Bombs Away

So.  Hmm.  How do I introduce my family to the blogging community?  I could tell a sweet, delightful, tear-jerking story about some precious moment we had at bedtime with one of the littlest members of Team Johnson.  That'd be nice.  Or I could give you a bit of history on how we formed our Team.  That'd be helpful.

Nope.  We're gettin' into it the right way.  The real way.  Might as well drop the act before we even pick it up.

We're telling the F-bomb story.  Right now.  Let's just get it out of the way, and then maybe we can get into some holier topics later.... like.... well, something besides the F-bomb.

Ok, so... It was over the weekend and Luke was out of town.  I like to tell people he was at a "band gig" because it makes him sound like a rock star and it also makes me feel skinny and blonde.  
False to all three.  Luke's getting his doctorate at KU and part of that "gig" is interning with the marching band.  Which means he's gone all. The. Time.

Yay.

Anywho, we were spending a nice, quiet evening at home, just the three of us.  I told Max & Abby, my cherub 8 & 7 yr olds respectively, that they could pick a game we'd all play it together.  And they chose Zingo.  Hallelujah it wasn't Monopoly.  
We played it seventy jillion times.  Don't fight me on that, I will win.

As we are cleaning up the game (we meaning I) it went down like this...

Abby: "What the duck!" (no idea why, don't even ask.)
Max: "Abby, you shouldn't say that."
Abby: "Why not?"
Awkward silence... Max looks at me
Me: "Because, babe, it just sounds too close to something else that is bad and people might think you're saying the bad word instead.  It's just not a good idea."
Abby: "Oh."
5 seconds....annnnnd here it comes
Abby: "What bad word does it sound like?"
UGH.
Me: "It doesn't really matter, baby, just know it's bad and we never say it and you're fine."
Yeah, like that answer will satisfy little miss Angela Lansbury.
Abby: "But I wanna know what you're talking about! Max knows, why can't I know?!"
Me: "Sweetie, it's not a big deal, it's just-"
Max: "It rhymes with duck!"
Fantastic.
Me: "DUDE!"
Max: "Sorry, Mom!"
Abby (in her singing voice): "What the muck, what the ruck, what the guck"
Max is laughing hysterically.
Me: "Abby, quit.  Max stop laughing, you're just encouraging - "
Abby: "WHAT THE F*#@"

Welp.  There it is.  I hate that word.  And there's something juxtaposed about hearing it come out of a child that I grew in my body and cuddled and nursed that makes me want to just fall through the floor and die.  Max stopped laughing.  He covered his mouth and gasped.  And that freaked Abby out.  Whoa.  If Brother stopped laughing either somebody died or I just said something super bad.  Abby's little freckled face got red-hot.  She knew the word now and she looked at me in terror, wondering what horrible fate awaited her now that she'd actually said it out loud.  

By the grace of Jesus, I held it together.  "OK, now you know," I said, calmly.  I let her know she wasn't in trouble, she didn't even understand what she'd said, "but now that you know," I said firmly, but lovingly, "we will never say it again, okay?"  Whew!  Made it through, no one died and no one lost their salvation.

The End.

NOPE!

Abby: "So what does the F-Word mean, anyway?  Why is it so bad?"
Seriously!  Why doesn't this happen when Luke is home to help me?!?! ARAUGH!!!

Again, by the grace of Jesus and the wisdom of our church's children's pastor (that I'm convinced is somehow related to Santa Claus...seriously children flock to him like seagulls!!)  I was all of a sudden spewing forth amazing sentences that I could barely believe were coming out of my mouth!  Things like:  "sometimes people make up bad words for things that God made beautiful to make them sound dirty and yucky, which is why we don't say it.  The f-word takes something God made for a grown up mommy and daddy and makes it sound yucky and bad."

whaaaaaaaaaa...  that there is proof positive that people can speak in tongues when empowered by the Holy Spirit.  Period.  I was so proud of myself, and probably said "thank you, Jesus" about twelve times under my breath.  Wow.  Any child would be thankful and lucky to get such a well-rounded, age-appropriate, loving, gentle, biblical answer about such a yucky thing.  Boom!  Take that, universe!

Annnnnnd scene.

FALSE!

Abby: "Mommy, what are you talking about?  I don't get it?  What special thing that God made for Mommies and Daddies?  Is it a present? I don't get it, Mommy!!!!"

So, 30 minutes later, both of my children have had the sex talk over dinner. 
No one died. Lightning did not strike.  And we all went to bed with the same name.  

That 9-Bean Stew recipe will remain in infamy.  Every time I make it, I will remember this day, smile and smack my husband wish a dish towel b/c he wasn't there to partake in the infamous "Sex Talk Soup."

Why in blazes did I tell this story.  Yeah, I've asked my self that several times whilst typing it out.  Not a super way to start a fan club, Lyss.  The truth is that this story sums up pretty much the last nine years of my life; little triumphs in the midst of the ridiculous, many times done on my own, just me & Jesus (b/c, HELLO, somebody has to work outside the home and earn actual money...and I am extremely grateful for my hard-working man that graciously allowed me do the crazy thing and stay home for 108 months!!!  And never think I'm not!).  

"I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, 14 I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us." 
-Philippians 3:12-14 (emphasis mine)

No matter what I feel led to write on this thing, one fact is certain: 
I. Have NOT. Got it. Figured. Out.

Not even close.
Some days I can look back and be all like, "WOOT!  I kicked today's ca-BOOSE!  Take THAT, toddlerhood."  Other days, well.... lets' just say I'm super glad the only witnesses couldn't talk yet.  But I keep going, making "imperfect progress" as the beautiful Lysa Terkeurst says.  And if I can be of encouragement to just one other mama, one other wife, one other person out there that has no clue what's coming next, well then.... that's what's its for, right?  

So, here we go!

Bombs Away.


(Oh, in other news, when I get MY doctorate in blogging or something, imma go on trips every weekend to the fancy bloggers' conventions and leave Daddy to take care of the cherubs.)