So for those of you who thought I had simply disappeared into oblivion, even those of you who were slightly happy about that thought: I haven't. I have simply been busier than a one legged man in a butt kicking contest. So much has happened to our family in the past week...and I got sick right in the middle of it all. I have been at war with the most ferocious sinus infection in human history. I have taken my antibiotics faithfully, and I really do try to convince myself every morning that I am getting better. My left ear has so much fluid behind my eardrum that I am completely deaf on that side. I feel like a 90 year old woman with a non-working hearing aid, as my immediate response to anything that anyone says to me is, "Huh?" I have learned that Zyrtec is NOT my friend, particularly if I wish to function in any sort of way that resembles a human being. Between my "Zyrtec Zombie" day and my post Nyquil hangover day, I have been pretty darn worthless this week. Oh, and I HAVE to be well soon...because I'm flying cross country with three little kids.
Last week my family got some very exciting news, the most exciting news we have had in quite some time. This is one for the things-I-never-thought-would-happen-to-me-file: several months ago, I submitted a video of my girls and their dad to the TV show America's Funniest Home Videos. It had been several months, and to be honest I had kind of forgotten about it. Then one day about three months ago, a lady from the show called to say that they were thinking of using the video, and if they did, we would get a tee shirt. "Oh, how cool," I thought. "My kids will get to see themselves on TV. Neat!"
Then about a week ago, a producer from the show called back, to say again that they were thinking of using the video, and to get everyone's name, etc. Still pretty cool. Later the same day, another person from the show called to say that our video was one of the three finalists for one of their weekly shows! They are going to fly our family to California, have us be on the show, and we have a chance to win $10,000!
As someone who can remember watching that show as a kid, it completely blows my mind that we are actually going to be on it! My kids are beside themselves, as you can imagine, and I am trying to figure out what manner of chemical relaxation it is going to take for me to survive a flight from Memphis to Los Angeles with three small children. (Just kidding.) I feel certain it will be an adventure that we will never forget! I will post the show's air date when we know for sure, but tentatively it will be December 2nd. Any of you folks who have had the pleasure of sitting next to my family in church know what the possibilities are here. You never know exactly what this bunch is going to do. Pray for me.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Daddy, are you really going to kill our boyfriends?
"Daddy, are you really going to kill our boyfriends?" "Yep. Probably so." "Well, if you do, I'm going to tell the Principal!" And so it begins. Kelly Ripa reported yesterday that studies have shown that children are reaching puberty in this country earlier than they ever have before. My husband and I are already having conversations with our girls that I thought were years away. Everything from, "why can't I have a cell phone" to "why can't I have a boyfriend?"
My first grader informed me last night that a boy in her kindergarten class last year told all the girls on the playground that they were "hot." I quickly informed her that "hot" was not an appropriate term for a kindergarten age boy or girl to be using. "Well, why not?" Why not, indeed? Between the commercials for underwear and sexual enhancement products my home is bombarded with on a daily basis, I can already see that we are going to be having some adult conversations way too soon for me.
Which brings me to my point: why is everyone in such a hurry for kids to grow up? It's really no wonder that there's a show called "16 and Pregnant" on MTV these days. Have you walked through the juniors department lately? My friends with "tweens" have tried to warn me that fashion above the size 6 girls takes an abrupt turn toward hoochie mama. I can now say that I've seen it for myself. Is it so terrible that I want my little girls to be little girls for awhile longer? I don't want them to look grown up, or hot, or mature. I just want them to look like kids. You know, short people whose job it is to play with their toys and enjoy life? Makeup and nail polish can wait. My girls are 6, not 16. And, by the way, any boy who wants to take one of my girls out is going to have to survive a fully attended family dinner at our home. I got my tenth anniversary present yesterday, an awesome western table with enough chairs for our family and then some! Good luck, teenage boys. You're going to need it.
My first grader informed me last night that a boy in her kindergarten class last year told all the girls on the playground that they were "hot." I quickly informed her that "hot" was not an appropriate term for a kindergarten age boy or girl to be using. "Well, why not?" Why not, indeed? Between the commercials for underwear and sexual enhancement products my home is bombarded with on a daily basis, I can already see that we are going to be having some adult conversations way too soon for me.
Which brings me to my point: why is everyone in such a hurry for kids to grow up? It's really no wonder that there's a show called "16 and Pregnant" on MTV these days. Have you walked through the juniors department lately? My friends with "tweens" have tried to warn me that fashion above the size 6 girls takes an abrupt turn toward hoochie mama. I can now say that I've seen it for myself. Is it so terrible that I want my little girls to be little girls for awhile longer? I don't want them to look grown up, or hot, or mature. I just want them to look like kids. You know, short people whose job it is to play with their toys and enjoy life? Makeup and nail polish can wait. My girls are 6, not 16. And, by the way, any boy who wants to take one of my girls out is going to have to survive a fully attended family dinner at our home. I got my tenth anniversary present yesterday, an awesome western table with enough chairs for our family and then some! Good luck, teenage boys. You're going to need it.
Monday, October 22, 2012
I'm back and it's finished!
I am extremely excited to report that my book is now complete and off to the publisher as of this morning. I do apologize for neglecting my blog so terribly. We have no less than four sideline businesses around here these days, so in addition to keeping the house from imploding I have been working feverishly on putting my book project to bed. I am so glad to be done with it! I can actually say that two of my projects that started with an idea have been brought to fruition this month. I've never been able to say that before! My book is on its way to becoming a reality (hello, bucket list!) I can mark that one off! How many times can you say that you saw a dream you had as a kid realized? Things that are on that short list include graduating from vet school and my sweet family!
Our equine spa is here and open. We are still clearing some trees and getting our pad built for permanent parking, but we are open for business! It has taken a lot of work, sleepless nights, and willingness to listen to (and ignore) people telling us why something couldn't be done. We are going to work our first show this weekend, and although I fully expect a few hiccups here and there, I am looking forward to getting this business off the ground.
We are the recipients of so many blessings. God has been good to our family, and I am truly thankful!
Our equine spa is here and open. We are still clearing some trees and getting our pad built for permanent parking, but we are open for business! It has taken a lot of work, sleepless nights, and willingness to listen to (and ignore) people telling us why something couldn't be done. We are going to work our first show this weekend, and although I fully expect a few hiccups here and there, I am looking forward to getting this business off the ground.
We are the recipients of so many blessings. God has been good to our family, and I am truly thankful!
Monday, October 15, 2012
Sundays with the Shumperts
Sunday is the Lord's Day. A day of rest, right? Um, not after you become a parent. Sunday morning takes on an entirely new meaning after you give birth, and more kids just make it more complicated. I constantly marvel at how much my life has changed since I became a parent, but never more so than on Sunday morning. Sunday mornings at our house are so profound that they merited an entire chapter in my book on motherhood.
Before my twins were born, we attended a church less than two minutes from our home that started at 9:00 AM. My husband and I loved the idea of going to church early and as he put it, "getting it over with" so that we could have the rest of the day to do things like nap. Sunday afternoon naps are also something you give up when you become a parent. Never thought about that when I considered getting pregnant.
When the girls were two, we moved out of our vet clinic apartment and into a house about 25 minutes away. Now instead of being ready at 8:58, we had to be in the car leaving home at 8:30 in order to avoid being late for church. I loved our church, and didn't want to change, but after we added the third child, the lure of a church two minutes from home that started at 11:00 was just too much to resist. And it's full of people my kids love, including little old ladies who seem to really enjoy the fact that my kids are huggers.
But Sunday mornings continue to astound me. It just doesn't make sense that we can get everyone but myself and the baby out the door by 7:15 Monday through Friday and are nearly late for church week. There is a really strange phenomenon that goes on in our home. The children's clothes and shoes turn on me. Suddenly shoes that have been worn 87 times before are too big. Or too little. Or "hurt my feet." Or slip up and down when they walk. Lacy socks that I have at least six pairs of suddenly go missing. Or should I say one of them goes missing. All of a sudden I have a pile of mismatched lacy socks. Dresses that have been worn before with no problem at all are suddenly too tight. Or too long. Or too itchy. Or "choke me when I sit down!" Hair bows that have been worn a hundred times to school "hurt my head!" Hairstyles that are perfectly acceptable every other day of the week are hideous on Sundays. I just don't understand it! How can these seemingly innocent (and expensive) household items turn evil one day a week?
I have to admit that I have learned a lot about myself on Sunday mornings. I have learned that it is perfectly acceptable to break the law by speeding so long as you are on the way to church. I have learned that I have the ability to nurse a baby while fixing another child's hair. I have figured out that the reason my mother was always putting on lipstick and polishing her nails in the car on the way to church is because after you spend all of your time getting everyone else ready, you are left with approximately five minutes to dress yourself before walking out the door. Ever wonder why the kids and husband all look so neat and clean and the mother looks like "who'd have thought it?" Become a parent. That stuff will make perfect sense!
How many times have you looked down your nose at the people with all the little kids who slid into the back row with their hair on fire and then sat there looking like a deer in headlights while trying to keep their little monsters quiet during the entire service? It's a wonder we didn't spontaneously combust after some of the looks we got when our kids were making noise. And really, who can focus on the sermon while fighting the effects of continuous sleep deprivation and the huge sigh of relief when you actually make it to the church on time? Not this mama.
So how is it that the "day of rest" has become the hardest, and often most stressful day of my week? Simple. KIDS. There you go. Something to add to the things you didn't know before you became a parent. You're welcome.
Before my twins were born, we attended a church less than two minutes from our home that started at 9:00 AM. My husband and I loved the idea of going to church early and as he put it, "getting it over with" so that we could have the rest of the day to do things like nap. Sunday afternoon naps are also something you give up when you become a parent. Never thought about that when I considered getting pregnant.
When the girls were two, we moved out of our vet clinic apartment and into a house about 25 minutes away. Now instead of being ready at 8:58, we had to be in the car leaving home at 8:30 in order to avoid being late for church. I loved our church, and didn't want to change, but after we added the third child, the lure of a church two minutes from home that started at 11:00 was just too much to resist. And it's full of people my kids love, including little old ladies who seem to really enjoy the fact that my kids are huggers.
But Sunday mornings continue to astound me. It just doesn't make sense that we can get everyone but myself and the baby out the door by 7:15 Monday through Friday and are nearly late for church week. There is a really strange phenomenon that goes on in our home. The children's clothes and shoes turn on me. Suddenly shoes that have been worn 87 times before are too big. Or too little. Or "hurt my feet." Or slip up and down when they walk. Lacy socks that I have at least six pairs of suddenly go missing. Or should I say one of them goes missing. All of a sudden I have a pile of mismatched lacy socks. Dresses that have been worn before with no problem at all are suddenly too tight. Or too long. Or too itchy. Or "choke me when I sit down!" Hair bows that have been worn a hundred times to school "hurt my head!" Hairstyles that are perfectly acceptable every other day of the week are hideous on Sundays. I just don't understand it! How can these seemingly innocent (and expensive) household items turn evil one day a week?
I have to admit that I have learned a lot about myself on Sunday mornings. I have learned that it is perfectly acceptable to break the law by speeding so long as you are on the way to church. I have learned that I have the ability to nurse a baby while fixing another child's hair. I have figured out that the reason my mother was always putting on lipstick and polishing her nails in the car on the way to church is because after you spend all of your time getting everyone else ready, you are left with approximately five minutes to dress yourself before walking out the door. Ever wonder why the kids and husband all look so neat and clean and the mother looks like "who'd have thought it?" Become a parent. That stuff will make perfect sense!
How many times have you looked down your nose at the people with all the little kids who slid into the back row with their hair on fire and then sat there looking like a deer in headlights while trying to keep their little monsters quiet during the entire service? It's a wonder we didn't spontaneously combust after some of the looks we got when our kids were making noise. And really, who can focus on the sermon while fighting the effects of continuous sleep deprivation and the huge sigh of relief when you actually make it to the church on time? Not this mama.
So how is it that the "day of rest" has become the hardest, and often most stressful day of my week? Simple. KIDS. There you go. Something to add to the things you didn't know before you became a parent. You're welcome.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
World Class Somethings
"Are they competitive?" asked the lady who was about to teach my six year old twins to tumble. I just looked at her. "Seriously? They fight over who is going to brush their teeth first. So I guess the short answer would be yes." These two people have been duking it out for space (and my attention) in this world since they were in the womb. They had their feet in each other's face in my belly. I'm fairly certain that had each of them known the other was there, there would have been the first recorded prenatal fist fight. From the outside it would appear that the competition begins when they open their eyes in the morning and ends when they fall asleep, which is also a contest. One of them is jealous of the other one because she can always fall asleep faster than her sister. I used to wonder when this "ish" was going to end. Now I have decided that it's going to end when they are dead, and I'm sure whichever one dies first will have some sort of advantage.
This morning my husband called me to fill me in on the conversation that took place as they were heading to the truck. Actually, what he said was, "I don't know how we're going to do it, but if we can ever manage to harness this whole competition thing, we are gonna have two world class somethings on our hands!" I hope you are right dad, and if we are lucky they will pick something we are at least halfway interested in. Watch them be world champions in underwater basket weaving. Or curling. Fingers crossed.
Apparently the morning began with a foot race to the truck, which didn't start until one child was already half way there. With a thirty foot head start, she beat her sister, who was completely unaware that there was even a race going on, easily. This prompted her sister to inform her that she was a "dirty cheater." Attempting to diffuse the situation, my husband asked who was ready for the barrel race this weekend. "ME! ME!" This led to the next event. "Well, I yelled ME first! Ha! So I win." The other sister sat there for a moment, then replied, "Well, I still get to go. So who cares?' You do, my little princess, which is why your sister does the things she does. She knows how to play you like a fiddle, and until you figure out how to do the same, you are in for a lot of grief.
I have said before that, being an only child, I don't understand this whole death match competition thing. I just have to tolerate it because they live in my home. I have however, quickly learned the unwritten laws of sisterhood. The main one goes something like this, "I can say/do whatever I want about or to my sister. But if someone else does or says the same, I will kill them and get rid of the body, no questions asked." I consider myself extremely lucky that they will still tell on one another, which I know is soon coming to an end. Once they gang up on us, we've had it. But for the moment, they still take tremendous joy in seeing their sister get in trouble for any reason. One of them lands on my sh#t list and it's like an alarm bell sounds for the other one. The kissing of mom's butt will now begin! "I love you, Mommy, You're so sweet." Can't you just picture the angelic little face looking up at me?
Luckily, my BS meter still works quite well. I can detect this crap at twenty paces. Ooooh, she's in trouble. Here's a chance for me to get in good with mom! Nice try, my little cherub. I'm smart enough to know that you probably started this crap, she finished it and got caught. Rest assured, your turn is coming. But for now, I'm going to enjoy listening to one of you sing my praises. Hey, sometimes you have to take what you can get.
This morning my husband called me to fill me in on the conversation that took place as they were heading to the truck. Actually, what he said was, "I don't know how we're going to do it, but if we can ever manage to harness this whole competition thing, we are gonna have two world class somethings on our hands!" I hope you are right dad, and if we are lucky they will pick something we are at least halfway interested in. Watch them be world champions in underwater basket weaving. Or curling. Fingers crossed.
Apparently the morning began with a foot race to the truck, which didn't start until one child was already half way there. With a thirty foot head start, she beat her sister, who was completely unaware that there was even a race going on, easily. This prompted her sister to inform her that she was a "dirty cheater." Attempting to diffuse the situation, my husband asked who was ready for the barrel race this weekend. "ME! ME!" This led to the next event. "Well, I yelled ME first! Ha! So I win." The other sister sat there for a moment, then replied, "Well, I still get to go. So who cares?' You do, my little princess, which is why your sister does the things she does. She knows how to play you like a fiddle, and until you figure out how to do the same, you are in for a lot of grief.
I have said before that, being an only child, I don't understand this whole death match competition thing. I just have to tolerate it because they live in my home. I have however, quickly learned the unwritten laws of sisterhood. The main one goes something like this, "I can say/do whatever I want about or to my sister. But if someone else does or says the same, I will kill them and get rid of the body, no questions asked." I consider myself extremely lucky that they will still tell on one another, which I know is soon coming to an end. Once they gang up on us, we've had it. But for the moment, they still take tremendous joy in seeing their sister get in trouble for any reason. One of them lands on my sh#t list and it's like an alarm bell sounds for the other one. The kissing of mom's butt will now begin! "I love you, Mommy, You're so sweet." Can't you just picture the angelic little face looking up at me?
Luckily, my BS meter still works quite well. I can detect this crap at twenty paces. Ooooh, she's in trouble. Here's a chance for me to get in good with mom! Nice try, my little cherub. I'm smart enough to know that you probably started this crap, she finished it and got caught. Rest assured, your turn is coming. But for now, I'm going to enjoy listening to one of you sing my praises. Hey, sometimes you have to take what you can get.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Facebook...again!
Those who know me have heard me say that I don't think children should have Facebook accounts. And yes, I realize that certain children are more mature than others, and there are parents out there who have the good sense (and the time) to monitor what their kids are putting out there for the world to see. However, yesterday I saw a frightening example of why I am still of the opinion that young kids should NOT be on Facebook.
The following status update was posted yesterday by a 10 year old child that my girls are friends (actual friends, not FB friends) with: "Home alone until 5 o'clock! Does anyone want to come hang out?" In this kid's mind, this was a completely innocent request for her friends to come over and play. In my mind, the mind of a parent, this is how tragedies that we hear about on the news start. Here is the issue: this kid thinks she's just talking to her "friends." I really don't think it's crossed her mind that all it would take is for someone like me to comment on her status and 600+ other people, including grown men and people I barely know, know that she's home by herself. I can't begin to explain how hard it was for the mom in me to keep from showing up at her house and trying to talk some sense into her! I looked for the post again this morning and it had been taken down, so perhaps someone has talked with her about it and explained the dangers.
I completely understand the urge to shelter kids as long as possible. But if you are going to allow your child to have access to this many people that they don't know at one time, you need to explain that there are people out there who would read that post and see an opportunity to rob, kidnap, rape, kill, or do any number of other horrible things to a little girl left home alone. The mother in me just shudders! The bigger issue to me is this: this kid doesn't think like a parent. Her youth and inexperience don't permit her to consider all of the repercussions that those two little sentences could have set into motion. Thankfully, in this situation nothing bad happened, but it sure could have. She could have been looking back on that one simple post in twenty years and saying, "That's the day my life was ruined."
Please don't get me wrong. I'm not suggesting that kids who are old enough and mature enough (and that's totally at a parent's discretion) shouldn't be left home alone. I'm just saying that they shouldn't disclose that fact to everyone they have ever met and thousands of people they don't know.
I love where we live. We are completely settled in Small Town, USA. The kids are great, the neighbors are great, the schools are great. We moved to this community specifically because we wanted this lifestyle for our children. However, it's becoming increasingly apparent to me that kids who grow up here have a false sense of security about where they live. So what's a parent to do? I have no idea. But please, please, if you are going to let your kids be on Facebook, at the very least, friend them and monitor their posts!
The following status update was posted yesterday by a 10 year old child that my girls are friends (actual friends, not FB friends) with: "Home alone until 5 o'clock! Does anyone want to come hang out?" In this kid's mind, this was a completely innocent request for her friends to come over and play. In my mind, the mind of a parent, this is how tragedies that we hear about on the news start. Here is the issue: this kid thinks she's just talking to her "friends." I really don't think it's crossed her mind that all it would take is for someone like me to comment on her status and 600+ other people, including grown men and people I barely know, know that she's home by herself. I can't begin to explain how hard it was for the mom in me to keep from showing up at her house and trying to talk some sense into her! I looked for the post again this morning and it had been taken down, so perhaps someone has talked with her about it and explained the dangers.
I completely understand the urge to shelter kids as long as possible. But if you are going to allow your child to have access to this many people that they don't know at one time, you need to explain that there are people out there who would read that post and see an opportunity to rob, kidnap, rape, kill, or do any number of other horrible things to a little girl left home alone. The mother in me just shudders! The bigger issue to me is this: this kid doesn't think like a parent. Her youth and inexperience don't permit her to consider all of the repercussions that those two little sentences could have set into motion. Thankfully, in this situation nothing bad happened, but it sure could have. She could have been looking back on that one simple post in twenty years and saying, "That's the day my life was ruined."
Please don't get me wrong. I'm not suggesting that kids who are old enough and mature enough (and that's totally at a parent's discretion) shouldn't be left home alone. I'm just saying that they shouldn't disclose that fact to everyone they have ever met and thousands of people they don't know.
I love where we live. We are completely settled in Small Town, USA. The kids are great, the neighbors are great, the schools are great. We moved to this community specifically because we wanted this lifestyle for our children. However, it's becoming increasingly apparent to me that kids who grow up here have a false sense of security about where they live. So what's a parent to do? I have no idea. But please, please, if you are going to let your kids be on Facebook, at the very least, friend them and monitor their posts!
Monday, October 8, 2012
"Man" Looking
It has become increasingly obvious to me that among the myriad of other things mothers are blessed with, giving birth to a child also brings with it the miraculous ability to locate things in the house. Not just my things, but other people's things. At least that's what my family thinks. "Mom, have you seen my Leapster? I can't find it anywhere!" Except on the floor in the dining room, where she left it yesterday. At 6:45 AM on a school morning: "Where is my shirt? You know, the one with the ballerina on it?" The one that she hasn't worn since last fall. "Where is my brown horse? I can't SLEEP without it!" This would be the same brown horse she hasn't seen in six months. Where is it written that mom knows where every single item in our house is at any given moment?
And I've only mentioned the kids so far. My husband is convinced that I have the supernatural ability to locate things as well. My sweet, adorable, wonderful husband likes to do what I call "man" looking. Man looking for an item involves a casual scan of the room, not including under or behind other items. And it definitely does not include places like in between the couch cushions or under the TV. If you tell him an item is in a drawer, he will walk to said drawer, open it, quickly scan the items on top and announce, "It's not in here!" At least 95% of the time, I know that the item is in fact in that drawer, because I put it there. So in the kindest possible way I'll say, "Did you really look, or did you man look?" And most of the time he'll tell the truth. "No, I man looked!" At which point I will walk into the room, open the drawer, lift two or three things up, so as to see what's underneath them, and pull out the aforementioned item. Of course, this only reinforces the idea that mom knows where everything is at all times, so I don't really think I'm doing myself any favors. It's a vicious cycle.
Yesterday, however, we were getting ready to go somewhere and no one could locate baby's tennis shoes. My husband, my kids and I had all looked all over the house and they were nowhere to be found. My big girls decided that they must have fallen victim to "Mr. Nobody," who is responsible for all the things that go wrong around here, as well as lost toys. I told them I was pretty sure "mom brain" had more to do with this than Mr. Nobody, but they weren't convinced. We located a suitable replacement and off we went.
Just before we got ready to go to bed last night, I headed to the laundry room to put that last load in the washer. As I turned to leave the room, I spotted them. The baby's tennis shoes, sitting right there on the shoe rack with all the other shoes. Well, what do you know? It happens to moms, too. Okay, fine, here you go, get ready for it: I admit it. I man looked.
And I've only mentioned the kids so far. My husband is convinced that I have the supernatural ability to locate things as well. My sweet, adorable, wonderful husband likes to do what I call "man" looking. Man looking for an item involves a casual scan of the room, not including under or behind other items. And it definitely does not include places like in between the couch cushions or under the TV. If you tell him an item is in a drawer, he will walk to said drawer, open it, quickly scan the items on top and announce, "It's not in here!" At least 95% of the time, I know that the item is in fact in that drawer, because I put it there. So in the kindest possible way I'll say, "Did you really look, or did you man look?" And most of the time he'll tell the truth. "No, I man looked!" At which point I will walk into the room, open the drawer, lift two or three things up, so as to see what's underneath them, and pull out the aforementioned item. Of course, this only reinforces the idea that mom knows where everything is at all times, so I don't really think I'm doing myself any favors. It's a vicious cycle.
Yesterday, however, we were getting ready to go somewhere and no one could locate baby's tennis shoes. My husband, my kids and I had all looked all over the house and they were nowhere to be found. My big girls decided that they must have fallen victim to "Mr. Nobody," who is responsible for all the things that go wrong around here, as well as lost toys. I told them I was pretty sure "mom brain" had more to do with this than Mr. Nobody, but they weren't convinced. We located a suitable replacement and off we went.
Just before we got ready to go to bed last night, I headed to the laundry room to put that last load in the washer. As I turned to leave the room, I spotted them. The baby's tennis shoes, sitting right there on the shoe rack with all the other shoes. Well, what do you know? It happens to moms, too. Okay, fine, here you go, get ready for it: I admit it. I man looked.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
"Little Pitchers"
Motherhood comes with daily revelations. The early days are filled with wonder and amazement at the fact that your own body produced such a tiny miracle. After riding the hormone highway through those first few sleep-deprived weeks, you slowly but surely begin to realize that this whole parenthood thing is a much bigger deal than you originally thought. Babies grow up to be kids, and then kids grow into (gasp) teenagers. Along the way, you begin to realize what you have given up to become a parent, and I'm not just talking about your bikini body. I'm talking about sleep, sanity, privacy in the bathroom, freedom to sleep or walk through your home in the nude, and so, so many other things no one tells you about until it's too late.
My particular realization this week came in the form of freedom of speech. As Americans, we have it. Heck, it's guaranteed by our Constitution. I'm here to let you in on a secret: when you become a parent, you lose your right to free speech! Who knew? All of a sudden I can't say anything in my own home, in my car, or anywhere else in the presence of my children that I don't want repeated at absolutely the most inopportune moment. And I certainly can't flavor my opinions and ideas with certain words that probably shouldn't be in my vocabulary but sneak their way in from time to time. I used to think that perhaps my husband had Tourette's Syndrome because every time we got in the car without the kids he let loose a fountain of swear words. Now I understand that he had been saving up, stifling the urge to say what he really wanted to say until he was out of hearing range of the "little pitchers."
This week our children are participating in their school's fund raiser by selling cookie dough. Now, I understand that these types of events have been going on forever. My family sold over a thousand dollars worth of cookies when I was in the fourth grade! But the tactics that schools are using to get kids to sell stuff that nobody really wants are getting ridiculous. Now they have stooped to tempting the kids with a "Mega Party" that they can't attend if they don't sell so many items. Yep, either get out there and push cookie dough on your friends and family or sit in the classroom and do work while all the other kids go to the party. They just got finished selling coupon books, which my daughter wanted to go door to door selling because she just HAD to win a Kindle Fire. Turns out she doesn't even know what it is.
So the other morning my husband voiced his opinion on the whole situation on the way to school. When they arrived, one of the teachers opened the door and asked my girls how they were doing. My oldest promptly responded, "Well, we just don't think it's right that the school makes kids sell all this crap to get to go to a party." Thanks, Dad! Fortunately, the teacher just giggled and said, "I completely agree." Guess we won't be in the running for student of the month. Darn.
Next time, we'll discuss giving up your right to sit down for more than five minutes at a time.
My particular realization this week came in the form of freedom of speech. As Americans, we have it. Heck, it's guaranteed by our Constitution. I'm here to let you in on a secret: when you become a parent, you lose your right to free speech! Who knew? All of a sudden I can't say anything in my own home, in my car, or anywhere else in the presence of my children that I don't want repeated at absolutely the most inopportune moment. And I certainly can't flavor my opinions and ideas with certain words that probably shouldn't be in my vocabulary but sneak their way in from time to time. I used to think that perhaps my husband had Tourette's Syndrome because every time we got in the car without the kids he let loose a fountain of swear words. Now I understand that he had been saving up, stifling the urge to say what he really wanted to say until he was out of hearing range of the "little pitchers."
This week our children are participating in their school's fund raiser by selling cookie dough. Now, I understand that these types of events have been going on forever. My family sold over a thousand dollars worth of cookies when I was in the fourth grade! But the tactics that schools are using to get kids to sell stuff that nobody really wants are getting ridiculous. Now they have stooped to tempting the kids with a "Mega Party" that they can't attend if they don't sell so many items. Yep, either get out there and push cookie dough on your friends and family or sit in the classroom and do work while all the other kids go to the party. They just got finished selling coupon books, which my daughter wanted to go door to door selling because she just HAD to win a Kindle Fire. Turns out she doesn't even know what it is.
So the other morning my husband voiced his opinion on the whole situation on the way to school. When they arrived, one of the teachers opened the door and asked my girls how they were doing. My oldest promptly responded, "Well, we just don't think it's right that the school makes kids sell all this crap to get to go to a party." Thanks, Dad! Fortunately, the teacher just giggled and said, "I completely agree." Guess we won't be in the running for student of the month. Darn.
Next time, we'll discuss giving up your right to sit down for more than five minutes at a time.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Keep Your Germs To Yourself
Today I am in a prayerful state of mind. There are many things that land on top of my prayer list, some huge and profound, and many rather trivial things. But today I have a prayer request, and it's a doozy. My two year old daughter has a stomach bug, and my prayer is as follows: 1) that I won't catch it and 2) that my older kids won't catch it. I mean, really, what mother of three small children who also barrel races and runs a spa on the side has time to be sick? I know I don't. And now I'm going to share some totally disgusting, only a mother could understand details with the world. I know this particular stomach bug WELL. I can identify the little monster solely on the way the poop smells. My older kids have had it more than once. There is nothing like unloading your kid for school and having her announce to the teacher opening the door that she had to stay home yesterday because she had diarrhea. Talk about a proud parenting moment. This condition brings with it a little fever and a lot of poop. Mercifully, my children usually have it one at a time, but dealing with it really makes for a shitty day (pun intended.)
I have often marveled at how much of motherhood revolves around bodily functions. Mothers are chewed on, peed on, pooped on, sneezed on, snotted on, puked on, the list could go on and on. And for you moms-to-be, anyone that tells you that diaper changing is less disgusting when it's your child is full of, well, poop. There is nothing nice about a dirty diaper, and I don't care whose kid the stuff inside came out of. As a mom, you will continually be amazed at what you are willing to do for these tiny, helpless creatures that you gave birth to. Then as they get older, you will still be amazed at what you are willing to do for the ungrateful little monsters. (Just kidding on that one. Sort of.) Potty training and vomit in the bed are my least favorite parts of parenthood, at least the first six years of it. Yes, yes, I know...mothers of teenagers swear to me that it gets worse later. They assure me that I will long for these days when my girls are running out the door with their cell phones hermetically sealed to their ears. But for the moment, I am stuck in bodily-functionville and am quite ready to see the other side.
So this is me, asking God for health and wellness in my home. And to my dear, dear children who I love so very much, please keep your germs to yourself. That is all.
I have often marveled at how much of motherhood revolves around bodily functions. Mothers are chewed on, peed on, pooped on, sneezed on, snotted on, puked on, the list could go on and on. And for you moms-to-be, anyone that tells you that diaper changing is less disgusting when it's your child is full of, well, poop. There is nothing nice about a dirty diaper, and I don't care whose kid the stuff inside came out of. As a mom, you will continually be amazed at what you are willing to do for these tiny, helpless creatures that you gave birth to. Then as they get older, you will still be amazed at what you are willing to do for the ungrateful little monsters. (Just kidding on that one. Sort of.) Potty training and vomit in the bed are my least favorite parts of parenthood, at least the first six years of it. Yes, yes, I know...mothers of teenagers swear to me that it gets worse later. They assure me that I will long for these days when my girls are running out the door with their cell phones hermetically sealed to their ears. But for the moment, I am stuck in bodily-functionville and am quite ready to see the other side.
So this is me, asking God for health and wellness in my home. And to my dear, dear children who I love so very much, please keep your germs to yourself. That is all.
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