I had a wonderful weekend with my husband and my kids at the barrel race. Well, let me rephrase that. I had a very educational and profound weekend at the barrel race. My kids had a great time. The producer of the run collected five dollars from everyone that lost a hat in the arena. On the last day of the event, they stapled the money to large pieces of play money and scattered it in the arena. The kids lined up and raced for whatever they could collect. My girls did great. Savannah got $10 and Sharlee got $5, which was more money than their mom won this weekend. More importantly, they each had a sticker on their play money (thank you Jesus for letting them both find one) which meant that they had won an additional prize. These were cute watches, albeit a bit grown up for two six year olds.
The most exciting event however, turned out to be the hula hoop contest. After discussing with my children the fact that they don't know how to hula hoop, they both decided to participate in the contest. I think the last thing I said was, "Don't be disappointed if you don't win. You're entering a contest based on something you don't know how to do." Now I have to say that they looked super cute. And one of them did manage to get in a few revolutions before her hula hoop hit the ground, but predictably, they were both eliminated in the first round.
As they were leaving the arena, one of them looked up at me tearfully and said, "Well the reason I lost is because you spent all our time teaching me how to RIDE instead of how to HULA HOOP!" To which I replied, "That is the saddest thing I've ever heard. I think I'll call Child Protective Services. No wait, I think I'll just mandate an hour of hula hoop practice every day from now on!"
And so it begins. I really was under the illusion that everything didn't become my fault until they got to be about 12 years old. Aren't we starting a little early on this one? I mean, really. Someone told me yesterday that it was time to get back out the parenting manual and read the chapter entitled "Everything is Your Fault, Mom." To which I say, "There's a freaking manual? Why haven't my friends who are parents told me about this? You all suck!" But I'm pretty sure she was just kidding.
The major thing that happened this weekend was a gut check for me. When I was in high school, I once had a bull rider ask me how I was sitting in the year end standings. "Not very well. I haven't been making very good runs here lately. Hitting a lot of barrels." "Oh," he replied. "Well, you just don't want it bad enough." "Excuse me?" Picture me as a teenager full of righteous indignation. "What do you know about riding a barrel horse, mister big, bad bull rider?" "I know that if you wanted it bad enough you'd be sitting better." And he walked off. At the time, I was furious. How dare he? What did he know, anyway?
And here's the kicker. HE WAS RIGHT. When I went home and decided that I wanted to go to the National High School Finals Rodeo worse than anyone else, I rode harder. I worked at it five, six, seven days a week. I rode my horse when it was hot, cold, rainy, muddy. And I went to the rodeos and put everything I had into every run I made. And I DID IT. I qualified for the NHSFR in Gillette, Wyoming, not only in the Queen Contest but also in barrel racing. At the time, I'd never been prouder of any accomplishment in my life. It happened because I set a goal, I worked really hard at it, and I achieved the thing I wanted most.
Fast forward a couple of years. Okay, several years. Now I have three kids and a fantastic husband and my priorities have changed. I still love barrel racing, and I still want to win. For the first time in my life I have access to a covered arena 7 days a week, 365 days a year. But at the moment I am severely lacking in the area of horsepower. The mare I "ran" this weekend is 17, she has some serious lameness issues, a major gate issue, and not a whole lot of heart. I have done everything humanly possible to solve her lameness issues. I have spent countless hours working on her gate problem (which I wasn't aware of when I bought her, making her the second horse I've owned lately that came to me with a gate problem no one bothered to tell me about.) She has hurt me once, dragging my leg down a set of metal panels in the alleyway, plus she has an endearing habit of trying to take her head from me and run off in any direction. She has fallen with me at a local barrel race, putting a front leg through the reins before getting up. She's so fractious in the on deck area before my runs that I have to wait until the horse before me runs to get on her.
So as I stood there this weekend waiting my turn, feeling my heart pounding in my chest and trying to keep from throwing up, that still small voice in my head said, "Why are you putting yourself through this? This is supposed to be what you do for fun!" And naturally, after all the drama and anxiety, she went in there and didn't half try. Honestly, I worked harder than she did.
If I'm going to work that hard, spend that much money, and give up time with my kids to practice, loping the pattern and hitting barrels is not my idea of a fun weekend. Now to be fair, the barrels I knocked over this weekend are the first ones I've ever hit on this horse. I've run her 20 or 30 times and won a check on very run but two. It's worth pointing out that those checks were 3 and 4D checks. There is a certain amount of "ish" I'm completely willing to put up with for a horse that runs 1D or 2D times. But as I left the arena this weekend, the phrase "too much sugar for a dime" kept running through my head. As my husband so eloquently put it, it costs the same to feed a decent horse as it does to feed junk. And he's right.
I took my colt to Starkville not long ago and had a fantastic weekend, no drama at all and even won a little money with him just loping the pattern. No army of people to get him in the gate, no wondering if he's going to hurt me acting stupid. Just a fun weekend and a reminder why I do what I do.
People without children have no idea how difficult it is for me to even get to ride a horse some days. The only reason I get to practice at all is because my husband is willing to help me by saddling horses and taking care of the kids while I ride. Add to that the "mommy guilt" that my kids pile on when they don't me to leave and the supernatural levels of exhaustion that come with being a parent of small children. I have to remind myself every single day why I want to do this anymore. But something inside me does, and it just won't go away.
My husband, who is always very honest with me, knows that I am realistic about my abilities as a rider. That seems to be the one factor that many people choose to ignore. Parents want to go buy the fastest horse there is, and automatically assume that their kid can ride it. There's a reason that some people do this crap for a living and some of us do it for "fun!" A great rider is the difference between a horse that places in the third division and one that places in the first division at a handicapped barrel run. Don't get me wrong, some horses have God-given ability that others just don't have. And some make up for their lack of natural gifts with supernatural amounts of heart and try. I have a horse standing in my pasture that no one's been on in six months, and if you saddled him today and sent him in the gate he'd bust a gut trying to win something for you. It's just who he is, and I love him for it.
So I've said all this to say: I'm ready to ride something that I like. If I don't love the horse I'm running and it's not fun to make that run, I'm going to find something else to ride. I've reset my goals and raised my expectations for myself. A wise man told me the other day that if I want my young horses to quit being 3 and 4D horses, I've got to quit being a 3 and 4D rider. And you know what? He's right, too.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
I'd Rather Be Doing It
Ok, ladies...this one's not for kids! My sweet husband shared with me some important information about the male psyche, and as a "journalist" I felt compelled to pass it along to you. In a casual conversation the other day, I asked the love of my life how he was.
He replied, "Good. I mean, I'd rather be doing it, but I'm okay."
Me: "Huh? Doing what?"
Him: "IT."
Me: "What? OH! You're so crazy!"
Him: "Well, it's true. I would rather be doing it. So would ALL men. It's just a fact. Eighteen year old boy in the mall, rather be doing it. Forty year old guy in the grocery store with nine kids, rather be doing it. Ninety year old man sitting in front of you at church, rather be doing it."
Me: "ALL the time?"
Him: "Yep. All he wants is to see something nekkid. Well, "good" nekkid, anyway. Not "bad" nekkid, you know, like on Seinfeld."
Me: "More than eating? More than sleeping? More than watching sports? More than FOOTBALL?"
Him: "Yep. I'd rather be doing it."
Me: "If I put that on a tee shirt, would you wear it?"
Him: "I'd rather be doing it? Um, yeah!"
Me: "You would not!"
Him: "I might..."
And I also agree with Dr. Laura when she reminds women that those husbands who would rather be doing it would rather be doing it with YOU. But if you won't, someone will. So take care of your business at home.
Speaking of taking care of business at home, when we decided to have kids, I never envisioned myself trying to uh, connect with my husband with short people beating on my bedroom door. Because let's face it girls, there's nothing more romantic than someone rattling the doorknob and screaming, "MOM! The TV went off! Can you come fix it? Why is this door locked?" at the top of their lungs. If you can focus on the task at hand through that, you deserve an Olympic medal. And if you can do it without laughing, it should be gold. I have no medals to speak of, and that's all I'm going to say about that. And yes, we could wait until our kids were asleep. Kate Gosselin claimed she and Jon did. And we all saw how well that worked out. When they are asleep, I want to be asleep! And when my husband needs my attention, I give him my attention.
So there you go. For all of you that asked him what he's thinking about and he said, "I don't know. Nothing." What he really meant to say was, "I'd rather be doing it."
He replied, "Good. I mean, I'd rather be doing it, but I'm okay."
Me: "Huh? Doing what?"
Him: "IT."
Me: "What? OH! You're so crazy!"
Him: "Well, it's true. I would rather be doing it. So would ALL men. It's just a fact. Eighteen year old boy in the mall, rather be doing it. Forty year old guy in the grocery store with nine kids, rather be doing it. Ninety year old man sitting in front of you at church, rather be doing it."
Me: "ALL the time?"
Him: "Yep. All he wants is to see something nekkid. Well, "good" nekkid, anyway. Not "bad" nekkid, you know, like on Seinfeld."
Me: "More than eating? More than sleeping? More than watching sports? More than FOOTBALL?"
Him: "Yep. I'd rather be doing it."
Me: "If I put that on a tee shirt, would you wear it?"
Him: "I'd rather be doing it? Um, yeah!"
Me: "You would not!"
Him: "I might..."
And I also agree with Dr. Laura when she reminds women that those husbands who would rather be doing it would rather be doing it with YOU. But if you won't, someone will. So take care of your business at home.
Speaking of taking care of business at home, when we decided to have kids, I never envisioned myself trying to uh, connect with my husband with short people beating on my bedroom door. Because let's face it girls, there's nothing more romantic than someone rattling the doorknob and screaming, "MOM! The TV went off! Can you come fix it? Why is this door locked?" at the top of their lungs. If you can focus on the task at hand through that, you deserve an Olympic medal. And if you can do it without laughing, it should be gold. I have no medals to speak of, and that's all I'm going to say about that. And yes, we could wait until our kids were asleep. Kate Gosselin claimed she and Jon did. And we all saw how well that worked out. When they are asleep, I want to be asleep! And when my husband needs my attention, I give him my attention.
So there you go. For all of you that asked him what he's thinking about and he said, "I don't know. Nothing." What he really meant to say was, "I'd rather be doing it."
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Sink or Swim
My blog and my laundry had a war... and the blog won. There is still an enormous pile of laundry on top of my dryer, but the voices in my head needed to get out worse than I needed to get it folded. It happens.
My twin girls had their sixth birthday party last weekend. Their birthday is tomorrow, which means that by this time six years ago I had checked into the hospital and was in labor. They weren't born until 6:17 and 6:30 the next morning! Actually, I knew I was in labor on Sunday night, so by the time they got here I had been in labor a grand total of 32 hours, but who's counting? Oh yeah, that would be ME. My husband was there for every agonizing moment, and he swears I have forgotten some of the horrors of that day. He thinks I must have in order to be willing to sign up to do it all over again. I submit to you that I haven't forgotten a darn thing. Admittedly, there were a few moments that were clouded by drugs (lots of drugs) and exhaustion, but that is not the same thing as, "I forgot." I remember what I went through, and although it was difficult, painful, and at times downright terrifying, I was ready to do it all over again because it was also WORTH IT.
Parenting is hands down the most enormous challenge I have ever undertaken. It is a never ending job that begins when your eyes open. I haven't had an undisturbed night of deep sleep since my children were born. For the first eight weeks or so of the twins' lives I was convinced that if I closed my eyes they would stop breathing. After we moved them to the nursery, I slept with the baby monitor screen on for another month. I guess it was too much trouble to sit up and hit the button when they woke me up in the middle of the night. Speaking of being awakened, a fireman's got nothing on a mom. I can be awake and halfway up the stairs in 30 seconds or less if one of my kids needs me. Notice I said that I "can be." If I play my cards right and they wake dad up too, I can usually beg him into going to check on things. Besides, I've already admitted that he's sweeter than me. He has a lot more patience than I do when he's getting the low down on a bad dream just like it's four in the afternoon instead of four in the morning.
If you are particularly unlucky, you fall into a blissful sleep only to be awakened two hours later by someone screaming, "Mom! I threw up in my bed!" That particular phenomenon combines two of my least favorite things about parenthood. Sleep deprivation and vomit. I HATE vomit. I don't throw up often, and if I do, something is really wrong. Usually it's related to kidney stones or pregnancy. Thankfully I don't deal with either one very often. My own vomit is bad enough, but cleaning up someone else's is almost more than I can take. Smells really get to me, and that's one of the worst. The only thing I hate worse than vomit is potty training, and we're about to start on that wonderful journey (the last two words were written in my sarcastic font) again. More on that later!
Every time my children turn a year older, I think about how much my life has changed since they came into it. Everything is different than it used to be. I have whole new set of priorities. Things that used to be the center of the universe as far as I was concerned are all but forgotten. I've had to consider subjects I'd never given any thought to (who knew that kids didn't come here knowing how to dress themselves and use the toilet) and I've been forced to see myself the way other people see me. If at any point in my day I can be the kind of person my kids think I am, I've done really well.
Which brings me to my point: I think most parents are doing the best they can with what they have. Now I realize that there are people out there who suck at parenting and have no plans to change that. I'm ignoring them for the moment. I think most people who set out to become parents, and even some of the ones who became parents unintentionally, really are trying to be the best parents they know how to be. Some of us had a better example set for us than others. When you are really honest about it, you have two choices. You can be the kind of parent your parents were, or you can make a conscious decision to be different. I am eternally grateful that my mom didn't just go with what she knew. She grew up with an abusive, alcoholic father. Domestic and child abuse were part of her daily life. She wanted better for me, and she made sure that my childhood and hers were at total opposite ends of the spectrum.
Everyone has had a parent tell them at some point, "Well, when you have kids of your own, you can do things the way you want them done." That's usually immediately followed by, "And I hope someday you have a kid who acts just like you!" This is the mother's curse, and IT WORKS. Believe me, ladies, it works. Use it wisely. The great thing about the whole "when you have kids..." thing is that it's TRUE! You can do it the way you want. And I will guarantee that it will be harder than you thought! Some people fall into the trap of, "Well, my parents did this or that and I turned out okay!" Personally, I often find myself trying to be the kind of parent I want to be instead of the one that I am. It would certainly be easier to just go with what I know. But there are things I want to do differently with my kids, just like everyone else.
As first-time parents of multiples, my husband and I were thrown into parenthood at the deep end and told to sink or swim. Some days you move through the water with the precision of an Olympic synchronized swimmer. Other days it's all you can do to keep your head above water and hope someone rescues you before you give up and go under. I spent a lot of time treading water when my babies were little. Sometimes all I could think was, "If I can just keep everyone alive until tomorrow..." I am happy to report that these days I swim a lot more often, and I've learned to let go, stretch my arms out, and float when I get tired. I'm definitely no Micheal Phelps, but maybe those Infant Swimming Resource Lessons were teaching me as much as they taught my kids. Now I know how to swim, float, swim until I get to the edge of the pool. It's worth mentioning that there are some days when I'm pretty sure I'm swimming in the ocean...with the sharks. Maybe I'll hear the "Jaws" music in time.
My twin girls had their sixth birthday party last weekend. Their birthday is tomorrow, which means that by this time six years ago I had checked into the hospital and was in labor. They weren't born until 6:17 and 6:30 the next morning! Actually, I knew I was in labor on Sunday night, so by the time they got here I had been in labor a grand total of 32 hours, but who's counting? Oh yeah, that would be ME. My husband was there for every agonizing moment, and he swears I have forgotten some of the horrors of that day. He thinks I must have in order to be willing to sign up to do it all over again. I submit to you that I haven't forgotten a darn thing. Admittedly, there were a few moments that were clouded by drugs (lots of drugs) and exhaustion, but that is not the same thing as, "I forgot." I remember what I went through, and although it was difficult, painful, and at times downright terrifying, I was ready to do it all over again because it was also WORTH IT.
Parenting is hands down the most enormous challenge I have ever undertaken. It is a never ending job that begins when your eyes open. I haven't had an undisturbed night of deep sleep since my children were born. For the first eight weeks or so of the twins' lives I was convinced that if I closed my eyes they would stop breathing. After we moved them to the nursery, I slept with the baby monitor screen on for another month. I guess it was too much trouble to sit up and hit the button when they woke me up in the middle of the night. Speaking of being awakened, a fireman's got nothing on a mom. I can be awake and halfway up the stairs in 30 seconds or less if one of my kids needs me. Notice I said that I "can be." If I play my cards right and they wake dad up too, I can usually beg him into going to check on things. Besides, I've already admitted that he's sweeter than me. He has a lot more patience than I do when he's getting the low down on a bad dream just like it's four in the afternoon instead of four in the morning.
If you are particularly unlucky, you fall into a blissful sleep only to be awakened two hours later by someone screaming, "Mom! I threw up in my bed!" That particular phenomenon combines two of my least favorite things about parenthood. Sleep deprivation and vomit. I HATE vomit. I don't throw up often, and if I do, something is really wrong. Usually it's related to kidney stones or pregnancy. Thankfully I don't deal with either one very often. My own vomit is bad enough, but cleaning up someone else's is almost more than I can take. Smells really get to me, and that's one of the worst. The only thing I hate worse than vomit is potty training, and we're about to start on that wonderful journey (the last two words were written in my sarcastic font) again. More on that later!
Every time my children turn a year older, I think about how much my life has changed since they came into it. Everything is different than it used to be. I have whole new set of priorities. Things that used to be the center of the universe as far as I was concerned are all but forgotten. I've had to consider subjects I'd never given any thought to (who knew that kids didn't come here knowing how to dress themselves and use the toilet) and I've been forced to see myself the way other people see me. If at any point in my day I can be the kind of person my kids think I am, I've done really well.
Which brings me to my point: I think most parents are doing the best they can with what they have. Now I realize that there are people out there who suck at parenting and have no plans to change that. I'm ignoring them for the moment. I think most people who set out to become parents, and even some of the ones who became parents unintentionally, really are trying to be the best parents they know how to be. Some of us had a better example set for us than others. When you are really honest about it, you have two choices. You can be the kind of parent your parents were, or you can make a conscious decision to be different. I am eternally grateful that my mom didn't just go with what she knew. She grew up with an abusive, alcoholic father. Domestic and child abuse were part of her daily life. She wanted better for me, and she made sure that my childhood and hers were at total opposite ends of the spectrum.
Everyone has had a parent tell them at some point, "Well, when you have kids of your own, you can do things the way you want them done." That's usually immediately followed by, "And I hope someday you have a kid who acts just like you!" This is the mother's curse, and IT WORKS. Believe me, ladies, it works. Use it wisely. The great thing about the whole "when you have kids..." thing is that it's TRUE! You can do it the way you want. And I will guarantee that it will be harder than you thought! Some people fall into the trap of, "Well, my parents did this or that and I turned out okay!" Personally, I often find myself trying to be the kind of parent I want to be instead of the one that I am. It would certainly be easier to just go with what I know. But there are things I want to do differently with my kids, just like everyone else.
As first-time parents of multiples, my husband and I were thrown into parenthood at the deep end and told to sink or swim. Some days you move through the water with the precision of an Olympic synchronized swimmer. Other days it's all you can do to keep your head above water and hope someone rescues you before you give up and go under. I spent a lot of time treading water when my babies were little. Sometimes all I could think was, "If I can just keep everyone alive until tomorrow..." I am happy to report that these days I swim a lot more often, and I've learned to let go, stretch my arms out, and float when I get tired. I'm definitely no Micheal Phelps, but maybe those Infant Swimming Resource Lessons were teaching me as much as they taught my kids. Now I know how to swim, float, swim until I get to the edge of the pool. It's worth mentioning that there are some days when I'm pretty sure I'm swimming in the ocean...with the sharks. Maybe I'll hear the "Jaws" music in time.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Priorities
One of my children sleeps with a flashlight. I don't really know why, but maybe she's afraid she'll need to go somewhere in the middle of the night and won't be able to see. Part of her bedtime routine is to "shine" her daddy with the flashlight when he tucks her in. Last night during the shining, the following conversation took place.
Child 1: Daddy, you sparkle in my eyes.
Daddy: I love you.
Child 1: I love you, too. Daddy, I'm always going to love you.
Child 2: Yeah, me too, until he dies.
Child 1: I'm even going to love him after that.
My children adore their father, and it's because he makes them a priority. He just knows how to make them feel loved. I have learned over the years that it's not about what you do for people or even what you say that they are going to remember when you are gone. It's the way you made them feel. My husband is exceptionally gifted in this area, because as I have mentioned before, his mother is. I have never known anyone who made me feel more welcome, loved, and accepted into a family than my mother-in-law. I will always remember that about her, and when it comes time for my girls to get married, I hope that I can make their husbands feel the same way. My mother once told me that she planned to love my husband like the son she never had. I feel sure she would have done just that.
On my birthday this year, a friend of my mother's, someone I have known for a very long time, said one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. She wished me a happy birthday, then added, "You were a well-wanted child." My mother had wanted a baby for a very long time before she had me. What a wonderfully comforting thought: to know she really, truly wanted me. I will always love her for that, and I will always love Suellen for telling me. I hope that someone will tell my girls something like that one day after I am gone. You can bet that I'm gonna tell them while I'm here!
Children are such a blessing from God. Granted, some days they are a mixed blessing. I would love to say that I have enjoyed each and every blissful moment of motherhood since my babies came into the world, but that would be what we call a LIE. A big, fat, smelly one! As I don't make a habit of lying, I will say that the fantastic moments have made all the not-so-fantastic ones bearable. My mom never said motherhood was easy, she just said it was worth it.
Dr. Phil McGraw says that the difference between a dream and a goal is that a goal comes with a plan and a deadline. My mother was a woman of tremendous faith. When she received her cancer diagnosis, she told her doctor that she was going to watch her daughter graduate from high school. I was two years old at the time. She set a goal, she made a plan, and she accomplished that goal. She passed away when I was a freshman in college. Now that I am a mother, I can't imagine what it must have been like for her to look at two year old me and be fairly certain she would never see me get married or hold her grandchildren. For those of you who talked about how she spoiled me, I can tell you I'm pretty sure that knowledge entered into every decision she ever made about me. I know it would for me. I freely admit there have been times I've been somewhat lenient with my kids on one thing or another because the thought crossed my mind: what if I'm not here tomorrow? Would it be the end of the world if she stayed here in my lap for a few minutes past her bedtime?
People often tell me that boys and girls are "different" when it comes to parenting. I completely agree. I don't pretend to know a darn thing about raising boys, but I can tell you about girls. Little girls get their self-esteem (or lack thereof) from their daddies. He is her first love, the first man to tell her that she's wonderful and beautiful and exceptional. Or he should be. When girls get to "that" age, around 12 or 13, some dads no longer know what to do with them. I am here to tell you something: those years are when your daughter needs you the most! If you don't make her a priority, someone else will. If you don't tell her all the things she needs to hear, she WILL find some teenage boy who will. The same goes for marriage. Ladies, if you don't pay attention to your husband, believe me, someone else will!
Make your family and your children a priority. They want, need, and deserve your time and attention. I used to beat myself up about not being the perfect parent, until I realized I was striving for a goal I was NEVER going to reach! I read a fantastic example once about kids and cupcakes. Your kids want to eat cupcakes. They don't care if you spent hours making them from gluten-free ingredients and snuck vegetables in there or if the woman in the bakery at Kroger made them. They don't care if they got to help or if they have tons of sugar. They just want to eat cupcakes, and they want to eat them with YOU. What they want is your time, however they can get it. (Okay, and a cupcake!) Make time for you kids. They really don't want perfection, they just want you.
Remember, if you continually put someone at the bottom of your priority list, don't be surprised when you are not at the top of theirs!
Child 1: Daddy, you sparkle in my eyes.
Daddy: I love you.
Child 1: I love you, too. Daddy, I'm always going to love you.
Child 2: Yeah, me too, until he dies.
Child 1: I'm even going to love him after that.
My children adore their father, and it's because he makes them a priority. He just knows how to make them feel loved. I have learned over the years that it's not about what you do for people or even what you say that they are going to remember when you are gone. It's the way you made them feel. My husband is exceptionally gifted in this area, because as I have mentioned before, his mother is. I have never known anyone who made me feel more welcome, loved, and accepted into a family than my mother-in-law. I will always remember that about her, and when it comes time for my girls to get married, I hope that I can make their husbands feel the same way. My mother once told me that she planned to love my husband like the son she never had. I feel sure she would have done just that.
On my birthday this year, a friend of my mother's, someone I have known for a very long time, said one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. She wished me a happy birthday, then added, "You were a well-wanted child." My mother had wanted a baby for a very long time before she had me. What a wonderfully comforting thought: to know she really, truly wanted me. I will always love her for that, and I will always love Suellen for telling me. I hope that someone will tell my girls something like that one day after I am gone. You can bet that I'm gonna tell them while I'm here!
Children are such a blessing from God. Granted, some days they are a mixed blessing. I would love to say that I have enjoyed each and every blissful moment of motherhood since my babies came into the world, but that would be what we call a LIE. A big, fat, smelly one! As I don't make a habit of lying, I will say that the fantastic moments have made all the not-so-fantastic ones bearable. My mom never said motherhood was easy, she just said it was worth it.
Dr. Phil McGraw says that the difference between a dream and a goal is that a goal comes with a plan and a deadline. My mother was a woman of tremendous faith. When she received her cancer diagnosis, she told her doctor that she was going to watch her daughter graduate from high school. I was two years old at the time. She set a goal, she made a plan, and she accomplished that goal. She passed away when I was a freshman in college. Now that I am a mother, I can't imagine what it must have been like for her to look at two year old me and be fairly certain she would never see me get married or hold her grandchildren. For those of you who talked about how she spoiled me, I can tell you I'm pretty sure that knowledge entered into every decision she ever made about me. I know it would for me. I freely admit there have been times I've been somewhat lenient with my kids on one thing or another because the thought crossed my mind: what if I'm not here tomorrow? Would it be the end of the world if she stayed here in my lap for a few minutes past her bedtime?
People often tell me that boys and girls are "different" when it comes to parenting. I completely agree. I don't pretend to know a darn thing about raising boys, but I can tell you about girls. Little girls get their self-esteem (or lack thereof) from their daddies. He is her first love, the first man to tell her that she's wonderful and beautiful and exceptional. Or he should be. When girls get to "that" age, around 12 or 13, some dads no longer know what to do with them. I am here to tell you something: those years are when your daughter needs you the most! If you don't make her a priority, someone else will. If you don't tell her all the things she needs to hear, she WILL find some teenage boy who will. The same goes for marriage. Ladies, if you don't pay attention to your husband, believe me, someone else will!
Make your family and your children a priority. They want, need, and deserve your time and attention. I used to beat myself up about not being the perfect parent, until I realized I was striving for a goal I was NEVER going to reach! I read a fantastic example once about kids and cupcakes. Your kids want to eat cupcakes. They don't care if you spent hours making them from gluten-free ingredients and snuck vegetables in there or if the woman in the bakery at Kroger made them. They don't care if they got to help or if they have tons of sugar. They just want to eat cupcakes, and they want to eat them with YOU. What they want is your time, however they can get it. (Okay, and a cupcake!) Make time for you kids. They really don't want perfection, they just want you.
Remember, if you continually put someone at the bottom of your priority list, don't be surprised when you are not at the top of theirs!
Thursday, July 19, 2012
The Legpit
My child has once again renamed a part of the human anatomy. Well, sort of. I'm not really sure that the back of your knee technically has a name. Those of you who are familiar with my family know that my kids have been exposed early and often to various body parts through their parents' work as veterinarians. Let us not forget the "tentacles" (testicles) "kenis" and "china." I think the last two are self-explanatory. But yesterday my oldest child (by 13 all important minutes) dropped a new one on us. The conversation went something like this:
Child 1: Dad! I have a mosquito bite and it ITCHES!
Dad: Oh, really? Where is it?
Child 1: It's in my legpit and it really itches!
Dad: Your what?
Child 1: MY LEG PIT. See? (Scratching frantically and pointing to the back of her knee.) If this is your armpit (pointing dramatically under her arm) then THIS would be your legpit, right?
I have to say that it was hard to argue with her logic. One of the best things about having kids is that they force you to look at mundane things differently. They also cause you to reconsider every single step in your personal hygiene routine. Putting on makeup with my kids around is like sitting in front of a firing squad shooting questions instead of bullets. What is that? Why do you wear this? Where does that go? What color eye shadow are you going to wear today? Will you wear the purple eye shadow, Mom? Will you? Will you? Puuhleeeaseeee! Wear the purple! Can I have some of that? Will you put some lipstick on me? Can I wear lipstick to school? Can we have a puppy? Are you going to dry your hair now? What is that stuff you're putting in it? Can you spray mine, too? What day is it? Can we have ice cream for breakfast? It just goes on and on and on. Some days it's enough to make Mother Teresa say, "For the love of puppies, would you please shut up?"
So I kick them out of my bathroom, they head upstairs to give each other a "makeover," and return looking like two streetwalkers. You really have to get creative when your child asks you how she looks and she's wearing purple eyeshadow up to her eyebrows and bright red lip gloss. "Like a hooker" is probably not the answer she's looking for. Or the one that's going to earn me enough brownie points with them to dodge the old folks home later on.
And therein lies the problem that moms of girls deal with on a daily basis. How do you teach a child the difference between "pretty," "sexy," and "trashy?" My five year old already uses the term "hot" in reference to a woman's appearance, thanks to some stinking boy she went to kindergarten with. Apparently his favorite pastime was to tell all the babes in kindergarten that they were "hot." I have made repeated attempts to explain that it just doesn't sound good coming from a five year old girl, but then she wants to know why. So without delving into subjects that I just don't want to discuss with my child, I have nothing better to say than, "Because your mother told you not to say it!" Stellar parenting, I know, but I just feel like kids are way too worldly way too early these days. I don't want my daughters to be thinking about boys and makeup. I want them to enjoy pretending they are fairy princesses and that the world is a fair and wonderful place. Childhood is so short as it is. I don't think it's wrong for them to enjoy being young while they are young. So anytime you girls want to slow down, it's okay with your mom. I love you, armpits, legpits, and all!
Child 1: Dad! I have a mosquito bite and it ITCHES!
Dad: Oh, really? Where is it?
Child 1: It's in my legpit and it really itches!
Dad: Your what?
Child 1: MY LEG PIT. See? (Scratching frantically and pointing to the back of her knee.) If this is your armpit (pointing dramatically under her arm) then THIS would be your legpit, right?
I have to say that it was hard to argue with her logic. One of the best things about having kids is that they force you to look at mundane things differently. They also cause you to reconsider every single step in your personal hygiene routine. Putting on makeup with my kids around is like sitting in front of a firing squad shooting questions instead of bullets. What is that? Why do you wear this? Where does that go? What color eye shadow are you going to wear today? Will you wear the purple eye shadow, Mom? Will you? Will you? Puuhleeeaseeee! Wear the purple! Can I have some of that? Will you put some lipstick on me? Can I wear lipstick to school? Can we have a puppy? Are you going to dry your hair now? What is that stuff you're putting in it? Can you spray mine, too? What day is it? Can we have ice cream for breakfast? It just goes on and on and on. Some days it's enough to make Mother Teresa say, "For the love of puppies, would you please shut up?"
So I kick them out of my bathroom, they head upstairs to give each other a "makeover," and return looking like two streetwalkers. You really have to get creative when your child asks you how she looks and she's wearing purple eyeshadow up to her eyebrows and bright red lip gloss. "Like a hooker" is probably not the answer she's looking for. Or the one that's going to earn me enough brownie points with them to dodge the old folks home later on.
And therein lies the problem that moms of girls deal with on a daily basis. How do you teach a child the difference between "pretty," "sexy," and "trashy?" My five year old already uses the term "hot" in reference to a woman's appearance, thanks to some stinking boy she went to kindergarten with. Apparently his favorite pastime was to tell all the babes in kindergarten that they were "hot." I have made repeated attempts to explain that it just doesn't sound good coming from a five year old girl, but then she wants to know why. So without delving into subjects that I just don't want to discuss with my child, I have nothing better to say than, "Because your mother told you not to say it!" Stellar parenting, I know, but I just feel like kids are way too worldly way too early these days. I don't want my daughters to be thinking about boys and makeup. I want them to enjoy pretending they are fairy princesses and that the world is a fair and wonderful place. Childhood is so short as it is. I don't think it's wrong for them to enjoy being young while they are young. So anytime you girls want to slow down, it's okay with your mom. I love you, armpits, legpits, and all!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Hooray for Good Husbands!
I saw an ecard on Facebook today that bothered me. It said: "Marriage is a fancy word for adopting an overgrown man child who can't take care of himself." A lot of my friends found this funny, but it just made me sad. Is this really what young women in our society think about men and about marriage? Then no wonder so many of them are deciding to stay single!
Ladies, if you treat your husband like a child, then you have every right to expect him to behave like one. If you treat your husband (the man you fell in love with and promised to honor and cherish) like he's an idiot, talk down to him in front of people, and continually criticize him, he's not going to act like your knight in shining armor when you need him. If you tell your daughter that she is smart, capable, and beautiful, that's what she's going to believe about herself.
Personally, I have three small children to take care of; I don't need a fourth. I treat my husband like a man because that's what he is, a MAN. Not a child, not a bank, not a girlfriend or a babysitter, but the MAN I fell in love with and chose to make a lifelong commitment to. I choose to take good care of him because he takes good care of me. He is a fantastic father, something I knew he would be great at, I just didn't know how great until our babies were born.
Words are very powerful. I have heard it said that mothers use their words to paint a picture on the canvas that is their child. My children watch and listen to every single thing I say or do. Yes, sometimes they pretend that they didn't hear me the first 87 times I called them, but I know better. They also listen to everything my husband says, probably because he is a lot sweeter than I am sometimes. And more patient, tolerant, understanding, all that sappy stuff he learned straight from his wonderful mother. She is the kindest person I have ever met. Period. When I am really trying to MAKE myself be the parent I want to be instead of the one I am sometimes, I say that I am channeling my inner Mama Dot!
This morning, one of my girls was comforting her baby sister, who was crying because she had strawberry cereal bar all over her hands. She hugged the baby, smiled, and said, "Don't worry, Little One. It will come right off. Mama's not mad at you. You got a good mama." It sure did my heart good to hear her say that, and I know right where it came from: her daddy. He tells our girls all the time in front of me, "Girls, you got a good mama." And I've heard it so much, I've started to believe it, too.
I have had many friends who wanted a wedding, but as it turned out, they didn't really want a marriage. I think that's why the divorce rate is so high. Marriage is about choosing to love someone, choosing to take care of them, choosing to be happy instead of being right all the time. I choose to be at home, taking care of my husband and my children, each and every day. I married a man, not a child. He loves, supports, and encourages me every single chance he gets. And because he does those things, it makes me want to do the same things for him. He could absolutely take care of himself. He was doing that before we met. He could take care of our children, just not as well as me. (Kidding! Love you, Babe.) I am his wife, his girlfriend, and his biggest supporter. I am a lucky woman, and I know it. Hooray for good husbands! And kudos to the moms who raised them, because let's face it, that's really who made them good husbands.
Ladies, if you treat your husband like a child, then you have every right to expect him to behave like one. If you treat your husband (the man you fell in love with and promised to honor and cherish) like he's an idiot, talk down to him in front of people, and continually criticize him, he's not going to act like your knight in shining armor when you need him. If you tell your daughter that she is smart, capable, and beautiful, that's what she's going to believe about herself.
Personally, I have three small children to take care of; I don't need a fourth. I treat my husband like a man because that's what he is, a MAN. Not a child, not a bank, not a girlfriend or a babysitter, but the MAN I fell in love with and chose to make a lifelong commitment to. I choose to take good care of him because he takes good care of me. He is a fantastic father, something I knew he would be great at, I just didn't know how great until our babies were born.
Words are very powerful. I have heard it said that mothers use their words to paint a picture on the canvas that is their child. My children watch and listen to every single thing I say or do. Yes, sometimes they pretend that they didn't hear me the first 87 times I called them, but I know better. They also listen to everything my husband says, probably because he is a lot sweeter than I am sometimes. And more patient, tolerant, understanding, all that sappy stuff he learned straight from his wonderful mother. She is the kindest person I have ever met. Period. When I am really trying to MAKE myself be the parent I want to be instead of the one I am sometimes, I say that I am channeling my inner Mama Dot!
This morning, one of my girls was comforting her baby sister, who was crying because she had strawberry cereal bar all over her hands. She hugged the baby, smiled, and said, "Don't worry, Little One. It will come right off. Mama's not mad at you. You got a good mama." It sure did my heart good to hear her say that, and I know right where it came from: her daddy. He tells our girls all the time in front of me, "Girls, you got a good mama." And I've heard it so much, I've started to believe it, too.
I have had many friends who wanted a wedding, but as it turned out, they didn't really want a marriage. I think that's why the divorce rate is so high. Marriage is about choosing to love someone, choosing to take care of them, choosing to be happy instead of being right all the time. I choose to be at home, taking care of my husband and my children, each and every day. I married a man, not a child. He loves, supports, and encourages me every single chance he gets. And because he does those things, it makes me want to do the same things for him. He could absolutely take care of himself. He was doing that before we met. He could take care of our children, just not as well as me. (Kidding! Love you, Babe.) I am his wife, his girlfriend, and his biggest supporter. I am a lucky woman, and I know it. Hooray for good husbands! And kudos to the moms who raised them, because let's face it, that's really who made them good husbands.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
More Blog Material
Sundays with three kids are always eventful, although I have to admit I'm deliriously happy that we switched to a church that is 25 minutes closer and starts 2 hours later. Unless we're out of town, there's a really good chance that we're going to show up. Heck, sometimes we're even early! As we headed into the sanctuary Sunday, my child gave our pastor what I'm pretty sure was his first curtsy for a greeting. Then came the "meet and greet" portion of the service, which my kids love and my husband hates. Our new congregation is full of little old ladies, who my kids adore. The twins are huggers, which I'm fairly certain they got from their dad. Those grannies sure do grin when my little ones run up and throw their arms around them.
As the service progressed, it was time for the offering. The older gentleman on our side of the aisle looked at me, smiled...and kept going without passing us the plate. Was there something in my smile that said, "I'm broke today?" or maybe, "Dude, I don't think so!" I really don't think there was. What was I supposed to do? Wave at him like I was at a screening of Magic Mike? The words highly inappropriate come to mind here. Actually, both of my kids and I had cold hard cash to put in the plate. And if you knew how rare that is for me, you'd believe in miracles. I am a debit card kind of girl. So after the snub heard round the world, I smoothed things over with my kids as best I could. Then it was time for some of the most stressful moments of my week...children's time. I never know quite what's going to come out of the mouths of my little cherubs, but it's usually good for a laugh. I whispered that they could put their money in the collection plates when they got up front, as they were still sitting on the altar. So as they headed up the aisle, Savannah turns around, looks back at the offending usher, holds up her dollar with a flourish and says, "You forgot us!" Ah, yes, subtle as a train wreck. That's my girl.
The lesson for the day was about money, so the first question was, "What can you use money for?" Several kids listed things like bills, food, etc. I thought we were going to dodge the bullet when I heard one of mine say loudly, "And HAIR BOWS!" Just so we know what's important.
Our Sunday tradition after church is lunch at the local Mexican restaurant. Kirk had gone to the buffet and I was trying to get three hungry children ready to eat when our waitress brought our drinks. She strolled over to the table, leaned over...and poured my husband's entire glass of sweet tea on the table and me. For anyone who's never had the experience, ice cold liquid poured into a pair of sandals is not a pleasant sensation. The waitress headed to the kitchen for a towel while I tried to push the baby's highchair over so tea didn't run off the table and into her lap. The lady across from me felt sorry for us and got up to give me her napkin. I guess I picked a bad day to wear a maxi dress. At least it had a busy print. The material from my knees down was soaking wet. But on the bright side, when they brought a fan to dry the floor, it blew on my dress and gave me my own private air conditioning. So I guess it wasn't all bad.
After lunch, I had one quick errand before we went home. I needed to enhance a birthday gift. I had purchased an adorable monogrammed bag for a child we went to church with. When I showed it to my daughter, she was completely underwhelmed. "That's her present? Just a BAG? Well, I don't think she's going to like it very much." So off we went in search of a beach towel and sunglasses to go in the bag (my husband's idea.) No less than THREE stores and lots of walking later, we were able to head home. Now there was a time in my life when, if you had told me that I would go in three stores after having something spilled all over my dress and being totally oblivious as to how it looked (no full length mirror in the Mexican restaurant) I would have told you politely that you were out of your mind. As it was, I had made up my mind that I was going to get what I needed while I was in town and if people wanted to laugh at me behind my back or assume that I had wet my pants, then so be it! Isn't it wonderful how children change us?
There was also a time in my life that I would have probably showed my butt when that waitress poured tea all over me. But she didn't do it on purpose, and more importantly, my kids were watching to see how I handled it. And yes, we still left a tip. Starting this blog has had a lot of unintended side effects, one of which is my newfound ability to step back when my day has totally gone to crap, shrug and say, "Oh well, more blog material!" Maybe our waitress has one, too.
As the service progressed, it was time for the offering. The older gentleman on our side of the aisle looked at me, smiled...and kept going without passing us the plate. Was there something in my smile that said, "I'm broke today?" or maybe, "Dude, I don't think so!" I really don't think there was. What was I supposed to do? Wave at him like I was at a screening of Magic Mike? The words highly inappropriate come to mind here. Actually, both of my kids and I had cold hard cash to put in the plate. And if you knew how rare that is for me, you'd believe in miracles. I am a debit card kind of girl. So after the snub heard round the world, I smoothed things over with my kids as best I could. Then it was time for some of the most stressful moments of my week...children's time. I never know quite what's going to come out of the mouths of my little cherubs, but it's usually good for a laugh. I whispered that they could put their money in the collection plates when they got up front, as they were still sitting on the altar. So as they headed up the aisle, Savannah turns around, looks back at the offending usher, holds up her dollar with a flourish and says, "You forgot us!" Ah, yes, subtle as a train wreck. That's my girl.
The lesson for the day was about money, so the first question was, "What can you use money for?" Several kids listed things like bills, food, etc. I thought we were going to dodge the bullet when I heard one of mine say loudly, "And HAIR BOWS!" Just so we know what's important.
Our Sunday tradition after church is lunch at the local Mexican restaurant. Kirk had gone to the buffet and I was trying to get three hungry children ready to eat when our waitress brought our drinks. She strolled over to the table, leaned over...and poured my husband's entire glass of sweet tea on the table and me. For anyone who's never had the experience, ice cold liquid poured into a pair of sandals is not a pleasant sensation. The waitress headed to the kitchen for a towel while I tried to push the baby's highchair over so tea didn't run off the table and into her lap. The lady across from me felt sorry for us and got up to give me her napkin. I guess I picked a bad day to wear a maxi dress. At least it had a busy print. The material from my knees down was soaking wet. But on the bright side, when they brought a fan to dry the floor, it blew on my dress and gave me my own private air conditioning. So I guess it wasn't all bad.
After lunch, I had one quick errand before we went home. I needed to enhance a birthday gift. I had purchased an adorable monogrammed bag for a child we went to church with. When I showed it to my daughter, she was completely underwhelmed. "That's her present? Just a BAG? Well, I don't think she's going to like it very much." So off we went in search of a beach towel and sunglasses to go in the bag (my husband's idea.) No less than THREE stores and lots of walking later, we were able to head home. Now there was a time in my life when, if you had told me that I would go in three stores after having something spilled all over my dress and being totally oblivious as to how it looked (no full length mirror in the Mexican restaurant) I would have told you politely that you were out of your mind. As it was, I had made up my mind that I was going to get what I needed while I was in town and if people wanted to laugh at me behind my back or assume that I had wet my pants, then so be it! Isn't it wonderful how children change us?
There was also a time in my life that I would have probably showed my butt when that waitress poured tea all over me. But she didn't do it on purpose, and more importantly, my kids were watching to see how I handled it. And yes, we still left a tip. Starting this blog has had a lot of unintended side effects, one of which is my newfound ability to step back when my day has totally gone to crap, shrug and say, "Oh well, more blog material!" Maybe our waitress has one, too.
Friday, July 13, 2012
If I Didn't Laugh - the BOOK!
I have two exciting bits of news to report. My book project is on schedule, and I have been approached regarding a "Where is She Now" article in the newsletter of an organization I am part of. I have to say that the rough draft the article that my friend wrote sounded much better than "Two exits from the mental hospital and hanging on by a thread!" I'm not sure that's really what people want to read about...or maybe it is. Hopefully it is! You will all be getting an in depth look at the twisted way my mind works when my book is finished!
I am excited to report that the reason my "daily" posts haven't been so daily is because I'm working hard on putting a project to bed...If I didn't laugh, I'd Cry - the BOOK! Writing has been a lifelong passion of mine, and completing a book has been a goal for a very long time. I am pleased to say that my manuscript is nearly complete (I think I could find things to change forever if I kept at it.) The cover photo shoot is done, now I am just waiting for the photographer to finish editing the images. The publishing company assures me that once EVERYTHING is in place and submitted, it will take approximately twelve weeks for me to be holding a copy of my first book. Thank you very much to everyone who has inquired about this project, and especially those of you who pushed me to actually do it!
I am thrilled that my girls will have a written record of their childhood from their mom's perspective, something I surely don't have. My other hope for this project is that other moms will be able to identify with me and my glorious mess. If I can give them a giggle along the way, then so much the better.
Motherhood is definitely not what I thought it would be. It's better! And worse. And well, a lot of times it's somewhere between the two. It's harder, and more wonderful. It's frustrating, and so, so rewarding. Hopefully I can convey to my readers that this whole experience has been kind of a mixed bag for me, but I'm happy to say that the highs far exceed the lows. And I wouldn't change a thing.
I am excited to report that the reason my "daily" posts haven't been so daily is because I'm working hard on putting a project to bed...If I didn't laugh, I'd Cry - the BOOK! Writing has been a lifelong passion of mine, and completing a book has been a goal for a very long time. I am pleased to say that my manuscript is nearly complete (I think I could find things to change forever if I kept at it.) The cover photo shoot is done, now I am just waiting for the photographer to finish editing the images. The publishing company assures me that once EVERYTHING is in place and submitted, it will take approximately twelve weeks for me to be holding a copy of my first book. Thank you very much to everyone who has inquired about this project, and especially those of you who pushed me to actually do it!
I am thrilled that my girls will have a written record of their childhood from their mom's perspective, something I surely don't have. My other hope for this project is that other moms will be able to identify with me and my glorious mess. If I can give them a giggle along the way, then so much the better.
Motherhood is definitely not what I thought it would be. It's better! And worse. And well, a lot of times it's somewhere between the two. It's harder, and more wonderful. It's frustrating, and so, so rewarding. Hopefully I can convey to my readers that this whole experience has been kind of a mixed bag for me, but I'm happy to say that the highs far exceed the lows. And I wouldn't change a thing.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
The Oil Change
I don't know exactly what my children say to each other when they wake up in the morning, but thanks to a FB share from my friend Dottie, I'm pretty sure it goes something like this:
"Let's see if we can drive mom completely bat shit crazy today, k?" "Yeah, because we got so close yesterday!" My kids are determined if nothing else. They have a goal in mind, and by golly they are going for it!
I generally try to consolidate errands. I do this with the completely sinister plan of hiring a babysitter while I do them so that I don't have to put short people in and out of the car so many times. A lot of times, I swear it takes me longer to load and unload them than it does to accomplish the actual errand. Well either that or the errand takes me FIVE TIMES longer than it should because I'm having to stop and answer "Can we have..." every thirty seconds. People who design end caps and checkout lines, I'm onto you. And I don't like the way you play dirty pool. Not one bit.
One day last week, I allowed my sense of financial responsibility to override my common sense. I was already in Tupelo and had the baby with me. I needed an oil change, so I figured it would cost me less to go ahead and stop rather than taking the baby all the way home and driving back. Getting the babysitter off the clock quicker always makes my husband smile.
So off we went to the ten minute oil change place. Every time I've ever been inside that place in the last six years, there's been a magnetic table and a few toys for kids. Excellent, I thought. The baby can play and I'll read my book. Cool! I pulled up, unloaded my baby, my book, my purse, and the diaper bag that usually outweighs the kid. We headed inside to find that, naturally, the table and toys had been removed. Just like that my plan dissolved into thin air.
The tiny room was full of people, and of course my oil change ended up taking closer to thirty minutes than ten. I had amused my little girl with pretty much everything I had, including my cell phone. Anyone who's ever been in a tiny room full of people with a toddler who no longer wishes to be there knows what a picnic that is. I was getting desperate, so I broke out the snacks.
She crunched quietly for awhile, then asked for her favorite food in the world, fruit snacks. These little guys were the first food item that she gave a name and asked for. She calls them "a nanas," although none of us are really sure why. She was freaking out in front of the pantry one day repeating the word "a nana" so I just held things up until she smiled and jumped up and down when I got to the fruit snacks. They really are a food group as far as she's concerned. When she outgrew her bedtime bottle with Daddy, he substituted fruit snacks and she still eats them every night.
A pack of fruit snacks generally keeps her quiet for at least 5-10 minutes. I opened them for her and sat back. Yes, a break! I was enjoying my moment of peace when I saw her drop one on the floor. NO! I swooped down on her like a hawk on a baby rabbit, but it was too late. With a grin, she popped that treat in her mouth and swallowed it whole. The guy sitting across from me had been watching all this happen with great amusement, and suddenly he couldn't contain his giggles anymore. I thought he was going to fall out of his chair. I was standing there thinking, "Really dude, I've got three kids. This isn't that funny" when I realized what I had done. In her haste to cram the contraband treat in her mouth, the baby had spilled the remaining treats in her bag on the floor. As I stepped back to return to my seat, I had managed to step on one...and weld my shoe to the floor. It made an awesome sucking sound and stretched at least six inches when I picked my foot up. I took out a baby wipe to clean my shoe and the floor with as much dignity as I could muster. Mr. Giggle Box was still LOLing from across the room. I opened my mouth to say, "I'm glad we could provide so much entertainment for you during your oil change. Tips gladly accepted," but then I saw my child headed for the public restroom to play with the toilet water. Yep, throw in a kid and even life's most mundane tasks become a challenge. Or another rung on the ladder to the nervous hospital. Whichever.
"Let's see if we can drive mom completely bat shit crazy today, k?" "Yeah, because we got so close yesterday!" My kids are determined if nothing else. They have a goal in mind, and by golly they are going for it!
I generally try to consolidate errands. I do this with the completely sinister plan of hiring a babysitter while I do them so that I don't have to put short people in and out of the car so many times. A lot of times, I swear it takes me longer to load and unload them than it does to accomplish the actual errand. Well either that or the errand takes me FIVE TIMES longer than it should because I'm having to stop and answer "Can we have..." every thirty seconds. People who design end caps and checkout lines, I'm onto you. And I don't like the way you play dirty pool. Not one bit.
One day last week, I allowed my sense of financial responsibility to override my common sense. I was already in Tupelo and had the baby with me. I needed an oil change, so I figured it would cost me less to go ahead and stop rather than taking the baby all the way home and driving back. Getting the babysitter off the clock quicker always makes my husband smile.
So off we went to the ten minute oil change place. Every time I've ever been inside that place in the last six years, there's been a magnetic table and a few toys for kids. Excellent, I thought. The baby can play and I'll read my book. Cool! I pulled up, unloaded my baby, my book, my purse, and the diaper bag that usually outweighs the kid. We headed inside to find that, naturally, the table and toys had been removed. Just like that my plan dissolved into thin air.
The tiny room was full of people, and of course my oil change ended up taking closer to thirty minutes than ten. I had amused my little girl with pretty much everything I had, including my cell phone. Anyone who's ever been in a tiny room full of people with a toddler who no longer wishes to be there knows what a picnic that is. I was getting desperate, so I broke out the snacks.
She crunched quietly for awhile, then asked for her favorite food in the world, fruit snacks. These little guys were the first food item that she gave a name and asked for. She calls them "a nanas," although none of us are really sure why. She was freaking out in front of the pantry one day repeating the word "a nana" so I just held things up until she smiled and jumped up and down when I got to the fruit snacks. They really are a food group as far as she's concerned. When she outgrew her bedtime bottle with Daddy, he substituted fruit snacks and she still eats them every night.
A pack of fruit snacks generally keeps her quiet for at least 5-10 minutes. I opened them for her and sat back. Yes, a break! I was enjoying my moment of peace when I saw her drop one on the floor. NO! I swooped down on her like a hawk on a baby rabbit, but it was too late. With a grin, she popped that treat in her mouth and swallowed it whole. The guy sitting across from me had been watching all this happen with great amusement, and suddenly he couldn't contain his giggles anymore. I thought he was going to fall out of his chair. I was standing there thinking, "Really dude, I've got three kids. This isn't that funny" when I realized what I had done. In her haste to cram the contraband treat in her mouth, the baby had spilled the remaining treats in her bag on the floor. As I stepped back to return to my seat, I had managed to step on one...and weld my shoe to the floor. It made an awesome sucking sound and stretched at least six inches when I picked my foot up. I took out a baby wipe to clean my shoe and the floor with as much dignity as I could muster. Mr. Giggle Box was still LOLing from across the room. I opened my mouth to say, "I'm glad we could provide so much entertainment for you during your oil change. Tips gladly accepted," but then I saw my child headed for the public restroom to play with the toilet water. Yep, throw in a kid and even life's most mundane tasks become a challenge. Or another rung on the ladder to the nervous hospital. Whichever.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
A Weighty Issue
I am pleased to report that I'm still running every morning. Okay, maybe "running" is a strong word. More like jogging separated by periods of walking uphill. I am also pleased to report that my thighs rubbing together have not yet caused a fire. I had a fire extinguisher on standby those first few days! I have finally started to lose some weight now that my body is over the shock of being asked to move so early in the morning.
I tell myself every morning that I can see some changes in the mirror, but as I refuse to take a "before" picture, you will have to take my word for it. Sorry, ladies, I'll just have to help you out with some mental imagery. I am pretty happy from my head to my ribcage and my knees to my toes. The area in between is a vast wasteland of lumps and stretch marks. My two-sizes-too-small blue running shorts make my butt look like a big round blueberry. Yes, yes, I know. I could invest in a larger pair of shorts. I'm using them for motivation, because you're going to hear all about my happy dance the day I put them on and they actually fit.
Which brings to mind a question: why is it that I don't feel "fat" until I start trying on clothes? I was reasonably happy with how I looked until I went into a store I'd always wanted to shop in and realized that their clothes don't come in my size. Talk about a big old shot of self-esteem! I can vividly remember the first time I was made aware of the fact that other people were talking about my weight. Someone close to me confided that she had run into an old friend who reported that she had seen me somewhere, and "boy, she's gained a lot of weight since the last time I saw her!" My "friend" went on: "And I told her, well haven't we all?"
It's worth pointing out that the "last time she saw me" I was a senior in high school. Since then, I had lived through being away from home for the first time, my mother's lengthy battle with cancer, and her eventual death. I have mentioned before that I know about depression. My mother's death was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. If there has a been a rock bottom in my life, that was it. My high school boyfriend jumped ship on me a month after she died, because I was "sad all the time." So yeah, I put on a few pounds. Personally, I consider the fact that I didn't end up as an alcoholic or an addict to be a miracle in itself. Three different doctors tried to prescribe antidepressants, which I was afraid would turn me into a walking zombie. I flatly refused. And somehow, my one trip to an on-campus counselor didn't snap me out of my depression and make everything right in my world again. So after going through hell with no chemical assistance and living to tell the tale, I wasn't all that concerned with the fact that I wasn't a size 3 anymore.
To give you a little insight on how my mind works, I was also left to ponder my "friend's" motivation for telling me such a thing. Did she want me to know so that I would be pleased that she defended me, or did she just want me to know that someone called me fat? I have my theory on this one, but I'm going to keep it to myself. During a conversation with the same person, I once mentioned that I had never really had a problem with my weight. She looked at me and sniffed, "Well, we'll just see what you look like when you're forty!" Don't worry, honey, I'm using you for motivation too. Because I've got a great doctor who'll get my hormone mixture right, and if she doesn't I'll find another one. When I'm forty, I'm going to look fanfreakingtastic! I've got five years to work on it. It's gonna take me at least that long...
I tell myself every morning that I can see some changes in the mirror, but as I refuse to take a "before" picture, you will have to take my word for it. Sorry, ladies, I'll just have to help you out with some mental imagery. I am pretty happy from my head to my ribcage and my knees to my toes. The area in between is a vast wasteland of lumps and stretch marks. My two-sizes-too-small blue running shorts make my butt look like a big round blueberry. Yes, yes, I know. I could invest in a larger pair of shorts. I'm using them for motivation, because you're going to hear all about my happy dance the day I put them on and they actually fit.
Which brings to mind a question: why is it that I don't feel "fat" until I start trying on clothes? I was reasonably happy with how I looked until I went into a store I'd always wanted to shop in and realized that their clothes don't come in my size. Talk about a big old shot of self-esteem! I can vividly remember the first time I was made aware of the fact that other people were talking about my weight. Someone close to me confided that she had run into an old friend who reported that she had seen me somewhere, and "boy, she's gained a lot of weight since the last time I saw her!" My "friend" went on: "And I told her, well haven't we all?"
It's worth pointing out that the "last time she saw me" I was a senior in high school. Since then, I had lived through being away from home for the first time, my mother's lengthy battle with cancer, and her eventual death. I have mentioned before that I know about depression. My mother's death was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. If there has a been a rock bottom in my life, that was it. My high school boyfriend jumped ship on me a month after she died, because I was "sad all the time." So yeah, I put on a few pounds. Personally, I consider the fact that I didn't end up as an alcoholic or an addict to be a miracle in itself. Three different doctors tried to prescribe antidepressants, which I was afraid would turn me into a walking zombie. I flatly refused. And somehow, my one trip to an on-campus counselor didn't snap me out of my depression and make everything right in my world again. So after going through hell with no chemical assistance and living to tell the tale, I wasn't all that concerned with the fact that I wasn't a size 3 anymore.
To give you a little insight on how my mind works, I was also left to ponder my "friend's" motivation for telling me such a thing. Did she want me to know so that I would be pleased that she defended me, or did she just want me to know that someone called me fat? I have my theory on this one, but I'm going to keep it to myself. During a conversation with the same person, I once mentioned that I had never really had a problem with my weight. She looked at me and sniffed, "Well, we'll just see what you look like when you're forty!" Don't worry, honey, I'm using you for motivation too. Because I've got a great doctor who'll get my hormone mixture right, and if she doesn't I'll find another one. When I'm forty, I'm going to look fanfreakingtastic! I've got five years to work on it. It's gonna take me at least that long...
Friday, July 6, 2012
I See Your Bladder!
My children are getting to the age that anatomy lessons are becoming more and more frequent around here. I guess when you have someone exactly the same age to look at and make comparisons, naturally questions are going to arise. Shortly after my third daughter was born, one of the twins came into my room while I was dressing. After studying me in my underwear for a moment, she walked up and put her finger on my bikini line. "Um, Mom, I can see the hair right there. I think maybe your underwear is getting too small." Duly noted.
Those of you who don't have kids, keep in mind that when you're admiring that pregnant woman's luscious, full head of hair that it sure isn't the only place that looks like that. And if you want to have a private giggle, keep in mind that chances are she doesn't even know just how bad it looks down there because she can't see it over her belly anyway. Just a heads up. You're welcome. And yes, I have seen the clip from "Sex and the City" too. Samantha swears she could be "on Death Row and not have that situation." Samantha doesn't have any children, on screen or off. Her "situation" and our situations are different. WAY different. Just worth pointing out.
The other night, the girls were in the bathtub when their dad heard the following:
Child 1: I see your bladder. (Giggle, giggle.)
Child 2: I see yours too! (More high pitched giggles.)
Daddy returned to the bathroom with towels to find one child standing outside of the tub, bent over and staring at her crotch. "Nope! Mine doesn't have hair on it either!" Then my giggling, naked child showed up in the kitchen. Mom took over at this point.
Me: What are you talking about?
Child 1: My bladder! It doesn't have any hair on it! See?
Me: Well, yes, but that's not your bladder. Your bladder is on the inside. If someone can see your bladder, we need to go to the hospital.
Child 1: Then what is it? Your china? Oh yes, that's right! It's your china! But what was that little thing that was sticking out on that boy baby at the church? You know, when his mom changed his diaper...that little thing? (Squinting her eyes and holding up the end of her finger.)
Me: That was his penis.
Child 1: Oh, yeah! That's right. And that's what makes him different from a girl?
Me: Yep, that pretty well sums it up. And it's not a "china." It's a vagina. With a "v."
Child 1: How do you spell that?
Really? Is it important that my five year old know how to spell this word? Sigh.
Me: V-A-G-I-N-A.
She recited it back to me and then collapsed into a fit of giggles. I remembered suddenly that this was the child who looked at me the other day and said, "Mom, if you smell somebody's toot, it's mine!" Ah, yes, the human body and toilet humor. What could be more fun? I can't wait for her to start first grade. I'm already getting ready for the call from her teacher.
And then it hit me. When we decided over six years ago that we wanted a baby, I never pictured myself standing in my kitchen spelling the word "vagina." I also never pictured myself trying to have a private moment with my husband with three kids banging on my bedroom door. But that's a story for another day. And it's a good one, ladies. No "50 Shades of Grey" or anything, but it's really freakin' funny. Now get your mind out of the gutter.
I guess the moral of the story is this: for all you gals who think that having a baby isn't going to change you, get over it. A baby changes EVERYTHING. Every last facet of your life, from what and when you eat to when you go to the bathroom to how long you sleep. Those little stinkers invade your brain and suck out your memory. They squeeze into your heart and make it impossible for you to watch a news story without thinking, "What if that were my kid?" They change the way you look at yourself, your husband, and the world. And once you're in, you're in. No take backs. There's no such thing as a little bit pregnant. You might as well sit down, shut up, and hang on. The only thing I can promise is that it's a bumpy ride, full of parts that make you scream with joy and parts that will make you lose your lunch. Here's hoping your trip is more fun and less vomit.
Those of you who don't have kids, keep in mind that when you're admiring that pregnant woman's luscious, full head of hair that it sure isn't the only place that looks like that. And if you want to have a private giggle, keep in mind that chances are she doesn't even know just how bad it looks down there because she can't see it over her belly anyway. Just a heads up. You're welcome. And yes, I have seen the clip from "Sex and the City" too. Samantha swears she could be "on Death Row and not have that situation." Samantha doesn't have any children, on screen or off. Her "situation" and our situations are different. WAY different. Just worth pointing out.
The other night, the girls were in the bathtub when their dad heard the following:
Child 1: I see your bladder. (Giggle, giggle.)
Child 2: I see yours too! (More high pitched giggles.)
Daddy returned to the bathroom with towels to find one child standing outside of the tub, bent over and staring at her crotch. "Nope! Mine doesn't have hair on it either!" Then my giggling, naked child showed up in the kitchen. Mom took over at this point.
Me: What are you talking about?
Child 1: My bladder! It doesn't have any hair on it! See?
Me: Well, yes, but that's not your bladder. Your bladder is on the inside. If someone can see your bladder, we need to go to the hospital.
Child 1: Then what is it? Your china? Oh yes, that's right! It's your china! But what was that little thing that was sticking out on that boy baby at the church? You know, when his mom changed his diaper...that little thing? (Squinting her eyes and holding up the end of her finger.)
Me: That was his penis.
Child 1: Oh, yeah! That's right. And that's what makes him different from a girl?
Me: Yep, that pretty well sums it up. And it's not a "china." It's a vagina. With a "v."
Child 1: How do you spell that?
Really? Is it important that my five year old know how to spell this word? Sigh.
Me: V-A-G-I-N-A.
She recited it back to me and then collapsed into a fit of giggles. I remembered suddenly that this was the child who looked at me the other day and said, "Mom, if you smell somebody's toot, it's mine!" Ah, yes, the human body and toilet humor. What could be more fun? I can't wait for her to start first grade. I'm already getting ready for the call from her teacher.
And then it hit me. When we decided over six years ago that we wanted a baby, I never pictured myself standing in my kitchen spelling the word "vagina." I also never pictured myself trying to have a private moment with my husband with three kids banging on my bedroom door. But that's a story for another day. And it's a good one, ladies. No "50 Shades of Grey" or anything, but it's really freakin' funny. Now get your mind out of the gutter.
I guess the moral of the story is this: for all you gals who think that having a baby isn't going to change you, get over it. A baby changes EVERYTHING. Every last facet of your life, from what and when you eat to when you go to the bathroom to how long you sleep. Those little stinkers invade your brain and suck out your memory. They squeeze into your heart and make it impossible for you to watch a news story without thinking, "What if that were my kid?" They change the way you look at yourself, your husband, and the world. And once you're in, you're in. No take backs. There's no such thing as a little bit pregnant. You might as well sit down, shut up, and hang on. The only thing I can promise is that it's a bumpy ride, full of parts that make you scream with joy and parts that will make you lose your lunch. Here's hoping your trip is more fun and less vomit.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Lessons Learned from "Cops"
I have a confession. My kids love to watch "Cops." I don't encourage it, but I swear that show is like porn for them. They know they're not supposed to watch it, but they just can't help it. I blame their love for "Cops" on genetics. My devout Baptist, holy roller mother got the biggest kick out of that show. Personally, I think she just enjoyed singing the theme song at the top of her lungs. Nevertheless, she enjoyed it and so do they.
Not long ago we were in a store and some thug kid got busted for shoplifting. I've never seen two children more excited in my life. When half of the store staff began chasing the guy out through the parking lot, my child stands up in our buggy and yells, "Dad, are they going to call the cops?" "Yep." Then in perfect unison my children burst into song: "OOOOHHH! BAD BOYS, BAD BOYS, WHATCHA GONNA DO..." One of my prouder parenting moments. Then my soft hearted child spent the next two days worrying about the shoplifter and asking me if they had food and a place to sleep in jail.
The other night I busted them watching "Campus PD," a raunchier version of "Cops" shot on location at college campuses around the country. Before I firmly suggested that perhaps we should find a more appropriate show for two five year olds, the following conversation took place.
Child 1: Daddy, why is he putting that guy in the car?
Dad: He's getting arrested for being drunk.
Child 1: For what?
Dad: For drinking too much.
Child 1: For drinking too much what? Alkerhaul?
Dad: Yep. Too much "alkerhaul."
The cop on the show then proceeded to ask the suspect what he'd had to drink. "Three pink panty droppers," the college kid replied. For those of you like me who don't know, this involves some mixture of tequila, vodka, and beer. See, you really do learn something every day.
Child 2: Dad, what's a pink party...
Dad: It's a drink.
Child 2: Well is it alkerhaul or drugs?
Dad: It's alcohol.
Child 2: But do you drink it or put it in your ears?
Dad: You drink it.
Child 2: And if you drink too much of it, it makes you act silly?
Dad: Yep. That's pretty well how it works.
And lest you worry that my kids aren't learning anything by watching such a show, consider this. As the police were loading a suspect into the car, my child looked at her dad and said, "Dad, they really should have checked his pockets before they put him in the car."
Not long ago we were in a store and some thug kid got busted for shoplifting. I've never seen two children more excited in my life. When half of the store staff began chasing the guy out through the parking lot, my child stands up in our buggy and yells, "Dad, are they going to call the cops?" "Yep." Then in perfect unison my children burst into song: "OOOOHHH! BAD BOYS, BAD BOYS, WHATCHA GONNA DO..." One of my prouder parenting moments. Then my soft hearted child spent the next two days worrying about the shoplifter and asking me if they had food and a place to sleep in jail.
The other night I busted them watching "Campus PD," a raunchier version of "Cops" shot on location at college campuses around the country. Before I firmly suggested that perhaps we should find a more appropriate show for two five year olds, the following conversation took place.
Child 1: Daddy, why is he putting that guy in the car?
Dad: He's getting arrested for being drunk.
Child 1: For what?
Dad: For drinking too much.
Child 1: For drinking too much what? Alkerhaul?
Dad: Yep. Too much "alkerhaul."
The cop on the show then proceeded to ask the suspect what he'd had to drink. "Three pink panty droppers," the college kid replied. For those of you like me who don't know, this involves some mixture of tequila, vodka, and beer. See, you really do learn something every day.
Child 2: Dad, what's a pink party...
Dad: It's a drink.
Child 2: Well is it alkerhaul or drugs?
Dad: It's alcohol.
Child 2: But do you drink it or put it in your ears?
Dad: You drink it.
Child 2: And if you drink too much of it, it makes you act silly?
Dad: Yep. That's pretty well how it works.
And lest you worry that my kids aren't learning anything by watching such a show, consider this. As the police were loading a suspect into the car, my child looked at her dad and said, "Dad, they really should have checked his pockets before they put him in the car."
Monday, July 2, 2012
The Water Park
July in Mississippi is hot. Really hot. Steamy, suffocatingly hot. I love to hear people out West say, "It's 110 degrees today, but it's a dry heat." Whatever. We don't have dry heat here. We have "walk outside the door and you'll be sweating like a whore in church" heat. (Had to throw that expression in for my husband. It's his favorite.) When my nephew was a little boy, one of his friend's very religious parents, upon finding out that he hadn't yet been saved, glared at him and said dramatically, "Son, do you know how hot HELL is?" He looked at her and replied solmenly, "No ma'am, but it can't be much hotter than it is here today." He was completely serious; they thought he was being a smart aleck. I think he may have had a small point.
In order to escape the heat, we took the girls to Geyser Falls on Saturday. Never having been to a water park, they of course thought it was the most fantastic place we had ever been. I love to go places with my kids. At least for now, they are so innocent. They don't have any preconceived notions about ethnic groups. To them, everyone in the world is a person, just like they are. They automatically assume that everyone has and uses manners. I figure I'll try to keep that notion going for as long as possible. They'll figure out that's not the case soon enough.
Now, not to sound like a grandmother, but that place was full of some of the rudest kids I've ever seen. More than once my husband had to remind a child (or a teenager) that we were standing in line for one thing or another. One little boy pushed his way to the front of the line at one slide. When he got to the top where a little girl was standing, watching the lifeguard for instructions on when it was safe to slide, he simply ducked under her arm and slid down. While I was standing there wondering where the heck his mother was, and why she hadn't taught him better than that, I saw his "chaperone." She was about twelve. No wonder.
The "Lazy River" was anything but, and I thought my kids were about to get to see a side of their dad they aren't familiar with when a group of about six teenage boys all holding on to the same inner tube came up behind us and nearly pushed me underwater while trying to shove us out of their way. I have to say, I'm really starting to understand what people are talking about when they refer to today's teens as the "entitled" generation. My husband also had the joy of busting a teenage girl about to steal my cap. I left it with him while I took my girls on a waterslide. He stayed at the bottom to guard our rented inner tubes. Since the ride didn't allow hats, I had to leave it at the bottom. Beats all I've ever seen. She didn't even have the decency to act embarrassed about being caught trying to steal something. Is this what our society has come to? I sure hope not.
Another thing that wasn't allowed on the waterslide: clothing. The park actually had the nerve to require people to wear a bathing suit. Several disgruntled girls were making their way down the hill because they had been told they couldn't wear their shirts. Since they had basically nothing under them, they chose not to slide. The "lady" in front of me had on blue jean shorts, a tank top, and a black lace bra. I know this not because she lifted her shirt, but because I could SEE most of it just standing behind her. She didn't slide either. She and her six year old daughter spent most of their time in line asking my kids which preteen shows they liked to watch on TV. Finally I just looked at her and said, "They're five years old. They watch cartoons." She didn't have much to say after that.
The best part about going to a water park is people watching. Dollars to doughnuts if you asked most of those people if they would go out in public in their underwear, most of them would say no and act horrified. Yet they will wear a string bikini in front of God and everybody. I don't get it. Pregnant women...do you really need to wear a two piece? I wore a swimsuit a few times when I was expecting. They really do make one that will cover your belly. And this leads me to the most important lesson of the day. Ladies, just because you can fit it that bikini doesn't mean it's a good idea to wear it. Although I guess the immodest among us do play a vital role. Following a decidedly un-Sports Illustrated swimsuit model type lady in a two piece, I heard the woman behind me whisper, "If she can wear it, then I can wear it!" Just because she can doesn't mean she should.
In order to escape the heat, we took the girls to Geyser Falls on Saturday. Never having been to a water park, they of course thought it was the most fantastic place we had ever been. I love to go places with my kids. At least for now, they are so innocent. They don't have any preconceived notions about ethnic groups. To them, everyone in the world is a person, just like they are. They automatically assume that everyone has and uses manners. I figure I'll try to keep that notion going for as long as possible. They'll figure out that's not the case soon enough.
Now, not to sound like a grandmother, but that place was full of some of the rudest kids I've ever seen. More than once my husband had to remind a child (or a teenager) that we were standing in line for one thing or another. One little boy pushed his way to the front of the line at one slide. When he got to the top where a little girl was standing, watching the lifeguard for instructions on when it was safe to slide, he simply ducked under her arm and slid down. While I was standing there wondering where the heck his mother was, and why she hadn't taught him better than that, I saw his "chaperone." She was about twelve. No wonder.
The "Lazy River" was anything but, and I thought my kids were about to get to see a side of their dad they aren't familiar with when a group of about six teenage boys all holding on to the same inner tube came up behind us and nearly pushed me underwater while trying to shove us out of their way. I have to say, I'm really starting to understand what people are talking about when they refer to today's teens as the "entitled" generation. My husband also had the joy of busting a teenage girl about to steal my cap. I left it with him while I took my girls on a waterslide. He stayed at the bottom to guard our rented inner tubes. Since the ride didn't allow hats, I had to leave it at the bottom. Beats all I've ever seen. She didn't even have the decency to act embarrassed about being caught trying to steal something. Is this what our society has come to? I sure hope not.
Another thing that wasn't allowed on the waterslide: clothing. The park actually had the nerve to require people to wear a bathing suit. Several disgruntled girls were making their way down the hill because they had been told they couldn't wear their shirts. Since they had basically nothing under them, they chose not to slide. The "lady" in front of me had on blue jean shorts, a tank top, and a black lace bra. I know this not because she lifted her shirt, but because I could SEE most of it just standing behind her. She didn't slide either. She and her six year old daughter spent most of their time in line asking my kids which preteen shows they liked to watch on TV. Finally I just looked at her and said, "They're five years old. They watch cartoons." She didn't have much to say after that.
The best part about going to a water park is people watching. Dollars to doughnuts if you asked most of those people if they would go out in public in their underwear, most of them would say no and act horrified. Yet they will wear a string bikini in front of God and everybody. I don't get it. Pregnant women...do you really need to wear a two piece? I wore a swimsuit a few times when I was expecting. They really do make one that will cover your belly. And this leads me to the most important lesson of the day. Ladies, just because you can fit it that bikini doesn't mean it's a good idea to wear it. Although I guess the immodest among us do play a vital role. Following a decidedly un-Sports Illustrated swimsuit model type lady in a two piece, I heard the woman behind me whisper, "If she can wear it, then I can wear it!" Just because she can doesn't mean she should.
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