’s how I grew up watching horror films with my mom.

I still remember my first movie experience was at a long gone theater on Rose in Venice. We had just finished seeing Friday the Thirteenth, not sure which one, and when we emerged from the theater the fog was heavy and thick. I don’t actually remember seeing the movie, but I vividly remember my mom’s umm caution of walking the five blocks or so home to our two bedroom apartment on Indiana. She made sure my jacket was buttoned up, held my hand tightly, and instructed to me to walk quickly. Then off we went into the fog (insert Vincent Price’s haunting laughter here).

Over the years, I saw movies about Dracula, Frankenstein (what a gross injustice to Mary Shelly’s great book), zombies, werewolves, blobs, you name it I probably saw it. Watching Elvira was a late Sunday afternoon appointment that could not be missed. I remember re-enacting a horror/suspense TV movie, Don’t Go to Sleep, for many recesses.

So if I could handle: camp counselors being slaughtered by Jason; Freddie killing kids, my once beloved Johnny Depp, and desperately trying to kill the oldest daughter from Just the Ten of Us (yes, I loved the Growing Pains’ spin-off); and Mike Myers desperately trying to kill Jaime Lee Curtis; then the kids could watch Arnold kick alien butt and take names. Watching horror films with Oma is a right of passage. And it’s a whole lot better than watching those horrible, cheesy made for SyFy Tv movies, even they sometimes do have cool names like Mansquito (and yes, Corin Nemic aka Parker Lewis was part man/part mosquito) with her on a Saturday.

After all I reasoned as I made my dinner plate, the kids had learned from old school Scooby that monsters are really just greedy, selfish people in costumes desperate to get their own way. But when Predator 2 came on, it was bath time. Nice how the timing of that worked out.

And this concludes post one. A quick shout out to my own personal Jonah or in pop culture terms from Pulp Fiction, Cane from Kung Fu. Happy 40th Birthday, Shane Paul Hanna! Wherever you are running, I mean roaming, know that you are loved, you are being prayed for, you are missed, you are wanted, you are thought about, talked about, asked about, and most importantly that God loves you, calls you His own, and wants to heal your pain. You know He loved you so much He sent His only Son to die on the cross for your sins and as a mother blessed with only one son (at least for now), I can attest that’s saying A LOT. I love you! The fam loves you! Mike loves you! Chi Chi loves you! Even Goeran is somewhere in Russia thinking fond thoughts of his American roommates and the adventures, the three of you shared. Love ya! Happy Birthday!