Mommy Barbie

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T12:49:00.000-06:00

So how did 2011 treat you?
I found that my year was chalk-full of just about everything:
I started school
We are planning the kids' first trip to Disney
We have enriched and developed our relationships with old friends
And we have begun to get to know new friends
Some things that have become crystal-clear to me this past year are:
I am ever-changing. This is both good and bad; exciting and frightening
Family is THE most important thing to me- and that is not limited to family related only by blood
It is Ok to have a different opinion than someone els so long as-
-the other person doesn't require you to change
-you don't lose yourself in the other person's opinion
I'm not always right
Sometimes it is better to say nothing at all
I don't have to always be the one who
-lays it all out on the table
-tries to make it right
-tries to make everyone else happy
I am not great- or even very good- at resolutions.But I am going o try to commit to the following (not just for the year, but on-going):
-I will try to better honor boundaries: money, food, time, commitments
-I will will try to be more gracious and more graceful; I will try to keep negative thoughts and opinions to myself
-I will try to always look for the positive
-I will stand behind those I love and stand up for what I believe
-I will talk to God about everything first- and quit trying to handle it all on my own!
Blessings to you all in 2012. May your year be full of love, happiness, and joy!

Parents: Just Playing It "Cool"

2011-09-05T16:38:00.001-05:00

Image via Wikipedia"Your mom is so cool," I heard the child whisper. "I wish my mom was more like her."

My head grew about 50 times bigger. She was talking about me. I was the "cool mom" of whom she was speaking.

And then I immediately became suspicious: Had I allowed something that most moms wouldn't? Had I unwittingly contributed to the delinquency of a minor?

I reviewed the evening's events and, having found no glaring error, dipped my head back down to eavesdrop some more.

"My mom would never dance around the living room to Selena Gomez songs with me," she gushed.

I beamed, feeling much more secure in my "cool" status once again.

Then I peeked cautiously around the corner to see if my child was doing any eye-rolling to protest her friend's proclamation. Seeing none, I chuckled to myself, "I'm cool."

Being a parent gives us many opportunities to be the "bad guy," to be the one who has to say "no" because we want our child safe, to be the one who has to be the voice of reason, which is hardly ever "cool."

However, the truth is, even as parents, we want to be liked. We want to be the envy of every other parent on the block. We want our kids' friends to want to hang out at our house.

And I'm not going to lie, it felt really nice to think I was in the lead of the non-official parental popularity contest. Maybe, just maybe I was doing something right?

I wanted to pull my child aside and say, "See, I told you I was cool. I mean, I know you thought I was completely barbaric for not allowing your friend to come over until your chores were done. But look- it didn't turn out too badly, did it? After all, they think I'm cool."

But, I knew better. As all we "cool" parents know, part of the "cool" factor is pretending not to care whether we are indeed "cool" or not. And, I'm here to tell you, I've had my share of practice in that department.

For example, when I took the cell phone away from my child because she talked to me in "that" tone of voice, she made it all too clear to me that I was decidedly "uncool." And when I made the mistake of acknowledging that I knew her in a public place, she completely shrugged off my question of going with me to the grocery store by glaring at me, and through gritted teeth saying, "NOT COOL, Mom." I managed to walk away with my head held high, repeating to myself, "You are the parent. You are not the friend. You will not always be cool."

And yet, miracle of miracles, today I have been dubbed "cool" by her peer, her friend, her confidant. I feel victorious, and, dare I say it, "cool."

Of course, I realize parenting is not a popularity contest. And sometimes something "cool" from a kid's perspective is "bad" from a parent's. But who in the world doesn't like to be liked and recognized every once in a while? I'd be lying if I said I didn't.

For now, I will hold on to this whispered revelation with both hands. I'm sure that in a very short while, my "cool" title will be stripped from me, and I will be back to the Queen of "uncool."

But as I dance around to the Selena Gomez song, laughing with my daughter and her friend, I realize something else: I am having fun. Cool, uncool, or otherwise. And really, that's the most "cool" part of all...

Thank You... I Think...

2011-07-09T16:38:00.003-05:00

Image by woodleywonderworks via FlickrIn my lifetime I have received compliments. And, of course, I enjoy receiving them.

However, there are some that I could have done without. Thus, I have a list of my top "un-compliment" compliments. And, as luck would have it, I will now share them with you:

1. This one started out fairly nicely:
                 Them:"You've lost weight."
                     Me: "Thank you."
                  Them: "How did you do it?"
   Me: "Well, I'm pregnant. And I've been very, very sick the first trimester."
                   Them: "Oh. Well..." (And here's where it goes bad.) "That's too bad that you're
                               pregnant... You really look good having lost weight."
Too stunned, to speak, I merely smiled and walked away...

2. The ultimate back-handed compliment:
   Them: "You look great."
                      Me: "Thanks."
                  Them: "I mean, you lost A LOOOOOOTTTTT of weight."
                      Me: "Um... Thanks?????"

3. Them: "You have great teeth. They are so white."
             (Sounds okay on the surface, right?
              But what you should know is that he meant that as a romantic gesture.)

4. Weirdest ever:
     Them: "You are an excellent cook. How do you get your chicken so white?"
       Me: "Um... I boil it???"
      Them: "Huh..."

5. Them: "You aren't THAT fat..." (Need I say more?)

6. Them: "You're hair is awesome."
       Me: "Thank you.
     Them: "Is it really that thin, or do you have it specially cut that way?"
       Me: "Oh, no, Um..."

As you can see, I've had lots of opportunity to feel good about myself in a bad way. I will keep the list updated as I receive more...

Hopefully it will be a while...

Zingers & Gotcha's

2011-06-13T07:49:00.000-05:00

Image via WikipediaQuestion: Just because you CAN say something, does that really mean you SHOULD say something???

Answer: Sure- if you're on television.

However, if you live in the real world, sometimes it behooves you, as an adult, to be the better person and shut your trap.

On television and in movies, characters rip off one liners that verbally push the other person into a little corner. We celebrate the victory of the winner. We laugh at the wit and are impressed by the quickness of our new "hero."

We laughingly utter, "I can't believe they actually said that," as we shake our heads and grin.

We think, "I would've added ________," imagining our our own verbal sparring skills, and all the sarcastic and caustic ways we would finish off the scene.

On television and in the movie, the scene fades to black, and we imagine the whole issue has been put to rest and forgotten about.

HOWEVER, in REAL LIFE, the camera doesn't turn off. If we are the recipient of a verbal "throw down," our emotions have been turned over, turned on and are ready for round two.

Would it sound more "cool" to battle it out? Sure. Would it "feel" better to throw a great big temper tantrum and roll around on the floor, then congratulate ourselves for really "getting" the other guy? You betcha'.

Sometimes being a grown up stinks. Sometimes being the better person feels like you're actually being a better doormat.

But I don't know that life is always about feeling "triumphant".

I think it's more about the relationships we maintain and the way we treat other people.

The world tells us how cool it is to be the big shot. Christ tells us to love our neighbor.

Often I have thought, "Well, is it cheating if I love my neighbor SO much that his head just accidentally pops off?"

That would make me feel better- for the moment. But then again- life doesn't stop at the end of a conversation. So I have to think about what comes next. What is my next encounter going to be like?

Holding my tongue stinks. Struggling to hold my tongue makes me tired.

But if the ultimate goal is to effectively communicate with people to our mutual advantage- sometimes that's what I have to do.

In fact, I still have to resolve whatever issue it is I had with the person. But I have to do it in a mature, non-name-calling way.

Wish more people outside of my television set and off of my movie screen felt the same way.

Happy Mother's Day to Me

2011-05-07T15:10:00.002-05:00

Image by Getty Images via @daylifeAll three of my children are extraordinarily bright. Academics are their "thing". They don't necessarily "love" sports. Of course they don't necessarily "love" school. But they excel at school & get really excited about learning and being challenged. In fact, they all go to an academic magnet school.

Hubby & I have sacrificed to make sure they are well-rounded and every opportunity. They've done dance, soccer, field trips, church activities, fencing, archery and just about everything else under the sun. We have wanted to prepare them to be anything they want to be.

To be honest, we believed we were preparing future doctors, lawyers, Congressmen and other such community leaders, as, I expect many parents believe. We even had our youngest boldly proclaim she wanted to go to Harvard. We could not have been more proud...

Then we had our aspiring Harvard academic tell us she wanted to be... a hair dresser.

How does that work? Does Harvard have a cosmetology school I wasn't aware of? Then the other two said they were planning on being a massage therapist and a salesman, respectively.

What about all the college prep work we've been working so diligently on? Do they need to go to college if they are going to trade school? Will they be able to live a lifestyle they choose with those careers? We have many friends whom we love dearly in those very professions, who have told us what a struggle it can be, and that they are not as lucrative as they had hoped. This compounds our worry.

However, when the kids talk about their (current) chosen professions I see them full of excitement because they are viewing them as ways to help people while using their creativity. And they see them as being family-friendly careers, as far as time is concerned- even if they don't make a six or seven figure income.

And I have to remember that these kids are still young enough that they could quite possibly change their minds a ton more times.

Of course first and foremost - as a parent I want my children to be HAPPY- regardless of what they do when they go to work.

So I have shifted my thinking. I will continue to make the sacrifices, continue to push them to do and be their best. I will try to promote well-roundedness and academic excellence. But I will remember my ultimate goal is: their happiness, which will make me a very happy mommy, indeed.

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Young at Heart

2011-05-03T22:02:00.001-05:00

Image via WikipediaWhen my children were younger, they went through all the normal milestones: crawling, talking, walking, etc. I'm sure I went through them when I was young, too. The thing is- I don't remember them.

However, my children are beginning to hit the age where I have started remembering my own personal experiences. Now I have something to compare.

So begins the phrase every child hates, "When I was your age..."

"But, kids," I say, "You don't know how good you've got it." And I watch watch as they try to be respectful by suppressing the eye rolls, the involuntary twitches and the sighs.

But in truth, I don't know how my parents would have reacted to this modern-day world, where we have products never even dreamed of when I was growing up.

I grew up with a phone that had a rotary dial, a cord that stretched almost the length of the house, and no call waiting or electronic voice mail. Cell phones were only something imagined on Star Trek, and they were called "communicators."

So, how would my parents have handled cell phones? Well, if having my own phone in my own room was any indication of my communication privileges, I would say I probably wouldn't have had a cell until every last one of my classmates had one. And even then, I doubt they would have allowed the texting feature unless I paid for it.

Does that sound harsh? Well, to them it was about allowing a child to grow up slowly and not giving them access to friends 24/7. Or at least I think that's what it was about.

They were probably just feeling their way along the whole parenting thing. Just like I do today.

Our family rule now is that children are allowed a cell phone when they are 10 years old. Many would argue that is way too young. But with our busy family of five, it works for us. The unspoken rule is that "if mom calls, you had better answer."

And my kids and I use our cell phones to text and call each other. I have been able to talk more with my daughter via texts than I ever believe I would be able to face-to-face.

I know of people who have let their kids have cell phones at age 6. Now, there's no way I would do that. First of all, at 6, my kids would have lost the phone in 15 minutes flat. Secondly, what does one 6 year old really say to another?

I also know of people who wouldn't let their child have a cell phone until they were old enough to purchase it on their own. That, in itself, is not a bad plan. However, it's just not one that necessarily works for our family. But then, that's just me.

I guess a lot of my parents decisions could have been based on affordability, too. Because my kids don't have "data packages" on their phones. I don't know if they would if I could afford them or not.
But I do know that I also want to limit their access to the internet and the world (via the computer & said data package). Why? So they can maintain some of their innocence and grow up more slowly.

Besides the differences in phones, I remember growing up with a tiny closet, the ability to walk to the store six blocks over without having a parent with me and thinking how "worldly" I was because I knew people who lived in Georgia- a whole state away.

Today, my closet is probably as big as my room. I wouldn't let my child walk more than about three blocks by themselves- and they had best have their phone and text me to let me know they got there okay. And I have friends all over the world through the magic of the internet.

The point? There are many lessons I learned in my childhood that I wish for my children to learn in theirs. They may not learn them the same way I did, simply because we live in such a different world than I did growing up.

But remembering my youth helps trigger some of those all-important lessons so that I can know the approximate timing for teaching my kids. And it also gives me a place to compare and contrast to try to remember what worked on me and what didn't.

My youngest child is currently counting down the months until she turns 10. I'll be very interested to see how she handles the responsibility, and how many friends she has with whom she can actually text & talk.

I'm also anxious to see how things change in the future. I mean, my youth was great. But how can you compare a rotary phone with an iPhone? Like Billy Joel sang, "The good old days weren't always good. And tomorrow's not as bad as it seems."

Soapbox: the Un-tied States of America

2011-05-02T22:25:00.003-05:00

Image by Getty Images via @daylifeSo yesterday my hubby and I were trying to moonwalk because we had heard the news that Osama Bin Laden was dead. -Not that we rejoice in anyone's death. We were rejoicing at the end of the tyranny exacted by this particular man.

Of course we weren't naive enough to believe he didn't have some protoge' waiting in the wings to continue his work, and possibly even be worse (*shutter*). But it was still a day we had wondered if we would ever actually see.

Facebook & Twitter jolted to life, heralding the news that Osama Bin Laden was dead. The President and the Former President congratulated each other on each of their parts to make that day possible. And Lee Greenwood's career was resurrected once more with every radio station in America playing "I'm Proud to be an American."

And then... The "talking heads" chimed in.

Suddenly, what seemed like a celebration turned into a very ugly civil war. The Conservatives and the Liberals were baring their teeth at each other to show who was the Alpha Dog. And every bit of the hatred once reserved for Osama Bin Laden now turned inwards toward each other.

Americans who once actually believed the words that we were "one nation under God" were now rather gun-shy to utter those words. "Isn't that rather politically incorrect?"

People who saw strangers have differing opinions from their own slandered the other opinion along with the other person. We felt the need so strongly to be "right" that it didn't matter if we really "made sense," because the Talking Heads could put the correct spin on any opinion to make it sound "right."

And suddenly, I wondered: What have we become? Who are we?

Are we really a nation with a cause and a purpose? Or are we really just a bunch of whiny babies who are only in it for what we, personally, can get out of it?

What happened to our integrity? Our honor?

If a war was waged on US soil, would we be able to counter attack? Or would we be too busy being worried about who would lead the charge?

The fact is, the United States of America has always been a "melting pot" of ideas as varied as the fish in the sea. But, we have always come together under the banner of our flag and our freedom.

I now wonder if that could be the case any more? Would we be able to put aside our opinions and our differences in the name of the United States of America? Or are our individual egos too big to fit under one banner anymore? Has our sense of entitlement grown to such an epic proportion we don't know how to stand up for our fellow man (or woman)?

Today our country is completely polarized by politics, religion and entitlement. People see no middle ground. The rough and tumble promise of "proud Americans" has boiled down to "proud individuals." We fight for our personal rights, but not the rights of our neighbor-- unless it can bring fame, wealth or both.

I am glad to see one bad guy out of the picture today. However, I would love nothing more than to see a truly United States of America, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

I would love to see us all just get over ourselves, our political parties, our religious persuasions, our lifestyle choices and our unspoken class system and just get along!

Sign Me Up for SPAM! NOT!

2011-04-29T09:13:00.002-05:00

Image by brizzle born and bred via FlickrI am an admitted "sign me up now" junkie.

It's sad really. I can't help it.

Evidently there is some sort of camera on my computer that allows internet businesses to hone in on the "SUCKER" stamped across my forehead. I'm minding my own business, browsing through the internet, (usually late at night when I'm drowsy and my common sense is snoozing) when I see some ad that promises youth, wealth, beauty, brilliance, creativity-- "and all for FREE". Wow! All that for FREE??? Sign me up!

And in goes my email address. And I'm signed up. For life.

Despite the fact that all these great offers promise you they "won't share your private information" and that "you can unsubscribe at any time," I have the sneaky feeling that they might be LYING!

Not only do I get solicited via email for stuff I would NEVER, EVER sign up for, when I try to unsubscribe, I usually end up jumping through a series of hoops which never get to that magical "Thank you. You are now unsubscribed." In fact, I'm pretty sure that when I try to unsubscribe, it is actually just subscribing me to additional lists.

The worst part? It's my own fault!

But really- Who doesn't want to lose 35 pounds in 14 days by following one simple tip? Who doesn't want to get free designer hand bags and shoes you get to test and keep, and only have to fill out a short survey to help the manufacturer? Who wouldn't want to clip coupons so valuable that the supermarket will have to pay you to take the groceries? Of course I want a free iPad, iMac, iPhone and iPod for simply completing offers from two sponsors.

I am a glutton for punishment and an advertiser's dream come true.

The result of all these impulse mouse clicks is an email inbox stuffed to over-flowing every time I turn on my computer.

I almost need a little shock system installed in my computer keyboard that zaps me when I initiate a certain series of key strokes that are required for almost every smoozy deal out there.

What is your name?

Key Stroke: K-R-I **ZAP**

See? Sign up aborted; Junk email avoided.

*sigh*

If it were only that easy....

For now, I guess I'll continue to get email offers: for diapers, although my youngest child is 9; for AARP membership, even though I'm not even 45 yet; and for everything in between...

You know, maybe there's a course or a self-help book that would help curb my impulse clicking. I think I'll see if I can sign up for a blog or free offer...

Beauty & the Beast

2011-04-02T07:17:00.003-05:00

I tell stories about my children so often, because they are such good subjects for material! But this post is dedicated to one of my greatest goof-ups of all time. (Just so you can feel a little good about yourself today.)

I have dark hair and dark eyes, which I got from my mom. I feel very blessed to have gotten her beauty- both inside and out.

CAUTION: MommyBarbie Waxing!

However, as the saying goes, "No good deed goes unpunished." Dark hair on my head also means dark hair on my legs. (ew) Not the best look for bathing suit season.

For years I have shaved. And shaved. And shaved. Only to have to shave again, lest we have a "five o'clock shadow" on the beach or at the pool.

This year, I decided, would be different: I would somehow resolve my "beastly" problem in a way that involved me being in the shower less and on the beach more! My conclusion? WAX!

I checked out the local prices for waxing. Yikes! To actually achieve a smooth, hair-free body from head-to-toe we were talking major bucks! Suddenly, I was having to choose between a hair-free vacation at home, or a somewhat less hairy vacation. Of course, I'm a sucker for that golden sand, so I determined I would just wear a wet suit and be done with it.

But then- wait! Sally's Beauty Supply sells all of the "stuff" needed to wax like a professional- in my own home! Eureka! And the cost of all the supplies was about 1/3 of what it would cost to go in for that head-to-toe intensive follicle rip. I'm in!!!

Fast forward to Friday night. (Yes, my life has come to waxing on a Friday night. *sigh*)

I prepared the wax in the special warmer, read the instructions, decided to be "dangerous" and NOT watch the enclosed video (how hard could this be?), and went for it!

My legs were not too bad. One big rip like a band-aid and my hair was gone! This rocks!

Then I got to the back of my knees & upper legs. Oh how I wish I had been a fly on the wall to watch the gymnastics and contortions of trying to reach the backs of my knees & upper legs. They are not easy to reach even when I shave without some interesting positions. But add in the extra "wow" factor of hot wax and waxing strips, and we had ourselves a show! (Thank goodness no one was watching!) Finally, I believed I had at least scared most of the hair into deciding not to grow any further, even if I hadn't gotten it off. So it was time to move on to...

The bikini area! Okay- let me just say: OUCH! This is one area I can totally say would be worth any amount of money not to have to self-inflict. But once I was half-way in, I could not bring myself to stop and go to a "professional," to whom I would have to explain myself. I could only imagine the conversation: "So, I got this waxing kit..." No... I couldn't imagine the conversation. So I had to move (proverbially) onward and upward.

After the stars in my eyes began to clear and I stopped weeping openly (My gracious, the things we do in the name of beauty!) I figured it may not look great, but it was decidedly better than before. So on to the arm pits...

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

First of all, the wax is HOT! And somehow every nerve ending in my body was concentrated in my left arm pit. Talk about "no pain, no gain." Geesh!

Then, just as I was reaching for the strip to put over the wax, so that I could then rip away the hair...

...my middle daughter came in the bathroom totally distraught, having gotten ill with the stomach virus.

Without thinking, I turned to her to check on her...

and put my arm down...

with the hot wax...

and no strip.

By the time I realized it, it was too late.

My left arm pit was waxed shut.

So then, I was dealing with my daughter and getting her cleaned up with the equivalent of a broken left wing. But with the extra excitement of having movement cause intense, blinding pain.

Finally having gotten her settled, I returned back to my poor, sad left arm pit. "At least," I reasoned, "the hair will be gone once I get my arm pit un-stuck."

Um, no.

After prying it open enough to put in warm water & the special spa stuff that takes off the extra wax (Thank you, God, for making me buy that on impulse!), I realized that not a single hair was pulled out.

I spent a good twenty minutes trying to get the gooey, sticky wax out of my arm pit.

Then I jumped in the shower and went back to the trusty razor for both Arm Pit One, and Arm Pit Two.

On the whole, I would say my waxing experience was a success. And I will probably stick to some waxing- particularly from my knees down.

However, it will be quite some time (and perhaps a hefty dose of some sedatives) before I venture into the arm pit waxing business again.

But, on the plus side, I am beach-ready... Well, at least I'm (body) hair-free...

Now I just need to lose some weight, find "the" bathing suit and wait for June to get here!

Is Lent That Stuff You Find in Your BellyButton?

2011-03-19T21:13:00.000-05:00

Image via WikipediaNo.

That's Lint.

I'm talking about Lent.

It is a tradition in my church that to help learn discipline, we "give up" something for Lent each year. There is something comforting in sharing each others' misery as we bemoan whatever we're missing.

My father gives up sweets every single year. In the past, I've given up sweets; I've traded my time for bible study; I've given up going out to eat, and various other things.

This year my family has decided to give up television as a family. I expected a lot of resistance and much weeping and gnashing of teeth. However, they have been particularly good about it. (Especially since Sundays are not included in Lent, so we can watch television those days as a family.)

Prior to their Spring Break, we took a trip to Wal-Mart and bought out all their board games and craft supplies. We came home and compiled a list of alllll the things they could do that did not require television.

As a result, my kids are talking to each other more than fighting with each other (which I assure you is no small feat). They have enjoyed numerous board games and craft projects, and rarely even mention television at all.

Obviously, I am very proud of their faithfulness and discipline. I wish I had half of what they have.

I have given up more than just television. I decided I needed to get healthier so that I could be a better steward of my time, money and body. So to help jump start this process, I also gave up soda, FaceBook and fried foods. And I have chosen not to take the "day off" on Sundays, but rather plow on ahead (being the black & white kind of girl I am).

I have managed to not break down into tears in public as my kids order their McDonald's french fries and coke. And I have pulled myself away physically from the computer to keep from checking FaceBook. And every time, I think to myself, "Whose stupid idea was this, anyway?"... "Oh yeah, mine..."

When Easter comes, I will go back to my beloved FaceBook. However, I am choosing to permanently delete soda and fried foods from my diet (with the rare occasion of a treat).

My kids will get to watch television again. I hope that we can keep the drooling-zombie-inducing practice to a minimum. Perhaps a schedule that outlines the few times during the week we will watch it. Or maybe just watching it one day a week.

Either way, this experience is proving to be much more of a blessing than a chore. And we are all more appreciative of the things we once took for granted on a daily basis.

I guess that's the real reason for Lent.

Slumber Party is an Oxymoron

2011-03-14T23:42:00.000-05:00

Image via WikipediaSo, what began as a "lazy, relaxing evening," quickly turned into a sociology experiment run amok. I planned on me and my kids having a do-it-yourself dinner, then playing board games for the evening.
Ha! And I say "Ha!" again!
Dear son invited three (3) other 14 year old boys over. Dear older daughter invited one friend over. And dear younger daughter invited one friend over. I should also mention that we are watching my brother's dog, too. So there was a total of: four boys, four girls, two dogs, a cat and me.
I'll give you three guesses as to what dinner was like. The boys plowed through the pizzas like it was their job. I've never actually seen two slices of pizza eaten in three bites- until tonight.
The girls giggled and carried on, while primly sitting at the table and eating their miniature pizza slices with a pinky in the air. However, they found the candy bars- and hid them from the boys, even feigning ignorance when questioned by said boys.
Then there were cell phones. Wow. I was in invisible parental heaven. While I sat quietly in my room, I eves-dropped on the boys calling girls from their class and asking them, "So, if you HAD to like one of us, which of us would it be?" And I listened to the girls giggling madly as they texted back and forth with a particularly "cute" boy from their class.
If I ever asked them point-blank about these things, I would likely get no more response than a hair toss and a shoulder shrug. But in their ego-centric world, where they can't believe that anything happens unless they witness it, I was a fly on the wall, soaking in every word.
I was pleasantly surprised at how appreciative and polite all of the kids were. Typically, kids have a bad reputation of being snarky, disrespectful and generally feeling like the world should cater to their every whim. However, these kids thanked me for the pizza, in between snarfing it down in large gulps. They made sure the dogs didn't eat extra food lying around. And, they were respectful of my (very generous) curfew times.
Yes, it was very loud. Yes, I felt considerably old and quite out-numbered. But, over all it was a very nice experience. And my kids had a blast.
And the best part? I'll bet we can all go to bed early tomorrow night. :)

Ooma

2011-01-24T22:30:00.000-06:00

Image via WikipediaRecently I had the privilege of helping my grandmother, whom we call Ooma, as she had an extended stay in a residential facility while my parents were out of town. She usually lives with my parents in her own little apartment off of their house. However, while mom and dad were out of town, she decided she might like to try staying in a place where she could talk to other folks her age.

Every day she was there, she appeared to have as many, if not more, visitors than the Pope. There was a constant stream of family and friends visiting with her. And she, being the ultra-extravert that she is, delighted in every moment of her visits.

In the evenings I had the unique blessing of going to help her as she prepared for bed. At 95, she is exceptionally spry mentally. However, her osteoarthritis has given her lots of physical ailments that make her occasionally need some assistance. And even though the facility staffed people to help her, I was honored to be asked to go in to provide a familiar touch.

It is beyond amazing to imagine what she has seen and been through in the last 95 years. She has been through The Great Depression, World Wars, and too many presidents to count. And she remembers it all.

I think that is one of the things I marvel at the most. I can barely remember where I parked my car when I come out of the grocery store. She can remember making root beer with her five brothers and sisters when they were young, how she and my grandfather courted, the way my father was as a boy, and my childhood and adult years.

She is so very gracious about any little thing you do for her. I would sometimes put her toothpaste back in its holder for her since it was a bit hard for her to reach. She would thank me profusely, as though I had invented toothpaste and named it after her.

My whole family got to take part in our visits. And my brother's family did, too. We even got an "adopted" member of the family in on the fun!

She is now back home with mom and dad. I know she is much more comfortable, since there is no place quite like home. But part of me will miss spending those hours with her in the evenings, as the moon was high in the sky, listening to her tell me about her day. And then, on occasion, she would delve back into time and tell me the stories of her youth. And stories about my father as he was a boy.

I know I will see her frequently at her home with mom and dad. However, I will forever cherish that time I had with her. We talked about the way the world is, and how it was. She told me about growing up and growing old. She voiced sadness over bad times. But we also laughed- a lot.

She is a very, very special lady. And I am so honored to call her my Ooma. And I feel blessed to have my children know her, too.

I love you, Ooma.

Love,
K
xoxoxo

"Politically Corect" is the Anti-Snark

2011-01-12T15:38:00.000-06:00

Image via WikipediaDear Reader,

Let me be absolutely, perfectly, 100% clear: I LOVE my kids, my husband, my family, my friends, my life. I am so very, very blessed.

However, I am human. And I have some very, very human moments when I get frustrated with one, some or all of my blessings and have to rant a little to blow off some steam.

For the last several years, I have used blogging, Twitter and Facebook as my ways to vent and let go of my steam. It has been mutually fulfilling and cathartic to be snarky, sarcastic and sometimes borderline caustic to spout off.

BUT (and this is a big but) I am (sadly) going to have to pull in the reigns to my snarkiness, tone down some of my sarcasm and completely curtail anything that could smack of being caustic.

Evidently in some circles my cathartic spouting is considered to be un-PC (Politically Correct).

And, in fact, some people even believe my sarcastic wit to be the gospel truth. For example, if I say I'm going to duck tape my children to the mail box, they would believe that. (Silly, silly people. If "they" knew me at all, they would know that I would NEVER, EVER hurt my children physically or verbally. So instead, I grouch about them. That way we all laugh instead of being ill.)

Anyway, back to the subject: I will be working hard to make sure all my public comments, essays, rants, or otherwise, are completely PC. My blog posts, my Twitter posts and my Facebook posts will be written as though the very most discriminating viewer will be scrutinizing my every word.

And I promise to still try to be light and fun to read.

Just know how hard I will be fighting my inner-snark to keep her down.

Stay posted & wish me luck...

Sincerely,
MommyBarbie

Snow Day with the "Naked Brothers Band"

2011-01-11T13:58:00.000-06:00

Image via WikipediaEver heard of the "Naked Brothers Band"? If not, consider yourself lucky. Not that it's bad, per se. Just that it's taken over our day.

This snow day has consisted of back-to-back episodes of watching pre-teen, angst-ridden kids chasing each other around and trying to sing. (Think "Hannah Montana," but with nine year old boys.)

Needless to say, I'm rethinking my excitement over the whole snow day thing. But my kids? Oh my goodness- they are completely mesmerized.

Maybe it's the idea that anyone can be "famous". Or it's that marginal talent (coupled with famous parents) can make a "rock band". Or maybe it's just that there's nothing else on (that the kids are allowed to watch). But my kids are thrilled.

Me? My migraine from last night is not helped by this at all. I actually had to take an extra Exedrin.

What the kids don't know is that in a few minutes, the TV is going to go "to sleep" and they are going to read or do something more constructive than watching the "Naked Brothers Band" episodes back-to-back.

Now. For the big-time, serious question of the day: Will they be out for a snow day tomorrow, too?

I'm okay with it... as long as we run out of "Naked Brothers Band" episodes before tomorrow!

SNOW DAYS!

2011-01-10T20:53:00.000-06:00

Image by J Crow via FlickrWhat is it about snow days that seem so fabulous? Is it the fact that it's (relatively) unexpected? Is it the fact that it effectively clears your schedule for the day- without any work on your part? Maybe it's a little of both.

Last night (after making our obligatory run to Walmart for bread, milk and eggs: required sustenance for Southern Winter snow) we went to bed to a crisp, clear sky, the kids praying for a miraculous twelve feet of snow. While the inches may have fallen somewhat short, we did get snow, and it did achieve the desired result: school was closed.

Then, miracle of miracles, this afternoon it was announced that school is closed again tomorrow. The kids were delirious with joy. I expected open weeping.

I, too, am excited for another snow day. I have several assignments for school I'm trying to get the jump on. So I'm actually trying to be somewhat productive with my time- while admitting I have also enjoyed staying in yoga pants and a sweatshirt all day.

If tomorrow it is announced that we will be out again on Wednesday, it may begin to lose its charm, as cabin fever sets in and the kids look for ways to bug the snot out of me. That's when I start threatening things like duck-taping them to the mailbox (in warm clothing, of course) until their father gets home.

But for today, and hopefully tomorrow, we will enjoy the beauty of the snow- along with the sheer joy of the snow day. My alarm is NOT set. And I have fresh yoga pants and sweatshirt ready to wear.

Happy 2011!

2011-01-01T23:44:00.000-06:00

Image by J. Griffin Stewart via FlickrWow, where did 2010 go? I swear it just started 10 minutes ago.

Some of our highlights of 2010:

Franzi, our German exchange student, left (We miss her terribly)
My sister-in-law's wedding
Our church celebrated it's 40th birthday
My grandmother's 95th birthday
Connor's tonsils came out
Hubby's deviated septum was un-deviated
Kids all finished up school year strong
Family beach trip
Family cruise
Kids in 8th, 5th & 3rd grade
Connor's 8th grade football season
Courtney takes up the trumpet
Courtney's sewing skills
Caitlin's ability to keep from getting sick
I got invited into the Master's program for Teaching at Trevecca (will start next week)
Had a fabulous Wii Dance competition. Naturally, the kids won!
Christmas with family & cousins!
Hubby got a cpap machine and now doesn't snore (Yipee!)
Tigger (the cat) is Pet of the Year
Dixie (the dog) is not

Resolutions for 2011:

Well, pretty much the standard stuff: You know, lose weight, save money, work smarter not harder, exercise, and generally be a better person.

This blog will let you know if and when I succeed. And you can laugh along with me as I chronicle my short-comings.

Here's hopes for you & yours to have a wonderful, blessed 2011.

Dye-ing to be Young

2010-12-09T21:14:00.000-06:00

Image by rightsandwrongs via FlickrNot too very long ago it seemed like folks aged faster. For example, my grandmother's photos of her at 40 look like someone today who is 65.

And men didn't fare much better. My own family tree boasts at least one or two men who had the ever-attractive "comb over," which eventually turned into the tragic "wrap-around."

Today, however, while some men go with "Hair Club for Men," even more go for the shaved head. Baldness has become a wide-spread phenomenon that some men should just not embrace. Either because their heads are in some unfortunate shape, or because their cheeks are wider than the top of their head, some men (and I know you've seen them) do themselves no favors by choosing to combat aging and hair loss by shaving their heads.

For the men who do look nice in the "Mr. Clean" look, the crisp look of a clean-shaven head can keep them from looking like they are aging quite so rapidly. Whereas, the olden days of trying to tease out the remaining hair into some kind of shape to resemble a full head of hair just screamed "old man" and really looked more like road kill than hair.

Women in my grandmother's day simply went gray. Hair dye was not nearly as wide-spread, and the colors available (especially in the drug store) were pretty heinous. So, most graying women would cut their hair short and coif it into some kind of curled helmet at the beauty salon. The style, along with the horn-rimmed glasses, said "aging" in big, red letters.

Enter in the ad campaigns by the beauty manufacturers: "I'm not growing old gracefully; I'm fighting it every step of the way." Suddenly, women have morphed into endless twenty-year-old's.

Hair dye has evolved into an entire science and industry of its own. Skin care has transformed wrinkles into smooth-as-a-baby's-butt skin. And whatever can't be treated chemically, can be nipped and tucked by a quick surgery.

Hair dressers around the world rejoiced at the turn of events. They were making money hand-over-fist with the advent of the perm. Then, women went "natural," and the perm went the way of the "comb over."

When the fountain of eternal youth was heralded to come from a little bottle of hair dye, the hair stylists sighed with relief, then jumped for joy. Then when highlights and lowlights, straighteners, blow-outs, and all the other numerous styling options dawned upon the horizon, hair styling was, once again, back in the proverbial "black".

I, myself, have succumb to the bi-monthly visit to my magician (aka my hair stylist) to erase the years by covering the gray. And I suspect I will continue to do so.

The result of all of these new hair styling/hair dying techniques (along with some significant wardrobe improvements) is that at 40, today's men and women look at least 10 years younger than our ancestors.

I'm hoping this trend continues. That way, when I'm 50, I'll look 20 years younger (comparatively). I mean look at Hollywood: Raquel Welch looks like she's in her 40's. (She's not in her 40's.) Shania Twain is "hot", even though she's well over 30, and a mom.

Yesterday's Hollywood starlett had to be in her 20's to be the "it" girl. Today's starlett can play a grandmother and still be considered "hot" for her age.

As I write this, I'm having to "arrange" my hair to cover my very gray roots. My hair dresser has fussed at me and begged me not to tell anyone she's my stylist until I get them fixed. (Can't say I blame her. BTW, Lindsay, I'm coming to see you Dec 17th!)

So, when you see me Dec 18th, be prepared to be wowed by a very youthful looking mother. In fact, you will probably think I look like I'm closer to my daughter's age... Okay, maybe not quite that young. But I will definitely look better. And I will definitely look younger!

Hair dye is definitely a miracle worker for at least 90% of the American population of women (my guess). My prediction is that this will continue and improve. And we will all continue to look younger than our predecessors. This... makes me happy.... :-)

Stupid Patrol: 'Tis the Season

2010-11-28T15:48:00.000-06:00

Image by turtlemom4bacon via FlickrEvery year I go out with such high hopes when I go Christmas shopping. And every year my hopes are crushed within the first thirty minutes of the first shopping trip.

This year has proven to be no exception. I was in the Christmas section of Wal-Mart when I got a great big whiff of "Bah Humbug."

And that kind of poor attitude did not stop at the end of the wreaths, trees & lights. It permeated the entire store. In fact, there was a stark contrast between the joyful Christmas music playing overhead, and the pervasive mood of the store.

Children were crying, parents spoke sharply, several customers looked mad just for the sake of being mad. And even though there's a Christmas song that talks about the hustle & bustle of Christmas in a happy, joyful way, this hustle & bustle was cranky & irritated.

Oh, and one mustn't forget how Christmas brings out all the people who normally stay at home, except for the occasional midnight run to Wal-Mart for beer & bread. These are the people who are wandering around like deer in headlights with an actual grocery list and no skills to actually acquire the items on said list.

I had an idea for this season's shopping: I think everyone should be assigned a time to shop. That way it wouldn't be overly crowded at any given time, and the staff could be scheduled accordingly. And, since it's my idea, I propose that we clump all the stupid people together. That way stores can prepare for the special circumstances that inevitably crop up when the stupid people are shopping.

For instance, Wal-Mart could have an employee over in Tires and Hardware who would redirect the stupid people looking for tobasco sauce and underwear to the appropriate departments. And they would close down the self-checkout lanes all together.

The other thing I would request, since this is my idea, is that I get to shop at any other time except for when the stupid people are scheduled. Goodness knows I've shopped with enough of them I should be exempt. (Yes, ma'am, you do have to cook that turkey before you serve it... Well, sir, I'm fairly certain that vacuum does not require batteries. You plug it into the wall... No, ma'am, I don't work here. But I shop here very often, so I can say with certainty that Wal-Mart doesn't carry Abercrombie & Fitch cologne.)

I hope you all have a wonderful, stupid-free shopping season. And to all a happy, idiot-free goodnight.

ZZZZZ....

2010-11-22T22:34:00.001-06:00

Image via WikipediaWhat is up with people (especially children) who don't want to sleep? I so don't get that.

My bed is my haven, my inner sanctum. I absolutely love to cuddle up in my bundles of blankets and pillows and wallow.

And dream! Who doesn't like to dream? I'll grant you, nightmares are no fun. But generally speaking, my dreams are harmless, happy, witless apparitions that float across the front of my brain.

My children hate to sleep. They would do just about anything to keep from going to bed at night. And on weekends, when I am looking forward to dozing, they are up at the crack of dark, begging for something to do. I suggest sleep. They balk and act as though I've asked them to donate their liver.

I can't tell you how many conversations in my house go something like this:

ME: Go to bed.

CHILD: But I'm not tired (said in high, nasal, whiny, VERY tired voice)

ME: It's so far past your bed time. You are going to miserable tomorrow. Please go get some sleep.

CHILD: *YAWN* But if I go to bed now, I'll get, like eight hours of sleep. I don't need that much sleep.

ME: Yes you do. Now, let's go.

CHILD: Can I watch TV/listen to music/read a book/color? (read: anything but sleep)

ME: No. I want you to sleep.

CHILD: But if I do (insert activity) it will make me sleepy. Right now I'm not tired (rubs eyes)

ME: If you don't go to bed right now, I'll dock your allowance by $2.00 for every minute you're out of bed.

CHILD: That's not fair. You and daddy are up.

ME: I'm not kidding. The clock starts... NOW.

CHILD: (Scrambles to bed while complaining & mumbling).

Then I finish folding the load of laundry or changing the sheets on the bed, or whatever task I'm doing. Then I go to tuck them in and tell them goodnight; they are snoring. I thought they weren't tired???

Besides just plain liking sleep, I find that the many, many benefits are well worth the horizontal time invested. For example, sleep is when your body replenishes, heals and relaxes. Everything from weight loss to athletic performance is attributed to getting quality sleep. And it's the number one fighter of the big "S" word (Stress!).

I do have a rare instance of insomnia. And it totally stinks. I hate watching the clock, bleary-eyed while I wait for my alarm to go off. I really feel for friends who have regular bouts of it.

Hubby snores. And I know I've mentioned this before. Because hubby is not a "normal" snorer. He's a snore-so-hard-he-sucks-the-drapes-off-the-windows snorer. Remedy? Ear plugs for me.

Son snored. Had tonsils removed. Now he doesn't snore and he sleeps much better.

I don't snore unless I'm sick. Then I'm told I could wake the dead. But I'm usually far too asleep to hear myself.

Just talking about sleep is making me... You guessed it: Sleepy. LOL.

As I write this, my children, feigning the superpower of not needing sleep, are trying to climb out of their beds to play some more. So, I guess as a responsible parent, I need to jump off my computer to go shoo them into bed.

Also time for me to snuggle down into my happy slumber for the night.

So, Good Night. And, Sweet Dreams...

I'm Weird

2010-11-21T16:32:00.000-06:00

Image by elana's pantry via FlickrI'm weird.

I grew up in an a-typical American family: My father and mother married, then had children. They have never divorced. I rarely see them disagree. And we liked each other.

My brother nor I did drugs or ran with the wrong crowd (Okay, that last bit could be challenged, depending on who you talk to LOL). We both made good grades and had jobs in High School. Each of us married our spouses, then had children. Each of us are gainfully employed, and have happy lives.

I also like my family, and my husband's family. I don't feel like I'm discriminated against. I don't feel like the world owes me anything, or the government is out to get me. But I'm not on any kind of medication (prescription or illegal) that makes me ingenuously happy, either. I don't have a vice that is any more egregious than diet coke. I really don't drink very often. I don't smoke.

My children don't have any disabilities (other than the fact that we are their parents LOL). They are polite, well-mannered children. They get good grades and enjoy their family.

We don't "tangle" with the law. We don't have any "Oprah-worthy" events in our lives. We would never be good material for a reality show.

We go to church and have strong beliefs. But we practice tolerance and loving our neighbors.

Basically, we are "plain vanilla" in a "thirty-one flavors" kind of society. And I personally could not be happier to be plain.

The funny thing is, while diversity is promoted in the media, and abnormality is celebrated as what is the true "norm," ours is the life people want. Pop star calamities are glitzy and make headlines. And standing up to admit our failures and shortcomings to the world is so common, it's almost passe'.

But at the end of the day, most people would rather have had a satisfying, fulfilling day of work, and come home to a loving family and a warm home.

So, yes, I'm weird. And this Thanksgiving, I give thanks to God that He made me that way. I am happy and content... and weird.

May you all have a plain, weird Thanksgiving, too!

It's Been Ages... But I'm Back!

2010-11-17T22:48:00.000-06:00

Image by Getty Images via @daylife
Oh my goodness. Has it really been over a whole month since I posted last? Oh, bad Mommy Barbie!

Much has happened since the last post. Some funny; some sad.

The most exciting things:
1) Our family went on a cruise to Mexico
2) I got accepted into a Masters program at Trevecca Nazarene University and will start school to earn my teaching certification and Masters on January 8, 2011
3) The kids are all alive & well
(Not necessarily in that order)

The cruise? I was a bit nervous at first. The Carnival cruise ship that ran out of power was on the news only one day prior to ours. AND we were on Carnival, too! *Gasp*

But, it was fine & it was oh-so-much fun! I didn't have to cook or clean for five whole days! And (bonus) I got to bask in the warm sun in Mexico AND haggle over prices in their marketplace.

The teaching program is a long-time dream of mine finally coming true. It is the epitome of "In God's Time." I've been pushing this thing uphill since I graduated High School. Twenty-three years later I had all but given up. Then, *poof* God does His thing, and it's all fallen into place more beautifully than I could have ever dreamed.

The kids... Ah, well, they have declared an all-out, go-for-broke, fight-to-the-death war upon each other. Their take-no-prisoners, shoot-first-ask-questions-later approach has worn on my poor nerves.

I have even had to institute "Mommy Time Outs" so as not to take a child/all the children out to the end of the drive way and duck tape him/her/them to the mail box. They pick fights with each other for no good reason other than to fight. And I always feel like I'm in the middle of a pack of caged tigers who are prowling around trying to establish territory.

We have managed a bit of a truce on the fighting front. But it is a very tenuous truce, and needs only the smallest, assumed look to be broken. It was especially fun for the whole family on the seven hour drive down to the cruise port.

In fact, we had so much "fun" on the way down, that I gave each of the kids either Dramamine (because two of the kids actually had motion sickness on the cruise, and I wanted to ensure a comfortable trip home in the van) or night-time Nyquil (because one of the kids actually had a sinus infection and fever) to help them "rest" on the way home.

They slept like babies. And we had a fight-free ride. Hubby suggested I send in the slogan "Better vacationing through Dramamine" to the company. However, I assured him that just about every parent in the free world who ever rode in the car with kids knew the magical powers of Dramamine and Nyquil.

Tonight all of the children are sleeping soundly (with no medical/chemical assistance, I might add) while I write. Listening to the quiet house (even the animals are dozing happily) I realize why it has been so long since my last post: With hubby out of town more than he's been in town, these quiet evenings inspire relaxation and rest, rather than a burning desire to plunk around on a computer keyboard.

So, since I've (somewhat) caught up my posts for now, I'll bid you good night to continue the whole rest and relaxation gig. And I promise to post again much sooner. I wouldn't want you to miss out on the fun, crazy, silly, beautiful moments of Mommy Barbie's Adventures!

Blessings & Peace,
MommyBarbie :)

The Mother's Curse

2010-10-01T12:33:00.000-05:00

Image by mollypop via Flickr
I was talking with a friend of mine the other day and we were commiserating with each other over the behavior of our children (not the good behavior, though). She is a teacher, so I run many of my ideas for encouragement and discipline by her to see if they have a snowball's chance in hell in making any kind of difference.

On this particular day, her child seemed to be winning the un-official competition of "Who Can Make Their Mother Crazy First". My friend sighed. "Sometimes I think she gets paid to make me nuts."

I sympathized. "I know. There's no way they do this stuff because they think it's okay to do it. I mean, who puts a half-eaten peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in their dirty clothes hamper for fun? I really think it's a conspiracy." Then, a thought occurred to me: "Hey, have you put 'The Mother's Curse' on her, yet?"

"What's 'The Mother's Curse'?" she asked.

I was surprised. Not only she was a mother, but she was also an educator. How could she have missed this most valuable lesson in parenting? "Oh, sister, let me tell you. It's the best thing ever. But you have to save it for the perfect time."

"Well, tell me!"she laughed.

"Okay, usually you wait for that time when your child does something so completely ridiculous that you can't imagine that they got a single gene from your side of the family, and THEN they have the nerve to look surprised when you yell at them." I hear her snort on the other end, as this is a fairly regular occurrence for both of our children. "Yeah, I know. But you have to wait until it's a BIG one.... Then, you give them "The Mother's Curse," which goes like this:

       "Honey, I must say I'm sort of amazed that you're surprised by my reaction to this. But, we'll
        talk about that later. Right now, I just want to say," insert smile and finish sweetly,
      "Someday I hope you have children just like you."

"They never really know what hit them until it's much, much too late." I finish.

Hysterical peals of laughter come through my phone. "That's awesome!" my friend laughs.
Then after she interrupts her own laughter with: "Hey, wait a minute. Do you think that's what my mother did to me?"

"No, of course not," I promise her. "This all comes from our husbands' sides of the family."

We both laugh at this.

My children have all already received "The Mother's Curse." In fact, they can almost repeat it verbatim with me now.

Even though I told my friend it was our husbands' fault, I can't help but realize that I did, indeed, receive the curse as well. But that's okay. Because "The Mother's Curse" only extends to your children- not your grandchildren, as proved by my parents' relationship with my children.

So even though we're struggling through some good times and bad right now, I know that I am also rewarded by "The GrandMother's Blessing." What is "The GrandMother's Blessing," you ask?

It goes like this: "May you have more good times than bad with your children. May you hold the blessings in your heart, and may your heartaches fade with the setting sun. And, may you, after your children have moved on to the next phase of their lives, enjoy the greatest gift of all: grandchildren."

So, I wish you all "The GrandMother's Blessing," and lots of coping mechanisms, friends and laughter until you get there.

Have a great day!

Top 10 Fashion Tips By Me

2010-09-29T22:53:00.000-05:00

Image by Brave New Films via Flickr
As the season begins to change, I'm beginning to see the new fashions come out, along with all the people who are wearing them. I thought this might be a good time to share my all-time Top 10 Fashion Tips By Me (Kristi: aka MommyBarbie). Believe me when I say, I try to take my own advice, and I do not think I am better than anyone else. I prefer to think of these more as "common sense," which, obviously, some people are sorely lacking. (Just saying.)

Here we go...

10. Moms who try to make their children (especially boys) wear jumpers and peter pan collars when the child is over four feet tall, should lose custody of the child.

9. On the flip side of the coin, parents who allow their children to look "sexy" are not allowed to be surprised when their child takes on not-so-admirable behaviors (like running with a questionable crowd, having sex, and other such things).

8. If you have a "muffin top" when you try to wear low-rise pants/shorts/jeans- please don't wear them.
7. Outfits that look really "sexy" on television and in the movies end up looking "trashy" and "sleazy" when a soccer mom tries to wear it while driving her mini van.

6. "Sensible shoes" may feel great- but they can totally destroy even the most beautiful, well put-together outfit.

5. Just because a piece of clothing comes in anything over a size 4 doesn't mean it should be worn by any of us who are slightly/some/much/lots larger.

4. A "jury of your peers" will never convict a woman for killing a whiny, skinny woman for complaining that she "just can't gain weight" and "nothing looks good" on her.

3. Just because some of the 80's fashions are back in style, does not mean you can wear the clothes you actually wore in the 80's.

2. When someone says, "I mean this in the nicest way, but" or "I don't mean to sound mean, but," you are a "fashion don't".

1. Just because something is "in style" doesn't mean YOU should wear it.

I'm sure I'm missing some. And some may have other tips that they feel should replace the one(s) I have listed. But I think we can all agree, this is at least a very good start.

To any who are offended by my list, I would contend that, like Shakespeare says, "Me thinks thou dost protest too much." (In other words- if it hits too close to home, maybe you're reluctant to admit you are a "fashion don't".)

My suggestion? Find a friend and ask them to be honest. If you still aren't sure, post a picture on Facebook. If you don't feel comfortable posting a picture, then you shouldn't wear it. (Just saying.)

Ciao for now...

Who's the Baddest?

2010-09-21T08:34:00.000-05:00


Tigger hanging out


Dixie begging

It is only human to compare ourselves to others. Sometimes comparisons can inspire us to do better. But sometimes comparisons make us feel better about ourselves. And sometimes, comparisons make us feel better about someone else.

Such is the case with my dear children. No matter how aggravating they may ever be, there are members of our family who consistently exceed the children's ability to make me want to punt them to the curb: our pets.

We have the most precious little dog you have ever seen. She is all of six pounds fully grown. Dixie is a mixture of Maltese and Shih Tzu who thinks she is a Great Dane. She barks and carries on like she's going to eat you. But in truth, she could only graze your ankles.

Then there's our sweet kitty, Tigger. He is a medium-haired orange Tabby. He has the softest fur ever, and is the most affectionate cat I have ever seen in my life. He absolutely craves attention and will literally try to climb you to get you to pet him.

They sound great, don't they?

Well, they are. Except...

The cat is the poster child for all cats when it comes to curiosity. He sticks his nose into absolutely everything. And since he likes people so much, there isn't much he's afraid of. Add to that the fact that he loves, loves, loves to push things off of high places to watch them fall. (Like a baby with the "Oopsie" game who loves to watch things drop to the floor- just so you'll pick them up.) He doesn't care if you pick them up, though. He just loves to watch them splat on the floor and make noise.

The salt shaker isn't bad. And pencils roll off the table nicely for him, but cause little actual damage once they hit the floor. However, cups of milk or juice left at the breakfast table are sure to be puddles of yuck by the time we get home. And honey bottles whose tops open when they hit the floor are gooey, globby messes to clean up.

But the cat is the better of the two.

Dixie loves the great outdoors. In fact, we have had to erect a virtual fortress in our back yard to keep her from escaping and running amok in the neighborhood. Now that we have the yard secure, she simply runs to her favorite places in the fence to scramble through and looks surprised when she can't get out. Every time. (Not a brilliant dog.)

My absolute, all-time, most maddening thing about any member of my household is that my little six-pound ball of fur refuses to go to the bathroom outside. I could leave her out all day long, and she would patiently hold it- until she got inside. There she would go to her favorite little spots and relieve herself, as she does every single day.

We finally ripped up the carpet and stained the concrete floor so that it would be easier to clean up & sanitize. But it is just gross.

Even the most devout animal lover will agree that daily "accidents" in the house make it hard to "adore" her. We have taken her to the vet, who informed us she had no physical reason for doing this. She also said we were doing everything she could think of to help Dixie unlearn this awful habit. But, she concluded, Dixie does not score very high in the IQ department, and maybe, just maybe, Dixie is a little "slow."

I would question the good doctor, except that I have witnessed Dixie do other things that qualify her as a "special" dog. For example, it took her at least a month to realize there was a glass door attached to our front door. We would open the main door, and the poor thing would run, gathering steam as she went, to try one of her famous escapes- only to be stopped quite suddenly and decidedly by the clear glass pane. She would wear a truly confused expression as she wandered over to lick her proverbial wounds.

That is not the worst or the grossest of poor Dixie's habits. But for the sake of discretion, I will leave it at this.

There are days- in fact, usually many times in any given day- that I would gladly trade my animals for a nickle. But I love them, so that just will not do.

And the kids love them. They love to play with them and pet them. (Even though they would rather eat pet food than feed them, walk them, or clean up after them.) And, ultimately, no matter how awful the kids are being- the pets are always worse- in their own little animal ways.

So when I say, "Kids, you are making mommy have a headache," the kids can (and do) reply, "Yeah, but Tigger knocked over a whole glass of milk, and Dixie peed on the floor again." Suddenly my headache compounds. But the kids are in much better favor once again.

When I Grow Up...

2010-09-19T14:21:00.000-05:00

Image by sheilapic76 via Flickr
I have been so busy lately, I've been unable to write much. But I've not had any lack of material. My muses (aka: my children) have kept me jumping around and provided so much humor and poignant moments.

Last Friday I went to pick up the kids from school, like I usually do. The minivan door slid open and my youngest stuck her face in, looking worried.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"My friends all laughed at me."

"Why, sweetie?"

Tears welled up in her eyes and her bottom lip poked out. "They said I couldn't be Justin Bieber's co-manager. But I told them I could because I can be anything I want to be. I'm a good dancer and I know everything there is to know about Justin Bieber. But my friends said I couldn't because I was too young. But I'm not too young, am I Mommy?"

Okay. Where do you even start with that?

"Well, um, honey-"

"You don't believe me, either!" she wailed.

"I do believe you, honey. And I believe in you." I was walking on very thin ice. "How... How would Justin Bieber know you wanted to be his co-manager?"

She stopped and looked at me. The wheels were turning. "Could I write him a letter?"

"Sure."

She was completely sunny & happy again.

Of all the things she could've said, could've been upset about- a fight over having an impossible grown-up job- right now- was not anywhere near my list.

That's one of the benefits of being a child: you don't know what you can't do, so you think you can do anything. I guess I used to be that way. But it's been a long, long time.

Maybe she will never actually be the co-manager for Justin Bieber. But I have no doubt that she will be amazing at no matter what she does.

And, she has reminded me that I need to blog. Not just to have "stuff" on there. But also, because this is a kind of journal of my kids' childhood. And this "stuff" is just way too special to forget...

Good Morning!

2010-08-25T06:59:00.001-05:00

Image via WikipediaLast night was a full moon. It was gorgeous.
It was even more beautiful this morning when I went walking with my two girls.
Okay, anyone who knows me knows that this is pretty monumental. A) That I'm up this early, and B) That I'm exercising.
It was pretty, though, with the moon hanging on one side of us, and the sunrise streaking the sky on the other. It was peaceful, too. Hardly anyone is out this time of the morning. (I'm not judging here. I'm usually in bed, too.)
My older girl ran for a mile. I was impressed. I was walking (albeit sleep walking). My younger girl hung back with me. She skipped, jumped, ran ahead and then back, waiting for me to catch up. Ah, the energy (and fitness) of youth.
When we got home, they announced, "I want to do this every morning!"
Well, I guess that's incentive for me. I've been wanting to exercise, wanting to get in shape. I guess if I have my two favorite girls with me, cheering me on, I can't go wrong!
So, here's to hoping this becomes a habit. And that we're still motivated when it's blazing hot or freezing cold. And that eventually I'll be able to keep up with them, too.
For now, GOOD MORNING!

Disconnected

2010-08-24T12:26:00.000-05:00

Image via WikipediaMy Apple Macbook laptop had a small crack in the case. It ran fine. It did everything I needed it to do. And I loved/love it!

Hubby was concerned about the crack. He wanted to make sure it didn't turn into a hole. And I decided he was probably right since a hole would involve some of my keys falling into the laptop. Probably not a very easy way to use a computer.

We packed it up and carried it down to BestBuy. I reverently placed it in the hands of their very capable Geek Squad and waited for their diagnosis.

They said the condition was beyond their expertise and they would need to send it off. I was nervous. I felt like I was sending a child off without my guardianship.

Then they said it would probably be two weeks. Two weeks? Without my laptop? Yikes. My life is in that thing.

Hubby had the foresight to back it up for me- just in case they decided to do something that would erase everything on it. But the back up is one of those little external memory devices.

My husband's antiquated computer is about as effective as a paper weight. (You can actually hear the little hamsters spinning on their wheels trying to make the thing go.) So trying to get anything from the back up to his computer is futile.

My kids' computers are all netbooks. They are not very viable resources for retrieving information either. Not to mention that hubby has installed some sort of safety software to keep the kids out of trouble. However, it will barely allow me to google anything, much less get on any kind of website to use any information I might need.

My best bet is my work computer. But then I feel guilty. Even though I'd be off the clock.

So for the time being, I'm retrieving my emails and checking Facebook from my BlackBerry phone. I'm blogging from Hubby's computer. And I'm writing everything else long-hand on a tablet of paper with a pen.

This is going to be the longest two weeks in the history of earth. So, please bear with me if you are looking for something from me. Be assured I'm not ignoring you. I just can't get to you. :(

Box-itis

2010-08-21T19:40:00.000-05:00

Image by rkelland via FlickrHave you ever seen the television show called "Hoarders"? It's where people have a phobia of throwing anything away, and they almost literally end up burying themselves alive in all their masses of "stuff."

I don't know that anyone in my family actually has come to this (thankfully). But it certainly wouldn't be a stretch to say that we all suffer from some fairly mild cases of "stuff-itis." We really don't like throwing much away, especially if we "might" use it. So we keep it, "just in case."

The most frustrating thing my family seems to suffer from (in spades) is what I call "Box-itis." It is the condition by which my children can't seem to throw away empty boxes. Now, they do manage to put them back where they would technically belong if they were full. But since they have consumed every last cookie, cracker or piece of cereal, the new proper place would actually be the trash can. But they can never seem to manage to get them there.

I have found empty ice cream containers in the freezer (much to my disappointment when going on an ice cream raid). I have pulled out lonely popcorn boxes who only smell like the buttered popcorn they once contained. My children have even managed to fool me with my own purse, putting an empty packet of chewing gum back into its formerly proper spot. The worst thing they've done to me is to leave the empty Diet Coke box in the refrigerator, tempting me to take out my lack-of-caffeine rage on some unsuspecting children.

If I could ever teach them how to achieve freedom from "Box-itis," my next venture would be to teach them how to also kick the "Wrapper-itis" condition, along with the "Shoe-itis," "Book-itis," and "Paper-itis." "Paper-itis" is particularly bad after school when they are cleaning out their backpacks and pitch paper wildly about in order to keep their backpack "clean."

For now, I just have to get a handle on their "Box-itis". It is making me crazy. And at least twice I've not bought something at the grocery store because we supposedly had a box full of it at home. At the very least, I need them to add a box- of wine. So that I can toast their ingenuity and their obedience at putting the box "back where they found it." (Figures they listen to that, right?)

Hope Over Shadows Angst

2010-08-21T18:42:00.005-05:00

Image by cobalt123 via FlickrWhen I was in school, no matter how good things were between me and my friends, I always had this nagging doubt in the back of my mind: You are not good enough.

I had believed that it was a personal flaw that I had, miraculously, overcome in my adult years. And I wanted it to be something that never, ever touched my children.

My children are now tweens and teens themselves. And they are the age I was when my angst ran amock. And yet, they seem to be handling it okay.

From the outside in, I hold my breath when I feel they are being slighted; they simply shrug it off and move on. I haven't told them anything that my parents didn't tell me. But the defective gene that made me feel unworthy seems to have not been passed on to my kids.

I pray they and their psyches will continue to be happy and healthy. I want them to know that they are loved and valued. And I hope they are able to pass that acceptance on to their friends and peers.

One of the best things that could ever come out of me overcoming my sadness, would be the beginning of the all-together end of that sadness and angst for all children, tweens and teens.

Boop Boop Be Doo

2010-08-18T11:57:00.000-05:00

Image via WikipediaAll of my children are very creative. My eldest can make up an entire civilization and have the people/creatures live and battle. He is also an excellent artist that can draw characters to rival any comic book.

My middle child loves to make more domestic creations. She is more at home with a cookbook and a sewing pattern than many adults I know. And she has a musical ear that lets her hum beautiful melodies made up on the spot.

My youngest is still figuring it all out. She is terribly creative. But she's also impulsive. So most of her creations have to be completed in one sitting or else she loses interest. She also is very open to suggestion from movies, books, friends and television.

Her current obsession is Betty Boop. I was floored when she announced one day she wanted to redecorate her room all in Betty Boop. I had no idea she even knew who Betty Boop was. Then I discovered that an admired counselor from summer camp was a huge fan. Now almost all of my youngest daughter's projects are Betty Boop related (unless they are Justin Bieber related, which is another on-going obsession).

This morning she brought me a sock puppet. It was an old white sock (well, it was more like an earthy white, since it was an old sock) she had stuffed with tissue paper. She had cinched the top with a rubber band and stuck strings of old white yarn underneath to make hair. Then she found an old lip gloss container in the shape (and approximate size) of lips, which she secured with a rubber band.

When she presented this "puppet" to me, she proudly announced, "Momma, this is Betty Boop."

Then she asked if I would help her sew on some buttons for her eyes. I explained that it would have to be after school, since it was almost time to go. Amazingly enough, she was okay with that plan.

She followed me around with her "puppet" in hand, chattering away about the clothes she would make for it and so on. I listened and eyed the pitiful thing, wondering if there was any way to spruce it up a bit.

Then, my precious daughter said, "I would put arms on it, but then it would just look silly."

I had to bite the inside of my cheek very hard and turn away to keep from laughing and hurting her feelings. This poor sock monster looks more like a dog toy that the dog has already chewed and thrown aside. But in her mind, it was, is and will be Betty Boop.

Thank goodness for Imagination. It is, after all, the Mother of Invention.

And, I know one day her sock monsters- er, I mean, sock puppets- will be a thing of the past, and I will miss them.

But for this morning, and for now, Betty Boop's creator is probably busily rolling over in their grave at the likes of this creation. And I got a good laugh to start my day.

Those Crazy Kids

2010-08-17T13:10:00.000-05:00

Image by megnut via FlickrWhen I was in my teen-aged years and I referred to "kids," I was referring to little tykes, who were still losing baby teeth that would be rewarded with Tooth Fairy money.

In my late twenties, I worked in elder care. Most of my clients referred to me as a "kid." I was highly insulted. I was not a "kid;" I was a young adult. I had a college education. I considered myself to be quite worldly.

Once I had children of my own, my personal definition of "kids" spanned from infant to the tween years. I didn't quite consider "teens" to be kids, because I was still smarting from being called a "kid" at twenty-seven. And, also, teens didn't seem to quite fit the bill for being a kid. "Kids" were dependent, trainable, happy-to-be-around-their-parents sorts of people. Teens were moody, cocky and mumbled a lot. In many ways, I forgot I had ever been a teenager myself.

Now, in my VERY early forties (in fact, I would say much closer to thirties, really), I realize that I was ever so naive to believe I was worldly at twenty. HA. It was like saying that because I had been to a rodeo, I was a champion bull rider.

I also have come face-to-face with all my transgressions and accomplishments as a teenager, because my children who are teens themselves have started delving into my personal history:

"Mom, when you were my age, did your mom make you clean the bathroom?" Why, yes she did.

Of course some of their questions definitely show the technological and social leaps and bounds that have occurred since I was their age.

"Mom, did your mom let you play with your iPod in bed before you went to sleep?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because we didn't have iPods."

"Seriously? What did you DO???"

"Well, I listened to my cassette tapes and read books."

"Oh, that's awful. I'm so sorry."

Certainly my definition of "kids" has changed, too. Now I DO include teenagers. In fact, I now include those younger twenties people who believe themselves (as I did) to be worldly because they have a checking account and don't live at home any more.

I am amused at myself as I see me shift from one side to the other. I was once on the side that believed anything after twenty-five was dead. Now I don't rule out anything under 100.

I am firmly in the middle of "middle aged," though I prefer to see the glass as half-full, instead of half-empty. But I'm also realistic enough to know that I am too old to wear teen aged fashions, and (thankfully) too young to qualify for AARP discounts.

I am also at an age where I appreciate being carded for drinks, having the doctor say, "you don't need to worry about that yet," and having older people lump me in with "kids." I guess it's all just perspective.

My grandmother turns ninety-five today. When I'm my parents' age, she'll be the kind of person I want to hang around every so often, just so I can be called a "kid" again.

Happy Birthday, Ooma, to the youngest ninety-five year old "kids" I've ever known!

Blue Monday

2010-08-16T18:31:00.001-05:00

Image via Wikipedia
Monday is typically not my favorite day of the week anyway. But today was my own personal example of why Monday's stink. By the end of the day, I could have been the topic of a country music song. I will be glad when I crawl into bed and set my alarm for tomorrow!

First, my alarm, though set, did not go off. Thus, I had some extra zzz's, which evidently I needed. However, it did not make my dash to work go any more smoothly.

Then, when I did get ready to leave, I decided I'd snarf down my breakfast in the car to save time. HA. Half way to work a huge blob of peanut butter and jelly landed on my right boob and splatted over into my lap. So I turned around to change.

After I changed, I couldn't get the animals inside. They had gone AWOL from the fenced in back yard. So I whistled and wandered around the neighborhood until a little white dog and big orange cat appeared, looking as though they were surprised to see me.

The animals back inside, I tried to leave again. No keys. Anywhere.

Now how did I lose my keys? I just came home with them...

Finally I found them in the pocket of the pants that had the peanut butter and jelly blob on them. Of course.

I was going to work. An hour late. But I was going to work...

Until...

CRASH.

Yes, I was in a car wreck.

My kids had played with my sunglasses, leaving a big smudge of yuck all over the lenses. So, while at a red light, I was trying to clean them off.

In my peripheral vision I saw the car next to me go. So, I did what I never ever do: I went, too- without looking up first.

Everyone is okay. My car is (relatively) okay. But I'm fried. And totally mad at myself for being so stupid. I haven't been in a car wreck I caused since I was sixteen. It's probably been at least ten years since I was in any kind of car wreck.

I wanted to cry to the police officer and the other drivers, "I am a defensive driver, darn it!"

Fortunately, they were very understanding. But I still felt bad and apologized profusely.

I made it to work. Two hours late. I got my work done. Then I came home.

Like I said, I can't wait for bed tonight. Tuesday has GOT to be better!... Right???

Dream a Little Dream

2010-08-14T23:41:00.002-05:00

Image by oddsock via Flickr
I just finished watching "Inception" with Leonardo DiCaprio. It was... well, I'm still thinking about it, and probably will for several days.

The final ending was given up to a point, then the viewer had to decide for him/herself. I love/hate those kinds of endings. As a "glass half full" kind of girl, I picked the ending that was happier.

But my conscious has been prickling at the whole thing. Did he? Or didn't he?

The whole story line was about five stories within the story, but they are all interconnected. It's enough to make you dizzy. I was having to pay so much attention, I didn't even get to eat my popcorn. (gasp)

So now I have another "dream" movie floating around in my head. There was "Nightmare On Elm Street," which I never watched all the way through, but still freaks me out. I believe at least one of the "Matrix" implied some dreams and/or an alternate reality. "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," "Alice in Wonderland," and many fairy tales go with the dream and/or alternate reality. And there are many, many more that I'm not even mentioning.

"Inception" was by far the most complex idea I've seen on the subject, though: Can you influence a person by going into their dreams? This movie had a whole protocol on how it all worked. It was very thought-provoking.

You know, I think I'm influenced enough by things going on in my waking moments (advertising, movies, books, friends, the news, family, magazines, etc., etc., etc.). I really don't need anyone poking around in my head while I'm sleeping.

So what do you think? Is there any good reason to go into someone's dream to influence their life? If you could, what would you do?

It's the Walmart Way

2010-08-13T14:50:00.000-05:00

Image via Wikipedia
Today I went for my big weekly Walmart run. My list of over fifty items made my basket runneth over.

But there were several things I couldn't find on my list, which really irritates me. I mean, I would expect to have a limited variety of items at, say, the Exxon station. But at Walmart, I really believe I should be able to get a big box of Goldfish crackers. And yet, there were none.

I know their stockers must have to work around the clock to keep the place full. No matter when I go in there, the place is packed with every kind of person from every walk of life.

As I wandered up and down the aisles unencumbered by children, I took the time to read labels and see what other items I might be missing when I do my usual snag-and-run. I found some of the most interesting and most disgusting stuff.

I knew the organic market had taken an upswing. But they make organic products for just about everything. I have to wonder if people realize that just because something is organic does not mean it is good for you. Ice cream that has no pesticides still has fat and sugar.

As I said, I could not find the big box of Goldfish crackers. But I did find canned shrimp. Really? Ew. I thought Spam was bad (and it is). But canned shrimp? I don't even eat seafood. But I can tell you that if I did, it would not come from a can.

And what on earth would you ever do with oyster juice? Do I even want to know? I can only envision a really awful episode of Fear Factor.

I also breezed by the clothing on my way over to the pet food and deodorant. I believe I should be able to sue the buyer of the clothes for Walmart. Why in the world they would purchase some of the clothes they carry in some of the sizes they have is beyond me.

I have said it before, and I stand by it: I am not a size that needs to wear a bikini. I admit it. I'm OK with that. I am fine in the skin that I'm in. I'm alright with my own body. But I do NOT need to wear a bikini in my size 10-12 (8 if it's really stretchy and I've had a stomach virus for a week). So why they would even make a bikini in a W26 is unfathomable. Ditto on the micro-mini skirts, spandex and anything from the Hannah Montana collection.

I know Walmart provides a great service to many people, myself included. But should a store like Walmart simply sell "whatever" and pander to the masses? Or do they have some kind of obligation to help people be their best by offering healthy, reasonable choices?

What's My Password?

2010-08-12T12:36:00.000-05:00

Image by Narisa via FlickrPasswords are the bane of my existence. They are useless pieces of cryptic information that only serve to keep ME out of my various accounts.

And some of my accounts that have passwords are really thinking way too highly of themselves. I mean, is it really necessary to have something like eight authentication codes for cable? My bank online only requires one!

I would need a veritable Rolodex the size of a bread box to keep up with all the user ID's and passwords and "secret questions" I have. To get into my Best Buy account and find out how many "points" I have, I have three steps. Do they really have such a major theft problem with people hacking in and taking your reward points at Best Buy that they have to require three steps?

Yesterday I needed some information about why my cable bill fluctuated from month-to-month. I had the awesome opportunity to befriend a customer service rep. He was quite obviously not a naturally English-speaking person, but he called himself "Kevin."

"Kevin" needed my phone number to access my account. Then he needed my name to make sure I was on the account. Then he needed my address to further make sure I was "me" (Because apparently if I rifled through someone's mail box to gain access to their cable bill and mess with their account, I would be unable to read the information on the bill. Whatever.)

Then it got tricky. "What are the last four digits of the card used to pay the auto draft bill?" I, apparently, guessed correctly, because he let me go on to the next round.

"What is the password for this account?" I slapped my forehead. This is when I get to play the guessing game.

Hubby and I have about three passwords we usually alternate through. Since hubby set up this account, however, I crossed my fingers that he didn't get excited and make up something new.

Attempt number one was incorrect. But I scored with attempt number two.

"Kevin" was excited as well. "Now, I just need the the expiration date on the credit card used for the auto draft."

Egad. No idea. Not even a guess. The only reason I knew the last for digits of the credit card was because it was on the bank statement. I took a deep breath and silently let it out, instead of saying, "SERIOUSLY?" like I wanted to.

"Well, Kevin, I'm sorry, but I don't have that information. I really don't want to make any changes to the account. I just need to know the amount that is supposed to be drafted each month so I can plug it into my budget." I hoped this would call to his sense of reason. After all, it wasn't like I was trying to upgrade to the most expensive package and get satellite coverage on the moon. (Although, he probably could have done that without any authorization at all.)

"Kevin" patiently explained to me that he was really not supposed to give out that information without the correct passwords and such. BUT, he would go ahead and make an exception in my case. (Because we're such buddies at this point, don't you know.)

FINALLY, I got my answer. I told "Kevin" thank you, and hung up after our twenty minute game of "What's My Password," when I just needed a two minute answer.

I do understand the need for protection. And I'm very appreciative of people being sensitive to giving out any and all information about me.

However, Identity Theft is not something I really worry about when it comes to my cable bill or my rewards program at Best Buy. I am more concerned about my social security number being lifted (Although, any thief hoping to get big bucks off of my social security number will be in for a big disappointment. Ha.). And I'm more worried about someone trying to take my banking information and stealing my $38.52, thus sending my account into overdraft at $37 a whack (which is a whole different rant).

"Kevin" and I parted as friends. Who knows? We may even exchange Christmas cards. But I'll make sure to have my card password protected. You know- just in case.

The Not-so-Green Grass of Home

2010-08-11T18:34:00.000-05:00

Image via Wikipedia

My yard looks like a sea of brown with little islands of green. In each little island, there are happy weeds waving in the breeze (when the breeze decides to blow).

I'm realistic: I've totally given up hope on getting "Yard of the Month." But is it too much to ask to have either a green yard, or a dead yard?

As it stands, I'm a little concerned about mowing my little islands. I'm afraid the lawnmower will spark and catch the whole yard on fire. But the tall (waist-high) weeds are too close together to take a weed whacker to the offensive roughage.

My solution? Get my thirteen year old to do it. Sounded brilliant to me. But thirteen year old balked.

"It's too hot." "Can I borrow a riding lawn mower? I don't want to use the push mower." "Can I wait until next week?"

However, same child will wear long sleeves and jeans outside- "because it looks cool." Um, no. When I have to call 911 because you were too stupid to take off your jacket in the 104 degree heat- that's quite the opposite of cool. In fact, it is UNcool.

But, if you really want to sweat, sweetie, you may mow my little weed islands. Thank you.

I'm waiting for our Home Owner's Association to send me a nasty-gram to tell me they are fining me for my grass being too long. Of course, I will object. After all, my "grass" is brown and flat to the dirt. Only my "weeds" are too tall.

And if I get a letter for my weeds being an "eyesore", I'll definitely have something to say about the neighbor man who walks around the block in black socks talking to himself. Of course, I guess I should be grateful he doesn't try to talk to me.

On the plus side, I have a beautiful red single flower blooming down sort of by my mailbox. And the weeds are quite healthy and growing well, despite the money we've been shelling out for the lawn service to come spray.

In fact, I've decided that maybe instead of trying to grow grass, I should cancel the lawn service and grow weeds, since they seem to thrive in my yard. Oh, but then instead of islands, I would have an entire yard of waist-high "grass/weeds". Then I really would have to mow... Nah...

Mom, I don't want to get up!

2010-08-11T08:12:00.000-05:00

Image by Getty Images via @daylife

School officially started back last Friday. I know: It's crazy to start your first day back on a Friday. But that's how they did it, so we went, too.

After the first full day, we had a whole weekend to recover. Nice. We were able to pick up school-related items we may have forgotten on our first pass. And we got to go to our football jamboree and celebrate my wonderful mom's birthday.

Monday we started our second full day of school having been rested and refreshed. Should be chugging right along into Wednesday, right? But we aren't chugging well. We are exhausted.

My youngest has cried from the pick up line at school to the goodnight kiss in her room at home. My eldest (a teenager, no less) fell asleep at 8:45 last night. Unprompted by me. Just up and went to the bed and was snoring by the time I found out where he'd gone.

I know anything new is taxing. Any training I've ever had has left me feeling gummy-headed and fuzzy-headed by the end of the day. So I know learning a new routine, learning new teachers, having new course work and reuniting with friends has taken its toll on my kids.

Add to that the lovely, balmy Tennessee weather (who moved the equator???) and I can totally understand why they are so whipped by the end of the day. I'm just surprised it happened so fast.

I fully expect that, if things continue the way they have, my kids will all be asleep in the car on the way home from school Friday... Not such a terrible prospect...

But I need them to be somewhat coherent this weekend. We need to clean our poor, neglected house. In lieu of housework, we have chosen sleep this week to get them up and running for the new school year. But at some point we either have to clean up or board up the house.

I imagine that, like in years past, we will soon be back in the routine of things and we won't feel quite so haggard at the end of every day...

...And then, once we've established our routine, we'll start adding back in sleep-overs, play dates, parties and all the other miscellaneous social events...

...Then it will be time for teachers to start assigning big projects and tests...

Great. Now I'm tired all over again.

Oh well. Happy New School Year!

BlackBerry Coma

2010-08-10T08:01:00.000-05:00

Image via Wikipedia

I have been in a funk. A deep, dark, mean, yucky funk.

I haven't been on Facebook or Twitter. I haven't written in my blog. I haven't written much of anything.

I have managed to get some pretty decent house cleaning done. And I've gotten my kids ready for school every morning (which is no small feat). I've made sure they were fed and clothed, that Dear Son (DS) gets to and from football, and that everyone was in bed by 9:00 PM. *WHEW*

Hubby has been out of town since Saturday morning, which has been sorta' normal these days, but still no fun. Prior to that he was in town for a whole week, which was nice, but not very normal.

Somewhere about the time his plane landed for his extended stay home, my funk settled in on me. It's not that I didn't have plenty to write and plenty to say. Goodness knows I'm never at a loss for words. But I turned in my Mac for some family time.

I kept up with the world through emails. But I rarely got any of the everyday "stuff" that I get from Twitter and Facebook. I was amazed at how disconnected I felt.

But in a weird way, it was kind of liberating, too.

I sat with my family and visited with them. I got all the "school stuff" taken care of. I just "hung out."

I missed it, though. Especially writing and my blog. I would be sitting in the car pool line and think, "Oh, I need to write about that." Then I would remember my self-imposed sabbatical and think about something else.

Today my BlackBerry Storm died. Well, I should say it's still dying. It's blinking at me, which is like watching the heart monitor blip. It hasn't quite flat-lined. But it won't do anything but blink. It's more like a BlackBerry coma.

Part of me hopes the thing will just go on to the place where good BlackBerrys go when they've served their time here on earth. Because I want a Droid. But part of me mourns the passing of this devise that has been attached to me like nothing else in my life.

It holds my contacts, my emails, my phone numbers, my facebook, my calendar, my GPS, my Kindle app, some games, some pictures... You get the idea.

This little mini computer with a pink Dooney & Bourke cover has never left my side. It's like losing a good friend.

And this event has pulled me kicking and screaming straight out of my funk. My sabbatical is over. Because I can't connect with the world, I feel I must. And therein lies the paradox.

The good news: I'm back to my creative outlet that allows me to also keep up with friends and family. The bad news: I'm back to my creative outlet that allows me to also keep up with friends and family.

Hmmm... Maybe I'm still just a little in my funk...

But now it's minus my BlackBerry... *sigh*

Hi ho, Hi ho, It's off to Verizon I go...

What Free Education???

2010-07-31T19:57:00.000-05:00

Today I bought the equivalent of a new wardrobe, some new skin care, new make up, shoes, a new hair cut & color and a new fancy coffee maker.

Except I got exactly NONE of that.

Instead, I got school supplies for three kids, new uniforms for three kids, new shoes for three kids, new lunch boxes for three kids, new water bottles for three kids and new backpacks for three kids.

Best money I've ever spent. Even if it wasn't for anything on my personal wish list.

Why? Because the kids, who have become delirious with boredom- despite the incredibly short summer- need. to. go. to. school.

Thank the Lord they do indeed go back next week. Wednesday is registration and the first full day is Friday. Woo Hoo!

Once school starts, I will be able to squirrel away bits of change here and there. Then one day while the kids are busy learning and stuffing their brains full of wonderful knowledge, I'll sneak away to get a mani/pedi with a friend or go shopping for something totally frivolous, like another tube of lipstick I don't need or some nail polish.

I'm sad to see the summer dwindle down to a close. The idea of getting back into the homework grind holds absolutely no appeal for me. On paper, it makes perfect sense that they practice newly learned material and hone their study skills. But realistically, it really cuts into evenings. And when it comes to my family, I am really selfish about our time.

But the kids are more than ready. And now they are also supplied to the hilt.

Bring on the school year!

Somber

2010-07-29T22:57:00.000-05:00

Tonight, I'm... somber.

I have a friend whose two week old baby was admitted to the NICU of Vandy because she has a fever of 104 and they can't get it down.

I have a friend whose nine day old baby is in the NICU because she was born with a serious heart condition, and has already had the first of several surgeries needed to correct it.

I have a friend whose father-in-law went in for a check up before leaving on an extended trip and found out he had major to complete blockage. He will have double by-pass surgery tomorrow.

I have a friend who has announced she and her husband are filing for divorce. While this may have been something she has been struggling with for a while, this was the first I knew that there were any problems.

I have a friend who has had several maladies, which, in and of themselves are not so bad. But compounded, she has been very uncomfortable.

I was told we need to deal with a potential medical issue close to home.

I have a friend whose church is experiencing change that does not feel positive, and it is unsettling.

Usually I am the personification of Pollyanna, which I know is annoying to many friends of mine. But sometimes even my Pollyanna braids droop. Today is one of those days.

Certainly I keep these precious people in my heart, thoughts & prayers. Certainly I know that God hears all & loves grander and better than I could ever know. I am not without a smile. I feel warmth & hope. But I also feel the sadness, fear, anger, confusion and exhaustion of these friends who are caring for their loved ones.

Tomorrow, I hope to resume my Pollyanna attitude. And I will watch for triumphs, gains, successes and good news.

Thank you all for joining me in hope for a better, brighter tomorrow!

Let Your Fingers Do the Walking

2010-07-28T20:04:00.000-05:00

Image via Wikipedia

My family loves the show, "Mythbusters" on Discovery. This evening we watched an episode they could actually emulate, AND it finally gave me something to do with the plethora of phone books that darken my doorstep, seemingly every other week.

Today they taught the kids how to tear a phone book in half. The kids were not quite able to pull it off, but they had a big time trying. And they got the skinny on how to technically do it, so with enough practice, they could get it down.

The second, more successful, phone book exploration actually involved a myth, stating:
If you take two phone books and face them, spine out, toward each other, and interweave the pages, one from each book at a time, they can not be pulled apart.

On the show, only two tanks pulling in opposite directions pulled the phone books apart. It was the equivalent of 8,000 pounds of force. They asserted that it was the friction between the pages that kept them interwoven so tightly.

We decided to perform our own experiment. We took two Real Yellow Pages phone books that said they expired in 2008 and put them together. We took a page from one book and layered a page from the other book on top of it. Thousands of pages later, we had two books interwoven.

Now the test: We pulled and pulled. No luck. They wouldn't budge. They may as well have been super-glued together, except they didn't even rip.

We were sufficiently impressed, not to mention we had a great new party trick.

We send out a challenge to all who read:
1. Can you make the phone books come apart?
2. Can you tell us why they don't come apart?

Looking forward to hearing from you!

Round and Round

2010-07-27T21:19:00.000-05:00

You know all the childhood songs that tell a story in about forty verses, then start all over again? Like "There's a Hole in the Bucket," "Found a Peanut," and numerous other songs that make you want to poke your eyes out with a sharp stick?

That's what it's like trying to rationalize with my children.

I have always tried to be a parent who taught my children like they were people. As a pre-parent, I swore I would never use the answer, "Because I said so." Like most vows I made as a pre-parent, I have eaten those words more than I care to remember.

I want to teach my children to think and be able to talk to adults. It's a work in progress. And progress is v-e-r-y, v-e-r-y s-l-o-w.

Let me share an actual conversation:

ME: I need you to put your dishes away, please.

CHILD: But those aren't mine.

ME: Well, I need you to pick those up, please, and put them away.

CHILD: I already put mine away.

ME: Okay, but can you please put those away, too?

CHILD: But they aren't mine.

ME: I KNOW! YOU SAID THAT! Please put them away anyway.

CHILD: But, I put mine away already. I didn't even drink tea. And I don't like that kind of macaroni-and-cheese.

ME: JUST PUT THE DISHES AWAY. NOW.

CHILD: But, Mom, they. aren't. mine.

ME: If you don't put those dishes away right now, you are grounded for the rest of your life.

CHILD: If I'm grounded, do I have to put away the dishes?

ME: Yes. Yes, you will have to put away all the dishes in the world.

CHILD: That's not fair.

ME: Life's not fair. Just pick up the dishes and put them away.

CHILD: Why? They aren't mine.

ME: Because I said so.

CHILD: But I put my dishes away already...

See?

Now do this a thousand times a day with each child, every single day of your natural born life. Then you will see why margaritas are Mommy's friend...

And you will also see that I have already blessed my children with "The Mother's Curse:" "May you have children just like you one day."

Maybe one day they'll even pick up the dishes... *sigh*

Mommy 1, Kids 0

2010-07-26T23:24:00.000-05:00

Man, oh man. My thirteen year old son and my eight year old daughter have had a running battle going on since birth. Tonight their bickering and fighting got out of control. This was far beyond just sibling rivalry.

My son was being snide and egging on my daughter. My daughter was "poking the bear" and trying to tell my son he was wrong.

The "best part" was that my daughter had a friend over to spend the night. Every five minutes I was breaking up a brawl between my son and my daughter. I felt so sorry for the friend.

Finally I got my middle daughter to take the friend to her room and, hopefully, have the friend have a little bit of fun while she's here. Otherwise, I'm afraid she would have gone home feeling like she had been at a live taping of a reality show.

The topper, though, was when I called my two warriors down and very calmly explained to them that this fighting had to stop. Their eyes glazed over, since this has been my mantra for at least a year now, as their fighting has escalated.

My announcement got their attention, though: My son will be moving his bed into my daughter's room until they can learn how to get along. Until then, there will be no sleep-overs. And they will continue to room together until they can come up with a plan, write it down, sign it and effectively execute it.

My son told me I was a bully. My daughter wailed. I stood firm.

I told them if that didn't work, I would begin taking away more privileges, such as iPod touches, phones, toys, etc. My son had the nerve to roll his eyes at me.

Game on.

I told him (calmly) the air he breathes is a privilege in this house. And that I could make life way more miserable for him than just rooming with his sister.

Then I took it down a notch and told them how much it hurts me when they hurt. And when they are so ugly to each other that I can see that they hurt. I told them it is no longer acceptable to behave this way. And that if they wanted special things, like fun shirts from Abercrombie & Fitch or Wii games or extra snacks and goodies, then they needed to figure out how to be pleasant around each other.

Presently, my middle daughter and my younger daughter's friend are in bed. My son and my younger daughter are upstairs scrambling to come up with a plan right now, in hopes they won't have to actually share a room for even one night.

As for me, I'm done with them acting like this. And I'm not putting up with it for one more second.

They have yet to even see "mean mommy" yet. Here's hoping they don't ever, ever have to.

I will keep you posted as the drama unfolds...

Call Me

2010-07-26T13:21:00.001-05:00

When it comes to technology, I'll give myself about a C+. I've figured out lots of software programs for work; but, I can't always figure out how to make the CD player feed show on my television (in my defense, it takes about six steps).

I have a Blackberry cell phone. I LOVE the fact that I get emails, texts and internet, besides having it actually function as a phone. What I don't love is the fact that it tends to seize up at least once a day, requiring me to have to yank out the battery and let it reset.

It usually has its seizure at the most inconvenient time, like when I'm lost and I'm trying to pull up Google Maps to find my way home. Or when I need to call someone right now, this very minute.

I'm up for a new phone in November. And while I don't want to wish time away, I am so excited for November to get here. I have my eye on a phone called a Droid X. The commercial is so totally cool! And I have visited it in the store. It's just waiting for Momma to come pick it up...

There has been much ado about the iPhone. And being a Mac fan, I love the idea of having the compatible phone. AND my carrier, Verizon, is rumored to be carrying the iPhone in January. Fabulous! Except I don't know if I can live with my Blackberry that long. Plus, I'm hearing things about the iPhone dropping calls randomly. With my limited technological ability, I don't need to take on any new problems.

I am sad my Blackberry has turned out to be such a big pain. When I first got my Blackberry, I thought it was the best thing since peanut butter on sliced bread. But I think I've added enough applications and other things that take up memory that the poor thing is frazzled.

The Droid & the iPhone are designed to allow several applications run at the same time. So I can talk on the phone even if my text and email are still "open." Blackberries function in a way that require you to only run one program at a time, which is very annoying.

Maybe a new form of Blackberry will resolve this problem. Maybe a more technologically advanced person could operate their Blackberry better. But my C+ brain just won't function that way.

*sigh*

So, for now, I'm counting down until I can get a phone that's more user-friendly for me. Until then, if you call and you are suddenly cut off, please know it's not you. In fact it's not really me. It's my phone. And I'm sorry. Maybe I'll be able to get a new phone even sooner... Well, one can hope...

Reality Bites

2010-07-25T22:19:00.001-05:00

What in the world is our obsession with reality television? It is such trash. It's like Jerry Spring trying to pretend to have a plot/competition.

Hubby is currently watching one of the "music television" reality television shows. It goes something like this: an attractive person gets paid crazy money to "date" a gazillion people to see who they are most compatible with. The catch? The competitors/daters have to live together and spend a ton of time in cameos slamming on the other contestants. Then the producers show the competitors each others' video footage where they are talking badly about each other. The cameras set up, get the bleep button and the black blob to cover indecent words/images, and watch sparks fly.

Some competition reality is about people who compete physically, like "The Great American Race." Some are about food. Some are about modeling or fashion.

Some reality is about "plot." For example, "The Family Jewels" about the Gene Simmons family, or the Ozzy Osborne follow the lives of a person with the assumption that the people being followed are such wild entertainment, that no competition or set up situations are even necessary. Anna Nicole Smith never failed to produce a train wreck.

The other kind of "realty" plot is where the producers tell story to glean sympathy, like "Extreme Home Makeover." Basically they take a story about a family having overwhelming hardships and then they throw a ton of money into an outrageous house in order to "solve" all their problems.

In the end, all "reality" television is such an oxymoron to me. How many people do you know that could ever really survive in the real world channeling the "characters" they play on television? Who really has unlimited time and unlimited money to compete for a person or a position, or to provide experiences that make the viewing public drop their jaws in awe of the stupidity/hysteria/sadness/brilliance of the lives of someone?

To me, "reality" television is just another way to package a sitcom or drama. In mainstream sitcoms and dramas, the lines are drawn so that the audience knows there is a definitive script behind them. But they still promote a particular lifestyle, lifted up to be emulated or avoided. "Reality" television usually is more about activities and lifestyle choices that should be avoided. However, the glossy packaging, along with the unlimited cash flow, make it appear as though this is "the American dream."

I hope that the "reality" television fad will fade away and die with this generation (along with rap music). In the meantime, we continue to remind ourselves that all the cash comes with some serious emotional trauma and all sorts of fall out we will never see on camera. And that if this is the "American Dream", maybe we need to set the bar for ourselves higher. We need to strive for something even better. We need to look for "real love and peace set in a real person's reality." We'll let the crazy, beautiful, rich, totally wigged out nut jobs keep their "reality" on television. We'll stay firmly planted in the real world.

Tremendous Teens

2010-07-24T13:03:00.001-05:00

When you become pregnant, there are a zillion resources for new parents: magazines, doctors, support groups, online chat groups, etc. And about eighty percent of the resources talk about the "heaven-sent little angel" as being the most wonderful miracle in your life. About twenty percent talk about the things that can go wrong. Less than one percent talk about the experience as being "bad" or "negative."

As the kids move from baby to toddler, toddler to child, then from child to tween, you'll find the same thing, but with the ratios of "good" to "bad" moving ever-steadily to about seventy-five/twenty-five. By the time we have tweens, the media has honed in to the fact that this group has more disposable income, so they have Hannah Montanna, the Jonas Brothers and all sorts of other Disney & Nickelodian characters and their media-driven products, at the ready. There are a few resources around for parents, but considerably less.

Then we hit the "Terrible Teen" years. Suddenly, the media can say nothing positive at all. Headlines always include "troubled" in front of "teen." All the magazines, movies and propaganda are about Teen Sex, Teen Bullying, Teen Drug Use, Teen Cliques and Teen Suicides. And there are little to no resources available for parents that don't involve a parole officer and/or therapy.

I know that teenagers suddenly morph from this baby/child we have cared for and loved- into an alien that is unfamiliar to us. And sometimes those changes are not changes we can endorse or approve. But the teen aged years are also a time when a person begins to sort out who they are. And the years begin anywhere as early as pre-teen (like six in the case of one of my children) to way into the twenties for some.

But they are still our children. They still want our love and approval more than anything else in the world (even if they deny it). And they still need and desire rules (whether they admit to it or not).

The media would have us believe that these teens want to raise themselves with unlimited money and unlimited freedom. But that is simply not true. Rules, love and affection make us all feel safe. And if we can show teenagers how to live and love in a healthy way, they will feel secure enough to realize that drugs to make you "feel" happy don't make you really happy; They will realize that you can have healthy physical affection that doesn't involve sex; And, they will be able to be "normal."

Now, as with anything, "stuff happens." Good kids do bad things. But it just bugs me that when a teenager does a good thing it's totally unnoticed or considered completely out of character.

I'm planning to have fun with my kids as teenagers. I will treat them with respect, since that's how I would like to be treated. I will enforce rules. I will entrust them with responsibility a little at a time so that they can earn it. And if they prove irresponsible with something, I'll retract that privilege until they find a way to earn it again.

I look forward to watching them work through what they are learning, to form their own beliefs and opinions. After all, I'm raising people, not clones or robots. I plan to look at them as special people in the next phase of their lives- not "troubled teens".

Will there be bumps in the road? You betcha'. Will I eat these words? Oh, but of course. But I will also come back to these words, again and again. I don't plan on having "troubled teens"- no matter what the media and/or the world might say. I plan on having "tremendous teens"! That is one of the best gifts my parents gave me. And I believe it's definitely a gift worth passing on- no matter what the world may say to the contrary!

The Teen-Aged Years

2010-07-23T23:30:00.001-05:00

Today my hormonally-charged son got to see the girlies (in uniform) training at the new restaurant "The Tilted Kilt" in Hendersonville. He was... impressed.

The girls wear... well not much... stiletto heels, a very tiny tartan plaid skirt, a matching very tiny tartan plaid bra & a Brittany Spears-like white "shirt" to "cover" the bra. They have bright red lipstick and tramp tats.

Basically, it's Hooters set in Scotland. But the food appears to be better, as well as the drink menu. My friend is completely fired up about a cold meatloaf sandwich, which is debatable in the "good food" category. But she seems happy. I'm pretty excited about the garlic butter french fries in parmesan cheese.

Since (thankfully) The Tilted Kilt is still not open, we went to dinner at another restaurant, and then walked around the Streets at Indian Lake. My son and his friend walked around with us for as long as they could stand, then I allowed them to walk by themselves for a little while. I might as well have said, "Release the hounds!" They walked around with perma-grin, happy to be out from momma's skirt tails.

This is one of the beginning glimpses I've had to the world of teenagers, as it relates to my child. I'm a little frightened. But at the same I am so very excited for him.

I remember standing at the threshold of being a young adult, one foot standing firmly in childhood, the other foot standing in the world of teenagers. I was suddenly terribly aware of fashion, hair, body shapes and boys. It was when I became focused on "me," and not so much on anything else. But it was also a time when I was able to begin to clarify my own values and ideas and figure out who "I" was and who I would become.

As a parent, I fully expect to have times that make me want to push him in front of a bus. But I know that even those times are simply a means to an end: a wonderful, God-fearing, productive member of society.

As a teenager, I know my son will have times when he wants to be driving the bus that would run over me. But hopefully, we can one day look back and realize it was all worth it.

I am not planning on taking him to The Tilted Kilt, Hooters or any other such establishment. As he gets older, he may go with friends, which I suppose is rather normal. But I just can't consider it responsible or normal to go with your mother.

Welcome to the big, wonderful, wild, wooly world of Teenager. On the plus side, I'm thrilled he will shower without being asked!

Mourning the Divorce of a Friend

2010-07-22T13:33:00.000-05:00

In what has become an all-too-familiar theme in life, I found out another friend of mine is getting a divorce. As is common in these situations, I had no idea and was taken totally off-guard. Not that all my friends have to keep me in the loop of their most private details, but you would think I would have some sort of clue, right?

I know all relationships have their ups & downs. Goodness knows hubby and I have had our share of both. But what, at the end of the day, is the "final straw" that makes a relationship die? It's a lot of hard work to keep a relationship afloat. But, especially when there are children, divorced parents still have to maintain some kind of relationship with their ex-spouse. That can't be easy. And there is a considerable amount of work that has to go into dividing up a household. Where do you even begin? And how do people afford to be divorced? We seem to barely be able to afford to work together toward the budget!

In my experience, the friends on whom I've always kept one eye, believing that I might very well expect a divorce announcement at any time, continue on through the rough patches and stay together. Fighting and disagreement seem to be an assumed cue for couples who are in trouble. Even my children become tense and paranoid when hubby and I share cross words. But fights don't necessarily earmark the divorces I've witnessed. In fact, in several cases, the couples whom I have believed to be strong, virtually impenetrable fortresses are the ones who have crumbled with no apparent warning.

How do you divorce-proof your marriage? Well, I am certainly no expert. But I'll tell you the main thing that I've heard from the people who I know who have gotten divorced: "We quit making each other a priority."

From there, they've "fallen out of love," "fallen in love with someone else," "worked too much," "quit talking to each other," "just weren't the same people we were when we got married." The last one, to me, is a given. Hubby and I have been married seventeen years, and we dated for five before that. Neither of us are the same people we were twenty-two years ago (thank goodness!). We are certainly not infallible, either. But he and I have the same priorities: 1) God, 2) Each Other, 3) Our Children, 4) the rest of the world. (If he ever put the children in danger in any way, or put something else in front of them, I would have something to say about that.)

Death is sorrowful. The death of a relationship through divorce is disheartening and sad. I continue, as always, to keep my friends in my thoughts and prayers as they make their way during this difficult transition in their lives. I pray they come through happier and healthier on the other side. And I use this as a reminder to myself and my spouse that "but for the grace of God, there go I."

867-5309

2010-07-21T17:54:00.001-05:00

Nothing makes me nostalgic faster than music. So today when we were listening to the radio, "Jenny"came on and I sang every word. My kids sang along with the chorus. (It's not that hard to learn.)

During the lyrics, the song says, "For the price of a dime I can always turn to you." My kids didn't know what that meant, so I was going to explain it to them. I had to start with the fact that there used to be phones that were attached to the wall. That blew their minds.

I took it to the next level when I told them that there were no cell phones. (I also pretty much sealed my fates as being viewed as part of an ancient civilization with that one.) I had to explain there were pay phones, which they related to Superman. Then I told them that they were set up to take a dime for a phone call. They cocked their heads to the side and looked at me like I was sprouting a propeller out of the top of my skull.

After the song, the kids excitedly asked me to tell them more about the "good old days." So I pulled up my walker and told them how I used encyclopedias for research papers. I almost lost them when I told them how we had "boom boxes" instead of MP3 players and iPods. They were horrified to learn that my first television had no cable, only four stations (with rabbit ears) and no color. "What did you do???"they asked, eyes wide with shock and dismay.

"We played outside, played games, played with friends."

"Did they have movies?"

"Yes!" I said, offended.

They sighed in relief. "What else?"

I told them about our first microwave, which was as big as an oven, our cameras that only used film that you had to have developed and that at least half of the cars on the road were stick shift cars. They sat with their mouths gaping open.

Satisfied they were properly amazed by my vast amount of knowledge and experience, I smiled and continued driving down the road. Keith promptly changed the radio station to one of the pop music stations and they started singing along to a Katy Perry song, my history lesson long forgotten...

I, on the other hand, sang "867-5309" for the rest of the day and reveled in the memories...

Well, That Was Fun...

2010-07-20T16:20:00.001-05:00

Virtually, just a minute ago I loaded up the car with all the end-of-school "stuff." We had notebooks, party favors, lunch boxes with some very scary science experiments, winter coats and all sorts of "stuff." We brought everything home, sorted it out and either threw it away or found it a home.

That was how we kicked off our summer. That day we had visions of a long, luxurious summer that would stretch out forever. We planned to spend our days sleeping in, then swimming in the sun until we got hungry. Then we would go in, eat something and then either take a nap or go back out to catch some more rays.

Today, other than a week of vacation at the beach, we have (sadly) yet to catch a single ray. And I have begun gearing up for the new school year: We start tonight with a parent meeting for football. Then my calendar becomes crammed up with all sorts of things like purchasing school supplies, sports physicals, dentist appointments, haircuts and more getting-ready-for-school things.

Since we are gearing up for a regular schedule (gag), I thought it was time for me to fire up the blog entries again, too. You have missed some funny stuff this summer. And for this, I apologize. But I will try to catch you up with anything noteworthy that you missed. And I'll try to pack my entries with lots of fun & interesting stuff that make you unable to sleep due to the anticipation of yet another stellar MommyBarbie article. (LOL)

As to Summer... Ah, well... It was fun while it lasted...

I Fought the Lawn and the Lawn Won

2010-06-19T00:13:00.001-05:00

This evening, when the sun was beginning to set and it was finally cooling down, I went out to cut the lawn. Unfortunately, we only had the push mower at our disposal, so that's what I had to use. As I surveyed the yard, I determined the back yard was in much greater need of a trim than the front yard, so I decided to start there.

I began by mowing the corners and the edges. Then I made long sweeping passes in a circular motion. After the first two sweeps, I giggled at myself thinking I was driving in circles just like Danika Patrick in NASCAR. However, by the fourth sweep, I was quite winded and readily admitted that other than having dark hair and going in a circular motion, I was nothing like Danika Patrick. By the fifth sweep, I had to stop and catch my breath.

You know when you begin to hyperventilate and you start feeling like your head and extremities are kind of "sparkly"? I had that in spades. I looked out over my progress, seeing a mass of tall-ish grass in the middle of our yard. I wondered if I could just leave the yard as it was and tell the kids I did it on purpose so they could play a game.

After resting long enough to have the sparkles stop, I got up and started again. After three sweeps, the circles were getting smaller. But it really wasn't getting the job done fast enough. At that point I started dreaming of having a contractor come out and dig up the whole back yard, pave it and paint it green.

Then on the next pass, I quit breathing again. Oh my gosh, this was the most grueling thing I had done in forever.

I had a brain storm. Forget the YMCA membership. Forget the exercise videos. I could be a trainer. Then, I could charge people to come for a "work out" and pay me to cut my grass.

When it was done, I was glad to have it look so nice. I was a little discouraged because I knew that next week, I would have to start all over again. And I didn't even get to the front yard yet.

Never have I been so grateful for a shower. I put on my comfy pj's and climbed into bed. I took some ibuprofen because I know I'm going to feel like death-warmed over tomorrow. And I know I'll have to finish the front yard, too...

...Unless I can talk hubby into paving the yard for me... Hey, you never know...

All of Me

2010-06-15T23:11:00.001-05:00

When hubby & I stood in front of a congregation of people in 1992 and vowed to love and care for each other for better, for worse, etc., we promised to love all of each other. Over the years, "all" of us has grown- and not just spiritually/emotionally. Unfortunately, we've also "blossomed" in our physical bodies, as well.

Today, hubby & I sat down with a "New Day: New Me" plan. We talked about how we would eat and how we would exercise. We planned everything out on a calendar and I began working on a spread sheet. We were going to do this thing!

So tonight we weighed ourselves after our first day of our diet.

The big reveal.

Hubby had already lost 2 pounds! Yea!

Of course, I expected he would lose faster than me; He's a man.

My turn.

I had...

GAINED 1.5 LBS??? SERIOUSLY???

Oh. My. Gosh.

I guess now hubby gets to love "all of me" even more...

A Clean Room is a Sign of a Boring Person

2010-06-12T14:20:00.000-05:00

Are there some traits and habits we are simply born with? I would have said I could go either way on that. But then I had Amy.

Amy is inherently messy. Like Pigpen from Peanuts, she is a cloud of mess. And she leaves a trail behind her like breadcrumbs. Wherever she takes off her shoes, there they sit. Her clothes are in a puddle right where she stepped out of them. I know what she had for lunch, because I can follow her cheese wrappers, apple core, juice box and bits of bread all the way out of the kitchen.

When Keith was a toddler we allowed food and beverages in other rooms besides the kitchen. That was until we found a sippy cup in his toy bin with milk in it. I guess I should really say "milk glob" because it had spoiled and congealed into a big smelly lump. Immediately we had a new house rule: no food or drinks outside of the kitchen/dining room.

This, I know, has kept us out of a world of trouble concerning Amy and her habits. I have visions of having all manners of bugs and creatures making a home in her room amongst her cast off sandwiches, soda cans, etc. If only I could convince her that containing a mess in the kitchen does not necessarily make it okay.

When she has wanted to go play with a friend badly, and been required to clean her room beforehand, she has been known to stash clean, folded clothes in her dirty clothes hamper. And I have found her toothbrushes in her shoe bin, the cat's food bowl, and the back seat of the car.

Don't get me wrong, I adore Amy. She is vivacious, funny, smart and generous. And I don't know that she enjoys messes. I think she just doesn't want to take a millisecond away from enjoying herself.

We are working on this. She sees the benefit of being organized to be able to find things- even if she doesn't want to take the time to do it. And she has a huge phobia of bugs. So she totally gets not keeping things around that bugs will want to come find.

She's eight. So I figure I have about nine or ten years to get her to change her messy ways before she goes off to college- so that she can be messy without me telling her she has to clean up after herself. In the meantime, we'll be a work in progress...

Living Loud

2010-06-10T15:55:00.001-05:00

I always thought that when you were young your hearing was infinitely better than when you were, say, my age. However, I have recently began to rethink this theory.

Yesterday I mentioned my son's love for absolutely awful music- most of it rap. What I haven't touched on was the fact that he really only listens to it at a volume that can shatter glass.

Anything less than that and he says, "Mom, I can't hear it."

"Really? You can't hear that? Because the governor of Kentucky called and asked you to turn it down."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny, Mom." He replies with curled lip.

But it's not just his gosh-awful music that he wants to be loud. When he watches television, he pushes the sound through the stereo system AND the television. During fight scenes I'm tempted to duck and take cover because it sounds like the calvary has landed in my living room and are getting ready to storm the beach.

The thing that sets my teeth on edge most is the cartoon shows that he watches (loudly). All the characters talk in a high-pitched dopey voice that even make our dog squint. After one show I've got a major headache started and I'm telling him to turn it down or turn it off.

"That's not fair," he scoffs. "Emma and Amy get to watch whatever they want."

"Yes, but their shows have voices that register in a much lower octave. And they can watch their shows at a lesser volume. And, if it makes you feel better, I hate their shows, too. Their volume just doesn't annoy me as much."

"Fine." He snaps the tv off. "I guess I'll just sit here and watch the blank screen."

"Whatever makes you happy, Drama Boy."

"I'm not Drama Boy! The girls are far more dramatic than me!"

"Okay," I say.

After about 30 seconds of silence, Keith loses it. "Mom, can I please watch tv?"

"I never said you couldn't. I just asked you to turn it down."

"But I can't hear it. And if I can't hear it I might as well not watch it."

"Okay," I say again.

He only lasts 15 seconds this time. "Mom!"

"What?"

"Please can I watch tv?"

"I. Said. Yes." I repeat slowly.

"With the volume up?"

I glare at him and sigh to show my displeasure. "Fine. I'll go upstairs and do some laundry."

"Don't go!" Keith says quickly. "I want you to sit by me."

I chuckle. "Keith," I say shaking my head, "I don't want to be assaulted by your whiny characters and listen to them fight ninja invaders from another planet at seventy seven thousand decibels."

"Mom!" Keith scoffs. "Barkly the Talking Dog and the Ninja Warriors from Planet Zircon are not in the same show. Duh."

"Okay. Well, if it's all the same to you, I really don't want to watch any of it. Maybe we could watch a movie together? How about Get Smart?"

"Okay."

We sit side by side and turn on the movie. Immediately the subwoofer in my stereo begins getting a work out.

"Keith, please, honey, turn it down."

"But I can't hear it."

"Maybe you need to go to the doctor."

"For what?"

"Your hearing," I say, exasperated.

"I hear just fine."

"Then why can't you turn the tv down, and your music down, and your computer down and, your I-pod down?"

"Because I want to make sure I hear everything. I don't want to miss any of the 'small' noises."

"Honey, at this volume, I don't see how you breathe well."

"Okay. I have a small confession to make. I actually like everything loud to drown out Amy."

I raise an eyebrow at him. I can sympathize just a little bit.

"But you are making your poor mother crazy. Please, please, humor me. Turn it down," I shout above the television.

He turns it down. I unbunch my shoulders and take a deep breath. We start watching the movie. Ahhhh... finally...

About that time, Amy starts singing - loudly - to her music upstairs. Keith and I look at each other. He has a distinct "I told you so" look on his face. Amy gets louder.

"Fine. Turn it back up," I concede, already rubbing my temples.

But hey, that's what they make Tylenol for, right?

My Keys, My Car

2010-06-09T14:43:00.000-05:00

My son, Keith, bless him, is a precious, precious boy. However, he is officially a teen, and by definition requires that the entire world revolve around him. He is actually very thoughtful of others- by teenaged standards, or anyone else's for that matter...

He does have this "thing" that drives me up the wall though: he must have music playing 24/7 and it must be his music.

He has a computer, an I-pod touch, a cell phone and a stereo, all which play music. But that is not enough, it seems. He must also commandeer my car. And it's not enough to listen to the horrific junk that comes from the radio. No. He must also immediately eject all my CD's from my CD player upon entering the vehicle.

Today I called him on it. "Son, please leave my CD player alone."

"But you like Michael Buble'!" (pronounced as though he had just eaten a bite of raw chicken)

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do."

"Why can't we listen to your CD player? My favorite CD is (I'm paraphrasing) The Black Hole of Death that plays, what can be termed loosely as, music, which is actually just one note and one word played over and over again, specifically designed to make parents insane." Keith slumped down into his seat and frowned at the car in front of us.

"Um. No. How about you listen to the radio?"

"Hmfph"

"Okay... How about your I-pod touch? With your earbuds?"

"That's so not fair! You always get to listen to what you want!"

"Oh, child. If you only knew..." I sighed. "I'm sorry I just really, really can't listen to The Black Hole of Death."

"Why? They're awesome!"

"Well, that's debatable."

"You just have no taste," he sniffed.

"Well, you are out of road." I pulled to our destination, stopped the car and let him out to go into the building.

Then I turned on my Michael Buble' and sang at the top of my lungs. I half-way hoped someone would stop me and ask me whose mother I was just so I could tell them that I was Keith's mother and that sometimes he listened to Michael Buble' in the car with me, too.

After I calmed down a bit, I turned on The Black Hole of Death and chanted along with their female-bashing lyrics and danced all the way to the store. After all, it is my car... Right?

When "Free" Ain't "Free"

2010-06-07T23:08:00.000-05:00

So, occasionally I get coupons for free movies. Now, Red Box is only $1 a night. But really, how do you beat "free"?

Tonight I got a coupon on my phone. Keith and I were excited to go get our "free" movie, which almost always costs me more than it would have if I had just purchased it due to late fees from forgetting to turn it back in.

We went to the first Red Box, and low-and-behold it was broken. Being a problem-solver by nature, I called the 1-800 number on the box to see if they could remotely fix the problem. After being on eternal hold for long enough to hear their "commercial" loop six times, I finally got Ron. Ron was very kind, but could not fix the box.

Ron gave me a "free" movie rental for my trouble, though. Now we had two "free" movies, and no movie.

Next, we went to the Red Box in McDonald's, determined to get a stupid movie for "free." There was a line at this Red Box that was five people deep. I was ready to leave; Keith was not deterred.

The first people in front of the screen were like those people who only come out of the house once a year. They poured over the selections like they were studying for a test. In the end, they threw their hands up and left with no movie.

The second group had found "free" coupon codes online. They kept punching in codes, never actually getting a "free" movie. They left with a movie, happy anyway.

The next two were only returning movies, but seemed to have quite a few difficulties inserting the movie correctly. Keith did an excellent job of not ripping it out of their hand(s) and doing it for them.

Finally, it was our turn. We began making our selection. We scrolled through once quickly, then hit "go back to start" to put our movie "in our cart."

Suddenly, the computer shut down. The DOS screen came up and the cursor blinked. Then Windows flashed on the screen. Keith and I were laughing hysterically at this point.

Then, sadly, the error message from Red Box appeared on the screen. "This is temporarily out of order. We apologize for your inconvenience." Really?

So, now our score is: Two "Free" coupons for Red Box movies, Two Red Box stations, No movies.

Keith tried to convince me to stop at a third Red Box. I said, "Uhm, no. Not gonna' happen. If we have a third one break while we're around it, we may be banned from Red Boxes- no matter how many 'free' coupons we have."

So, we went home and watched some shows we had recorded on our DVR.

Maybe tomorrow we'll try our "free" coupons again...

Curiosity Kills the Cat- or the Hamster

2010-06-06T23:16:00.000-05:00

As a parent, there are times that the situation calls for you to be very serious and a strict disciplinarian. But all you really want to do is laugh really hard and possibly even be a little impressed with your child's ingenuity.

When Amy was little we had a cat named Cocoa. Cocoa was a very good cat overall. She tolerated Amy dressing her up in doll clothes- when Amy could catch her. And she even allowed Amy to lay on top of her.

At some point, Amy decided she wanted a dog. Hubby, in his ultimate wisdom, told Amy that we couldn't get a dog until we didn't have the cat. Any mother will tell you that you must give more perimeters to such a statement, or your children's little imaginations will take it and run.

A day or two later, I saw poor Cocoa come streaking through the den, mad and wet. I followed the water trail back to the bathroom, where Amy proclaimed she was trying to get rid of the cat so we could have a dog- by flushing Cocoa down the toilet. She truly did not mean to hurt the cat. She merely used her problem-solving skills to come up with a way to get a dog.

This story has become legend in our family and amongst friends. I imagined it could never be topped. This weekend it was.

A friend of ours has a very cute, precocious young boy, (I'll call him Bobby) with too much intelligence for his own good. He has been known to pick locks like Houdini in order to escape and go play with friends. He also has done many other things that will ultimately make his parents gray at a very early age- if they are able to keep from pulling all their hair out.

Bobby's sisters had hamsters, whom they loved very much. Bobby loved playing with them, too. But he was always looking for how things work and how to entertain himself.

Apparently, one of the sister's hamsters wound up in Bobby's closet, nesting happily in a pile of his clothes and toys. The rodent was only found after discovering a trail of hamster pellets that led the family to the closet.

The other sister's hamster was not nearly as fortunate. Bobby needed to know if hamsters could swim. And he had a fascination with the toilet and how things seemingly disappeared into a circular water slide. Hamster Number Two met his untimely death by being sucked down into Bobby's toilet. The rodent is gone.

Now, when my friend told me this, I understood inherently that I was supposed to be shocked and appalled. That is no way to treat animals. They are not supposed to be harmed in any way by us humans, who have taken them on as pets, and should treat them kindly.

However, I had to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Why? Because it is so surreal and so dang funny. NOT that the hamster died, of course! But that this little blond ball of cute boy so innocently wanted to see how the toilet worked. And that he was able to retrieve the hamster undetected. And that the hamster didn't just swirl around the bowl- but actually was sucked down, not to be found ever again.

My poor friend. I feel her pain. Amy -and hubby and I- will never live down poor Cocoa (who is now happily living on a farm and chasing mice to her heart's content). My friend, her hubby and Bobby will never live down "the Great Hamster Event of Summer 2010."

I think my friend is getting Bobby's sister a replacement hamster- and a lock for sister's door.

Bobby got in big, fat trouble. But he's exactly the kind of kid who grows up to build priceless inventions. At least, I hope...

You Can't Get Married Without My Children

2010-06-05T23:50:00.000-05:00

I'm in a grumpy mood tonight? Why?

I just came back from a beautiful wedding. It was an outdoor venue set in a beautiful garden.

The service was lovely. The bride was exquisite. The food was scrumptious.

So, what's the problem?

Well, all of the invitations contained the specific request by the bride and groom that no children would attend. Hubby and I made the effort to find child care for our kids and went to the wedding.

When we got there, we were more than a little shocked to find that apparently we were the only ones who respected the couple's wishes. They had all brought their children- of all ages- anyway.

How rude!

I guess they decided that if, as a guest, they had decided to honor the bride and groom with their presence, and bring a gift for them, that they had the right to ignore their specific instructions.

I am completely over people and their sense of entitlement! (That belief that the world must revolve around them, and that whatever they deem to be acceptable to float around in their universe was okay. All else must shuttle off to some other dimension.)

It's not just at weddings, either. It's the man who cuts people off in traffic because he feels like his business is more important than anyone else's, so he has every right to cut in front of everyone else. Or the woman who believes her home, food, car, schooling, health insurance and everything else should be paid for by the government- indefinitely- just because she had a baby.

They go hand-in-hand with the people who believe that nothing could ever be their fault. "I killed my friend because my dad beat me." Oh, well, okay. That makes total sense, and I think you should totally be excused. NOT!

Some years ago, a woman spilled hot coffee in her lap and sued McDonald's. It created a landslide of stupid people who continue to blame the world for their stupidity. And now it's filtered down to the fact that nothing is anyone's fault anymore, and everyone is entitled to whatever they desire just because they breathe air.

When I got home after the wedding I gave my kids a couple of hugs each. I told them how much I appreciated them allowing mommy and daddy to go to the wedding and how sorry I was they didn't get to go.

They shrugged it off and said it was no big deal. They were actually happy they didn't have to go.

You know what? I bet all the kids at that wedding probably felt that same way. But their moms and dads taught them that the world owed them this wedding because they were cute, or funny, or just because they were the son or daughter of their parents.

Maybe the bride and groom should have invited the kids and asked the parents to stay at home.

Everything else aside, I wish blessings and happiness to the bride and groom. I offer my apologies on behalf of all your rude guests who decided they were more important than you today. I pray you will be blessed with friends and family who will learn to put aside themselves for you. And that you will continue to teach your children the value of respect and accountability.

Blessings,
MommyBarbie

With a Bow on Top

2010-06-04T21:59:00.000-05:00

We are officially in the thick of what I call, "Gift Season." It starts at about Mother's Day and doesn't stop until school starts back. We are buying gifts for moms, then grads, then weddings and babies. And none of these gifts are cheap.

Actually, though, with having kids, our "Gift Season" is pretty much year-round. We have birthday parties upon birthday parties. And each one of them require a gift. We should buy stock in Justice. And Target. And, now, with the older kids, I-Tunes.

Every once in a while we have someone who insists they don't want gifts. Instead, they want donations for a charity. I think this is so wonderful and commendable.

My own Emma has done this, asking for money to go to the Ronald McDonald's House, for families of children who are having serious medical problems, and have been displaced for medical treatment. I was particularly happy to not have all the extra toys and do-dad's. But I also could not have been more proud.

In the "Official Parenting Brochure," they should mention the gift thing in the "Expenses" portion. Figure $20 - $25 per gift. Then figure at least one birthday party every other week. Multiply that by the number of children you have. Then figure in some weddings, Mother's Day, Father's Day, baby showers and other miscellaneous gifts.

Oh, and don't forget that your children will need Christmas and Birthday gifts. And those aren't $20 - $25 a piece. And, generally speaking, they do not appreciate donations being made in their honor in lieu of gifts.

I hope you are all having a good "Gift Season." My your obligation and generosity not exceed your wallet.

The Green, Green Grass at Home

2010-06-03T22:09:00.000-05:00

I went to a friend's house today and fell in lust with her beautiful, open floor plan. I was ready to go home and stick a sale sign in my yard and sell the whole house- contents and all- and buy hers.

Not only was the floor plan fantabulous, it was about 1,000 square feet larger than ours. I had visions of the children being able to spread out, and Keith having a room bigger than a coat closet. She has four bathrooms. I don't even know how to tell you how excited I would be to have that many bathrooms available at any given time. Granted, we have three. But four? That's beyond awesome!

Her kitchen had an island in the middle. The stove top was flat so no little crumbs or pasta or sauce of some kind go under the burners where they turn into stinky, charred ash. And they had a three car garage- a three car garage!!!! We could actually park our cars in our own garage AND have storage room, instead of having to choose one over the other.

I got misty-eyed thinking of it all. Especially when I considered her hard wood floors and the new carpet in the front family room (not to be confused with the family room off the kitchen or the den upstairs). I was in love.

Then, my Achilles' Heel reared his ugly head... cleaning.

I am not a cleaner by nature. It's not that I don't like things to be clean. As a matter of fact, I enjoy organizing and putting things into a neat, clean, orderly fashion.

My beef is with the fact that cleaning is a routine- an endless, mind-numbing, time-sucking, repetitive, thankless routine. No sooner is the laundry done, folded and put away than there's another load waiting to be washed. When opening the dishwasher reveals a cavernous, empty square, dirty dishes are sure to be piled in the sink awaiting their transfer. It never, ever ends.

As I looked at my friend's home with fresh eyes, I winced. All of those bathrooms would have to be scrubbed. That extra toilet, bathtub, floor and sink would require extra elbow grease. The island would be sure to be turned into a storage facility for everything that didn't already have a home- and even some stuff that did have a home, but that people were just too lazy to find.

Three family rooms? Really? Isn't that really just two extra places to have to vacuum, dust and pick up. And a three car garage... Meh... Just another place to store hubby's over-priced, professional-grade sports equipment he never uses.

By the time I was done looking around, I was ready to put up a sign in my front yard all right. But I wanted to down-size just so I wouldn't have to clean as much!

Honestly, we could get by with one and a half bathrooms, don't you think? And really, can't the girls share a room? Keith is lucky. He only has enough room to keep the stuff he really needs. So he doesn't get bogged down by a bunch of unnecessary clutter.

After I had a chance to drive home (and start yet another load of laundry), I had come back to center: that place where I am incredibly grateful for exactly what I have.

There will always be greener grass in the pasture on the other side of the fence. Fortunately, life has taught me that many times that beautiful, lush, green, carpet-like grass I'm eyeing is concealing a nasty smelling septic tank.

So I will keep my beautiful home in which I currently reside. We have lovely memories here. And its size, floor plan and location fit our life. Besides that, I have already priced out maids for this location. And someday, I'll be able to afford to pay one to come clean for me!

Gone to the Dogs

2010-06-02T22:10:00.000-05:00

My dog's groomer charges $38 to get her looking (and smelling) beautiful. I just bought some professional-grade trimmers to help Keith keep his hair buzzed for football, and I thought, "What the heck? I could save some money in this area of my life, too."

So, I (foolishly) fired up the trimmers and tried valiantly to groom Dixie (my 6 lb maltese/shih tzu mix).

An hour and a half later, I decided my groomer was not asking nearly enough. I was covered from head to toe with her soft, fine hair, itching like a camel with chiggers. I didn't even get to giving the little beastie a bath. Nor had I come anywhere close to doing whatever they say they do to the doggies' "glands". (Don't ask.)

However, I did get my "Jane Fonda" work out. My timid little puppy became a wriggling, yipping, fur-flying, mess of a greased pig, while I tried to calm her by saying, "Good puppy," over and over again in a soothing voice.

Oh, yeah, my groomer needs to charge a million dollars a dog.

The kids kept telling me I was being mean to Dixie, and that she was mad at me. They tried to rescue her. But once I was half way through the cut, I couldn't very well let her be six inches in the front and three inches in the back. Besides, I wasn't hurting her. She was just being difficult and grouchy. I know I wasn't hurting her because I kept accidentally running the trimmers over my fingers/hands/arms/legs, and it didn't hurt; it just made a lot of noise.

I think (as my professional position as family Dog Whisperer) she was embarrassed that I was exposing her tummy, and she is ticklish on her underarms. And I think she didn't like having to sit still while I kept running the trimmers over and over the same place, going different directions so that all the fur was the same length.

Either way, she's as groomed as she's going to get by me. She may get a bath tomorrow. I'm not touching her "glands."

Maybe next time it will be easier... Or maybe I'll just fork out the $38 and call it a day...

When You Grow Up

2010-06-01T23:41:00.000-05:00

If a person could grow by pure will, Keith would be six feet tall. You've never seen a person focus with such precision and intensity on something they have absolutely no control over.

It's funny how we equate certain things with happiness and/or success. With Keith, it's his physical height. With someone else, it may be whether or not they have a certain professional position or a certain status in a group. With many people it's about money.

There are some things over which we do have control. How we behave at work or in a group can determine our success. How we perform can effect how much money we earn.

But there are some things we can't control at all. For example, someone who wants to be an international singer, has to have some natural talent. We have no control over what kind of talent we're born with. We can try to hone our skill. But ultimately, we can only work with what we've been given.

If I could, I would stretch Keith out to make him tall, and then some. But unfortunately, all I can do is try to help him accept who he is, and love who he can become.

I guess that's the way it is with all of us. We all have our limitations. I'll never be Mrs. America, with the figure of a barbie doll. I'll never be Stephenie Meyer, with her mega multi-media hit series, "Twilight." I'll never lead bible studies for millions and millions of people, like Beth Moore.

But I am the mom of children whose very breath makes my heart beat with love. And I am the wife of my best friend. And I get to write in various forums, such as this blog. And I get to share my theological beliefs with some great kids in our church's confirmation class.

Keith may never be six feet in height. But he will always be huge in character. And he is and will continue to be a great role model to younger kids. I hope and pray he will see that, too- no matter how tall he ever stands.

Happy (Burp) Holiday

2010-05-30T21:44:00.000-05:00

I am stuffed. I have eaten non-stop since Friday morning on the last day of school. We celebrated the end of the school year.

Then Saturday we kicked off celebrating the holiday weekend with a cookout. We had burgers and all the sides you could imagine. I know I munched enough chips to sink a ship.

Today we continued the celebration with BBQ sandwiches and every starchy side imaginable at a family get-together.

Tomorrow we'll round out the weekend with more hamburgers and too much party food.

It's like Thanksgiving for four days straight. It's the American way.

But, why?

Why do family & friend get-togethers require a gross display of way too much food? Even if we go out to eat, the appetizers, main course and desserts are big enough to make you have to unbutton your pants.

I guess it doesn't sound very much fun to invite friends over for a fasting holiday. But is it necessary to have enough food to support an entire village in Haiti for a year at one family gathering?

I know traditionally Americans have used big feasts to celebrate holidays and special occasions. But that was in a time when we ate 85% less in general. A big feast was in order.

Today, our culture has made every meal have special foods available for our consumption. You can buy a wedding cake on a Thursday just because you want some. In times past, cakes of any kind were something eaten only several times a year. Tomorrow you could go to a restaurant and have any kind of cultural cuisine used previously on special high festival occasions. Originally, these delicacies were reserved only for for the occasion.

Nothing today is "special." We are continuously looking to "treat" ourselves. We've been told over and over again we "deserve" it. We are "entitled" to it.

I propose we start a new trend: 4th of July is the next big holiday. Why don't we all vow to serve less, eat less & visit with each other more. We don't need five kinds of chips. What's up with potato salad, pasta salad, green salad, green beans and deviled eggs? How about just two sides? If there are only going to be ten people, we probably don't need to cook 35 hotdogs. And after eating all that food, maybe popsicles would suffice, instead of pie, cake, cupcakes and ice cream.

Let's make desserts be occasional and small. Let's have simpler, smaller meals as a rule, and have feasts be special. Let's make our feasts be reasonable, and not so indulgent and over-the-top.

We are Americans: Home of the Free. But freedom doesn't mean gluttony. Freedom comes with the responsibility to be good stewards of our goods so that we can continue on. And it means helping others by sharing our resources.

This weekend, even as we have our cook outs, let's be especially appreciative of our food. And of our service men and women who fight for us to be free.

There is a Traitor in Our Midst

2010-05-29T22:55:00.000-05:00

When I was in my twenties, I couldn't understand why people would spend so much money and time using all sorts of funky products trying to look young. My mother has beautiful salt and pepper colored hair, which is now more salt than pepper. My grandmothers both aged gracefully. I believed I would embrace my aging process as a beautiful part of my life.

When I was in my thirties, my pepper colored hair began to sprout some salt. My gray hair was not only an unattractive yellow-gray, but it was course and curly- in complete opposition to my otherwise dark straight hair. All my friends who had any gray readily jumped into a Miss Clairol box and made it go away. I finally conceded to peer pressure and darkened my gray hair.

Now, in my forties, my body has completely revolted. I am seriously considering putting it on trial for high treason. My hair has "salted" up considerably. Gravity has done a pretty serious number on everything. My muscle tone has turned to something resembling old mashed potatoes. My forehead has really deep lines running east to west across it. And crow's feet have sprouted at the corners of my eyes.

Those people whose judgement I questioned in my twenties are now on my speed dial for consultation on how to rid my body of these evil encroachments on my youth. A friend was telling me about her botox injections. My interest piqued. How bad was it? How much did it cost? Most importantly: did it work? (She looked a tiny bit offended that I asked that, since technically, I suppose I should have been able to tell. But cosmetic changes are delicate, much like weight. If you tell someone they've lost a ton of weight, or look so much better, it's sort of backhanded compliment. You've told them they look so great now, because they looked so bad before...)

Now, would I actually go through anything more drastic than hair coloring? Twenty years ago I would have said "NO WAY." Today, I say, "probably not." But I'm not ruling it out. By the time I hit my fifties, I may be looking for part time jobs to fund my cosmetic procedures. I would hope I would welcome some of my aging, as I had originally planned. But there's no denying that watching your body change and age in front of your eyes is at the very least terribly unsettling.

As I watched my next door neighbor's sixteen year old daughter walk around the pool in her cute little bikini this evening, I mourned the metabolism of my youth. I wished desperately for my flat belly and my curves that were where they were supposed to be, instead of sliding down my body. And I yearned for my young skin that smoothed across my face, instead of scrunching and wrinkling.

But I looked at her mother, who is about my age and faces some of the challenges everyone my age faces. It occurred to me that my three children also had been a product of my aging. And, I may not embrace my body's aging, but I do embrace my age. I am happy where I am and with who I am, even if I'm not happy with my treasonous body.

So, bring on the hair dye, and whatever else help with the body's appearance. But keep the memories, the experiences and the love!

Punch Buggy

2010-05-29T12:37:00.000-05:00

The kids introduced the family to a game when we were in the car. Whoever spotted a yellow car would try to shout out, "yellow car" first. It became quite the challenge for me to beat the kids at finding the yellow cars.

Keith recently changed up the game. Now whenever someone sees a Ford, BMW, VolksWagon or Lexus, they are supposed to call it out and punch the person closest in the arm. He has upped the stakes quite a bit.

This morning on the way to school, we saw many cars- especially Fords. Keith sat in the front seat next to me and tried his best to catch me off guard. I tried to explain to him that this was not one of his better ideas, as I was driving. So if he was punching me, it made it difficult for me to steer and work the gas/brake pedals properly.

He laughed and punched me again, shouting gleefully, "Ford!"

I have a bit of a competitive streak, and I hate for my parenting to be questioned when I am certain I am right. So, his reaction did not set well with me. I bit my lip and grimaced. Then I saw another Ford.

I knew I was the adult. I knew I should be setting an example. But sometimes, especially with thirteen year old boys who think they are too old to listen to their mommas, the best lesson is to show instead of tell.

I pulled my arm back and punched, screaming, "Ford!"

As he rubbed his arm and looked at me like I had just shot his dog, I said, "Hurts, doesn't it?"

"I can't believe you did that!" he yelped.

"I can't believe you won't listen to me," I retorted. "Look, Keith, you are way too big to be hitting me. And I most certainly don't want to see you punching your sisters."

"You hit me!" he stated the obvious, disbelief all over his face.

I clenched my teeth together. "I think this is a bad game. And I think we are done playing it now. What do you think?"

"Fine," he muttered. "I still can't believe you hit me so hard."

"Me? What about you? I'm going to have bruises up and down this arm from where you've hit me like six times."

"I can't help it that I see the cars before you do."

"Keith," I said, feeling my tone creep up to death-con four warning level, "We are done with this conversation."

Later that night we were in the car with hubby. Keith, being a thirteen year old boy, couldn't resist picking up the morning's game.

"Ford!" he sang out as he whopped Emma's arm.

Emma is a wispy little thing and shot across the car, wailing and holding her arm.

Hubby was not pleased. "Keith?" he bellowed. "What are you doing?"

"Playing a game," Keith replied gleefully and without any idea how thin the ice was on which he was treading. "Whenever you see a Ford, BMW, VW or Lexus, you call it and you get to hit the person next to you."

"Son," hubby said in his best redneck authority voice. "I am only going to say this once: Don't."

"But-" Keith tried.

"No!"

"But-"

"Keith, I said no," hubby said sternly.

"Geez. Okay. Fine," Keith grumbled.

I, being mature and his mother, turned around and looked Keith in the eye while raising my eyebrows at him. When hubby stopped the car, got out and was no longer looking, I continued with my mature, maternal behavior- well, almost.

I put my arm around Keith and taunted into his ear, "Ha, ha. You were busted."

He turned and looked at me with really wide eyes. "What?"

I feigned innocence. Then I got back by his ear. "You got in trouble by Daddy," I sang in a teasing voice.

"Mom!" Keith fumed, shrugging off my arm around his shoulder.

"Keith, be respectful of your mother!" hubby demanded.

"Honey, it's okay," I soothed. I felt a little bad getting Keith in trouble again. But just a little.

So, maybe hubby spared my arm a few bruises by calling an official truce. But in reality, he probably just delayed the inevitable.

Teenage boys are looking for ways to be affectionate without looking weak. While Keith is very good about sharing hugs and holding my hand in the car, when there are no eyes to witness, in public, he is still groping with how to express "cool affection".

I imagine for the next couple of years, at least, I'll be wrestling, punching, getting noogies, and being body checked. All in the name of love.

"Hee Haw" Happens

2010-05-28T16:14:00.000-05:00

My children have never experienced "Hee Haw," which aired on television when I was younger. We watched it as a family and laughed. However, it was that country bumpkin stereotype that also pushed me out of the entire southern part of the United States when I was old enough to go.

I eventually returned, and was very glad to be here. I have even developed a bit of a fondness for the "Hee Haw" stereotype. Of course, it's easy to love now that there is no "Hee Haw" to perpetuate it.

One of the skits Glen Campbell and the gang would do regularly was a song that went "Doom, Despair and Agony on Me." Yesterday I could relate all too well.

I had a lot going on at work. Too much really. But it's the end of the month and a holiday weekend, so a couple of things turned into a lot of things fast!

We have also had my van in Murfreesboro (about 45 minutes away) for the last several days getting a tune up. A friend of hubby's brother works at Nissan and was able to get our car back to better-than-new. But it meant hubby and I had to share a car for the week.

After I got my work under some kind of control I went to go pick up my kids from school in hubby's car. As I sat in the Middle School/High School pick up line, my car stalled and wouldn't start back up.

I had to get out of the car and wave people around me while my kids slunk down far into their seats certain they would die of embarrassment. I tried calling hubby at work to get his take on what was going on with the car. I knew he couldn't really help or come get me; I had his car.

But I couldn't find hubby anywhere. Finally, I switched tactics and called my mom. She came out to rescue me. By this time there was no one left at school besides me and the kids.

Hubby had finally called back and suggested that my battery was dead. So Mom and I were going to jump start it from her battery. Only neither of us had ever actually done that.

My kids were beyond bored and hot by this time. And their whining earned them a snappy warning from me. I hate having to correct my kids in front of my parents. I know they understand more than anyone. But I still always feel like I'm not as good of a parent as they are, and surely they know some strategy or technique that can get the kids to do exactly as they want them to, and make it sound fun in the process.

Anyway, Mom and I gingerly put red on each positive sign on the batteries and black on each negative and started the car. A few moments later we had my car going. Whew! Now we just had to get it to Wal-Mart without it dying again. So I drove with no air, no radio, no anything that would pull from that battery.

The auto mechanic at Wal-Mart said my battery was completely past being able to be recharged. And he said they could change it. Of course, it was going to be another $100. Which we really didn't have. Since we were servicing our other car. And it's the end of the school year with teacher gifts. And we have eight birthday gifts to get. And I had to put a deposit down for the kids' camps for this summer.

But, we bit the bullet. And finally we had the car back.

Finally, I began to breathe.

I know there are much worse/more serious/more dangerous situations that people have every single minute of every single day. But all my little situations seemed to pile up all at once in the afternoon heat in the car rider line at school.

I wanted nothing more than to throw a great big temper tantrum followed immediately by a Texas-sized glass of red wine and then a pitcher of margaritas. Instead, I took deep breaths and tried to imagine myself on a beautiful, deserted beach with nothing but the sound of the ocean and the late afternoon sun.

As the day began to resolve itself, I found myself humming, "Doom, Despair and Agony on Me... If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all..."

"Hee Haw" might be gone, but it is not forgotten. It helped lighten my mood and even smile a little. I tried explaining it to the kids. But I guess it's really something that just has to be experienced.

But to all of you who remember, I send a warm "Hee Haw" sa-lute! And I wish ya'll a jim-dandy day! Now come on back, you hear?

This and That

2010-05-25T21:18:00.000-05:00

The family & I drove out to Murfreesboro tonight to get my car repaired. The deal is that I needed it serviced: breaks, oil, belts, etc. This is a big 'ole expense. BUT, hubby's brother knows a guy who can do all that for a fraction of the cost. Woo Hoo! The catch was, we had to take it to him in Murfreesboro.

While we were out there, we visited with hubby's sister-in-law, and his sister and brother-in-law. Then, we found a Bojangle's Chicken & Biscuits. Okay, I need to say that their sausage biscuits are something I would fight my momma for! So I was in southern culinary heaven. The kids agreed with my assessment, and we all petitioned the manager to build one in Hendersonville.

On the way home, the girls sang Michael Buble', Shania Twain, Owl City and Justin Beiber. Keith slumped in the back seat with his head phones on, trying very hard to ignore his sisters and their complete un-coolness. Of course, hubby and I had to pick at him a little bit, and encourage the girls just to make Keith crazy.

When we got home, we watched the American Idol we had recorded, and hubby and I gave our own critiques of the singers and the judges. The kiddos wanted to watch Glee, but we were completely done for the night, and made them take showers and go to bed.

All-in-all, a great night. We'll be shuffling around for the next several days with only one car. I missed book club tonight, which made me quite sad. And we have to go back out to Murfreesboro to retrieve our car when it is ready.

But it is all worth the blessing of being able to save some money. And the even bigger blessing of some quality family togetherness.

That makes my mommy heart very, very happy! :)

It's Magic

2010-05-24T22:39:00.000-05:00

Tonight my children and I watched "Bewitched" together- the old black & white version. We had fun watching the plot, and I enjoyed telling them about "the old days." Rotary phones, kitten heels and proper English were all things my children were intrigued by.

It took me to another time when I was growing up. When I thought the magic of "Bewitched"was something cutting edge and wonderful. I was reminded of other shows from that time in my life: "I Dream of Jeanie," "Gilligan's Island," even "Love Boat," and "Fantasy Island" came to mind.

Trying to tell my kids about these shows made me get all misty-eyed. However, my kids were only impressed until Endora, Samantha's mother, vanished and took their attention with them.

It was easy enough for me to stay back in that time for just a little while longer. I was taken back to the end of disco, back to phones that didn't work if they weren't attached to a wall, back to eight track tapes, back to Julie McCoy helping people find their soul mates on the "Love Boat," and Gilligan being clutzy and stupid while the Professor made major scientific breakthroughs on "Gilligan's Island."

Then the kids broke the spell.

"You're touching me!" Amy hollered.

"You took my seat," Keith retorted.

"Let me have the remote, Keith," Emma scowled.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. I was jolted back to the present time. "Bewitched," credits were rolling. My cellphone chirped. I propped my Crocs up on the table. I realized I was nowhere near Tattoo and "la plane, la plane," on "Fantasy Island." But I was okay with that.

I'm happy where I am. But it's still fun to watch the old shows with the kids. ;-)

Junk Busters

2010-05-24T08:22:00.000-05:00

Yesterday the kids and hubby and I cleaned the downstairs. And I don't just mean a little bit. I mean the deep down kind of clean that gets the dirt out of the corners of the corners.

We've lived in our house for eight years this October. We have accumulated more "stuff" than I ever could have imagined. Some of it was sentimental (Awww... Keith wore that the first time he threw up on my mom...). Some of it was something one of the kids just couldn't part with (because, of course we'll use the barbie doll with her hair burned off, one arm and a blue face from the sharpie marker). And some of it was stuff we had meant to throw away, but it got shoved behind other stuff and we forgot about it (Why did we keep this glass duck ashtray again?)

Yesterday, it went away to the trash. And then we cleaned the space it had been in. And then we organized what was left.

Ahhhh... It felt so good to go to bed last night knowing our downstairs was clean and orderly.

The upstairs will be tackled at a later date. So for now, just close your eyes and only reopen them when you come back downstairs.

Hubby commented that the trash collectors are going to wonder what in the world happened in our home this weekend. Our trash cans were full to over-flowing, and we had multiple other garbage bags and boxes stacked beside them. I'm sure we do look a little like we're moving or on a home make-over show (like "Hoarders").

The kids complained at first, as I expected they would. But after they began seeing the results, they were happy (well, that may be too strong of a word) to help.

Next weekend, my little army of dusters, wipers and organizers will join me upstairs as we tackle the bonus room (with VHS tapes of Barney on my list of "out of here's") and the bedrooms (ACK!). Then, at some point, (like when I've had a lot of wine) we'll tackle out the two storage spaces (the "ultimate" storage of junk!).

But for today, I take great satisfaction in looking at my clean kitchen and family room. The floors are shiny, the counter tops are cleaned off and the pantry is completely reorganized. What a great way to start the week! :-)

Suiting Up

2010-05-23T22:14:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I apparently felt the need to really hate myself. Because I decided I needed to go ahead and get my bathing suit for the season.

I went into Khol's overly optimistic on the selection, discovering, unfortunately, that nothing had changed since last season. There are three kinds of bathing suits: the bikini, the slightly-bigger-than-a-bikini and the "big momma" mumu.

The bikini is an article of clothing (if it can qualify as a whole article of clothing) that covers the very bare minimum of flesh. It is designed for little, bitty girls who are very confident. It is NOT for girls who have a little (or a lot) extra junk in their trunk.

The slightly-bigger-than-a-bikini suit still shows a lot of flesh. Sometimes they are even one piece suits. But they still require a lot of extra confidence, and not a lot of extra "you."

From there, we jump straight to the dress with briefs and bra cups built in. The fabric is awful. The colors and/or patterns are cheap-looking. And there is little to no shape to them. These scream, "I am too fat to care how I look anymore." Or, "I'm old enough that I really need the bra cups to roll my boobs up and stuff them in."

Why is there nothing in between? Cute, sporty, young. But able to cover enough of your body to make you feel un-naked. Why does it either have to be Playboy Bunny or Golden Girls/Free Willy?

I finally selected a few that were the least offensive and went into the dressing room.

Dressing rooms in general are unfriendly to the ego. They have harsh, bright light and big, unforgiving mirrors. My fresh-from-winter vampire white skin was translucent, and not in the pretty way. And what had looked like soft curves in jeans, suddenly looked like flabby cellulite in the bathing suits.

It took every ounce of will power in my being not to either 1) scream bloody murder at my reflection, 2) cry uncontrollably, or 3) both. But I managed to force my way through the suits. Finally, I selected the least of the evils (which isn't saying much), and planned to use fake tanning lotion and wear make up and a cover up to try to offset the suit.

My mood for the day was shot.

I craved what had gotten me into this flabby, floppy body mess in the first place: chocolate, and lots of it. I searched back to the memory of me in the suit, which was now seared into my brain, and was able to leave the chocolate alone.

However, hubby offered me a glass of wine, which I happily took. Finally, I began to feel the irritation of my shopping/torture excursion uncoil.

After my second glass of wine, I came to the conclusion that the next time I go shopping for bathing suits, I'll have the wine first. I'll use the fake tanning lotion beforehand, and I'll have a make over to boost my self esteem before I start.

And, it might not hurt to try on the suits in the dark either... I'm just saying...

Tell Me About It!

2010-05-21T21:40:00.001-05:00

Since there has been written word, there has been respect for it. Not too long ago in our history it was uncommon for women or children to know how to read, much less write. As we became more enlightened as a civilization, books were held in highest esteem, and grammar, spelling and punctuation were taught to every child as a prerequisite of moving up.

Business, finance, law and education split hairs to get the exact meaning of a phrase or idea to the point that the definition is twelve times longer than the word. Communication is vital, and having precision is crucial.

Enter the present. The formal need for structure and precision is still very much needed. However, socially, we have new mediums in which we communicate. We now have the internet, emails and texts. Our world will never be the same.

When the world first got email, I spent time writing out a letter like I would if I were writing a letter to mail. Soon, it was common knowledge that email was in place to make communication faster. That meant that some of our social courtesies were not necessary, and, in fact, not wanted. The idea was to get to the point, say what you had to say, and move on.

I had barely caught on to this concept when we began using text messages on pagers and then cell phones. Talk about condensing an idea! Whew! My kids can have an entire conversation in about three texts. And they only use about six letters, numbers or symbols per text!

At that point I realized, I was officially "old" in my children's eyes. It was kind of like when I was in college and asked my dad about a floppy disk and he got that "deer in headlights" look on his face. Mentally I thought, "Old." I see that look on Keith, Emma and Amy's faces, and I know what it means.

Of course, I did it to myself. If I had been smart, I would have just googled "LOL", "ROFL", "G2G" and other such phrases designed to make us move at an even more break-neck speed than email ever thought of. But, instead, I asked the kids. At first, they laughed, assuming I was being funny. Then realization sunk in that I was clueless. Then I got that look: "old."

Today, I'm happy to say I can usually figure out most text acronyms, even if I don't readily recognize them. I have also been trained in the ways of making faces out of symbols, so that if I'm being funny about something, I can include a smiley face :-) to underscore the fact. Or if I'm mad I can make a frowny face :-( to really bring home the fact that I'm very displeased.

It makes me wonder what our forefathers who labored for literally months over our Constitution would have written if they were to write it today? Would it simply say:

"Yo, Peeps! Listen up! B :-) . Don't stress. K? Peace out."

Wonder if poor Thomas Jefferson is rolling over in his grave?

Hopefully, there will always be a place for formal writing that requires following time-honored spelling, punctuation and grammar rules. In my heart of hearts, I believe there will be.

Guess time will tell...

G2G,
MommyBarbie :-)

Summer Begins

2010-05-20T18:11:00.000-05:00

Keith's tonsillectomy was such a huge success that he was up and at 'em in no time. As a point of fact, he has gotten back into his social butterfly mode, scheduling every single free moment.

Next week is the last week of school before summer. Already the planning has amped up. And where Keith leads, Emma and Amy follow.

Slumber parties, movies, dinners, shopping and video games are on the agenda. Along with painting nails, make overs and hair styling for the girls.

I'm tired just thinking about it all. Oh, and they so don't get the idea of "work" and a "job"-- which I have, of course.

But, they keep me young. They keep me on my toes. And I love every minute of it!

Now if I just could get the dog and cat to behave...

Who Can It Be Now?

2010-04-29T22:14:00.000-05:00

Something about the door closing makes the children swarm outside of it like moths to a flame. And the more they want to come in is in direct proportion to how busy I am on the other side and how much I don't want them to come in.

Tonight I was going to take a shower. My children had looked through me all night, barely acknowledging my existence. But, when I shut my bathroom door to take a shower, there was a knock.

"Yes?" I sighed.

"It's me," Amy called.

I flung open the door. The children are well-aware of my frustration of being interrupted while trying to have the tiniest bit of "me" time in the shower and in the bathroom.

"Hi," Amy smiled.

"Hello," I said curtly.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a shower. Like I said I was going to. Before I came in here. And shut the door."

"Oh."

"Did you need something?" I sighed.

"No," she shrugged. "Okay. Well, 'bye."

"Goodbye. I'll be out in a minute," I said, waving while I closed the door.

I took off my make up and began undressing. Predictably, there was a knocking on my door.

"What?" I hollered.

"Mom?" Amy called through the door.

"Yes?"

"When is daddy getting home?"

"I don't know, sweetie. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," she said. Then after a minute, "Mom?"

"What?" I snapped.

It was dead silent outside my door, but her shadow moved back and forth. I opened the door.

"Amy? What?"

"You're naked," Amy observed.

"Yeah. I'm taking a shower."

"Why does your tummy poke out like that?"

I looked down self-consciously. Then I glared at her.

"Amy, I'm taking a shower. Please give me a few minutes to take a shower. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," she sang.

I closed the door behind me and turned on the water. I let the warm flow down my back and face. It felt wonderful as I began to let the grime of the day wash away.

Then there was a knock on the door.

"WHAT?" I screamed.

"Momma?" Amy hollered.

"I. AM. IN. THE. SHOWER!" I screamed in my if-you-don't-stop-it-I'm-going-to-yank-a-knot-in-your-tail voice.

"Jeez. Never mind," Amy snorted.

I got done with my shower in about two minutes and got out to dry off.

There was yet another knock on my door.

"Yes?" I sighed, wearily.

"Momma?" Emma asked timidly.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Can I please come in?"

"Give me a minute. I'm naked," I said, pulling on clothes quickly. "Okay. Come in."

"Are you wearing that to bed?" Emma asked, nodding at my bed attire.

"Yes, why?"

"Hey, Mom," Keith said, coming in.

"Mommy?" Amy asked, poking her head around the corner.

"Okay, guys. It is way past time for you all to be getting ready for bed. Please go."

They chatted as they left, and I shut the door once more to go to the restroom. Suddenly I heard a fight break out on the other side of the door.

"Guys!" I hollered.

All three began telling their side of the story through the door.

"Guys! Stop! Go away. Let me pee. I just want to pee. That's all. Really," I begged.

Finally, it was quiet on the other side. I came out and washed my hands- with the door open. I brushed my teeth- with the door open. And I cleaned the bathroom up a little- with the door open. And with no interruptions.

When I went out to the kids, they were sitting together talking and getting along. I told them goodnight and tucked them in. Then I went to my room- with the door open- and began writing.

Now they are sleeping soundly. But I would bet money that if I closed my door they would somehow know it, wake up and come knock on it.

Say Aaaaaahhhhh

2010-04-06T21:14:00.000-05:00

Keith has been one sick puppy. He has had his tonsils in such a twist, he has missed just at 23 days of school in his last period class.

The doctor finally said, "Let's yank 'em."

So, we went to the surgery center and I watched them roll my baby away on a gurney. After a bunch of nervous twitches in my seat, some pacing back and forth and storming heaven with prayer, a nurse finally came out to tell me he was in recovery and was doing well.

I went back to see him, and he was groggy, whiny and pitiful. He made me cry.

We got him home and poured him into his bed. He slept for several days in a row, waking up only when I shoved a spoon of medicine in his mouth.

Around the clock, I woke him every three hours to make sure we stayed ahead of the pain. And it worked. The day after surgery, the child asked for and ate a Wendy's hamburger. Hubby and I felt awful! We concluded that he had felt so utterly miserable prior to the surgery, that this was actually preferable for him.

Three days after the surgery, we ran out of the fantabulous narcotics the doctor had prescribed. While Keith was really feeling better, he had really been leaning on his meds as a crutch. Without the security of the meds, he spiraled.

Suddenly, he was waaaayyyyy whiny, his throat was killing him, he was going to "die". By the time Easter rolled around, I was ready to kill him.

He is now to the point where he is happily bopping around... until you ask him how he's feeling. Then he remembers he is supposed to be sick, and he crumples into a pitiful little ball of "oooooowwwww...."

If we make it through this, I will be handsomely rewarded: Hubby goes in for surgery to repair a severely deviated septum Thursday...

The fun just never stops...

Get Ready to Rumble...

2010-03-08T23:10:00.000-06:00

Tonight my oldest and youngest held another battle of wits that went something like:

"Unh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

Back and forth, back and forth, until I was screaming like a crazy lady, waving my arms around, screeching, "Just SHUT UP!"

If you asked them, I don't think they could even tell you what the argument was about. The main goal, as it always is for them, is to be "right".

If I can catch their spats just as they begin, I can sometimes cut them off at the pass. But, if I wait too long, like I did tonight, nothing short of catching them on fire and dangling them off the side of a building will interfere with their incessant need to make sure the other one is "wrong".

By the time I finally get them to pay attention to me, I have had to take away every privilege other than breathing. After they've had the chance to calm down and re-group, they come to me abashed, apologizing and teary-eyed.

I wonder what life would be like if they put this much energy and emotion into something like, oh, keeping their rooms clean. Or making straight A's on their report card(s). Or becoming a pro in their chosen sport or hobby. Part of me thinks about all the great things they could accomplish and achieve. Part of me cringes at the idea of their driven, one-track, hyper-focused, Type A, perfectionist personalities pointing their laser beams at anything with that kind of intensity.

I can tell you something for sure, though: whatever their chosen profession is when they become adults, I would want them on my team. You would have no better lawyer arguing your case, no better doctor tracking down your symptoms and curing your illness, and no better spouse/parent working with you on a family.

My middle child? She is the peace-keeper. She is the one who will balance out the other two. She is the one who calls them out when they are being petty, mean, selfish, prideful, or just plain stupid.

I love them all dearly. And I wouldn't change them for the world.

It would just be awfully nice to have a "mute" button every once in a while...

I Love Being "Mom"

2010-03-05T09:38:00.000-06:00

From the time I can remember, I have always wanted to be a mom. I played with babies and barbies for hours on end. I was always the grown up, and I always, always had babies.

That yearning never stopped. As I became a young adult, I decided I wanted to be a Teacher. That career choice, for various reasons, did not happen. I ended up falling into Marketing and Sales, which I enjoy. But, through it all, I wanted to be a mom.

Hubby and I were very blessed in that having children was never an issue for us. And within a short time, our family of two grew to robust, happy family of five.

I have enjoyed my children beyond measure. And I love sharing their stories, my joys and tears and our every day life with friends, family and here, on my blog/diary. I try to infuse humor wherever I can. Because I feel humor warms the soul.

I am always frank, candid and honest with my children. I try to treat them as much like "adults" as is appropriate at the time. I love to be silly and funny with them. And they have grown up realizing that sarcasm can usually fight through even the most ugly of childhood meanness.

I have always felt like my job for this life is to prepare my children to be happy, well-rounded and productive members of society. God has great plans for them. And my job is to get them ready for them.

However strong and convicted I feel about everything I've written above, there are certainly moments of doubt. Did I say the right thing? Did I do the right thing? Last night was one of those moments that gave me pause.

Emma and I were finishing up her homework together. She yawned and stretched and murmured, "I have a headache," while rubbing her temples.

I looked at her through my own very sleepy eyes and confessed, "I do, too."

She looked up at me without missing a beat and said, "You always have a headache. You have kids."

The humorist in me was is stitches. I immediately tweeted and Facebooked her fantastically funny quip, and called my parents to share what an immensely funny grandchild they had.

Then... this morning I woke up, and her words were ringing in my ears. But they were no longer funny. Instead, they were haunting me.

Is that what she thinks parenthood is about? Having one long, continuous headache? My heart ached and tears sprung to my eyes. I wanted to run to her and say, "Oh no! You have it so wrong! Motherhood is a blessing, a joy, the very best thing that has ever happened to me in my life! YOU are the reason God put me here!"

But I managed to reign in my inner drama queen and go about my day without accosting her with drippy, sappy words of love and devotion. Instead, I will will try to infuse everything a little at a time, like I do the rest of my "teaching" and "love."

And I will try to show her that parenting is more than just headaches... It's also backaches, sore muscles and all sorts of other problems.... Yeah, I just couldn't help it....

They Like Me, They Really Like Me!

2010-02-27T14:29:00.000-06:00

"Mother of the Year" is a title that I gain and lose on an hour-by-hour basis.

When I ask them to clean out the dishwasher and reload it, I'm told that none of their friends have to do that, and they conspire in the corner trying to figure out how to turn me in for abuse. When I tell them they have to go to school, despite the fact that they sneezed once while getting ready, I am sending them to their death, and they are certain I don't love them at all.

These proclamations used to hurt my feelings, and even make me angry. But then I realized that these little people are more fickle than the media, and what is bad today is good tomorrow, and vice versa.

I'm also amazed at the pettiness of the things that warrant such a display of emotion. If I were to actually tell them I hated them and then shackle them to the shower head and make them clean the toilets, I could understand their passionate stances. But asking them to change their shoes surely isn't reason to want to run away from home, is it?

Today I felt the other side of their rants: the good side.

My teenaged son said I was, "A to the MA to the Zing."

My daughters said, "Thank you, mom! You're the best!"

Had I purchased them a home worthy of being featured on MTV Cribs? Had I brought home a personal assistant for each child so that they wouldn't have to clean their room? No. I had bought some yogurt-covered snacks to include in their lunches.

The praise and accolades continued on for a while. The children drew me pictures and made up songs about my greatness. My husband stood by amazed.

I just laughed, and took it in stride. I know tomorrow I'll be back on their "naughty" list for something. But for today, it was nice to be like Sally Field's accepting her award, when she said, "You like me! You really, really like me!"

Mommy Barbie

Happy New Year!

Parents: Just Playing It "Cool"

Thank You... I Think...

Zingers & Gotcha's

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