Alien Abductions.

This is pretty hard for me to admit. I like to think that I'm normally a pretty level headed person. The subject of aliens coming to harvest humans for research has always seemed shall we say a bit 'out there' to say the least. But unfortunately, I've come to experience it first hand.
Today as I came in from the garden to wash up, it happened. I walked into the empty bathroom to find the toilet seat up, yellow water and a pile of Elaina's clothes on the floor. No Elaina to be seen. They had taken her. Obviously, she was quietly going potty when the abduction occurred. The clothes I've come to realize, can not be teleported. I found her moments later in her bedroom getting new clothes on, blissfully unaware of the horrors that had just befallen her. Oh, my precious, precious girl how many more times will they perform their tests on you??? Elaina is not the only one in my family that the extraterrestrials are after. I often come into our living room to find my husbands clothes laying right by the door. He's not home for 2 minutes, barely able to drag his tired legs up the stairs and into the house before ZAAAPPP!!! In to thin air. Only his work clothes remain. Sure, they always bring them back. So far. My dear husband usually emerges from the backyard, where he apparently thinks he was just checking on the girls, but I know the truth. Ethan has spent his fair share of time hovering high over head too, while cultures of unknown origin are taken. How many bags of chips and favorite toys have I found scattered across the floor? The snack I know he so desperately wanted. He had pleaded with tears in his eyes for a little something while I'm preparing dinner, only to find it open, chips all over the couch and floor. The project he was coloring still spread out on the table. And my boy? Gone. My heart aches as I search. He too happily going about his 'new' business at the aliens chosen re-materialization site. But what makes me truly mad, is that they even have taken my baby. I would like to think there would be some sort of minimum age requirement, but no. To make it worse, they seem to actually prefer Elijah. Little piles of clothes are found through out the day. Some times, while he is innocently watching TV. They take him from the bathroom, much like Elaina, but their favorite spot is the stairs. As the kids bound joyfully in from playing outside, ZAAAP! Shoes will be at the bottom, pants in the middle and the shirt on the top landing, what once clothed a happy child now lays cold and lifeless, waiting. Being that they obviously use some sort of mind eraser or time hold-stiller, it has occurred to me that I too could be the subject of their research, but not likely. I have yet to come across my own tell tale pile of clothing, unless they only take me from my bedroom. Albeit a possibility, not a likely one. I have enough quirks and compulsions. I certainly don't need to add another. Beware aliens, I'm on to you now, I will catch you and when I do...

What it's about.

The kids. OK, this is the world's shortest post. Done. Alright, alright I'll elaborate. When I started this I didn't really know why I was doing it. I honestly never read a blog and barely knew what the term meant. There wasn't a list of them I was aspiring to be, I simply knew I was supposed to write one and so I did. It started as a way to work through the voice that keeps popping up in my head, hoping that maybe the kids would grasp some glimmer of what mommy was thinking at any given time. Maybe reading my version of what happened, teamed up with their memory of it and ending up, well, I'm not sure what. Maybe they will discover mom's pizza crust recipe, or the secret to great Coq au Vin is using your own Coq (sorry Crowey, but man you were tasty.) I hope they'll understand that I would cook all day to fill the freezer so I didn't have to cook every day and could spend more time with them, sane. I hope they come to appreciate spicy food because my chili is competition ready, sorry shameless plug. I hope they can see that I struggle with what the voice is telling me but I still listen to Him. I want them to listen to Him too, since they sure don't listen to me. I don't want them to be the angry, glaring, tween's that their parents have to drag to church in their sleep pants and fuzzy slippers. Contempt for the passive/aggressive parents aside for letting their tween's show up that way. I want them to find joy in the first radish shoot popping up and continue to fight for the warm eggs under a broody hen. Like any parent, I just want to keep them wrapped in a cocoon of comfort, love and innocence. So spilling my tale here for them to read one day serves to keep me honest, keep me in check with my priorities and it has served a great creative outlet for a newbie stay at home mom. Ultimately, it's all about them.

A Belated Birthday Wish...

My baby is 3. My baby is no longer, well, a baby.
He is potty trained.
He knows his ABC's.
He yells at me for starting the car before putting on my seat belt and he knows God made the mountains.
He can't wear pants, shoes or socks inside.
He can't imagine leaving the library with a book not containing a monster truck and his favorite Hot Wheels car is named Sally.
Dogs are for riding, chickens are for chasing and siblings are for giggling.
He can still be convinced to do anything Elaina bids, her esteem only equaled by my own.
Bubbles=Bliss.
Default speed is a jog and he can hold his own on his scooter. When grandparents visit, he still wants to sit next to me. He's even tempered, not emotion driven, injustices are simply that.
Bottom's and the noises they possess are hilarious.
Deception isn't on his radar, yet.
The sun, moon and stars reside in his sister.
Even when he "can't stand up!" I want to scoop him in my arms and smother him in mommy kisses.
He loves me more than "sparkly pink unicorns."
Happy Birthday Boo-Boo.