Monday, May 31, 2010

Monday MckLinky: Why This Housewife Blogs

Mrs. Hart at The RHOK is posing the question today: Why do you blog?


Since I'm on the verge of my 6th blogaversary it's a question I ask every year and evaluate my purpose, goal and how this whole thing here is going.

I'm the first to admit this little blog here isn't the same blog it used to be. It's changed over the course of six years, but then....so have I. I don't post as often as I did in the beginning, but six years ago Kady was a toddler, Sam had just finished PreK and was ready for Kindergarten and Abby was a big bad 2nd grader. Strange as it seems, I had more time then. Back then I was just a lonely momma who was drowning in diapers, Blue's Clues and Bob the Builder, concentrating on ear infections and developmental milestones and making sure the kids didn't hit, bite, pinch or pull hair. My biggest excitement was my 2 1/2 year old using the potty and talking my husband into letting me sleep in for an extra hour on Saturday. I started blogging as an outlet, a connection to the outside world. I was logging all the things my kids did and said, while at the same time putting down for all of perpetuity the goings-on inside my head. It kept me sane six years ago.

Now my babies aren't babies at all anymore. Abby is staring 8th grade in the face and will be 14 in a few months. Sam, now 11, just finished elementary school and moves to the big school across the street in the fall. Kady is my lone grade schooler now. Instead of developmental milestones, potty training and teaching them animal sounds and their ABC's they're visiting the orthodontist, having boyfriends, dealing with mean girls and bullies, learning how to be the grownups they'll be in the blink of an eye. Instead of logging all the minute daily details of their lives - and mine - I steal a few moments once a week to jump in here and write something that usually falls short of what I want it to be. I'm working on that.

So why do I blog now? Well, for one thing I bought the domain. Essentially, I'm invested. LOL I'm kidding. I am proud of Redneck Diva and how people still read it, even if I'm not as punctual and routine as I once was. I still need this outlet, just maybe not as much or as desperately. My life runs at a different pace now, but it's so nice to know that when I need it I can find my way back here and just write. I've written some really good stuff over the years. I've written some really bad stuff. I've written WOW, I've written meh. And still y'all read. I guess (hope) the WOW outshines and overshadows the meh. And I do love making people laugh. I'm going to get back to that - to finding the funny in the every day. Just hold on. Loosely. (Ooh, that should be a song....)

Now, in addition to Redneck Diva, I write reviews at The Redneck Review, my not-so-weekly column at WelchOK.com and I collaborate with my girls at The Real Housewives of Oklahoma. I still blog because I want to, even if my want-to is outweighed by my busy kid schedule, neverending supply of dirty laundry and many bazillion other responsibilities. And that occasional stolen afternoon nap.

So...why do you blog? The Real Housewives and I would like to know. So write it on your own blog, put your link in the MckLinky on the RHOK page and tell the world why YOU do this "blob" thing, as my mom used to call it. I'm anxious to see what you have to say, but right now it's a holiday and I think I hear one of my children making noise in the back of the house. I'm shutting down the computer real quick so I can pretend to be asleep before she comes in to ask for French toast.


The RHOK

Thursday, May 27, 2010

140 No More

I don't like change. I like routine. I like normalcy. I like to do things the same way I've always done them. If you throw a monkey wrench in my plans I wig out. I do the quinessential cartoon run around in circles, waving my hands in the air, screaming my lungs out. On the outside I appear flexible and I will more than likely just go with the flow, but my guts are churning and my head is pounding and my heart is beating fast and I am fighting the urge to vomit. But only those closest to me see that ugliness. Everyone else sees me just smiling and saying, "Hey, great! Sounds good to me. You know me, I'm flexible."

But a change has been brewing for awhile now. And I've been sleeping and hiding and avoiding like a mad woman.

For the past few weeks I have been in a nearly constant state of unrest. Sure, the end-of-school activities were crazy and we're leaving on vacation next week, but that hasn't been the cause. I have been borderline mopey even, quick to tears and the main way I know something is wrong way down deep is when all I want to do it sleep. Sleep is escape from the things plaguing me. Some folks get insomnia when they have something on their mind, but me, I just want to sleep until the problem is gone. The problem with that, though, is that it's really hard to solve a problem while you're asleep. 

I have been blogging just almost six years here at Redneck Diva. I have been writing for WelchOK.com since January. Last month we launched The Real Housewives of Oklahoma. I have a Facebook page, a Facebook fan page for Redneck Diva and I tweet more than that nest of birds in the oak tree out front. And I'm not doing justice to any of them.

My last article for WelchOK was about my intense love affair with my electronics. I realized the other day that I literally carry my cell phone with me from room to room because I'm afraid I'll miss something if I leave it unattended. I have permanent heat scars on my thighs from the laptop. (Okay, I really don't have scars, but I possibly could in the near future.) My thumbs ache. (Okay, they really don't, but when I'm an old lady I bet that's where the arthritis shows up first.) My husband has told me on more than one occasion he wishes he'd never bought me in iPod and that I'd never bought a laptop. I've been telling myself that at least with a laptop I'm in the living room with the family, rather than out in my office on the desktop, but if you're in the room physically and not there in spirit you're not really there and that's kind of insulting to my family. Recently I find myself giving my kids absent nods as they talk because I'm mid-text, tweet or status update. I should be ashamed of myself. And I am.



I love writing. It is truly a part of who I am. When I write and it all comes out the way I want it to, it is euphoric. It's cathartic. It's liberating, exhilating and I'm proud of my talent. When I write and it doesn't come out the way I want it to, it's a challenge, it's something to tackle, re-work, ponder over and fix until it does come out right. I cannot fathom not writing. God has given me a talent. I hope I don't sound conceited when I say that, but I know I have something here. If a person who has a beautiful singing voice sings in public they're not conceited, they're using their talent. They're not flaunting it, they're utilizing what God gave them. Right now, pretty much all I'm doing with my talent is putting out little 140-character quips. It's all appetizer and no meat and very unsatisfying.

What I'm doing with all of my many endeavors right now is like having a balloon that is fully is blown up with air. It's huge with potential energy. If you let out a little at a time, especially if you pull the opening taut and make it squeak, the results are okay, moderately amusing (sometimes annoying) and eventually the balloon is empty. But if you just let that balloon go and it flies around the room all crazy, bumping into things, making you jump and dodge and giggle, it's more fun. And much more gratifying.

That being said, I have decided to back off the Facebook and Twitter. I'm keeping Facebook because I have a 20 year class reunion coming up next year and that's how I intend to get in contact with the majority of classmates. I am, however, disabling mobile alerts. I will keep the Twitter account for awhile, but it will probably be deleted in the very near future. I'm nervous about this because it's a habit, and a fun one at that. I literally had a moment of panic this morning as I thought, "But how will I know what everyone's doing when they are doing it??" Then I remembered, I don't have to know what everyone is doing all the time. There was a time in my life when I didn't know who had PMS, who was shopping for a swimsuit, who just saw a celebrity in a coffee shop and who is the mayor of what location on 4square. Strangely enough, I survived and was happy living my own life. Now I am obsessively trying to keep up with the shenanigans of the 333 people I follow on Twitter (most of whom are total strangers), the 100 fans of Redneck Diva and 371 friends on Facebook (some of whom I haven't spoken to since 6th grade). It's exhausting. My phone chirps constantly. I'm sure my phone is tired. I'm tired.

I'm using all my potential energy in little blasts all the time and when it comes time to produce something I'm already deflated. I feel like writing these days is homework and who likes that? What I'm producing these days is comparable to essays like "What I Did On My Summer Vacation" and "The Person I Most Admire" assignments from 8th grade English. I miss making you laugh. I miss your comments. I miss feeling proud of what I'm putting out here. I miss using inspiration to create something good.

I love my little blog here and I love all the people who made it what it is. I love writing for WelchOK because it's fun and different and makes me feel all grown up and important and stuff, like the syndicated columnist I someday hope to be. I am thoroughly enjoying the adventure that is the Housewives site and can't wait to see where it takes us and what we can accomlish though it. I have no intention of not doing what I'm doing here and those places (unless the housewives kick me out for being a heinous procrastinator), but above and beyond being a blogger and a writer I am a wife and a mother and a person who needs to reconnect with the four most important people in my life - the ones who live in my house.

And I'm going to do it in more than 140 characters at a time.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Make Momma Proud

Yesterday was the last day of school. My 2nd grader magically became a 3rd grader, my 5th grader is now a 6th grader and my 7th grader now and 8th grader. I now have two children in the middle school. My youngest will now fend for herself in the elementary with no siblings. She'll do fine. She's got enough moxy for 15 kids.

I have three kids with three vastly different personalities. I know I've written about this before, but as they get older it becomes even more starkly clear to me just how different they are. I swear they all three have the same daddy. Swear.

Abby is very mature for her age. She constantly has her nose either in a book (usually horror) or focused on her cell phone. She is very self-confident, very quiet, very tough. She rarely cries. It doesn't happen often, but if you hurt her she doesn't cry - she just gets PO'd beyond imagination and she will likely never forget. She likes to get her way. She is well-liked by most and the girls that bully her are the ones that can't break her and they hate her for her self-esteem and pride. She is tolerant of her siblings and very protective of them, although she wouldn't admit it if you asked. She is intelligent, but performance for the sake of a report card is a non-issue for her. She is only now emerging from two years of apathy regarding learning, schoolwork, teachers, intelligence, grades or anything involving a school. 4th grade was rough, 5th grade she gave up, 6th grade she figured out she's not getting out of it any time soon and settled in, 7th grade has been wonderful from this momma's perspective. Learning doesn't come easy for her, but when she's got it, she's got it. She is not a straight A student and probably never will be. She could be and maybe someday she'll decide to be. Right now she is a solid B and C student. I'm okay with that.

Sam is fairly immature for an 11 year old. He posesses so much drama it's sometimes hard to remember he doesn't star in a soap opera. Sam  is loud, happy, hilarious, compassionate, sensitive and where his older sister is tough, he isn't. He likes to get maximum results for minimal effort. If it doesn't come easily, he gives up in a fit of anger and frustration. He will give you his last dollar, his shirt, his lunch, his heart. He believes everyone is good and when they prove themselves to be otherwise he is devastated. Teachers love Sam. Kids, sometimes not so much.  He can spell much better than he thinks he can. Math is very hard for him. I see him struggle with the same things I struggle with and yet I can't help him because my math shortcuts are mine alone and he'll have to come up with his own, ones that make sense to him. He, too, is a solid B and C student. I'm marginally okay with that. He can do better and he will. He's 11. I take that into account. A lot.

Kady is probably a little more mature than your average 8 year old in some ways, less mature in others. She's a whiz at everything she does. She excels at virtually any task she takes on. She is loved by teachers, loved by students, parents think she's adorable. She is funny, yet intense. She will mother-hen you to pieces. She can talk you into a coma. She is detail oriented and strives for perfection. If perfection is not achieved she is devastated to the point of near hysteria. She is a raccoon disguised as an 8 year old girl: shiny things distract her. She doesn't mean to disobey most of the time - she just kind of forgets she's supposed to be doing it because something else caught her eye and she has to investigate, speculate, ponder and probe. And sometimes it's really just because something was shiny. Kady is a solid A student. She reads well above her grade level. She really likes school. I'm okay with that.

The last day of school means awards assemblies. 5th grade had theirs a few weeks back, which is new this year. They separated them out because they do more in the elementary and their many awards, prizes, etc. made the end-of-school assembly last approximately seven years. Sam read the state required 25 books, got an award for outstanding computer student, a certificate for Student Council and one for theatre.

Yesterday Kady got an Outstanding Owl award which is basically an award for having good manners, good grades, good behavior, good attitude, etc. She also got Star Reader in the Accelerated Reader program. There weren't but maybe four or five kids who achieved that level. Her daddy kind of teared up when she showed him her reading award.

Abby didn't want to attend the high school assembly because she said she knew she wasn't going to get any awards.

Last night as I was tucking the kids in last night I praised them all as I hugged them. I told Sam I was proud of a report card that showcased the first three letters of the alphabet so well. He thought that was funny. I told Abby I was proud of her for doing so much better in school this year and that I was sure her report card would have more B's than C's this year. I hugged Abby tight and said, "I'm proud of you, big girl," and this led Kady, the family busybody and eavesdropper, to exclaim, "But you're more proud of me because I got awards!" She didn't say it mean, she didn't intend it to be mean, she's just proud of herself and knows I'm proud, too.

Abby stiffened a little and I was quick to correct Kady. "I am proud of you all the very same, honey. I'm proud of your reading award, I'm proud of Bubby's computer award and I'm proud of Abby's totally aced Science final.....and her awesome ninja skills." This got Kady giggling and made Abby grin.

I love all three of my children equally, but they all have different strengths I admire and weaknesses I try to nurture out of insecurity. I don't want Abby to ever think that because she has adamantly declared that she doesn't want to go to college that I am any less proud of her. I didn't want to go to college. I tried. I didn't succeed. I'm okay with that. Am I less of a person because I am degree-less? Am I less intelligent than my friends who have Bachelors or Masters degrees? Not at all. Abby has expressed interest in attending Vo-Tech when she's old enough. She wants to be a stylist and own her own salon. I think this is an amazing dream. She could very well be a business-owner in her mid-20's. Sam wants to move off to New York City and attend Julliard. Or, because his parents are poor, maybe a less expensive fine arts school. He proudly declares himself to be a "future actor". Will he leave his momma and move to the big city? If that's what he wants to do, I sure hope he does. Kady is 8. She will be a third grader next year. Many things remain to be seen with her. Will she continue excelling at school? Or will she level off and decide that perfection isn't necessary to succeed?

I don't know what the future holds for my kids. I only hope I can continue to nurture the best things about them, help them work through the things they struggle with and support them whatever they do. Maybe Abby will graduate Valedictorian. Maybe Sam will become a middle school math teacher and never leave Ottawa County. Maybe Kady will be a stay-at-home mom. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe they'll get married, maybe they won't. Maybe they'll have babies, maybe they won't. Maybe they'll always do what they love and call their momma every day. Maybe they'll always make me proud no matter what they do.

Yeah. That's my bet.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Monday MckLinky: What Do We Do Now?

Our oldest daughter is 13 1/2. Our youngest daughter is 8 1/2. Our son is smack in the middle of his sisters, resting at 11 1/2. We run the gambit as far as activities and interests in this family. The boy is into acting and Iron Man. The oldest is into uhm....well, we're not sure seeing as how she rarely emerges from the Bat Cave. We think she might like that thing attached to her hand...what do they call it? Oh yeah, a cell phone. And boys. And our youngest daughter is very into glitter. And drama. And basketball. Depending on the time of year, we have been known to drive over 100 miles in a day just taxiing kids where they need to be at any given time.

Paul and I were married three years before Abby came along. During those child-less years we danced many a two-step, played many a game of cards with friends and bowled our fair share. Looking back, I wish we had enjoyed it more, but truth be told, we didn't even want three child-free years. We just spent most of that time trying to get pregnant. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: We haven't known too many years of just couple-hood. And while we'll always be parents, there's a time in the not-so-distant future where our kids will leave the nest and flap their little redneck wings to parts yet unknown. (However, our oldest says I will still have to be available to tuck her in at night no matter how old she is or where she lives, so let's hope her husband is a very understanding man.) There is a time on the horizon when we will once again be a couple. Alone. In our house. Where no one can hear us scream.

It's funny that Mrs. McGillicutty chose this to be the MckLinky this particular week because I posted this Facebook status just a few days ago:


It's really not too early to prepare for our eventual retirement and I actually have given it some thought. Okay, I've pondered his eventual retirement since I like, uhm....I'm a housewife. Yeah.

I heard a preacher once say that in your life God should be your first priority, your spouse should be second, your children third. I gasped at the spouse's position as number two because as a mom of young children I had concentrated for many years on my children, their upbringing and trying to mold them into people who will not end up making "serial killer" their chosen profession and at times focused solely on them. After all of the mothers in the congregation that night finished their gasping in shock and awe at his declaration that we might possibly stop our world from revolving around our precious children, the pastor went on to explain. He said, "Your children will eventually grow up. They will eventually leave your house. They will leave you and start their own family. Then you're going to be stuck with that man you've been ignoring for 18 the past years. The man you now have nothing in common with."

That hit me hard. I had never thought of it like that and God bless my husband for not getting all bent out of shape by being stuck on the back-burner while I nursed, rocked, potty trained and focused most of my energy on our kids, dropping into bed exhaustedly with nothing left for him. Yes, I am a mother and it is my job, my duty, my obligation to take care of and raise my children, but it's not my job to ignore my husband in the process.

Our youngest child is 8, so theoretically we could be living in a child-free home as early as 10 years from now. I'll be 47, Paul will be 57.

Holy cow. He's gonna be old.

As we get older we are realizing that we like quiet moments together. Driving in the car with nothing but the sound of the road in our ears while we hold hands across the console is actually pretty nice. We kind of just like driving. We don't do the bar scene and I doubt that changes as we approach 50 and 60. We have given up on casinos. (Well, except for the fact he draws an actual paycheck from one right now. That's the only way we make money from one of those things.) While right now we aren't quite ready to join his grandma at her country and western dances we might be ready to scoot boots again in 10 years. I guess it will depend on my osteoporosis. He likes to play golf and I figure he'll continue this newfound hobby on into our empty nest years. Unless his osteoporosis kicks in, too. I may eventually cross over from mommy blogger to grandmommy blogger. And frankly, I miss reading. He loves getting on the tractor and digging up things, mowing things and just riding around pretending he's a farmer. Maybe we'll get a cow. We live on 40 acres and have told the kids that they can each have 10 to build houses on if they want. There's a distinct possibility our kids maybe leave our house, but never leave the property.

For a few years I nearly panicked at the thought of being alone with my husband after our kids left the house, but now, while I'm in no hurry whatsoever for my children to leave, I look foward with a bit of anticipation at what will occupy our time in the next 10 years or so. Of course, if the kids build on the adjacent 30 acres things might not change too much.


So now I pose the same question Mrs. McGillicutty asked today:

Look into the future. You've spent your life taking care of everyone else,
but now the kids are gone and it's just you and your spouse.
What do you do now?


Will you golf, bowl or dance? Will you look forward to grandbabies? Will you travel? Will you keep on blogging like you do now?


The RHOK

1. Answer the question on your blog (or in the comments sections if you  don't have a blog).
2. If you answer the question on your blog, add your name to MckLinky so that we all can discover the brilliance that is your mind.

3. Grab our button from the sidebar and post it either in your reply post or on your blog.

4. Enjoy and have some fun!

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Monday MckLinkly: Know Me from A-Z

Yesterday I was offline most of the day except for when the iPod would pick up a weak signal. The laptop was in the cellar most of the day because you know the really important things go down there first.

Mrs. Sinclair gave us a cute (and easy!) MckLinky yesterday and since I'm online today I thought I'd go ahead and play along.


A - Age: 37


B - Bed size: Queen

C - Chore you hate: Cleaning the bathroom. My gosh, that is just a deplorable room.

D - Dog(s') name: Giblet. Yes, as in gravy. See, we had a dog named Biscuit so when we got a new dog we named him Gravy. Then Biscuit joined a wild band of coyotes and then we got a new dog and named him Giblet to go with Gravy. Now Gravy, too, has joined the coyote gang and we just sound like idiots when we holler for our dog named after bird innards.

E - Essential start your day item: Caffeine - usually coffee, sometimes sweet tea, today Mountain Dew because I needed it instantly and couldn't wait for anything to brew.

F - Favorite color: Blue

G - Gold or Silver or Platinum: I'm a white gold kind of girl.
H - Height: 5'2 1/4" - yes, I add the 1/4" because it is very important when you're this short.

I - Instruments you play(ed): I took piano lessons for ten years, was in the Band from 5th grade on and played the flute horribly before I moved on to percussion where I played bass drum, bells, chimes and anything else they needed beat on.

J - Job title: Homemaker Supreme

K - Kid(s): Two daughters, one son

L - Living arrangements: A house on 40 gorgeous acres of Oklahoma beauty.

M - Mom's name: Verna

N - Nicknames: Mom, Dear, Diva, Kiki, Aunt Kiki

O - Overnight hospital stay other than birth: I was hospitalized a few times as a kid for ear infections (we had really good insurance and a doctor who liked money). Other than those, it's been in and out for me since aside from giving birth.

P - Pet Peeve: People who don't use their turn signal, people who think they are better than everyone and David Letterman

Q - Quote from a movie/show: "Next time I see that Bleeker kid I'm gonna punch him in the weiner." -- from the movie Juno

R - Right handed or left handed: Right

S - Siblings: One biological sister, three stepsisters and a stepbrother

T - Time you wake up: 5am during the week, usually by 7 on Saturday and 6:30 on Sunday.

U- Underwear: Yes.

V - Vegetable you dislike: Brussel sprouts and asparagus

W - Why you run late: My hair sometimes develops an attitude known best by those who also own naturally curly hair. It sometimes comes to life and refuses to cooperate.

X - X-rays you've had: Teeth.

Y - Yummy food you make: I am famous for my cake balls. Not many can say that.

Z - Zoo favorite: Giraffes


Now, even though it's Tuesday, link yours up, too!

The RHOK

Friday, May 07, 2010

Eleven Going On....

The other day I attended the 5th grade assembly at the kids' school since my only boy, my middle child, will finish his last year of elementary school in 13 days. I don't know how this happened.

Isn't it funny how parents say that? "I don't know when they grew up?" or "I turned around twice and they were taller than me and had facial hair and voices that cracked at inopportune times. And then they moved out."

I have done this whole 5th grade thing once before. Abby is now finishing out 7th grade, another fact that amazes me. When did she become a full-fledged Middle Schooler? I swear I turned around twice and ..... she really is taller than me.

I went to the assembly completely unprepared to cry. Really. I mean, I know I'm a cry-er and all and it sometimes only takes a Hallmark commercial to send me into sobs, but I didn't think I would. I'm a veteran mom now. I've done this before. But then I saw the big sign that said:



and then I started feeling that familiar sting behind my eyes and my chest did that hitch thing it does when I know a good bawl is coming. I held it in, distracting myself with Twitter and Facebook updates, talking to Sam's friend's mom and deep breathing.

5th grade envelopes a magical age, really. They are the top dogs in the elementary school. They hold all the offices on Student Council, once a week they read to the Kindergarteners, they scrape trays in the cafeteria, they get to change the letters on the marquee out front, they get to do the morning news cast and they are called upon to do various errands and tasks no one younger than them can do. They are virtually vibrating with nervous energy and hormones, blushing and stammering when a member of the opposite sex comes within a few feet. They also have attitude to spare as they try to figure out their place in the hierarchy of their world. I am fascinated by them.
(Sam and his favorite teacher of all time, forever and ever, Coach Goins.)

Sam is friends with a kid who already has the beginnings of a moustache. We're not talking peach fuzz here. Sam's friend is quite proud of his newly acquired facial accessory and has made the other boys insanely jealous. Sam asked me the other night how he could make his moustache grow faster. I wasn't about to tell him to start shaving, so instead I said, "Like this," then closed my mouth tight, puffed out my cheeks and lips and pretended to blow. Abby chimed in, "Yeah, Sam! You just do that all the time and you'll make the whiskers grow!" He laughed and said, "Yeah, right. You're joking." We neither confirmed nor denied. Of course, I wasn't counting on him going to his father to find out for sure if we had given him a tried and true method. And it was his father that told him to just start shaving. The screeches emitting from my mouth shortly thereafter probably traumatized the poor child into never shaving and will instead look like this for the rest of his life:


He just doesn't understand why I want him to remain just a little boy with barely a hint of blonde peach fuzz on his face for just a little longer. Right now he still wants me to tuck him in at night. He still hugs me at random times. Last weekend while we walked the mall Sam sidled up to me, slipped his hand into mine and we walked. He still thinks I'm funny. He says I'm beautiful. He comes to me for advice and feels the need to inform me of every new thing his pubescent body is doing, sometimes WAY more than I'd like to know. He still is of the opinion there will never be anyone as awesome as his momma. I, of course, agree with this thought entirely.

The other night we were sitting on the couch, his hand resting on my arm while he giggled at the merry band of teenage comedians on iCarly. I took his hand in mine and inspected it. It's so much larger than it used to be. The fingernails are considerly less dirty than when he was three and thought dirt was the greatest thing since peanut butter. Well, most of the time.

But those hands are someday going to be the hands of a man.

His left hand will someday wear a wedding band. Possibly those hands will hold a weapon as he defends his country. They are hands that will hold his wife's as she gives birth to their children. Hands that will cradle his newborn's head. Those hands will someday steady a bike while his daughter says, "Don't let go, Daddy!" and squeeze his son's as he nervously walks into his first day of Kindergarten. They will gesture, lead, direct, calm, comfort and soothe. Those hands hold so much potential.

But for now....they are the hands of a little boy. My little boy.