Being Thankful

We've all seen the posts from our Facebook friends all month about what they are thankful for, and while I think it's wonderful to be thankful (I try to make it a part of my daily life) I heard something the other day that just stopped me in my tracks. Those of you who know my husband know how easygoing he is. He pretty much has a good time no matter where he is or what's going on. He's definitely a "glass half full" kind of guy. So when our pastor asked him to drive the van on Wednesday nights to pick up kids for church, he agreed but immediately began to make jokes about it. Not being disrespectful in any way, he always leaves home by announcing, "I'm going to drive the Jesus bus!" And since the custom is to pull up in the kids' driveway and honk the horn, he always follows it up with, "You know me, honkin' for Jesus!" It never fails to make me giggle, and the Bible says we are supposed to be joyful, right?
Anyway, since taking on the assignment, he has had the chance to observe and overhear some of the interactions between the kids in the van. It broke my heart the night he told me about one teenager whose situation was so bad that he asked to be taken home last, just to avoid being there for a little while longer. I have always wanted our home to be a safe, happy place for my kids. To think that this kid would rather be anywhere but at home was just so sad to me.
After hearing about the teenage kid, I thought surely there wasn't something worse, until my husband came home the next week and repeated the following conversation.
Little boy: Do you know my name?
Little girl: Yes.
Little boy: Do you know my Daddy's name?
Little girl: No, I don't know it.
Little boy: My Daddy's name is John. What's your Daddy's name?
Little girl: I don't know my Daddy's name. I don't know who he is.
Little boy: What's your Mommy's name?
Little girl: I just call her "Mommy." I don't get to see her very much, so I still just call her "Mommy."
Wow. If that doesn't make you stop and think, I don't know what will. Has it ever occurred to you to be thankful that you know who your father is? I know it certainly hadn't occurred to me until I heard about this.
As parents, heck just as people, we are all imperfect by definition. My parents weren't perfect, because they were people. But they were there, a constant in my life every single day until my mother died. It never occurred to me as a kid that I should be thankful that I knew who they were.
The point of my post is this: while you are being thankful for all of the elaborate blessings in your life (barrel horses, promotions at work, etc) don't forget to be thankful for the most basic of blessings: imperfect parents like me who loved you enough to be involved in your life.

A Crappy Night

Last night was one for the record books. My new dog woke me up around 1 AM, breathing rapidly and looking really uncomfortable. Still half asleep, I held up my cell phone flashlight to survey the situation. She was lying on her blanket grunting and next to her on the floor was something small, skinny, and brown. "Dang it, Zoey!" I muttered under my breath and headed to the bathroom tripping over a toy or two in the dark. "This is why I hate having a dog in the house. Ugh. So gross!" I grabbed some toilet paper, eyes still half closed, bent over, and picked up...a plastic loaf of bread from my daughter's cooking set! I couldn't help but laugh, even if it was one o'clock in the morning. Zoey just looked at me as if to say, "See? I told you I didn't do it. Everyone always blames the dog!"
I turned my attention from phantom turd pick up to my still uncomfortable dog. Even though she is slowly gaining weight, she's still pretty skinny, and every time she eats or drinks she ends up looking like one of those Ethiopian kids in those ads you see on TV. Her belly looked bloated, her breathing was rapid, and she seemed to be trembling. The vet in me immediately went to work. What could this be? Had she had a seizure? Congestive heart failure? I kept coming up with things, and none of them were good. So I did what any good vet's spouse would do...I woke my husband up.
Me: Something's wrong with Zoey.
Him: Huh?
Me: Something's wrong with Zoey. Look at her!
Him: Did you really just wake me up in the middle of the night to look at a dog?
Me: YES! Now what do you think? Think she could have had a seizure?
Him: No. I think she needs to pee.
Me: What?
Him: I think she needs to go outside!
Me: Really? Will you take her? (Thinking to myself, I bet you don't bring home another dog from work!)
And so, Superman walked my dog at 1 AM in his underwear. I just love that man.
Zoey looked much happier when she came back in, and I decided that a diagnosis of needing to pee was certainly preferable to anything else I had come up with. So I snuggled back into my nice warm bed and went back to sleep, until...
My bedroom door flew open at 4:30. There stood one of my six year olds, looking surprisingly bright eyed and bushy tailed. "Mom and Dad, I need your help!" she announced, almost in a singsong voice. What the hell is wrong with this kid? It's 4:30 AM. Why does she sound so chipper? "My sister pooped in her bed!" And there it was again, a hint of...glee, perhaps?
I sat straight up, cleared the cobwebs from my poor, tired brain and processed this information. Poop. In a bed. And not the baby's. "CRAP." Literally. I headed upstairs, where the child in question had already shed her defiled pajamas and was now sitting on the toilet wailing. (Approximately six feet or so from the door to the nursery.)
"Baby, I'm sorry you're upset, but please be quiet. If you wake your sister up, you are going to have more problems than poop in your bed!" Between sobs I managed to figure out that the kid had pooped in her sleep and didn't wake up. How in the blue blazes does one do something that foul and not wake up?!? I have no idea. But for whatever reason, the kid who has never so much as wet the bed now had dried poop welded to her skin.
I sent downstairs for diaper wipes and went to work, trying my best to make my "I'm so sorry, Honey" face and not my "I'm about to barf and I didn't know I signed up for this before I was a mom" face. I have to confess that I thought about Ashley Judd's poop in the bed scene in "Ya Ya Sisterhood" but at least I didn't step in it, and I'm proud to say that my reaction was nothing like hers.
I got my kid cleaned up and tucked back in, her sister happily chattering away like it was 4 o'clock in the afternoon.
Back downstairs, her dad said, "Why can't I get her that awake for school in the morning?" "I'm sure I don't know." "Well, it's nearly 5 AM, we might as well just stay up!" Um, no, Chatty Cathy, we might as well try to take advantage of another HOUR of sleep!
Now everyone is up and out the door to school and work. Zoey, completely worn out, is snoring like a chainsaw at my feet. So glad she's getting some rest. All in all it was a pretty crappy night.  

The Mall Trip

I often marvel at how drastically my parenting has changed since my twins were babies. The other day my husband came home to find our two year old wearing her older sister's Strawberry Shortcake Halloween costume from last year. Our conversation went something like this:
Him: What is she wearing?
Me: A Strawberry Shortcake Halloween costume.
Him: Has she had that on all day?
Me: Yep.
Him: Seriously?
Me: Yep.
Him: Wow, you sure have changed!
And the sad part is, he is so right. I would never have allowed either of my first two children to spend the day in a leftover Halloween costume. For any reason. Whether we were going somewhere or not. Just would not have happened. End of story.
But for some reason, this time around is just different. Is it because I'm older? Tired? More relaxed? Less OCD? Or is it just the fact I've come to accept the idea that every day is NOT a Hallmark card in anyone's home, regardless of what they post on Facebook? One can never be sure. But at least I'm willing to admit it. I'm also happy to report that the baby doesn't seem to have suffered any ill effects from lack of proper clothing for an entire day. Her older sister helped her put on the dress, and she obviously enjoyed wearing it. Everybody wins!
Fortunately, I haven't strayed THAT far from my normal state of being. We got ready to go to the mall later the same day and I did make her put on actual clothes. My big girls have been begging us to take them to the mall for at least the last 6 years. It's not that they particularly enjoy shopping. They just want to go to the playground, ride the carousel and the train and that spider jump thingy and any other stupid thing (clothes, shoes and panties for a Build a Bear, etc) they can find to spend Daddy's money on, eat and come home. My oldest (by 13 minutes, and don't you forget it) had been feeling ill all day. After lying on the couch moaning like death was imminent for hours, the moment her ears heard the word "mall" she was miraculously restored to health.
Somewhere deep inside the furthest reaches of my brain, that still small voice kept saying, "this is not a good idea" but I shut it up with cookies and off we went to the mall. We bought the stupid bear clothes, we rode the carousel, the train, and got the kids' picture taken with Santa Claus. And then I said, "I need to run down to the Children's Place for just a sec to get some shoes and jeans." So off we went. Daddy and the baby headed for a bench to wait and the twins and I headed to look at the item I despise more than any other, children's shoes. While we were in the store, the child who had NOT been lying on the couch all day said, "Mom, I don't feel good." Yeah, yeah. None of us feel good. It's winter time. "Mommy, I feel like I need to throw up." What? Oh, crap. Now, in hindsight, Supermom should have simply asked the cashier for a garbage can. Quickly. As it was, I couldn't really decide what to do.
This kid has said something like this before, and no actual vomit was produced. So I figured I had some time to play with. Not so much. I looked at my daughter, whose face had become the same shade as a piece of printer paper and said, "Well, at least get out of the store!" We headed for the exit, and naturally the moment I got within six feet of the door the store's alarm went off. I had forgotten that I was holding two pairs of shoes, jeans, and two pairs of tights.
As I wavered there in the doorway, trying to decide exactly how to handle the situation, it happened. My child puked all over the floor, smack dab in the middle of the doorway to the store. Chicken soup, peas, and carrots in all their glory were sitting there on the floor staring up at me. Now what?
To say that I was feeling a bit overwhelmed is the understatement of the century. I dropped the items I was holding rather unceremoniously on the floor and went to work trying to get my husband's attention. As I was frantically dialing his cell, I could see him standing there talking on the phone. Great. Some woman with a stroller stopped and offered me diaper wipes. As I was wiping the floor and wishing it would swallow me up, it never occurred to me that she had offered me the wipes for my child, not the floor. Poor kid was still standing there with vomit dripping off her chin. About that time my husband got there, so at least I had a fresh supply of wipes. I cleaned up the kid and the floor as best I could, and what has become officially my most memorable trip to a shopping mall was abruptly over.
I'm really beginning to have some doubts about this whole mall Santa thing. The first time we went for a picture after the baby was born, a leaky diaper landed me with a hand full of warm, wet poop in the middle of a restaurant while wearing a new white coat. Then she fell asleep on the way there, so in her first Santa picture she is wearing jeans and a shirt that I dug out of the bottom of my diaper bag and her sleeping head is turned at a completely unnatural angle. It looks like something straight out of "Awkward Family Photos."
Fortunately, the one from this year was taken before the whole barfing incident, but I'm not convinced the two are not related. I think we'll find another place to get pictures taken next year. Nothing personal, Santa.
  

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

Today I am blogging from one of my least favorite places on the planet, the waiting room of a doctor's office. I have an ear/sinus infection that I have been unable to shake for going on six weeks now. The last time I was here, they sent me home with ten days of antibiotics, which I took religiously and still didn't get well. So I'm here again, ready to admit defeat and ask for  demand a shot of some kind. I am officially sick and tired of being sick and tired. I haven't been able to hear properly through the fluid in my left ear for over a month now, and while I confess that it has been a blessing to have the shreiks of my children muffled somewhat, I've gotten tired of sounding like Si on Duck Dynasty every time someone speaks to me and I respond with, "Huh?" Yep, I'm ready to be well.
My kids have been out of school for a week now (that should explain the lack of blog posts.) But take  heart, I have lots of  new material. Today officially marks the end of my third child's bout with the stomach bug that invaded our home and made my life (I mean my kids' lives) miserable. Each one of my girls has been sick, and they were kind enough to do it one at a time, so that we could stretch the fun out over several days. All of them have run fever, and I'm woman enough to admit that, although I hate for them to feel bad, having one or two of them lying around and sleeping was preferable to having them fighting over toys and trying to kill each other. Talk about me if you want, but I rather enjoyed the relative quiet. I also enjoyed rocking and holding my sleeping baby, which does NOT happen unless she feels bad because she will not allow it. When she held up her arms and said, "Mommy, will you rock me to sleep" wild horses couldn't have kept me from it.
So hopefully after today we will all be back among the living. Being sick sucks. Being sick and still having three other people to take care of takes it to a whole new level, even if you are married to Superman. "Screw it, I'm going back to bed" is no longer an option when you become a parent. The short people don't really care if you're sick. They just know that you are the source of Cheerios, Tylenol, and clean underwear. When you feel like death, little ones will also push you to the breaking point and then have the nerve to look surprised when your head blows off. It's just what they do.
The nurse just called my name. I'm off to show my arse to a total stranger in hopes of feeling better. Steriod shot, here I come. What a fine way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
  

Sisterly Love

Listening to my girls giggle in the bathtub, I am reminded again how quickly they are growing up. I have often remarked that whole sibling concept was something completely foreign to me, as I was an only child. Luckily, my kids are doing their very best to break me in right. Or are they just trying to break me? I can't be sure.
On the first morning of their Thanksgiving break, I told the twins I was going upstairs because the baby was awake. "Hooray!" They shouted. How very sweet, I thought. They can't wait for her to get up so they can play together. What precious kids I have. And then my daughter added, "The baby's awake! Yesss! NOW we can SCREAM!" I should have known.
People often ask me if my girls have that twin thing going on. And the answer is yes, they do. When they were babies, they could communicate with one another months before they could say anything that remotely resembled any word in the English language. They would chatter away at each other, sounding like two chipmunks, and it soon became obvious that each knew exactly what the other one was saying. Even now, I can bring them into another room to pick out clothes and they will both pick similar outfits. If one chooses a shirt and jeans, 99% of the time the other one picks a shirt and jeans without having discussed it. It's really freaky. They definitely have the whole love/hate thing going on, too. They can say whatever they want about each other, but you'd better not. I consider myself extremely fortunate that for the time being, they will still tell on each other. I know that those days are quickly coming to an end, but I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.
Because twins come with a built in "freak factor," my husband and I get asked a lot of questions. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me if my kids were twins, I'd be filthy rich by now. At least one person has asked me that question every single time I've ever left the house with these two. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. But not much. My favorite question is, "Are they just alike? Or do they have different personalities?" To which I always want to say, "Are you just like your sister? Is your personality different from hers?" But I don't. Usually. Depends on what kind of day I'm having.
Yes, as much as it pains me, my babies are growing up. Today someone mentioned that my youngest child was getting bigger. Without a second thought, her sister replied, "Yeah, she's getting meaner, too!" Sisterly love at its finest. And that's as it should be. I think.
   

Zoey and Birthday

Thanks so much to everyone who has asked about Zoey. She is doing very well, and has claimed my love seat as her own. She sleeps, snores, and eats a lot. And she needs to - rarely have I seen an animal so very thin. The people who relinquished her to the shelter claimed that she wandered up to their house a month ago, and I am forced to wonder if she was in this deplorable condition when she got to their house or after she spent a month there! Every rib is visible and her little backbone is sticking up, so it's really hard not to feed her all the time. She patrols under the table every time we have a meal, and I've decided that any morsels that hit the floor are legally hers. She drinks a lot of water, and the vet in me is suspicious that she may have an underlying medical condition like diabetes. Hopefully I am wrong about that one! For the time being, we are trying to put enough weight on her that I feel safe putting her under anesthesia to have her teeth cleaned. Maybe we can do something about that dragon breath! Oh well, at least she will never miss another meal. As I write she is lying at my feet, basking in the sunshine and snoring like a chainsaw.
In surveying my animal population for a previous post, I can hardly believe that I forgot my new horse, Mr Birthday Dash! I'll blame it on mommy brain. I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached to my shoulders. Thank goodness for the alarm feature on my cell phone. Otherwise my kids might get left at school much more often!
I'm telling you, it's something about vets and mangled animals. When I decided not too long ago that I was ready for another open barrel horse, I never thought I would end up with another damaged animal. I read about a horse online, and my husband and I agreed that he was in our price range, but perhaps a little under priced for the kind of horse he was supposed to be. So we loaded up the kids and drove 5 hours to try him over in Alabama. When we arrived, the owner unloaded "Birthday" from the trailer and we began our inspection. A few nicks and scrapes, a little scar on a back leg. Normal wear and tear for a 12 year old horse. So far, so good. And then I walked around to his right side. His owner had neglected to mention on the phone that he had several enormous scars covering his abdomen and right hip. She quickly told us that several people who had looked at him passed immediately because of the scars. Apparently at some point in his youth he had been allowed to grow very thin and laid down in a burn pile in his pasture trying to stay warm.
Was it a coincidence that this animal came to me? I don't think so. He seems to fit right in around here. Thinner than I would have liked when we bought him, he has since put on fifty pounds or more and has filled out nicely. He has a knee that doesn't quite straighten out all the way and a scar on a back leg from an old injury. Add that to the scars on his body, and at least we knew why he was priced the way he was. Not just anyone was going to look at this horse. My immediate thought the first time I saw him was the line from "Seabiscuit" about how you "don't throw a whole life away just 'cause he's banged up a little." Fine, I admit it, I'm a sucker. But I just knew he was supposed to be mine.
And here's the kicker - this horse is fast. Really fast. Faster than any other horse I've ever owned. And he truly loves to run. He completely enjoys his job, and believe it or not he is sound. I haven't quite figured out how to run him clean yet, but I know that when I do, it will be worth it. Oh, and to top it all off, he's also one of the sweetest animals I've ever owned. He loves to be petted, talked to, and just generally fussed over. And while I truly hope we win a lot together, it doesn't really matter. We've already won. I got him and he got me.

What Miss Kay wants, Miss Kay gets.

I have a confession to make. I love Duck Dynasty! Yes, I realize that these guys are not doing much to promote the idea that the South is not entirely full of rednecks. Some of us are extremely well educated, we wear something other than camo, and we don't believe that you should either "shoot it, stuff it, or marry it." But they are so freaking funny! I just can't help myself. I don't really know if they have to try, or if it just comes naturally, but I laugh out loud every single time I watch that show.
So last night, my husband and I did our traditional Wednesday night teamwork, getting the kids in the bed precisely on time so that we could enjoy the one show we actually sit down to watch almost every week. In this particular episode, Miss Kay kept changing her mind about which couch she wanted in her living room. Since I, too have been known to change my mind a few times, I could completely understand where she was coming from. Then her son asked his dad, Phil, to take his side in the debate. (Mainly, he didn't want her to change her mind because he was tired of moving and returning couches to the store.) And then Phil said something that really struck a chord with me. He said something along the lines of, "Hmm, let me think about this. Is Miss Kay an incredible cook? Yes. Does she take good care of me? Yes. And has she ever turned me down for some lovin'? Nope. What Miss Kay wants, Miss Kay gets." And here's what I loved about those statements: my husband has EXACTLY the same attitude.
Now, I am the first one to say that "incredible cook" does not describe me. But I make the effort, and that's what's important. Do I cook a full meal every night? Of course not. But when I do, I try to consider what everyone in my family likes to eat, most importantly my husband. And I do try to take care of him, whether it's by having his clothes clean and ready, or listening to him talk about what a rotten day he had at work. And I don't make a habit of turning him down for some lovin' either. What men don't get at home, they will look for elsewhere. I'm just saying.
All of this made me really think about marriage in general. I have told my husband a hundred times that he should write a book on "husbandry" because he's so good at it. It really drives me nuts to hear a woman run her husband down in front of her friends, on Facebook, or in a crowd. It always makes me want to say, "Look, at some point you thought enough of this ol' boy to marry him. So either you chose poorly or you're being too hard on him." Please let me qualify the previous statement by saying that I know and understand that some men are dogs and they deserve to be kicked to the curb. I'm talking about the ones who are basically good people who all of a sudden can't live up to their wives' expectations.
That said, marriage takes two people working together to be successful. I had always heard that marriage was "work" and I didn't understand what that meant until I was in one. Falling in love with my husband was the easy part. He is easy to get along with and easy to love. The "work" part of it for me comes in when we are tired, stressed, and feeling overwhelmed by life in general. The work is being patient, loving, and supportive when what you really want to do is be cranky and selfish. And one person can't do all the work.
My favorite times with my husband are spent discussing our future and how we plan to accomplish our goals. I love to feel that I am part of a team; that we are working together to get where we want to go in life. And while part of my role is to be my husband's girlfriend and his cheerleader, I'm also an integral part of what keeps the ball rolling around here. I think women should acknowledge and embrace the power that they have, and then use it wisely. Just remember, the husband is the head of the household, but the wife is the neck. She can turn the head any way she wants. Use your power for good, ladies! ;) 
 

Do You Want a Dog?

Something amazing happened this week. For the first time in my girls' lives, we got a new dog. Our three-legged German Shepherd and two Corgis were here long before my babies, and my husband and I pinky swore years ago that we were going to work our way down to one old, heartworm positive Labrador that would just lie on the porch and sleep. Since my husband works at the animal shelter, there is more than an adequate supply of those! But nonetheless, as I was grocery shopping this week, my cell phone rang. It was my husband, getting ready to do his least favorite and most difficult part of his job as a shelter vet. "Do you have any use for a really old, sad English bulldog? One eye is really cloudy and looks bad, and she has some teeth missing. Her tongue hangs out on one side of her mouth. She's real skinny. Looks like she has had several litters of puppies, crawling with fleas. She's going to be euthanized today." Hmm, not exactly what my girls had in mind when they were begging me for a puppy last week. But I have to emphasize just HOW rare this phone call was. As in, in a year and a half of shelter work, it's never happened before.
I have often marveled at what I like to call the mangled animal phenomenon among veterinarians. Nearly every vet I know has a collection of blind, crazy, crippled, or otherwise mangled animals that no one else wanted. At one time we had a three legged dog, a three legged cat, a runty, parrot mouthed horse whose twin died, a cat who was dropped off for a bath and never picked up, and a dog who had been run over at least four times. The run over dog was accidentally picked up as a "stray" right across the street from his house! He was given to my husband at a feed store in town, and after he lived and slept with us for a year, his original owner turned up. He was an older man, who came to our office, surveyed the situation, and decided to leave his dog with us! And that was a good thing, because I had already told my husband to get out the checkbook, because I wasn't about to lose that sweet little dog. He did, however seem to think he was a cat with nine lives. He had surgery three times while we had him, once to repair a diaphragmatic hernia and twice for dietary indiscretion (he ate sodasorb, which is an adsorbent that goes in an anesthesia machine, and garbage) and ultimately met his demise crossing Highway 78 on his way home from raiding the neighbor's garbage.
So as I said, the phone call asking if I wanted another dog was exceedingly rare. I thought to myself, "He must want this one bad." Why not? We have extra horses around here, we might as well have an extra dog. "If you want her, bring her home." And so, sweet Zoey has come to live with us. She has terrible breath, she snorts like a pig, she snores, I'm still not sure that we've gotten all the fleas off of her, and she needs to gain a lot of weight. But she's ours. The kids adore her, and we get the satisfaction of knowing that we saved one deserving animal from certain death. She seems to know it, too. If there's such a thing as gratitude in a dog's eyes, Zoey has it. I guess it's going to be awhile longer before we are down to just that Lab. 

The Book

Just a quick update for those of you who have asked about my upcoming book project (and thank you for asking!) My manuscript and cover images have been submitted and are currently under review. The company has given me two dates to look forward to, December 4th for the inside formatting and December 24th for the cover format to be completed. This project has been in the works for so long. I can't imagine what it will feel like to finally hold the finished product in my hands.
I hope that someday when my girls are older they will enjoy reading our book as much as I have enjoyed writing it. In addition to our family's TV show appearance on December 2nd, having two book completion deadlines that month will make December even more fun than usual around our house. We can't wait!

An Attitude of Gratitude

I am continually amazed at the not so obvious ways that God reminds me to be thankful. The other night the girls and I had been out on a call with Daddy and it had gotten a little past supper time. We stopped at a restaurant with a playground so they could eat and have a little fun, which they did until the baby reached the top of the playground structure and decided she was too afraid to slide down. Her older sister who has the mother hen gene rushed to her rescue, much to her own delight. I've never seen a kid who enjoys taking care of a baby sibling the way my Sharlee does. Such a warm and fuzzy family moment. And then in an instant we were all reminded that our baby is in the middle of her terrible twos when we announced that it was time to leave.
I have to give her credit. The kid has got moxie. She was wailing with the gusto of someone having a limb amputated with no anesthesia. With her dad holding her and me giving it my all, we still couldn't get her boots back on. Every time I'd get a boot on and move to the next foot, she'd kick her legs until the first one went sailing across the room. I'm not sure if she was aiming at me, but after the second near miss, I'd had enough.
Feeling my body temperature shoot up like a mother's always does when her children begin to draw attention to themselves for all the wrong reasons, I stuffed the boots in the diaper bag and quickly we devised a plan. My husband would carry her out the playground door and walk around the outside to the car, while the big kids and I walked back through the main dining area. Yes, distraction. That's the best policy. Divide and conquer!
So off we went, the baby still shoeless, red-faced and shrieking. I couldn't help but look at her sisters and say, "And when you guys did that, it was times two. That's why I didn't take you hardly anywhere by myself when you were this age!" As much as I miss them being little, some days I am SO very glad we are past that particular stage in their lives.
As we wound our way through the dining room, I was completely lost in thought about how stressful this whole motherhood thing was and how we were never eating at another restaurant again when I was given a good swift kick in the pants, metaphorically speaking. As I opened the door to walk out, a van pulled up and unloaded its passengers. All of them were special needs and/or physically handicapped adults. Immediately I was compelled to stop and thank God for my three precious, healthy children, even the screaming one in the parking lot. I thought about those sweet people as children, how difficult life must have been for them and for their mothers. What strong and amazing women they would have to be to parent a special needs child. They say that God doesn't give us more than we can handle, and I freely admit that sometimes I wish he didn't trust me so much. I bet those mothers felt the same way at some point! And I thought about the woman driving the van. What a special person she must be to have taken on such a job. How lucky those people were to have her!
God's little tune-ups never cease to amaze me. He yanks my chain pretty much on a daily basis, which is why I try to remember to start each day with gratitude. Even though I haven't listed the things I am thankful for each day on Facebook like so many of my friends, it's certainly not because I don't have anything to be thankful for. My life is overflowing with blessings, even if I need to be reminded what they are from time to time.  

OCD and ADD

Stolen from a friend's Facebook status: "I have OCD and ADD. Everything has to be perfect, just not for very long." I have what I like to call "selective OCD." Some things really bother me, to the point that I can't think about anything else until I take care of that particular issue, and other things I can let linger for months on end, no big deal.
My children's cleanliness is one of my issues. I mean this in only the nicest way, but I had no idea that kids were so disgusting until I had some. Everyone associates diapers with babies. And yes, dirty diapers ARE a huge, completely revolting part of the whole parenting experience, but no one ever seems to mention the other stuff. And by other stuff, I mean things like snot, vomit, boogers, pee, spit, and any other bodily fluid or function that you can think of.
Children have no fear of germs. I have often remarked that I don't understand the completely irresistible urge to wallow on the floor like a pig that is brought on by the wearing of a freshly ironed dress. But the germ thing hit home for me the first time I took my newly mobile twins into a public restroom. Unbeknownst to me, children have an uncontrollable urge to touch every single surface in a public bathroom (or any other bathroom, for that matter.) Want to see me in a total panic? Imagine me trying to use the bathroom AND keep two kids from touching anything. Yeah, it didn't go well.
That said, I have to admit that I am completely amazed by the difference in my attitude when it comes to my third child. Don't get me wrong, the whole bathroom thing still freaks me out. But the five second rule is totally in play. Stuff that would have been completely unacceptable the first time around I just laugh and shrug my shoulders at now. Am I more relaxed? Am I more lenient? Am I less OCD than I used to be? Or am I just tired? No one really knows for sure.
I mentioned that I had ADD. I'm only half kidding about that. I think if my parents had been willing to go down the medication path when I was in school, my teachers would have totally drugged me every day to shut me up. My mind tends to change directions at a moment's notice, which drives my husband completely crazy. His favorite thing to say to me is, "You're jumping stories again!" And I'm sad to say that at least one of my kids is exactly the same way! She runs a wheel off on a regular basis.
One of the perks of being married and having kids is that you have someone to point out any and all unusual things about yourself. You will be asked to consider everything from why you dress yourself in that order to why you squeeze the toothpaste tube a certain way.
I messed up years ago. I asked my husband to interview me to help get ready for a pageant. He pointed out that I made a clicking sound with my tongue every single time I started to answer a question. Annoying? Yes. Was I glad he pointed it out? Absolutely. But now he analyzes me all the time (in only the nicest way, of course.) As I obviously enjoy talking, now one of his hobbies is pointing out when I get stuck on a particular word. The other night he mentioned that I had used "Mommy's favorite word, "apparently!" So as I was opening my mouth to set him straight, one of my daughters perked up and said, "My favorite word is tortilla! Or cluck! I really can't decide." See, told you she was just like me.      

Can you keep a secret?

A friend pointed out yesterday that our trip to California should be good for at least five blog posts, and I will have to agree with her on that one. However, the folks who were kind enough to pay for our trip made us sign a nondisclosure agreement, so there are several posts that will have to wait until after the show airs on December second. I do have to share this, though. When a producer looked at me and said, "We're going to need all of you to sign a nondisclosure agreement," part of me wanted to look at him and say, "Dude, are you for real? You realize that you're dealing with two six year olds and a two year old, right? Oh, and let's not forget that my kids couldn't keep a secret if their lives depended on it!" But I just smiled and signed on the dotted line.
My two oldest children are about to bust. The baby did her very best to tell someone on the plane about it, but fortunately she doesn't really know what to say and I still have to interpret for her sometimes. I'm pretty sure the kids have invited around 300 people or so over to our house on December second to watch the show. It's going to be an interesting month around here.
And now for the topic of the day: the Presidential Election. My kids have taken more than a passing interest in this whole process, down to asking me every five minutes last night who won. This morning, one of my girls wandered into the kitchen half asleep and said, pushing her hair out of her face, "Who's the new principal?" "What?" Impatiently she repeated,"Who's the new principal? I mean, the new President?" "President Obama. He got re-elected." Her sister chimed in, "Aww, man! But this is the last time he can be it, right? He can't enter the contest next time?" "Yep. He can't enter the contest next time." "Good." Her dad then proceeded to give them the "we respect the office, no matter who the man is" speech. Good for him.
I have to admit that I'm concerned about what the next four years holds for us. But that said, here's what I think. If we truly believe that God is who he says he is, and that he can do what he says he can do (which I do) then don't you think he could alter the outcome of a Presidential election if he wanted to? I believe that God calls on us for obedience, and when we disobey that he treats us as any parent would. Sometimes he lets us travel down the road of destruction to teach us a lesson. I have done the same thing many times over with my own children. You can only say, "Please don't do that. You're going to hurt yourself" so many times before you let them fall down and skin their knees. (And then fight the urge to say, "I told you so!") It doesn't mean that I don't love them, or that I don't still want what's best for them. It doesn't mean I've turned my back on them, or that I will no longer protect them from harm. It simply means that I needed to let them learn that particular lesson for themselves, because they weren't listening to me and heeding my advice. I believe God the Father feels the same way about us. Just because he allows us to make mistakes doesn't mean he doesn't love us and want what's best for us. I believe that no matter who is in the White House, we will all answer to a higher power someday. So our family will continue to respect the office of the President and say our prayers for the nation at night. It's time to figure out what you believe. Do you have faith in God and in his goodness? Or do you just like to say you do?

The Plane Ride

In the midst of Election Day craziness, I am happy and still a little amazed to report that my husband and I survived not one but two cross country plane rides with three kids under 7. For those of you who missed my last post, we got word about two weeks ago that the video I had submitted (and almost forgotten about, it was so long ago) had been selected as a weekly finalist on the show America's Funniest Home Videos. With not much warning, we were shocked and slightly terrified that the show wanted to fly our entire family to Los Angeles for a taping of the show. To be truthful, my kids have been asking to go to Disney World forever, and the main thing keeping us from going was the thought of a long plane ride with three little kids. So, as tends to happen so often in my life, we were coaxed into it whether we were ready or not.
Packing for five people was an enormous undertaking, especially when it came time to figure in things like diapers, wipes, food, and comfort items that the baby was used to. We all figured the plane ride, time and schedule changes would be hardest on her, but to tell the truth I think she managed better than the rest of us!
We flew out of Memphis, TN, which meant a two hour car trip to the airport before we ever got on a plane. We fed the kids breakfast on the way, including Sheridan's customary Minnie Mouse cup of milk. I mention the milk because that freaking cup came back to haunt us in more ways than one. Approximately halfway to California my husband realized that we left it in my car to cook over the weekend. I have to admit that I dreaded coming home and opening that car door all weekend. The smell of rotting milk is not one that I tolerate very well.
Once we arrived at the airport, the lines were incredibly short, which I considered a personal blessing from God. After walking half a mile to our gate, the kids decided they were hungry. So, we loaded up again and hiked half a mile back to a restaurant, at which time the baby decided that I was not to be out of her sight for any reason. A last minute potty break turned into the fastest pee on record because I could hear my child screaming clear across the hall from inside the bathroom. When I got back to the table, my husband informed me that I was not to be out of her sight ever again, for any reason. Ain't motherhood fun?
Our angelic child continued her wicked ways at the gate. I'm not sure exactly how many people were on our flight, but I'm pretty sure every last one of them was staring at my toddler when she sprawled out on the floor to have a screaming mimi right before we boarded the plane. Anyone who wasn't staring at her was staring at me, silently wondering how I was going to handle the situation. If I could have read their minds, I'm pretty sure I would have heard something like, "Dear God, please don't let me be the poor soul who was to sit next to that kid on the plane." Some of them were looking around desperately and making contingency plans, surveying the crowd for someone who would be stupid enough to swap seats with them should they draw the short straw and have to sit next to us. Bill Cosby's comedy routine about the kid named Jeffrey that everybody on the plane wanted to kill kept running through my mind.
I have to admit, it was kind of funny though, because everyone who was a parent was looking at me like, "I feel SO sorry for you. I have so been there" and everyone who was not a parent was looking at me like, "Can't you make her stop that?" And the answer is, "NO. I can ignore her, I can threaten her, I can spank her, I can offer to buy her a pony. I have tried reasoning with a two year old, and there's no future in it. Either way, she's going to scream until she's good and ready to stop. Hopefully it will be five minutes and not forty-five."
I really wasn't too worried about my big girls on the plane. They've never flown before, but I downloaded a bunch of new apps on my iPad and figured I could plug them in, which worked like a charm for a little while. I do have to say that one of the best moments of the plane ride came when they started playing their version of Pictionary. One would draw a picture and the other one would guess what it was. From across the aisle, I saw a picture that looked like a ball with ponytails. After a wrong guess or two, the guesser finally gave up and said, "I don't know. What is it?" To which her sister replied, "This is you. FAT." My Coke came dangerously close to coming out my nose. "Oh, yeah?" Her sister scribbled furiously. "Well THIS is you in Time Out!" I suppose I should be thankful that they can entertain themselves.
The baby, however, is at that lovely age so often referred to as the "terrible twos." Remember I said that a stupid Minnie Mouse cup came back to haunt us more than once? Ever tried to convince a two year old that even though the Minnie Mouse cup usually has milk in it, today it has water? And that's okay? On an airplane surrounded by strangers who don't understand that to a two year old this is a HUGE deal? Not one of my finer parenting moments for sure.
Approximately halfway to California, my little one got sleepy. After what seemed like an eternity of whining, crying, and being passed back and forth from parent to parent in a desperate attempt to console her, she finally fell asleep. People oohed and ahhed over her precious sleeping face on the way to and from the bathroom, but I'm pretty sure the look on my face said something like, "If you wake this child up, I will kill you with my bare hands."
The rest of the plane ride was uneventful, and I have to say that I was reminded how little my children have traveled when one of my six year olds began telling our driver that California was the most beautiful place she had ever seen! We had been to LAX and the parking garage. Guess we need to get out more!