#WW How to Flush

Throughout Israel, one finds a variety of toilet flushers. Most of them round and split. A small button for liquid waste and a bigger button for the heavy crap. Although these are quite foreign from those found in America, none of them came with directions––neither in Hebrew, Arabic, or English––on how to use them . . . except for one. 

Bwaaa! I'm glad they told us because we Americans have no idea how to use this kind. As a side note, if this sign had been written for Israelis at this tourist site, it would not be in English.

#MM THEME SONGS

This week's Monday Music Moves Me assignment is theme songs. Since my husband and I are closing in on our 30th wedding anniversary, I figure I'd start the theme songs with ours. The words are not exactly good for a couple's theme song, yet while dating, we continually swayed on the dance floor to this one, so it became ours.

While we're on the topic of my husband, here's another song that makes me think of him. Not only is he a super athlete who leads others to bike 100 miles and has run multiple marathons, but he's also made major leads and bonds to help me with various problems.

My Men

April is a special month because it is the birth month of my men. On April 6th, we watched our first born become stinking old! How can I be 29 years-old when my kid just turned 28? Then again, I haven't been 29 in years because lying upward is more fun.

A week later, April 13th, my husband will turn 43. When he turned 50, he decided to age backwards. . . which makes me a total cougar, if I'm 84. Heck! I'm a cougar at my real age, too. So here's my choice, I can be a twenty-nine year old, having a kid whose twenty-eight or an eighty-four year old being married to a forty-three-year-old. Neither, sounds like a good option.

So, let's go back to my post title: My Men. It used to be this way. There was a time when I had my man and my little man. I still have my man, as in we're getting ready to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary; however, with my husband turning 43, that means I should be in jail for hooking up with a thirteen year old back when. 

Not good!

As for my little man. He gave up being mine. First there was his car. Daniel's first word was "car," so how was a mom to compete with a Jetta. His first car was actually an old minivan--Dontarius, but I'm not sure whether or not he loved it like his Jetta. As for my husband, he's not only smoking hot, but he's also quite clever and observant. When Daniel was sixteen, and the law specified that he could only have one passenger at a time with his new driver's license, my husband was quick to notice that the back seat of the van was no longer in the garage. So, when Daniel pulled up to a friend's house with a van full of teenagers, we were waiting in the driveway.

Next came this:

Perhaps you've noticed Ruby as the goofy picture that is my blog logo. She is most certainly Daniel's girl, and they've been hanging around together for nine years. However, he left his love with us for the Israel trip and has yet to pick up his package, so maybe she's losing momentum. Maybe, just maybe, he loves me more than his dog. Fat chance of that. 

And when it comes to love, I'm now pushed down the importance meter by Daniel's cute girlfriend. She is absolutely everything I was looking for when I advertised for his wife on his 25th birthday, but I am also further down on the importance meter.

That's okay. Mothers aren't supposed to stay as number one in their sons' lives. Number one is what I'm supposed to be in my husband's life, and I am. Right, Mitchell? Mitchell? That's right isn't it? He's not answering.

Anyway, happy birthday to Mitchell and Daniel! Whether you claim me or not, I still belong to the two of you . . . and my girls!