The Funny, Little Elf and The Ghost

It’s story cube time again in school, my friends. If you enjoy a good tale made up of random ideas drawn from 9 picture die and told by an 11 year old and an 8 year old (with the help of their clever mother), then this is the story for you.

I now present to you: The Funny, Little Elf and The Ghost

Once upon a time, there was a mysterious lock… on a door… in a house. No one knew what the lock went to.  It was magical.  Now, there was a funny little elf.  This elf would take his funny little elf bike and ride around the neighborhood until one day he saw a new house.  It was mysterious and weird to him because he knew all the houses in the neighborhood, he knew everyone in the neighborhood and he knew everything about the neighborhood.  He went up to this mysterious, new house and knocked on the door.  When no one answered right away, he tapped his foot loudly and huffed then knocked impatiently, even louder.  Suddenly, a ghost answered the door and went “Bbblllllbblblblbllll!!!”  The elf jumped practically out of his skin!  He was confused by all this and annoyed but mostly confused.

He went home to ponder the meaning of it all.  He pulled out this lucky abacus.  It always gave him the correct answers to the most difficult math questions so he was sure it could help him solve the mystery of the new house with the magical lock.  He stared at the abacus for days.  Finally, he knew what to do.  The abacus told him to fly a rocket up into space and look down on the earth and say, “What’s wrong with you world?”  He had to do this because the abacus told him to.

When he came back down to earth from space, he landed on his house (with a mouse in it) and crushed both the house and the mouse.  (It was a sad day for the mouse’s family.)  He was extremely mad about all this so he found a tree with a large tree trunk, big enough carve an entirely new house out of the trunk.  He decided to live in the tree from then on.

However, while all this was fun, it still hadn’t helped him solve the mystery of the house with the magical lock.  He knew he needed to look for clues.  So he dressed in his very best Sherlock Holmes costume and began to search the neighborhood for clues that would tell him the secret of the house.

First, he talked with a tree that had a face.  The tree said, “Bblbllblblblblblbl!”  The elf replied, “Oogie, oogie, oogie.”  To which the tree said, “Well, sir, I don’t know anything about the house other than that there is an old man living in the house that died yesterday!”  At this the tree used his mighty branches to push the elf down into a mud puddle.  Now, the elf’s feet were ever so dirty, as well as the rest of him, but mostly his feet.  He went to go wash off his dirty feet and happened to find some footprints… covered in gold!  He picked up the golden footprints and made millions of dollars.

With his newfound wealth, he hired the world’s best living detective, Batman.  Batman called the Justice League and they all went over to the mysterious house to solve the mystery.  What they found has astounded everyone who has heard this tale. They found a….

And then the funny little elf, grew to be an old man.  He never told anyone what they found.  But he did move into the house and had lots of girly tea parties with the ghost.

The End.

Moms are the Shasta (And so are kids)

It’s Mother’s Day. The one day a year we acknowledge how truly amazing our moms are. We make lists of how awesome they are and include lots of tear jerking items like:

  • She’s always there for me
  • No one loves me like Mom
  • Her strength and wisdom made me what I am

Blah, blah, blah… Moms are the shizz. And they are. I have had 3 moms, 4 if you include my mom-in-law. So I know a thing or two about moms. And I truly and deeply appreciate all of the women who shaped Bonnie Margaret Cox into the fine lady she is today. But today, I wanna give a shout out to my kids. 

  
Without children, I would never have become a mom and I wouldn’t have an extra day to celebrate my outstanding, awe-inspiring radness. (Not that we need an extra day for that, every single day is enough.)

But having children has taught me so much I don’t think I would have learned otherwise. Having kids has taught me the true meaning of hard work and sacrifice. You don’t understand sacrifice until you’ve had to sacrifice something in your life for your child. (And in Abraham’s case, until you have to sacrifice your child.)

Having children has taught me patience. It’s made me a little softer around the edges. It’s made me realize the importance of choosing my words wisely. And caused me to slow down and smell the roses and choose to enjoy my loved ones while I have them with me. 

I’ve learned so much about myself too. Kids are like having a little living mirror of your own brain and personality. Every bad habit and obnoxious trait are amplified in front of you. You have to learn how to change that in yourself so you can guide your little ones through the pitfalls of acting like a complete dumbass. 

And having children has completely changed how I read the Bible. I have a greater understanding of God’s love for His children because I know how I feel about mine. It’s taught me the real meaning of unconditional love and how it’s possible to completely love someone you’ve never met. 

I never wanted to have kids at a young age, IF I ever did have kids. My plan was to wait at least 10 years before we had kids. But 3 years after we got married, one night of fun without a rain coat and we were preggers. I’ll never forget Nick’s reaction when I told him I was pregnant and didn’t just have the flu. He literally grabbed his face with both hands, his back hit the wall and he slowly slid down to the floor. No words came out of his open mouth. (That makes me LOL.) We weren’t ready for a kid AT ALL. But that didn’t matter, Meghan was on the way, regardless. 

Now, I can say I wish I’d had kids earlier. I’d be a better person and I’d be much younger when my kids stop being kids. Still, I’ll be pretty young when Sam turns 18, I’ll only be 44. Nick will be 48. We can be newlyweds again. It’s gonna rock so freakin hard. 

So, yes, I’m thankful for my moms. I’m thankful for the sacrifices they made and the love they gave. But I’m equally thankful for my girls. Without them I wouldn’t be who I am now. They are, without a doubt, the best learning experience I’ve ever had and the greatest joy of my life. 

I love you, Meghan Elizabeth Cox and Samantha Anne Cox. Thanks for making me a mother. 

Secrets, secrets are no fun… Who am I kidding? They’re totally fun!

Everyone has secrets. They can be funny, or embarrassing, disturbing, or even criminal. The list goes on and on. 

Why is it that people are so interested in finding out other people’s secrets? I, myself, have always been drawn to mystery and detective stories. I love/hate it when I solve the case before the hero. I love it because it makes me feel smart and superior to everyone else. But I also hate it because that means I’m smarter than the hero of the tale and know the end before it happens which is pretty anticlimactic.

I also love/hate it when I can’t figure it out and then the solution turns out to be incredibly obvious. I love it because that makes it that much more suspenseful and the hero of the tale is worth my admiration because they actually did solve the case. But I also hate it because that means I’m stupider than I thought I was, I mean, it was staring me right in the face the whole time.

But that’s all just in stories. Real life secrets are usually much more mundane. The real reason they become secrets is that they’re far too boring to tell anyone. You never say anything and so it just remains your own little secret.

I have secrets, just like everyone else. Some of mine are really boring, some are sad, some disturbing. None of them are criminal. (At least I don’t think so.) And as I sit here trying to think of secrets I wouldn’t mind sharing here in this post, I am struggling. The real secrets, the disturbing ones from my past are much too private and personal and honestly, I don’t want to share them with anyone. I don’t want to share the sad ones either. They’re sad! I don’t want to bum anyone out. And the boring ones are, well, boring. It’s the kind of stuff people post in “25 Things About Me!” on FB. They aren’t real secrets, just the stuff other people don’t know that you secretly think is very interesting about yourself. (But no one else does.)

So I’m going to sit here and think of one real secret about myself that’s:

  1. Not too personal (Cuz you gotta buy me a steak dinner before we get that real.)
  2. Not a bummer. (No one likes to be bummed out.)
  3. Not boring fluff that no one cares about. (Cuz no ones cares about those. Duh.)

But to qualify as a real secret it has to be something I don’t necessarily want people to know, something that makes me a little uncomfortable to share. I also don’t want to share anything that could hurt someone by reading it. This little secret sharing experiment is meant to be fun, after all! So this is going to take some time. 


But while I’m thinking you get to become a time traveler. I’m going to sit and think about this. It could take hours, days even. But you’ll get to read what I’ve come up with right now, in fact, by the time I finish this sentence…

Ok. I’ve got it. After much inner debate (and the opinions of 3 other people), I have decided to tell about my first experiences with alcohol. It goes like this: (Drop the beat)

I was just a girl, at the tender age of 14. (I’m beat boxing in my mind as I tell this.)

My parents held their first Messianic Seder. (It’s Passover but with Jesus.) Because of Passover there was a lot of wine in the house and there were so many people my folks didn’t notice that I drank 4 glasses of wine that night. Needless to say, I was completely buzzed by the end of the night. 

A few days later, after Passover, I realized there was still quite a bit of wine left. I started sneaking sips of wine here and there when I was alone in the kitchen. I wasn’t drinking much so I figured no one would notice. 

But they did. 

My parents called my sisters and me into the kitchen to ask who had been drinking the wine. My sisters, of course, denied it and so did I. The only difference being that I was freaking lying. 

Now, the way I remember it, mom and dad weren’t satisfied with all those denials, they wanted someone to ‘fess up. So I suggested that one of my sisters’ friends (who were pretty young) had perhaps thought it was juice and accidentally drank some. That seemed to do the trick and it was never brought up again. I was much more careful from then on. 

My parents still do not know this story. But since it’s been 20 years since that happened,  I’m hoping if they read this blog they will find it in their hearts to forgive me. 

So there it is. Not my deepest, darkest secret. But hopefully you found it humorous and maybe a little revealing. 

I think discovering someone else’s secrets humanizes them for us and boosts our self-esteem a little.  We know all of our own faults and evils but unless someone tells us theirs or we discover them on our own, we might begin to think they don’t have any or that they are somehow better than us. 

Let me confess to you now that I have many faults and evils. I am keenly aware that no other man on the face of this earth could be as kind and understanding and forgiving of my many sins as my dear husband. I am truly grateful that even now, 15 years later, after hearing all of my secrets over the years, Nick still loves me and wants to be married to me. That’s freaking nuts, baby! 

But that’s nothing compared to my heavenly Daddy. Dude, he doesn’t just know all my messed up stuff, He witnessed it! WITH HIS OWN EYES. And, yet, He loves me, forgives me, redeems me, cares for me, provides for me. That’s not just nuts, it’s like face-explosion, nuclear brain mushroom cloud, bananas, Carl! Man, that’s so awesome. Just thinking about it is making me all “hot-fudge-brownie-sundae-with-hot-marshmallow-goo” inside my heart. 

Secrets are crazy, baby! But it’s your turn now. I wanna know one of your secrets. Leave me a comment, chuck me an email, text me, call me or whip it through the snail mail. Make it as juicy or fluffy as you like. I ain’t judging. And I won’t tell anyone what you told me neither. (Unless you ask me to. Haha) Open the luggage of your soul and let me have a peek inside. Unburden, baby. It’s gonna feel good, I promise. 

I’m peacing out now, yo! Love, kiddies! 

The Very Sad, Fat Sheep

Recently, I bought a game called “Story Cubes” for us to use as a creative writing tool during school.  We used them for the first time yesterday.  There are 9 dice with a different picture on each of the 6 sides.  You roll all 9 of the dice and then try to construct a story from whatever pictures you get.  Here is the story the three of us came up with after our first roll.

The Very Sad, Fat Sheep

Once upon a time there was a really fat sheep.  The sheep ate so much he was really unhappy with his figure.  The sheep was sad.  He was so sad he ate 50 gallons of ice cream and weighed himself.  And then he was sadder.  But what he didn’t know was that the scale he used was enchanted and it spoke to him.

It said, “Hey, fatty, what do you think I am, the Golden Gate Bridge?”

He was so sad that he jumped into a hot air balloon and tried to fly away but he sunk down to the ground and broke the scale.  He wanted to learn math so he could measure how fat he was so he bought an abacus.  The abacus he wanted to buy was very expensive so he sold his house in order to pay for it.  Now he was fat, sad and homeless.

He decided to eat a bunch of fruit to lose weight.  One of the apples he ate was actually poisoned but he was so fat he survived.  He looked around, he thought he was going to die.  But then something caught his eye.  It was a very rare beetle renowned for its healing properties.  He quickly ate the beetle and it made him all better and even helped him lose all the weight.  He decided to get a job as an accountant because he was so good at math now.

The end.

By Meghan, Sammee and Mommy