Grumpy-butt, Grumpy-butt... why are you so grumpy?

I wish I had a video of this to share. But I don’t. Although if I did, I swear we’d be strolling away with the $100,000 grand prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

Wednesday: Jeff had a particularly rough day with Bobby. The child just screamed all day – no major illness or injury, just a little CBS – “Crabby Baby Syndrome.” By the time I got home from work that afternoon, I found Jeff sitting on the bed with a (finally) sleeping baby in his arms. We whispered our conversation, so as not to wake Bobby. As we spoke, I saw Bobby’s eyes open. Wide. Staring up at Jeff. I motioned for Jeff to look down at him, and as God is my witness… the moment Jeff looked at Bobby, that little stinker snapped his eyes shut.

So, Jeff turns back to me and we start whispering again. Bobby’s eyes open again. Wide. Staring at Jeff. He looked down at Bobby, again, at which point Bobby quickly closed his eyes. Again.

This happened one or two more times, and by the last time Jeff and I were laughing so hard, Bobby just gave up and kept his eyes open. (Thank goodness he sensed our amusement, and joined us with smiles and giggles.)

If Bobby’s little trick is any indication of the years ahead, we’re in big trouble.

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Yesterday, leaving the dentist's office...

Jack: Hey, Mom... You know that Farrah Fawcett lady?

Me: Yes

Jack: When she was in the '70s, she was HOT!

Me: ?!

That's what I get for leaving two soon-to-be-10-year-olds to read magazines in the waiting room. When I went in for MY appointment, they were all about the ESPN Magazine and Sports Illustrated. Sometime in the following 20-30 minutes, they found People and Us Weekly. Nice.

Oooohhh... ahhhhhhh

Highlights from the inaugural Cameron Fireworks Spectacular,

brought to you by The Cameron Brothers.

Never before have I seen two adult males so giddy with anticipation as Jeff and his brother James last week. When we stopped by James and Jenny's house mid-week, the two of them retreated to the garage to gaze upon the vast pyrotechnic paraphernalia. I'm sure there was giggling involved.

When Jeff and Tyler went over Friday afternoon to help with some party prep, the anticipation was too much and they lit a couple of things. From what I was told, the explosion was so loud and unanticipated, they nearly peed themselves laughing.

Friday night arrived, and it might just as well have been Christmas morning for them. They spent the better part of two hours in the garage preparing the great display. They lit the first fuse at 10pm -- family and friends (and random neighbors) were dazzled beyond belief for nearly an hour.

But... you know all those big-money fireworks displays you see, with explosions creating multi-colored sparkles in the night sky? Know what you DON'T see? The freakin' shredded paper carnage that ends up in the fall-out zone. And Saturday, James and Jenny's house (and their neighbor's!) was the fallout zone. I hadn't realized how much clean up there would be... until hearing about it after the fact. So, a HUGE apology goes out to James and Jenny for our absence in the clean-up process. Next year, we're so there.

And before you get the wrong impression that we're a bunch of midwest rednecks with nothing better to do than set off explosives to celebrate a national holiday (see prior post), let me assure you we're NOT. Extreme safety was priority number one from the first sparkler to the grand finale. It's just that everyone has "their holiday," whether it's going all-out decorating for Christmas or Halloween, cooking at Thanksgiving or hiding more colored Easter eggs than should be allowed by law. The 4th of July just happens to be the Cameron boys' holiday of choice.

And no one can mix it up with educated political debates and explosives like they can.

Happy (almost) 4th of July

It's unofficially the 4th here today. Our family get-together is today, rather than tomorrow, for a variety of reasons. But that's OK, since it'll make the weekend seem even longer. And after last week? That's fine by me.

For the past couple of weeks, some people in my neighborhood have begun the annual tradition of setting off small explosive devices to celebrate the holiday. This is driving our dog crazy. Literally. Buddy came to us as a shelter dog, so we don't know his history. But there's definitely signs of post-traumatic stress disorder... for dogs. Thank goodness the vet gave us "doggie valium" for him to take the edge off.

Are small explosives really the focus of this holiday?

I did an interview yesterday with a local home builder for the Parade of Homes this fall. He is a first generation immigrant to the United States, arriving in the mid-1970s. He was 18. A few times during our conversation, he mentioned how America is equated with "freedom" and "choices. " Any one of us who has had even one American History class is familiar with that concept. But do we have it in the forefront of our minds every day? How many of us have had the experience of living in a society where one's views and opinions are oppressed? Where we have no choices... we have no "say."

Listening to how this man has even integrated the appreciation of democracy and choice into his career was eye-opening. His home designs are very unique; seeing four of his homes situated in one cul-de-sac with one home built by another builder made it obvious how different they are. He has followed his dream and passion, building homes that may be newly constructed, but evoke thoughts of nostalgia. Why build homes that are so vastly different in design from his contemporaries? "I want to bring democracy into home design," he said with a laugh.

Here is a person who truly appreciates democracy and choice possible in our country -- something that any one of us could -- and often times do -- forget.

So, Happy 4th of July! Take a minute between the hamburgers, potato salad and the fireworks to appreciate what we are fortunate enough to experience in the United States. The freedom to choose. The freedom to follow dreams. The freedom to have a "say so."

And the freedom to seet off many, many small explosives in the name of patriotism.

It ain't easy being green... or the little brother...

Dear Sam,

I know there are days when it isn't easy being the little brother.

And having two older brothers who are twins has got to be a little rough, too. They often get a smidge more attention from others simply because there are two of them -- and I'm sure you might think it's unfair sometimes. They are older and bigger, so they get to do certain things first. That's something you're always going to have to live with, but it doesn't take away from the special things you do, too... all in time.

It may feel like you live in their shadows, but you don't. Not in my eyes. Or my heart. You have a place all your own. A place that's been yours and yours alone since the day you were born. When you were a small, bald, wrinkly newborn, Jack and Charlie called you our "tiny, little gentleman." And you know they chose your name from their favorite Dr. Seuss book at the time, "Green Eggs and Ham." Their small world at two-and-a-half years old revolved around you. I know there are days now, when they might not treat you very well, and that makes you sad. It makes me sad, too. I don't like seeing them exclude you from anything, or pick on you as brothers are apt to do. But you have to know this: Jack and Charlie love you. They probably wouldn't admit it, nor would you, but I know you three love each other very much.

My hope is that someday the three of you will be very close and the best of friends, as well as being brothers -- just like Jeff and James are. For now, though, there will be days when you're going to have to tough it out, and I will always be there to help you in any way I can. From playing a game of Uno to just hanging out watching SpongeBob, I will be there. God didn't give you a twin like He did with Jack and Charlie, but He gave you a wonderful, outgoing personality and a crazy sense of humor that will give you many great friendships in your life.

Being the little brother sure isn't easy some days -- you know this very well. And in a few years when Bobby is running around, getting into your stuff and bugging you, remember that you were once the little brother, and go easy on him. You are already a fantastic big brother to Bobby, and he is a very lucky baby to have a big brother love him as much as you do.

Proud Mama Duck...

Last night, I was one proud Mama Duck.

Here's the backstory: Jack and Charlie have played baseball since they were, like, 2. It all began with their little Fisher-Price Pop-Up Batting Tee toy. They have played every year they've been eligible, and have been fortunate enough to enjoy great, winning seasons. This year, however, things have been a bit rough. Their team, Mozzarelli's Pizza, has won maybe three games. At first, this was an extremely bitter pill for them to swallow. My heart ached for them after each loss, knowing how they'd played their own hearts out, yet having a victory kept just out of reach. I was also sad the night I realized the losses were becoming -- in their minds -- commonplace. But they still gave every bit of their hearts and souls to each game, pounding their fists into their gloves in the field, and taking clean cuts at the good pitches.

And then there was last night. It was their night.

Through the first few innings, the teams pretty much matched each other, run-for-run. Sometime in the 4th and 5th innings, however, Mozzarelli's pulled ahead. Charlie had his share of hits, landing him singles and a double or two -- where he proceeded to steal bases like a thief. And he was on fire in the field, tagging players out and being where he needed to be to make a play. When he relieved Jack as catcher, he got under a pop-up for a catch that could've made ESPN's highlight reel. And he made it look effortless.

Jack also had his share of hits, even a stand-up triple. In this league, they play 6 innings. And in his last at bat, with two on base, Jack cracked one out between right and center field. As he rounded second and headed for third, we could plainly see the huge grin on his face. This kid wasn't stopping at third. He wasn't stopping until he slid across home plate.

Which he did. Safe. An in-the-park home run, with two RBIs.

As if this wasn't crazy-good enough, my eyes filled with tears when I saw the rest of the players rushing from the dugout to congratulate Jack. With Charlie leading them all. I watched my sons leap into the air, hurling their slender frames at each other for a slap-dash chest bump.

At the bottom of the 6th, with two out, a player from the other team hit a pop-up, which the first baseman, Jack and Charlie's new pal Tristan, caught with no problem. As they rushed to line up and congratulate the other team on a game well-played, I leaned over to Tristan's parents and said, "I know what that other team and their families are feeling -- we've done it all season. But our boys deserved this one." They deserved it for all the games they lost... the ones played in the too-brisk spring air... the ones played in the rain... they deserved it for playing their hearts out, yet again, on an oppressively hot, humid night. They deserved it because they love. the. game. Not just Jack and Charlie, but every last one of their teammates.

You can't really make it out on the scoreboard, but the final score? 15-6

How cool is that?

So, last Thursday when Jeff was working, the crew decided to try something new and play sand volleyball at the church across the street from the station. (Kidding. They pretty much always do that unless they're on a run or it's raining. And it has to be coming down hard, too.) We stopped out to bring Jeff some shorts and watch for a while. We've done this before, and the boys watch for about 10-15 minutes before the novelty wears off and they start getting on each other's nerves or fighting. Or both.

This night, however, the men of station 14 extended an invitation to the boys to join them for a game. How cool is that? And how cool are they for doing so? Very. So, there's Charlie and Sam on the far court with Jeff, while Jack, Brian Fairchild and Marty Luecker and the Chief played opposite. (Apologies for the poor photo quality. Had to use my phone. Of all times to NOT have my camera with me!)

Keep in mind, right before they went out there, I gave the boys the CliffNotes version of how to hit a volleyball. Correctly. Because some of the hits the guys use? Not so legal in a real volleyball match. I taught them the basics: bump, set and spike. I'm sure not much has changed since I played on the eighth grade team, so I was pretty confident they could give it a legitimate shot out there. And they did a fabulous job. Jack dove for just about everything that came his way. Their serves were great -- over the net consistently -- amazingly from their lean, "pipe-cleaner" arms.

The boys finished the game beaming and feeling like they had moved up a little in the world. They had been hangin' with the big boys, and did so proudly.

And how cool is that?