Category Archives: laughter

Priestman Home Stage

Posted in family outings, joy found, laughter, my boy, my girl, my husband by

After a great – barring one minor ER trip – (who am I kidding? THAT was great, too) 4-day family stay-cation, Matt and I got another treat tonight… THE PRIESTMAN HOME STAGE. It was the perfect way to end a couple of snow days.

Matt set up the photo booth backdrop and the kids used it as a stage curtain. They took turns performing, and each introduced the following act for their sibling. Having been to a few High School plays themselves, they knew enough to turn off lights before removing stage props, such as stools. Super cute overload mixed with some serious hilarity and multiple knowing glances at the hubs. I love it when we can make eye-contact over the littles and just know.

Tonight’s performances particularly highlighted the kids’ different personalities…

HER Performances (all while holding a mic, of course):
1. Dramatic Reading of A Hippopotamus Ate the Teacher
2. Dramatic Reenactment/Singing of “Do You Want to Build a Snowman” (from Frozen)
3. Dramatic (and beautiful) ballet performance
4. Dramatic Lip Sync/Singing of “Let it Go” (Also from Frozen)
5. Dramatic Leap Pad Demo of a Measuring/Cooking Game (Dramatic? Really?? Yes. It’s all in the facial expressions and vocal inflections.)
6. Passionate Singing performance of “Steady My Heart” by Kari Jobe*
(It was at this point that I BAWLED LIKE A BABY. Because there is nothing – nothing – that gets me more than my kids singing full-on TRUTH. IT IS MY FAVORITE IN ALL THE WORLD. I just sit there, weeping and stifling loud sobs, begging God that this will be buried deep in her heart forever, and thanking Him that she is so passionate about it right now. And of all her Dramatic-with-a-capital-D performances, this is the ONE that was NOT acting. I would’ve videoed it for you all, but I couldn’t FOR ALL OF THE TEARS.)

HIS Performances:
1. And I quote, “Rockin’ out” to “We Built This City” by Starship circa 1980s (Due to a little stage fright, this performance only continued when he could get his sister to share the stage with him. She – of course – was happy to oblige.)
2. Roaring (i.e. Like a lion. With a James P. Sullivan mask on)
3. Growling (i.e. Also like a lion. with a James P. Sullivan mask on)
4. Leap Pad Demo #1 (With sister sitting next to him on stage)
5. Leap Pad Demo #2
6. Guitar Solo (That lasted 15 seconds, because while he loves to talk, he does in fact get embarrassed while being the center of attention. Love him and his sensitivity.)
7. Bonus Performance after the show ended and he was no longer on “stage”: Dramatic Falling (He is all boy, after all.)

My heart is full. I love these people. Times one billion.
And now I am weepy again. Geeze louise.

*These lyrics. Sung Belted out with passion by my 6-year-old. May she remember this truth all her life.

Steady My Heart
Wish it could be easy
Why is life so messy?
Why is pain a part of us?
There are days I feel like
Nothing ever goes right
Sometimes it just hurts so much

But You’re here
You’re real
I know I can trust You

Even when it hurts
Even when it’s hard
Even when it all just falls apart
I will run to You
‘Cause I know that You are
Lover of my soul
Healer of my scars
You steady my heart (x2)

I’m not gonna worry
I know that You’ve got me
Right inside the palm of your hand
Each and every moment
What’s good and what gets broken
Happens just the way You plan

You are here
You’re real
I know I can trust You

Even when it hurts
Even when it’s hard
Even when it all just falls apart
I will run to You
‘Cause I know that You are
Lover of my soul
Healer of my scars
You steady my heart (x2)

And I will run to You
And find refuge in Your arms
And I will sing to You
‘Cause of everything You are

You steady my heart (x2)

Even when it hurts
Even when it’s hard
Even when it all just falls apart
I will run to You
‘Cause I know that You are
Lover of my soul
Healer of my scars
You steady my heart (x2)

I’m not gonna worry
I know that You’ve got me
Right inside the palm of Your hand

Lesson(s) Learned on a Snowy Day

Posted in family outings, joy found, laughter, my husband by

This is the backyard where the snow fell. (And fell and fell.)

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This is the bush in the backyard where the snow fell. (And fell and fell.)

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This is the husband who swatted snow off the bush in the backyard where the snow fell. (And fell and fell.)

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This is the thorn that stuck all the way through and broke off inside the finger* of the husband when he swatted snow off the bush in the backyard where the snow fell. (And fell and fell.)

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This is the husband at the ER because of the thorn that stuck all the way through and broke off inside his finger* when he swatted snow off the bush in the backyard where the snow fell. (And fell and fell.)

photo(92)(He looks so happy, doesn’t he?)

 

4 shots to the finger later…

This is the surgery – complete with neon green tourniquet – performed on the husband in the ER because of the thorn that stuck all the way through and broke off inside his finger* when he swatted snow off the bush in the backyard where the snow fell. (And fell and fell.)

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This is the finger that STILL harbors a thorn AFTER surgery was performed – complete with green tourniquet – on the husband in the ER because of the thorn that stuck all the way through and broke off inside his finger* when he swatted snow off the bush in the backyard where the snow fell. (And fell and fell.)

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This is the husband soaking his hand because of the finger that still harbors a thorn after surgery was performed – complete with green tourniquet – on his hand in the ER because of the thorn that stuck all the way through and broke off inside his finger* when he swatted snow off the bush in the backyard where the snow fell. (And fell and fell.)

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This is the lesson learned by the husband soaking his thorny hand because of the finger that still harbors a thorn after surgery was performed – complete with green tourniquet – on his hand in the ER because of the thorn that stuck all the way through and broke off inside his finger* when he swatted snow off the bush in the backyard where the snow fell. (And fell and fell.):

Never judge a bush by its “cover.”

 

Other versions of this lesson:

A soft and fluffy exterior may hide a world of thorns.

Never swat at snow unless you know what is underneath.

Sometimes, beauty is only skin-deep.

 

Other lessons learned yesterday:

  • Never ever bring kids to the ER. Ever. (So thankful for friends who came to the rescue so we didn’t have to! WE LOVE YOU, friends!)
  • Winter gloves are great for keeping your hands warm, but they don’t do much to protect you from sharp objects.
  • When going to the ER with a thorn/stick broken off inside your finger, be prepared for the receptionist to say something like, “So. You’re here for a… splinter?”
  • Be grateful for the nurse who says, “Not a splinter. More like an impaled foreign object.” Yes. That sounds much better, thank you.
  • Just because something doesn’t show up in an x-ray doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
  • When you’ve been impaled by a foreign object, one that enters your finger on the palm side and is visible just under the surface on the top side, you might think it is best to cut into the top to pull it out. And you might be right. Or you might just create a crater in the top side, so now you have matching holes on both sides of your finger. And the impaled object still stuck inside.
  • Just because a scalpel can tap the impaled object so that you can actually hear the click, doesn’t mean that the surgeon will be able to retrieve said impaled object.
  • When you go the ER with an impalement and they do x-rays, give you Benadryl, 4 numbing shots in your finger, a tetanus shot, and perform minor surgery on your finger, yet they do not remove the impaled object, you still have to pay for the x-rays, Benadryl, 4 numbing shots in your finger, the tetanus shot, and the minor surgery. Bonus: You go home with a hand that hurts worse than when you went in.
  • Sometimes, in order to get a date night, you have to impale your finger. (JUST KIDDING RHONDA! And lots of others. We know you’re willing to babysit.) 🙂
  • You know you have a good relationship with your spouse when you spend 4 hours in the Emergency Room, laughing the whole time, leave with the same problem you had when you came, and are still laughing together by the time you drive home on snow and ice covered roads. I love you, my brave husband! (This is, by far, my favorite part of the “lessons.”)
  • Oh yes. And never ever bring kids to the ER. Ever!!

*Summary: A stick/thorn pierced his glove, entered his finger on the palm side, went all the way through to the opposite side, and stopped just underneath the outer layer of skin. We could see it. His finger turned red and hot and was painful to the touch, not to mention had some serious swelling. The broken thorn still stuck in his glove. The remaining chunk of thorn was inside his finger.

The end.

The Apple Has Been Compromised.

Posted in laughter, my boy by

We’ve heard all the excuses in the book.

I’m too full.

I don’t like that.

It touched the dressing.

It smells funny.

It looks funny.

It tastes funny.

It’s green.

It’s orange.

It’s brown.

It’s too crunchy.

It’s too mushy.

I only like it when it’s by itself, not in something.

But this time, it was apples. And apples are his favorite. So when I asked the 3-year-old-boy-covered-in-marker to finish the apples off his dinner plate, food nearly shot out our nose when he shook his head no, held up his marker-covered-apple, and said, “The apple has been compromised.”

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That’s a new one for the books.

Fall Changes

Posted in family outings, joy found, laughter, my boy by

Last night, as we drove down a windy road lined with colorful trees, I said to the kids, “Look, guys! Look at all the beautiful fall colors!”

Jacob started in with one of his long one-sided conversations. The kind where he asks lots of questions but answers them himself. The kind where he pauses often, but you can tell it’s only because he’s working so hard at figuring something out. Here is the monologue he gave…

Yeah! I see them. And you know why it’s called fall, Mama? (Pause) Because da leaves change colors and den fall from da tree!

And you know why they fall, Mama? (Pause) Because it’s called fall!

And do you know why it’s called fall, Mama? (Pause) Because da leaves change and fall.

And do you know why they do? Because it’s called fall.

(Long pause)

I guess… I guess when things change, they dist fall.

(Long pause)

Da road doesn’t change, and it doesn’t fall.

(Long pause.)

A bush and grass doesn’t change, and dey don’t fall.

(Really long pause, then he perks up and says excitedly…)

I fall when I change my undies!

(Pause, then he wraps up his monologue with this concluding statement…)

Yep, only things dat change fall.

 

And there you have it. The answer to the question “Why the Leaves Fall.” Wisdom from my three-year-old.

And be careful next time you change your undies.

Happy Dramatic May Day

Posted in joy found, laughter, my boy, my girl, parenting (aint for sissies), the parents by

I posted this on Facebook this morning:

It’s 8AM. We’ve already had enough drama to fill several days. My children. They were not blessed with calm, unruffled, phlegmaticalness. (Yes, it’s a word.) Bless them.

Who am I kidding? Bless ME. And give us grace on this very dramatic average Wednesday. We could use a heap.

But oh how I love these dramatic littles. Their drama (sometimes) brings me much laughter… resulting in further drama. Apparently, I’m not allowed to laugh. Or at least not at them.

So just a couple examples of the average Wednesday drama:

Child 1, while discussing the possibility of doing May-Day flower deliveries, throws herself on the bed in a heap of tears. Because HOW DARE WE leave flowers WITHOUT SAYING HELLO. When I let her know that is just exactly the point – to surprise people who are expecting to see someONE, but just see flowers – she only cried harder. Because that just CAN. NOT. HAPPEN. Ever. “Mom! I can’t NOT say hello when I am at someone’s house that I just love so much! (sob) I mean, how COULD I???? (sob sob, loudly sob)”

Child 2, while getting his ginormous claws clipped after ripping holes in my skin by accident, announces in his most dramatic tone with dramatic facial expressions and dramatic one-handed-motions (the other was being clipped), “MOM. You HAFTA stop. dis. now. Because I am SO DONE getting my nails cut. I have stuff ta do.” Of course you do, 3 year old. Just cutting me to shreds isn’t on the to-do list today.

Child 1, while playing (dramatically, of course. Because all her play is like a stage production), suddenly bursts into tears again, “MOM! I just don’t understand… WHY would you want me to ring the doorbell and RUN AWAY from someone I love so much? (sobs and more sobs)” Oh dear. We’re still on this. It’s now a thing. Bless her.

Child 2, after I got him dressed and walked out of the room unintentionally leaving him alone, he sings – yes sings (and rather well, I might add) – this song from Les Miserables (“Castle on a Cloud”)… “Please do not leave me on my own. Not in da darkness by myself…”

– Let me pause here. Because what just-turned-three-year-old ON EARTH sings songs from Broadway productions to communicate to their mother just exactly what is happening? Mine. MY just-turned-three-year-old does this. Yes. We are dramatic in this house. –

So then I post my comment on Facebook. The one above. A few kind friends post encouraging words. And then this conversation happens:

  • Paul Kuzina Love you Holly–your honesty is refreshing, and you will glean much prayer support as a result of it. Holding you up in prayer—Dad
  • Holly Priestman ^And dad, were you not totally and completely PROUD that I used such a BIG word? Phlegmaticalness. That’s like a dozen syllables or something. I MUST be your child.
  • Paul Kuzina I was wondering if it actually IS a word!
  • Holly Priestman Ummmm…. YES. Although FB doesn’t seem to think so. Whatever. Look it up.
    (I have waited YEARS to be able to tell you that! YEARS!)
  • Holly Priestman ^Probably even decades. Because I am officially THAT old.
  • Paul Kuzina I don’t own a Funk and Wagnall’s. Sorry! (Mom did that to me! She mocked my predisposition to loquaciousness, and this is the result!)
  • Holly Priestman Funk and Wagnall’s? You might be dating yourself. I’m not certain of that, since I don’t know what it is, but I’m guessing so…. Try this new thing called GOOGLE, dad. It’s even better than old Funk.
    And you just trumped me. Because now I have to look up “loquaciousness.” Whatever.
  • Paul Kuzina Okay, I apologize for ever doubting my teacher daughter. “Phlegmaticalness” is, indeed, a word. (Loquaciousness” is also, I might add.)
  • Paul Kuzina Syn: verbosity, garrulous, logorrhea, prolixity, etc.
  • Paul Kuzina I personally think “logorrhea” is a good one. That sounds a lot like “diarrhea” of the mouth.
  • Marie Scanlon HAHAHAHAHAHA! I love this convo. I love words!
  • Paul Kuzina And one last thing…how dated do you honestly think I am, Holly? I just used Google to verify those words. So there! Your old man isn’t too archaic!
  • Paul Kuzina BUH-bye!
  • Holly Priestman I HATE it when dad says a big word that I don’t understand and ask him to define, only to get a string of words that I also mostly don’t know. Dad, you WOULD like logorrhea. (FB doesn’t think it’s a word either. Underlined in red.) I expect it to come up in conversation soon…
  • Holly Priestman My FAVORITE part of this entire conversation: The man who uses the word “loquaciousness” without having to look it up, then leaves the conversation with the “word” BUH-bye.
    I have absolutely NO IDEA where my kids get their dramatic flair.

Dramatic flair? Yes. And maybe also his flair for words. One of my favorite words they say is “butcept.” They use it regularly…

“I LOVE this doll, butcept it’s hard to change her clothes.”

“Mommy, you look really nice, butcept you should probably fix your hair!” Um, thanks.

And so I end with this:

My life is a bit dramatic. Of the 3 and 5 year old kind. It’s the best kind. I so love those dramatic littles (and their just-a-wee-bit-dramatic grandpa who makes me laugh in his wordy drama all the time.)

And maybe, just maybe, I inherited a bit of said drama. And maybe even dumped it by the bucketloads into these children I birthed.

We reap what we sow.

Butcept I am so thankful. Their drama brings so much joy and entertainment. I am blessed.

Now, on with this dramatic Wednesday…