Hooray for April!

I have lots of new material to blog about, and a couple of posts that are rattling around in my brain driving me crazy. None of that matters today, because today my friend April DeLoach got the news she has been waiting for. Not just any news, but THE news. Her leukemia is in remission! Her bone marrow biopsy showed NO cancer cells, and no evidence of recurrence. Her blood cell counts are continuing to rise.
With the help of her donor, amazing oncologist, and fabulous nurses, she is getting to spend the holidays at home with her children, without the word leukemia hanging over her head. Literally thousands of prayers have gone up for this woman. Several hundred of them were mine. Through her beautiful, eloquent essays, she has shared her journey with the world. That journey had special significance for me, because it allowed me to access the thoughts that must have been going through my own mother's mind during her battle with cancer.
So today's post isn't filled with silly stories or witty observations. It's filled with praises for the one who is the reason for the season. April's life has been spared, her body rid of the monster we call cancer. If that isn't a Christmas miracle, I don't know what is.

The Half Marathon That Wasn't

"Oh, you signed up for the St. Jude half? I guarantee it will fall on the coldest day of the year," my actual marathon runner friend's husband informed me several months ago. His tone was decisive and full of "I know what I'm talking about." Apparently I should have listened to him, although by that point it was too late. We were already signed up and running 6 miles at a time. Coldest day of the year? I didn't like how that sounded. Oh well, we'll just dress in layers and it will be fine, or so I thought.
Training for a half marathon was difficult. Really difficult. When a friend told me that it would get sort of "intense" as it got closer to race time, I didn't really know what he meant. Consider me educated. If someone had told me a year ago that I would be running 10 miles outside at 6:00 AM on a very cold, rainy Saturday just to prepare for a race, I would have asked them what they were smoking. Add to that the fact that my husband, mister "I hate to run" was doing it with me, and I would have told you that the odds of us winning the lottery were better. But we did it, and we didn't pass out, catch on fire, or have anything else horrible happen to us.
So there we were, ready to take on those 13.1 miles and kick their collective asses. (Okay, fine, we were ready to line up, start running, and hope we survived until we could stagger across the finish line.) I was already planning to be in Memphis for a barrel race that weekend, so we headed out early Friday morning, headed to get the horses bedded down, pick up our race packets, and rush back to make my two barrel runs that night. And then the ice storm hit.
Since there was no race day packet pick up, we had to drive to downtown Memphis on Friday afternoon. We chipped the ice off the parking payment box, paid $10 to park, and headed into the expo to pick up our race bib numbers. The sidewalk was basically a solid sheet of ice, which made me wonder if I was going to even make it to pick up my number without busting my butt.
After ambling up the sidewalk like senior citizens for what seemed like miles, we made it inside. As you can imagine, the expo was full of stick figures in tight running pants, selling everything you can think of except an extra pair of lungs. My favorite shirt that I should have purchased but didn't said, "Please God let there be someone behind me to read this" on the back. I also loved the one with a sweating cartoon turtle that said, "I run. I am slow. Get over it." The expo was also full of smiling volunteers who were busy assuring us that the race was not about to be cancelled.
Looking at the weather report on my phone, I have to admit that I wasn't thrilled about the idea of running 13.1 miles in 19 degree weather. And just for fun, they were also predicting snow. Excellent. Oh, well, we had spent all this time getting ready, and my husband informed me that he didn't care how cold it was, if the gun went off he was going to be running that race.
I was still trying to figure out exactly how many layers I would need to wear to keep from freezing to death when the text message came. The race was cancelled. Cancelled. As in not going to happen. It took me several seconds to wrap my brain around the concept.
All.That.Work. No race, no finish line, no amazing sense of satisfaction and pride in myself for finishing. No bucket list item crossed off. Just another morning. What a letdown. Okay fine, a letdown and a tiny bit of relief. Have I mentioned that I wasn't looking forward to running in 19 degree weather?
So that was it. The story of the half marathon that wasn't. Yes, I'm still glad I trained for it. Yes, we are going to find another one. And no, I have no desire to run a full marathon. Yet.

365 mile Courtney

With my very first half marathon looming, I had some extra motivation to drag my sleepy butt out of bed this morning. I ran my very first mile in February of this year, at the tender age of 35. Around that time, I also found a website called Moon Joggers. The site hosts virtual races and features a log that lets you record your mileage. When you sign up, you are asked to choose how far you plan to run that year. Selecting the "introductory" level of 365 miles, I signed up, having not a clue how far that really was.
I began to chip away at it, usually 3 or 4 miles at a time. I've dealt with shin splints, blisters, bruised ankles, chafing, sore muscles...you name it. But something amazing happened this morning. I knew after my ten mile run two weeks ago that I was getting close. After that run my left hip began to hurt, and I was forced to shorten some workouts and skip a couple altogether. So I woke up this morning knowing that I only had three more measly miles to go. Three more miles standing between me and 365.
 My youngest child snuck into bed with us about midnight, and when the alarm went off this morning the last thing I wanted to do was get out of my warm bed with that precious sleeping child in it. But there they were, those three miles. Taunting me. Daring me to get up and get them out of the way.
I stumbled into the bathroom and put on my favorite gray running pants. I took the time to look in the mirror, just as I always do when I put on my running clothes. It's not out of vanity, it's an effort to convince myself that I really do look different than when I started running. As I have said before, I figure I ought to weigh about 98 pounds by now, which I certainly do not. I also came to an important realization about my gray pants. They should never be worn in public for any reason. Between the fact that they outline every inch of my dimply butt in great detail (which is definitely a bad thing) and the lovely camel toe in the front, you can rest assured that if you see me wearing these pants anywhere other than on my treadmill it is because I am there against my will. Add to that the fact that after my thighs sweat it looks like I've peed on myself. Definitely not the look you want to put out there for the world to see! (You're welcome for the visual imagery provided here. I see you smiling.)
 So I got on that stupid treadmill and did it. Aching hip and all, I got through those last three miles. I have to say that reaching that goal was a ridiculously satisfying feeling. There was no fanfare. The heavens didn't open, and I didn't magically fit into my "skinny" jeans after I was done. But there was that voice in my head, the one that normally casts all sorts of doubt on any major undertaking, and today I forced it to say, "I DID IT."  

For My Girls

I took my children to see Disney on Ice this week. Since our experience with America's Funniest Videos and our trips to both Disneyland and Disney World, we are fans of all things Disney. The theme of the show was Princesses and Heroes, and as I watched the various stories play out, I began to think about relationships and the things I want for my girls. Perhaps it is losing my mother at an early age that makes me feel the need to write down what I am thinking for my daughters, or perhaps it is the fact that, like my own dad, I seem to be able to write things much more eloquently than I can say them. Either way, listen up, girls. Mom has something important to say.
Choose your spouse carefully. More carefully than you've ever selected anything in your life. Who you marry MATTERS. If you get it wrong, the ones who end up suffering for it may be your children. Learn to make yourself happy. If you spend your life waiting for a man to come along and make you "happy" you will always be disappointed.
Let's talk about the qualities that will make you attractive to the right man. Yes, there are men out there who will judge you solely on what you look like. That's their loss. While you should take care of yourself, and present an appearance that is generally clean and neat, real love is about so much more than physical beauty.
The right sort of men like women who are smart, confident, and kind. The least attractive women are those that are overbearing, spoiled, and entitled. You are ladies, and in the Southern tradition you should be gentle and kind on the outside, but tough as nails on the inside. Southern women are strong. Just because you have manners and morals doesn't mean that you are weak. It just means that you were brought up correctly.
All relationships ebb and flow in a natural rhythm. While physical attraction is important (and fun,) it will wane at some point. Ask people who have been married more than a couple of years and have kids. That's why it's so important for you as a couple to make time to physically reconnect with one another. Men and women who don't get the attention they need at home will look for it somewhere else.
There are times you will disagree. Fight fair, and be honest. Don't abuse your spouse or tolerate abuse from him. You owe it to yourself and your children to take care of their mother. Marry someone who communicates the way you do. This will cut down massively on the number of disagreements you have. If you are someone who likes to be hugged and told that you are loved on a daily basis, then look for someone who is affectionate and likes to talk. The strong, silent type is not for you.    
I would encourage you to look for someone who has common interests. That's not to say that marrying someone who has different interests won't work. I know a couple who had nothing more in common when they married than the fact that they loved each other. They are together after many years, but it is only because they were committed to each other in a very real way. Their lack of common ground caused some real tension in their marriage.
My parents married when they were teenagers. My mother always said that people either grow together in a relationship or grow apart. She also had bulldog with a bone determination when it came to her marriage. She was willing to do whatever it took to make it work. Let me qualify that by saying that my dad was worth the trouble. He was worth fighting for, even if they didn't always see eye to eye on everything. That goes back to my first piece of advice - choose carefully!
I want nothing more than for you to be happy. I want to see you marry a man who loves and respects you, who makes you want to be a better person. I want you to to be told each and every day that you are wonderful, special, and valuable. And I want to see you marry a man that is worthy of your dedication and support. You will be his biggest cheerleader, the one who inspires him to go out and work hard, knowing that he has an amazing woman to come home to at the end of the day. It won't be perfect, but I promise it will be worth it. And if you still need help knowing what to look for, I'll make it easy for you. Just look for someone like your dad.

Just Keep Going

I gained 40 pounds when I was pregnant with my twins. Months (not weeks) after they were born, I managed to lose 60 pounds by walking on my treadmill. I will never forget someone asking me how I lost so much weight. "An hour a day uphill on my treadmill," I replied. She made a face, then said, "Oh, well I don't want to do that!" I guess she expected me to say that I used a crazy diet or took some magic weight loss pill. Sorry to disappoint you lady, but I lost it the old fashioned way. I burned more calories than I took in.
After my third child came along, I was once again left with some "baby weight." I dusted off the treadmill and started walking again. Feeling froggy, I started running for the first time in my life. Let me be clear. I was running to lose weight, with no desire to compete or even run faster than a jog. Then one of my high school classmates was diagnosed with leukemia. When I told my husband about  a 5k and bone marrow drive fundraiser for her, he immediately began pushing me to enter the race. When I protested, he insisted that I "had" to run it because I "could."
So I did, and what do you know...I really had a good time. I kept running, working my way slowly but surely through the Couch to 5k and then 5k to 10k apps on my phone. My running also began to have an unintended consequence. My husband, never one to be outdone, began to run, too. As he had run before (in the Army) and was in better shape than I was to begin with, he immediately began to smoke my tail in all our races. The fact that I actually inspired the person I love and admire the most to improve his health is really, really exciting.
I mentioned that I started entering races because of my friend April's leukemia diagnosis. I signed up for the bone marrow registry for her, and honestly hoped and prayed that I would be a match. I wasn't, but becoming involved in her support network ended up having the most amazing and profound side effect that I can think of.
Through the magic of Facebook, April began to share her journey with the world. She happens to be a very gifted writer, brutally honest about her feelings, setbacks, and personal issues. I don't know whether she began to write for the same reason I do sometimes, to quiet some of the noise in my head, or because she wanted to record her thoughts for her kids. I do know that it doesn't matter. As unintentional as it was, she gave me one of the most precious gifts I have ever received. She gave me a glimpse into the thoughts and feelings my mother must have had as she battled cancer herself.
With grace, wit, and style, April spelled out the things my mom never shared with me. Did she call herself protecting me? Probably. I can't help but think she may have had a hand in revealing all these things to me now that I am an adult.
Hopefully I haven't bored you too much. I've said all these things to say this: whatever you are doing, whatever you are facing, keep going. When other people stop, just keep going. You never know who you might be influencing, intentionally or not.

Ten Mile Courtney

I did two things I've never done before today. I ran ten miles, and I ran with my husband. As the parents of three small children, we generally have to take turns running. Sometimes it means running on the treadmill, sometimes it means running at the park after dark. Often it means running very early in the morning before everyone wakes up, or logging miles on the treadmill long after the kids have gone to sleep. So this morning was a rare treat.

I'm used to training and racing with my music. Today was not only the farthest I've ever run, it was one of the only times I've ever run without my earphones and some musical motivation. I'm also not used to having someone to talk to, and I have to admit it was nice.

I mentioned that I don't usually run or race with my husband. This is by design, as he is in better shape and prefers to run faster than I do. True to form, he pushed the pace today, as he said to "see if" I would run faster. I am happy to say that I managed to keep up, although I'm not about to say it wasn't hard. Pretty much every muscle I have hurts tonight. One foot has a throbbing bunion, and the other has a toe that is one big blister. I have a strange catch in my left hip, and a knee that hurt me for the first time today.

I spent some time this afternoon watching the coverage of the Ironman World Championships from Hawaii. For those who are unfamiliar with the special brand of torture that is an Ironman triathalon, it consists of a 2.4 mile swim, a roughly 120 mile bike ride, and a 26.2 mile run. Watching these insane people finish this race as I evaluated my various aches and pains has led me to deduce that I am a candy ass.

That said, this wiggly, jiggly, panting person who has never thought of herself as an athlete ran TEN miles this morning. Yes, I will pay for it tomorrow, but for today it feels really, really good.

I didn't marry wealthy, I married willing.

It's possible that I have taken on too much. Lately parenting, keeping two barrel horses ridden, starting two new businesses, and training for my first half marathon has left very little time for blogging. Well, I say that...I write the most spectacular blog posts in my mind every morning in the shower. Unfortunately, inside my brain is also where blog posts go to die. The only reason I'm able to write this one is because I am waiting the prerequisite year and a half to see our pediatrician for my baby's three year old checkup. Seriously, I think she will be closer to four than three by the time we get out of here.

Life has been unbelievably stressful lately. Yes, yes I know. While my FB news feed is packed to the brim with people telling me what they are thankful for, I am being the party pooper. But I'm just telling the truth. I am blessed beyond measure, and I truly try not to take a single thing for granted. But the fact is, my husband quit his job out of loyalty to a coworker a couple of weeks ago, and starting our own new projects has predictably taken longer than expected.

That said, I support my husband's decision to quit 110%. He absolutely and without a doubt did the right thing. Now, because I believe in being honest with the fabulous folks who read my random thoughts and musings, I have to tell you that the fact that I believe in and support my husband did not stop me from being a scared wife. Uncertainty is never comfortable, and I am the first one to admit that I have been short or cranky with my husband simply because I was afraid of what the next day would hold. Fortunately for me, my husband is slow to anger and has the patience of Job. (Obviously, because he's still married to me!)

Like everyone else, I marvel all the time at what a diverse group of FB friends I have collected over the years. I am friends with lots of women. Single women, married women, women who work, women who stay home, gay women, straight women...pretty much any sort of woman you can think of. Therefore, there are a myriad of opinions at any given point in time. As I've gotten older (happens to the best of us) I have learned to occasionally sit back and watch the drama unfold without commenting. It's kind of like a car wreck that you can see coming. You know the big "boom" is coming, so you just draw up and wait.

The other day, it took all my self control to keep my fingers still when a working mom told a stay at home mom that obviously she "married wealthy." I could practically feel the disdain dripping from her comment. I managed to stay out of it at the time, but the more I thought about it the more it bothered me. 

So here's my response to her snarky comment, although she'll never see it. I didn't marry "wealthy," I married "willing." I married an amazing man who is willing to go out into the world, kill something and drag it home. He has had multiple jobs since we married, some that he loved and others he hated. But he's always agreed with me, that our children receive the best care from their mom. So off he goes every morning, my knight in shining armor. He would protect any of us with his life. He works hard. Occasionally he works Sundays, or holidays, or late into the night. He does dirty jobs, thankless jobs, and distasteful jobs. He does jobs that make his hands ache and his heart hurt. But he does them, for us. If that's not a true expression of love, I don't know what is.

I guess this post started out as a complaint, but in writing it I found out what I am truly thankful for. I'm thankful I married well, not wealthy. I'm thankful that in all the things that truly matter, my life is overflowing.

The Simple Things

Today I was reminded that sometimes the simplest things in life are the most wonderful. This morning I sent my big girls off to school, then started my normal routine of showering and putting on makeup. And then it happened. My three year old daughter ran into the room, bringing with her love and light and everything that is wonderful about being young and innocent. She threw her little arms around me and declared, "Mommy, I love you so!"
Call me silly, call me sappy, call me whatever you want. My heart experienced the purest form of joy in that moment, and I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world. It means so much to me that I can be here when she goes to bed at night and when she wakes up in the morning. Maybe I was overwhelmed when the twins were babies, but I just don't remember taking time to reflect on the moments like this one. With them, sometimes it became all about keeping everyone alive until tomorrow. Now I try not to take a single second for granted.
There are those that have questioned my decision (both to my face and behind my back) to leave the career that I worked so long and hard for in order to "just stay at home." I guess I don't see it that way. The other day while I was chaperoning my older daughters' field trip, one of them apologized for making me miss a barrel race that afternoon. I replied that there was nothing more important in this world to me than spending time with her. And I meant it. Staying home for me is about putting my family first, ahead of any and every other worldly thing.
Veterinary medicine will always be there. My babies won't. One of the most precious moments of my day is having my daughter come flying into my room, throw herself at me, and say simply, "Snuggle!" Maybe I'm old fashioned, but it just doesn't get any better than that.

Well, I tried!

I'm still here! For those of you who have wondered if the kids tied me up and did me in, they haven't. Yet. I am finding that being a mother of three, training for a half marathon, and keeping two barrel horses in shape requires each and every one of the 24 short hours in my day. As much as I enjoy blogging, and boy do I always have plenty of material, when I sit down to write at the end of a day that began with a 4 mile run at 5 AM, my body tends to simply refuse to stay awake any longer. So I am doing the best I can!
Here's a quick update: Kirk and I are both training for the St. Jude Half Marathon in December. I am still blissfully happy with the horse we got in July, and am looking forward to several barrel races in the coming weeks. I have an awesome idea for my next book project, which I am already working on in my head. Actually, I have several amazing ideas, but simply not enough time to get them down on paper. I am eating healthier, exercising harder, and seeing a chiropractor every week to help keep me feeling great for the race. And if those things happen to help my migraines go away, I'll consider that a bonus. I promise to get more posts written (I know that's how many of you who are family keep up with my kids.)
Here's one for the road. The other day Sheridan and I were in Kroger. Naturally, when we got to the checkout line, she started asking for everything under the sun. Any parent knows that after the asking comes the whining. I felt like I was doing well and staying strong. I had made up my mind. No was no, and I wasn't budging. I'm used to whining in stereo. One measly kid wasn't any match for me! And then it happened. My three year old offered up a poorly aimed, poorly timed kick at my shin. Her foot barely grazed my leg, but my face was enough to elicit the "oh sh%t, what have I done" look from my child.
In as quiet a voice as I could muster, I exclaimed, "Sheridan, did you just kick me?" She looked at me, and without missing a beat replied, "Well, I tried!" At least she's honest.

I Smoked Your Tail

Although my heart is still hurting, we now return to our regularly scheduled programming. I could use a good laugh, and thought you guys could, too. So I thought I'd share this shining example of sisterly love.

We took our girls to a barrel race not far from home last weekend. They share a horse and a pony, although one of them is not ready to run the horse at a show just yet. I suppose a 16 hand horse is intimidating when you're seven, even if he is gentle. In any event, my "middle child" by 13 minutes made her run and knocked over the second barrel on her pony. She had a reasonably fast time, and actually let her pony high lope part of the pattern, which is an improvement.
My "oldest child" (again, by 13 all important minutes)  had two runs to make, mainly because she wanted two chances to beat her sister. She doesn't trust her horse just yet, and her theory is that if he messes up, she can still beat Sharlee on old faithful, Rebel the pony. In the Pee Wee class, a hit barrel incurs a 5 second penalty rather than a no time. Savannah made both of her runs, which were clean, and ended up winning the class on her big horse and placing second on the pony. The kicker was that her "little" sister ran a faster time than either of Savannah's runs, but the hit barrel kept her from winning the class (and just barely, because she almost outran her sister on the pony even with the penalty.)
My "mini me" usually takes mistakes very hard, so I was looking for her to be upset after her run. Instead, she came running up to me, pulled up her pant leg and said excitedly, "Look, Mom! Now I have a barrel bruise and I'm sure proud of that!" Um, OK. Looking for a positive in the situation, I said, "You made a really fast run. You would have smoked Savannah if you hadn't hit that barrel! You almost beat her anyway."
Since "big" sister got her way, winning first and second, all was right with the world until we got home. When Daddy announced that it was time to take a bath, the usual war ensued. Clothes were flying everywhere and kids were scrambling to the hamper when I saw a naked child go by at breakneck speed.
Reaching the bathtub, she squealed, "Woohoo! I smoked your tail at the barrel race and now I smoked your tail in the bathtub!"  

And don't you forget it.

Hug me tighter, Mommy

Those of you who follow my blog know that the subject matter is generally funny, mainly because after 36 years I have finally learned to laugh at myself. And because anyone who has spent more than 10 minutes with my kids knows that it's really hard not to laugh at them. I never know what is going to come out of their mouths. To characterize their thoughts as "random" is a complete understatement.
On this day, however, my heart is very heavy. Through the modern marvel that is social media, today I learned that an acquaintance of mine passed away just eight days after giving birth to her son. I can't begin to imagine what her family is going through. Shock, grief, anger, exhaustion...all of the emotions that go along with the sudden loss of a loved one. And then there's her son. A precious, beautiful, innocent life that is just beginning. What must he be thinking, as the most important, constant person in his life is suddenly missing? Just the thought brings tears to my eyes.
Eight days. Eight short days to spend with your only child. I can't think of anything more horrible. Eight days isn't enough for anything. Not enough time to cuddle, not enough time to listen to the sweet sounds newborn babies make, not enough time to sit for hours and gaze into the face of a miracle on loan from God. I have never felt more grateful for my children and the years I have been allowed to spend with them.
This situation really hit home for me, mainly because it was my husband's worst fear during my pregnancies. My sweet, strong, amazing veterinarian husband was literally terrified that something was going to happen to me. While my OB and I made jokes and picked on him for being so worried, he summed it up rather succinctly when he said, "Stuff dies having babies." Sometimes knowledge is not power. When a woman becomes a mother-to-be, her focus immediately shifts from her own well-being to that of her child. We are willing to give up anything and everything to protect the tiny, miraculous life growing inside us. Men don't always have the same experience, although they tend to get the same feeling once they hold their baby for the first time. One too many OB emergency calls and patients who died despite his best efforts had left my husband completely unable to relax and enjoy any part of my pregnancy, and my deliveries were nearly as stressful for him as they were for me.
My biggest fear was a C-section and a baby in the NICU, his biggest fear was being left a single father. As a woman, I have never felt more out of control of my own body. As helpless as I felt being pregnant, I really think it was even worse for my kids' dad. He had to worry about them and me. Interestingly, it never occurred to me that my pregnancies would end with anything more than healthy, happy babies. I never thought about miscarriage or extremely premature deliveries, and I certainly never even considered the fact that I might die. I'm betting the mother of that precious eight day old baby boy didn't either.
My heart goes out to the family of the mother and father of that little boy. Judging from the response on social media, there will be no shortage of people to tell him what a wonderful person his mother was. Just the thought of him growing up without her is so, so sad.
We are not guaranteed one more day, one more hour, or one more second with our loved ones. I have spent my day with my daughter, hugging her a little tighter and kissing her more often. My hope is that the loss of this young woman will cause many other people to do the same.    
        

Mr. Potato Potty, part deux

For those of you who were lucky enough to catch my previous blog post entitled "Mr. Potato Potty," here is the next installment. You will recall that Mr. Potato Potty was a gas station toilet I came across that was comprised mainly of parts and pieces from other toilets. Other toilets, and one construction site that no doubt donated the piece of lumber that was serving as a tank lid. To the store owner's credit, he had gone to the trouble of painting said lumber and adding a lovely fake floral arrangement in an attempt to disguise the repair. Or maybe it was just to give it that more "homey" feeling we are all looking for in a gas station restroom. Either way.

Today while traveling through deepest, darkest Alabama I found Mr. Potato Potty's long lost brother. At some point in its life, it was an unassuming, all white potty. And that's when the trouble began. Apparently the seat just wouldn't stay put, judging from the huge, industrial strength silver screws now attaching it securely to the lid. In a tragic turn of events, the tank lid had broken and was now replaced with a new one that didn't even begin to fit correctly. In addition to it being too big, the wrong shape, and also the wrong color it was being held in place with...wait for it...a huge piece of silver duct tape! Ah yes, the redneck weapon of choice. A good old roll of silver duct tape can right any wrong.

I admired this tribute to toilet architecture for a moment before returning to the store, where they were giving away free pizza and chicken wings of all things. My husband could barely contain his excitement. When I made the mistake of declining their kind offer, he elbowed me and hissed, "You better take that free pizza! WE might want it later!" Gee, sorry hon. You're right. "We" might want it later...what was I thinking? On to Tennessee! Can't wait to see what we find there...

I'm Not Mad at Miley

I find the reaction to the Miley Cyrus performance on the VMAs very interesting. Honestly, I was a little surprised that the media reacted the way it did. Is it because someone finally realized that displays such as this one are disgusting and do not qualify as entertainment? I doubt it. Is is the fact that this once fresh-faced, extremely talented girl spent years as clean cut Hannah Montana on the Disney Channel? Personally, I found the entire thing disturbing, raunchy, and completely inappropriate. But I find much of the content on MTV and every other channel falls into that category these days. What passes for "family" television in this day and age absolutely blows my mind. Perhaps I am old-fashioned, or perhaps my mother was.
Either way, I consider myself extremely fortunate that my kids have no knowledge of Miley Cyrus or Hannah Montana. That said, there are plenty of other "celebrities" and "entertainers" that I don't want my kids to emulate. There are athletes and people in their everyday lives that I don't want them to look up to. There are all sorts of humans on the planet that I consider totally unfit as role models for my kids.
So what's a parent to do? Throw out the televisions and computers? Police every conversation and piece of literature that they read? That really doesn't seem very practical. Besides, unless you decide to homeschool your kids and forbid them from having any friends, they are going to be exposed to something you would not approve of at least once a day.
So here it is... my own, old-fashioned small town Southern girl suggestion. Be the role model for your own children. Yep, I said it. Take responsibility for the life YOU created. Suck it up, buttercup, and break all those bad habits you don't want your kids to have.
Don't want them to hate their bodies? Quit putting yours down in front of them. No, I don't particularly love my thighs, but my daughters have never heard me say that. Don't want them to drink alcohol? Don't do it in front of them. Would you rather they didn't dress like a hoochie mama and gyrate on some guy's leg in public? Then show them the proper way to dress and model the behavior you would like to see in them!
People seem to want to blame Miley's misstep on her handlers. I submit that she is influenced by the people her parents allow to be around her. It is their job to ensure that she is being influenced by the right kind of people, not to simply support her after the fact.
Demand respect from your children. Do everything you can to ensure that they are more afraid of you finding out and being disappointed in them than the repercussions of any inappropriate behavior they might take part in. Hey, it worked for my parents! Did I have the chance to drink in high school? You bet I did. The overwhelming reason I didn't? I was afraid my mother would find out. Could I have gone out drinking and slept with various guys in college? Sure! But I didn't. Honestly, I was more afraid of disappointing my parents than I was of getting pregnant.
Don't  get me wrong. When I say I was "afraid" of my parents, I mean that I was afraid of letting them down. They weren't abusive or terrifying people. They did however, lay out very clearly what their expectations were for my behavior, and I try to do the same thing with my kids. It isn't easy, it isn't fun, and sometimes the only explanation I can come up with is, "because you are my child and I love you too much to let you act that way."
Yes, there are a multitude of famous people out there who could be allowed to influence my children. My job is to step in when I am needed and model the behavior I wish for them to emulate, as well as limiting their exposure to the people and behavior that are not good for them. So I'm not angry with Miley. I feel sorry for her, as she has obviously lost her way. I suggest that we as parents see her "performance" as a call to action. Be parents! Take it upon yourselves to teach your kids right from wrong, and stop relying on the media, or teachers, or their friends to do it for you. YOUR children are YOUR responsibility!






  

Goodbye, Zoey.

It is with a very heavy heart that I share the loss of our English bulldog, Zoey. It has taken me a long time to get to this post, I suppose because it makes me so sad. I miss her snoring at night, I miss her sitting at my feet while I put on makeup, I miss the sound of her toenails on the floor as she followed me around the house. I even miss her stinky breath, and let me tell you, it was bad!
When my normally tough as nails husband called and told me he was bringing an old, sad bulldog home because he just couldn't put her to sleep, I had no idea that she would end up being mine. I remember the first time I saw her, sitting there in the back seat of his truck. She was old, she was sick, and she was skinny. Her nose was running, her eye was cloudy, and she weighed approximately half as much as she should have. Over the next few months, she slowly gained weight. Her eye cleared up, we had her spayed and her teeth cleaned, and trimmed those long toenails as best we could. She also wormed her way into my heart and our bedroom.
This post will be short, as I don't have the time to do her justice. I am thinking really hard about starting another book with her as the subject. She taught our family so much about love and loss. It broke my heart to think that someone bred her as many times as they could, sold her puppies for a profit, and then threw her away when she was no longer "useful." I hope the karma bus runs them over.
When I sat with her for the last time, stroking her head and looking into those sad eyes, all I could do was try to reassure her that she was loved in this lifetime, that for a little while she was part of a family who cared what happened to her. We cared if she was sick, or hungry, or had a soft place to sleep. She gave us unconditional love in return. We love you, sweet Zoey. I hope you are in a happier place. We left your MSU collar on so that the girls would recognize you when we get to where you are. Rest in peace, sweet girl. I miss you every day.

I Find That Offensive

I don't often comment on news stories because let's face it, between television, radio, the Internet, Facebook, and every other blogger out there, most of the time there's not much left to say about anything. But in this case I'll make an exception. A rodeo clown (of all things) has offended the media in this country enough to warrant discussion on the "Today" show. Incidentally, that show should just be called "A Liberal Take on the News Today." I guess the producers got so tired of the anchors interjecting their personal opinions into their "news" stories that now the show has entire segments devoted to these people's opinions of what is going on in the world. I for one am perfectly capable of listening to the facts of a newsworthy story and then forming my own opinion of the information contained in it.
Personally, I'm sick and tired of the media in this country reminding me constantly that I must go out of my way not to offend anyone, while simultaneously attacking my morals, beliefs, and very rights guaranteed to me by the US Constitution on a daily basis. I can't help but notice how many of the groups I fall into are under fire constantly these days. Christians, conservatives, stay at home moms, horse owners, even being a straight, white, married woman - all of these things have caused others to go out of their way to offend me.
Honestly, I can't remember a time that I actually tried to offend someone, and yet there are people out there who get paid to do just that. (My mother often referred to them as "sh*t stirrers.") That's not to say that I haven't ever offended anyone, quite the contrary. I've opened my big mouth and stuck my foot in it up to the ankle...but I didn't do it on purpose. And when given the opportunity, I have apologized, because what else can you do? I don't understand people who seem to take joy in offending others, no matter what their race, religion, or sexual preference.
Speaking of my mother, anyone who ever spent more than a few minutes with her knew that she was a Christian. She didn't try to force her religion on anyone, ever. She shared her beliefs by example. Often it wasn't what she said, it was how she behaved. Now we all know that people get better after they are dead. My mother wasn't a saint. She absolutely made mistakes, lost her temper, and said things that she regretted. But I can guarantee she never went out of her way to offend anyone.
I got a healthy dose of whatever that quality is (my mother-in-law has it too.) More than once I've not gotten what I wanted, just to keep from hurting someone else's feelings. That pretty much comes with the territory when you are a mom. But I just don't understand who decides which groups we must be afraid to offend. Is it only the ones who will fight back? Or is it just the ones who have departed from the morals and values this country was founded on?
The media has convinced my children that if someone looks at them sideways they are being "bullied." Personally, I think the ones who share the beliefs of the people who founded this country are the ones being bullied. Bullied and brainwashed by a media machine that is convinced Americans are too stupid to think for ourselves. Just FYI, I am neither stupid or naive, and neither are the majority of Americans who were blessed with common sense. Now I'm off to be my kids' mom. Thank goodness they don't need the media to tell them what to think and how to feel. They have me - a strong, loving mother who isn't afraid to teach them that doing what is right and standing up for your beliefs is okay, even if it offends someone.    

Meet the Teachers

Last night was open house/meet the teacher night at my children's school. For  the first time I would have more than one teacher and assistant to meet, as we decided to put my twins in different classes this year. As luck would have it, yesterday was an extremely rough day for me. I was on the second day of an all out migraine headache, from which I finally got some relief after my husband made a trip to town expressly to refill my Relpax prescription. (Thanks, hon.)  Anyone who has ever had a migraine and then taken a Relpax can appreciate the condition that I was in, suddenly pain free for the first time in 48 hours, exhausted and now slightly drunk. I arrived at the school with the traveling circus that is now my life, three kids and two enormously heavy bags of school supplies in tow. Scooping up one brown grocery bag of supplies (only one of my bags had handles) I then grabbed the other one while simultaneously attempting to keep my kids from getting run over. Reminding myself that reinforcements were on the way in the form of my husband, I trudged into the school. Naturally, I had parked in front of the school so that I would have to walk at least half a mile to the gym carrying the supplies. It didn't help my feelings when I remembered that there was a parking lot immediately adjacent to the door I needed to go in, or when I saw that it was approximately half full. By the time we all made it to the gym, I was sweating like the proverbial whore in church. I could feel the sweat rolling down the center of my back and into my underwear. As the rows of chairs finally came into view, I was thinking I couldn't remember a time I was more excited to sit down. Heading toward the promised land, I heard an extremely perky voice coming out of a smiling face. "If you'll just sign one of these sheets..." the voice said, and its owner motioned toward a table of sign in sheets. Allow me to remind you of the situation here. Picture me, aggravated and sweating, exhausted and sort of drunk, carrying an extremely heavy shopping bag and balancing an equally heavy one on my hip, with three small very excited kids in tow. I didn't say a word, but the look on my face probably said a lot. I was thinking, "REALLY?" but I'm pretty sure it came across as "Go to hell." (Which was totally and completely unintentional, by the way. It definitely was not the sort of first impression I wanted to make.) She sort of backed up a step and then stammered, "Uh, you can put your stuff down first." I managed a weak smile and a nod before bulldozing my way to the chair that was calling my name. Fortunately, I think I was able to come across as not a complete witch to my kids' teachers. They were thrilled, one mostly because her classroom is in the yellow hallway, which is apparently much more grown up than the red one that  her sister's room is on. Who knew? Anyway, everyone and their brother has offered their opinion on whether we should put the twins in different classes. So here's my story and I'm sticking to it. We are trying to do what is best for each of our girls, even if it means that things are more difficult for their parents from time to time. We want to encourage them to be individuals rather than just part of a set. And for the record, I was an only child. We are totally making this up as we go. But don't tell them that.   

Goodbye, beach!

Today was my last morning at the beach. Something about the sights, sounds, and smells of that place just makes me want to sit in a chair and do absolutely nothing for a few moments of bliss. I could listen to the seagulls and the waves crashing on the shore for hours at a time and be completely content. But I miss the heck out of my animals, so we are headed home. We farmed out a horse, a cat, and a dog for this trip, so I know at least three creatures who are really ticked at me. The corgis had company last night when the neighbors came to swim, so they shouldn't be too miffed. Honestly, it's our menagerie of animals that keeps us from traveling more than we do. Time to thin the herd! (Yeah, right.)

My big girls spent their beach time with their grandparents, so the baby was on her own with us. She wormed her way into our bed for the first time since she was a crying, nursing newborn this weekend. It was just too hard to turn her down when she opened the door and said, "Can I sleep with y'alls?" (Y'alls is the plural of y'all, for those of you who don't speak Sheridan.)

She may have been in bed with us, but there sure wasn't much sleeping going on. She tossed, turned, flipped, talked, sang, kicked us in the back, smacked us in the face, touched our faces, pulled my hair...pretty much anything and everything she could do but let us go to sleep. She has been sleeping with her sisters all summer (they fight over whose turn it is every night) and sometimes they will say, "I'm just too tired tonight. I don't want her to sleep with me." Now I know EXACTLY what they mean by that. It is by no means a restful sleep when Sher is in your bed.

We are almost home, and I can't wait to see my animals and sleep in my own bed. I have a new barrel horse that I love, and it almost killed me not to go barrel racing this weekend. Our beach trip was planned long before we got Hank and we were all looking forward to it, so off to the beach we went. It was oddly quiet this weekend, as the baby didn't have anybody to fight with and could watch whatever she wanted on tv. Now the gang's back together again, and if you're wondering how long it was before they started fighting, wonder no more. It was at least 30 seconds.

Beach Vacation

Hello again! For those of you who wondered if my little darlings had tied me up and set me on fire, or perhaps that I had met some other unfortunate end, let me assure you I am alive and well. My life has been moving at the speed of light the last few weeks, and I simply haven't taken a moment to sit down and write about it. I've been too busy living it!
At this very moment I'm sitting in one of my favorite places on the planet, a balcony overlooking the beach in Orange Beach. My husband is not a beach person (we went snow skiing on our honeymoon, for crying out loud) so I haven't been down here for at least 11 years or so. Even though this hasn't been the lazy, lie around and nap/tan/write/cross stitch beach vacation I had in mind, it has still been wonderful. My fabulous, hard-working husband has a very difficult time relaxing. Doing nothing is not really his thing, so in thirty minutes we are going parasailing.
I can't put my finger on just what it is about the beach, but sitting in a chair listening to the water just makes something in my soul happy. People watching reminds me that I have nothing to be self-conscious about, as anyone down here will rock a bikini, no matter what her age or size. (I however, will not.) I needed an extra swimsuit, and your choices down here are dental floss bikinis or plus size. Since I am not currently in either of those categories, I decided to just wash and dry the suit I already have.
My babies are seeing the beach for the very first time. My big girls went with their cousin and grandparents, so the baby has had her dad and me all to herself this weekend. I have to say that yet another thing I love about my husband is his willingness to let a three year old plan our day. She slept until lunch, we went to the beach, and now we are about to go on a dolphin cruise. I know she won't remember this trip, but it has done us a lot of good to spend some one on one time with her. Mom and Dad's undivided attention can be hard to get at home.
I had grand plans about writing a bunch of blog posts, but I think I'll go enjoy my family instead. I could come here alone and write for days. Something about this place just lends itself to creativity. But my baby girl will only be little once...

Hail State!

Last night the fantastic baseball team from my alma mater made history. My Mississippi State Bulldogs played for the national championship in college baseball. They ended up second in the nation for the year, capping off the best season in MSU baseball history. I couldn't be prouder of the way those guys worked, played, and represented our university and the state of MS.

During the previous games in the tournament, the ESPN commentators sounded almost complimentary of our team, extolling the virtues of our stadium, our cooking, and our hospitality. They bragged on our coach, even if they seemed to wonder about his methods at times, and helped to showcase our players as the incredible athletes they are. They even went so far as to say if you are a college baseball fan, you should make it a point to get to Dudy Noble Field at least once in your lifetime. Pretty impressive stuff. As a State fan, it's not news to anybody that the crew at ESPN hates our football team. They pick against us at every opportunity, seem very surprised when we win, and show blatant favoritism to the other team when they call our games. So watching the College World Series had been a refreshing change. Maybe our good looking, respectful, hard working Southern gentlemen were finally getting some of the respect they deserved. Good for you, ESPN.

And then they blew it. In almost casual conversation during a lull in the game (for those of you who are not baseball fans, there are a LOT of lulls in a baseball game) one of the men remarked that MSU had an enormous fan base that had showed up in Omaha to support the team. So far, so good. Nothing wrong with that. And then he added something else. I won't quote him, but the gist of it was that so many of these MSU fans can't afford this long trip out here, but they came anyway, to support these kids.

Um, excuse me? There were professionals of every kind who are MSU graduates there watching, many of whom arrived on their private planes. I have traveled to almost half of the states in this country, and in each and every one I visited I saw less-than-affluent areas. And that's putting it nicely.

As if that weren't enough, after the game ended last night and Sportscenter came on, yet another brilliant talking head, upon seeing a crowd shot of the MSU faithful with their cowbells, exclaimed, "Look at those fans. They're all like 'Y'all ain't gone win it tonight!' (In a high pitched, pitiful excuse for a Southern accent.)

So I stand corrected, ESPN. You have not made progress in your observations about Mississippi State University. (I spelled out the name, because half the time you get us confused with Ole Miss.) You're a bunch of mouth breathers who obviously don't know how to recognize a group of amazing athletes who also happen to be respectful, intelligent, and upstanding gentlemen when you see them. By the way, we have the best, most loyal fans in the country. We love each other, we support each other, and we believe in ourselves and in our teams. State fans are kind, considerate, and helpful. They will go out of their way to assist a total stranger or invite you to share their tailgate meal without a second thought. They also happen to be veterinarians, doctors, lawyers, teachers, authors, musicians, athletes, other professionals and most importantly, for a few years or for a lifetime, MISSISSIPPIANS. We are strong, we are intelligent, we are athletic, and we are wealthy in ways that you would never begin to understand. Hail State!

Still Here!

For those of you who have wondered, I'm still here. I would like to tell you that my life has been so busy I haven't had time to blog, which is mostly true. I suppose there are moments in my day when I slow down long enough to crank out a quick blog post, but the truth is that lately when those rare moments arrive, I just want to sit down and close my eyes. I used to think my mom was so silly for setting the oven timer and taking her ten minute "power naps." Now I find myself doing the same thing. I have pulled out my tablet to blog several times during the past week, but the truth is that my brain was still trying to do so many things at once I couldn't translate the fog inside my head into a complete sentence. Well, either that, or I would read what I had written and then lean heavily on the "backspace" key.
I am still trying to run 20 miles a week, keep two horses ridden, and be Supermom. And by the way, my alma mater has made the College World Series, so I've been forced to watch baseball games all week as well! Apparently this is the latest in a baseball season MSU has played in 123 years. That's pretty special. Being a Bulldog fan is tough. Football season can get really ugly. Sometimes you have to take what you can get. Play hard, boys!
As you might have guessed, it's not going so well. I just need more than 24 hours to get all my stuff accomplished! And since this pitiful body requires a certain amount of sleep (8 hours if I can get it) that really cuts into my "getting things done" time. I do have to admit that I sleep well. People complain about not being able to sleep...five miles in the morning will help you sleep like a baby! It will also make you sore and grouchy if you aren't careful. I mean, I've heard that it will...
Running helps you find all your sore spots (and helps create new ones). It also causes you to sweat in places you never knew existed. I have had sweat run into my ears, eyes, and countless other places. I read somewhere that sweat is your fat crying. If so, my fat has achieved professional mourner status. I can think about running and break into a sweat. I hope that's a good thing.

Cancer Doesn't Discriminate

Today my heart is hurting for a family that I don't know well. A vibrant young mother has been taken from her family far too soon by cancer. I met her years ago, when she and her sister were teenagers, and the heaviest thing on their minds was which rodeo they were going to the next weekend. Haley Thompson was a barrel racing and all around champion in junior high and high school rodeo, even going on to compete and win at the next level. She was young, she was beautiful, she was tough - not at all the kind of person you would think of when someone said the words "cancer patient." Unfortunately, I know for a fact that cancer does not discriminate. It attacks the old, the young, the healthy, and the sick. It seeks out mothers, fathers, children, sisters, and brothers.
I hadn't seen or talked to Haley in years, but to be perfectly honest, I prefer to think of her as young, vibrant, and beautiful, and that's how I'll remember her. Many people I am friends with on social media sites have written that they are praying for her family. I hope that they are, and I truly hope that those who wrote that they are her friends were also there for her during her life. My most sincere hope is that they will continue to be there for her children.
As a mother, my heart hurts for Haley's mother. Losing a child, no matter what the age of that child, is an exquisite agony that no parent should ever have to live through. I can't think of anything more horrible. As someone who lost their mother to cancer, my heart hurts for her young sons. Losing a parent, particularly your mother at a young age is a pain like no other. Each milestone in their lives, whether they are children or adults, will forever be bittersweet because she's not there to share it with them. I'm so sorry, boys. May God bring to you the peace that passes all understanding.
I chose to use the news of her death last night as a reason to thank God over and over again for my health and the health of my children and husband. I am reminded today that we shouldn't take a second of our lives for granted, particularly if we are lucky enough to share those seconds with the people we love.  

The Elvis Run

I started my day yesterday with a little workout. A five mile workout. I am mentioning that fact basically for posterity, because that is the farthest I've ever gone in a single session. I'd like to say that I really enjoyed it, but the truth is it pretty much sucked. Today I started my day the same way, with a 4.25 mile run/walk. That puts me at 9.25 miles for in two days, which would be impressive if I weren't thinking about running 13.1 miles in one session this December. I have to admit that it's hard to wrap my mind around going that far at this point.
I've gotten quite an education since I started running. I've learned about things like chafing, shin splints, and blisters. I've learned how much difference a twelve dollar pair of socks and an expensive pair of running shoes can make. Most importantly, I've learned that running is neither the fastest nor the easiest way to lose weight. According to my calculations based on the work I've put in, I should weigh approximately 98 pounds by now. Anyone who has seen me recently can attest to the fact that I am not anywhere close to 98 pounds.
My husband and I ran our third race together this past weekend, the Running with the King 5K. It was held in Tupelo during the Elvis Festival, which is why most of the locals just call it the Elvis Run. The race route goes past the birthplace of Elvis, a tiny shotgun house turned museum that I must confess I've never been inside, even though I've lived minutes from it for 11 years.
This race even offered an award for the best dressed Elvis who ran. It turned out to be a guy we affectionately referred to as Karate Elvis with Sharpie sideburns. Kirk almost beat him, but not quite. Oh, well, at least it gave him something to think about during the race, trying to run down Karate Elvis.
My own personal battle was with an old man who bore a striking resemblance to Santa Claus. He was  dressed all in white, a little overweight, and looked like every step was painful. As I was sprinting to the finish (because that's what I do...I can't make myself walk across that finish line) I saw him, laboring along. Now don't get me wrong, I was laboring along as well by this point, but I am still a competitor. Over the sound of my panting and my leg muscles screaming for mercy, a little voice inside my head said, "Oh hell, no! You are not getting outrun by Santa Claus. You are half his age and you run nearly every day. You better speed your ass up, girl!" So I found another gear and got it done. 
I almost ran a personal best, even though my average pace was just slightly faster than that of a turtle. As I was bent over trying to catch my breath just beyond the finish line, a runner I had swapped places with for the entire race came up behind me. "You did so good! I was able to stay up with you most of the way!" I took me a moment to realize that she was talking to me. For real? I mumbled a "thank you" and then resisted the urge to add, "Hey Toots, keeping up with me is not a big deal. If you are using me as a measure of how you're doing, you'd better raise the bar!"
On another note, I have heard the term "runner's high." I have never experienced such a thing, nor do I have any idea what that is. After gutting it out to beat Santa I felt lightheaded and thought I might pass out for a moment. Somehow I don't think that's what the term means. I guess that's what you get for outrunning a childhood icon. Sorry, Santa. Nothing personal.

Full Disclosure

In the age of Facebook and Twitter, it occurred to me that a lot of moms only share the wonderful things about their kids with the world. I mean, let's face it, nobody wants to talk about the days when your offspring climbs up on your last nerve and proceeds to bounce up and down. Or the days that they say something and you respond with, "I brought you into this world and I will take you out! And it doesn't matter to us - we'll make another one that looks just like you!"

In the interest of full disclosure, I have to say that I know people whose portrayal of themselves and their kids online couldn't possibly be any further from the truth. Let it never be said that I didn't share the good, the bad, and the ugly about me and my kids. Sorry girls, it's for the greater good. There's enough nastiness out there, and people need to laugh. If sharing our stories lets just one mom know that she's not alone in her misery blissful motherhood experience, then I feel like I have done something for the greater good.

For some strange reason, people are under the impression that my kids are sweet all the time (yes, even people who have actually seen them in person.) Allow me to rain on your parade. Not long ago, I took my girls to Chick-fil-A to play on the playground. I mean, let's be honest. They don't go there to eat. They agree to let me order a kid's meal so that they can get the toy (because we all know they don't have any) and then consume about a fourth of it. Basically, they sit there and pick at their food until I declare that they have eaten enough and can go to the playground.

In my mind, I was going to use the time they spent playing to get some work done on my computer. In reality, I spent my time shuttling them back and forth to the bathroom and helping them put on and take off shoes. This particular day was a little unusual in that we had somewhere to be. My sister-in-law was being honored at a retirement reception, and we were headed straight there when we left the restaurant.

Having been a mother for several years now, I am very familiar with the different types of playground equipment. The type at Chick-fil-A just so happens to be the kind I loathe. It was obviously designed by a man, as it is the kind that your children climb into and then are out of your reach. They come out when and if they want to, and unless you are, in fact the same size as another child, you can't go in there to get them. No woman in her right mind would have designed something so stupid. Keep that in mind, as it is about to become an integral part of this story.

All good things must come to an end, and our trip to the playground was no different. When I announced that it was time to leave, my big girls did their usual whining and eye rolling, which I'm used to by now. And then the baby decided to test her boundaries a bit.

My youngest child refused to come out of the playground equipment. In the beginning, she was afraid to slide down the slide, which was the logical choice for getting down from her perch near the ceiling. She was also afraid to come down the steps backwards, which would have been required for her to get down. And thus began one of the most epic battles of will since I became a parent.
Okay, so she was afraid. Poor kid. I really did feel bad for her at first. So I tried to coax her out. I used my softest, mommy-will-make-it-all-better voice. No luck. If anything, she cried louder.

I then proceeded to employ every weapon in the mother's arsenal. I begged. I pleaded. I attempted to bribe. I threatened. Taking a deep breath, and in my very best mom voice, I ordered her to come down. Naturally, since I really neeeeded to lose my temper, there were other kids in the room. I became acutely aware that the parents watching through the window from inside the restaurant were keeping tabs on what was going on. Excellent.
At least half a dozen times, the baby started to back down the stairs. She would get to where she was about six inches out of my reach and then stop. All I could think was, "If I get my hands on you, I'm gonna..." And then she would move back up and cry some more.
Thinking that perhaps it was time to get creative, I decided that maybe if I threatened to leave her in there, she would come out. Like all good plans, this backfired royally, and I ended up with three wailing kids instead of one. "Mom! You can't leave her here! Please don't leave her here! We love her!" My older kids were borderline hysterical. Now the super parents were really paying attention. Three screaming kids gets you even more smug looks than one.
Taking a deep breath, I took off my shoes. My older kids both bent over and covered their eyes, looking like two turtles. Awesome, guys. Could you make me look any worse? As I was wearing a dress (of course) I couldn't help but wonder how many people watching the saga unfold were going to see my ass when I climbed up inside this stupid piece of playground equipment. I leaned over and then thought to myself, "Oh, hell no! I am NOT climbing up there to get her. She is coming out, and that's that."
After what seemed like at least an hour of listening to my kid scream, "It's NOT time to go! I don't want to leave! I want to drive that little car!" I finally called for backup. I psyched up my older kids and gave them their marching orders. "Go in there and get her! Drag her out if you have to, but get her down!"
And so, my six year old went in, grabbed her sister, narrowly avoided several kicks and punches, and at last drug out my wailing, screeching two year old. I cannot possibly convey how much self control it took for me not to cause my daughter serious bodily harm in that moment. All I could think was, there may be a social worker in here. Keep it together, Mama!
Arriving at my car, my child finally got the tune up she so desperately needed. I feel sure she got more than some parents would have given her and less than others would have given her. But she apparently got enough, because now every single time we drive by that place, Sheridan yells, "Hey Mom! That's where I got in trouble!" Yes, yes it is.

Literal Creatures

My kids never cease to amaze me with the things that come out of their mouths. Sometimes I'm pleasantly surprised when they remember to say "thank you" or "may I be excused" at someone else's house. Other times I'm shocked by some inappropriate word or phrase, or taken aback by the biting sarcasm. Okay, fine, I admit it. Sometimes I'm secretly impressed by the skill with which they utilize sarcasm, but I would never let them know that. And sometimes it's really, really hard not to laugh, especially when my husband is sitting over there snickering under his breath.

I have mentioned countless times that my kids are very literal creatures. Also, even with their incredibly extensive vocabulary, they are somewhat lacking in the area of slang words and phrases. They also don't yet realize that the rest of the country assumes that Southerners are stupid. One of our neighbors was shocked when my daughter asked him to "please turn up the volume on the radio" in the church van. He informed me that she sure didn't sound like she was from Mooreville. I wasn't aware that being from a certain town meant you didn't have manners or a good grasp of the English language. I guess you learn something every day.

After being in the National Guard for ten years, my husband occasionally drops a military term. Having three daughters is as far from the order and precision of the military as you can possibly get. The other day he was having trouble motivating my 6 year old to dress for school. "Let's go, Sharlee! Move out!" What he was expecting was for her to hurry up and get her clothes on. What he got was a sobbing pile of human Jell-o.

"What? What? What is your problem?" He looked at me for help. Finally, my red-faced, bawling child blurted out, "Daddy, I don't want to leave you! I don't want to move out!" Ah, yes. Literal creatures.

Just the other night, we stopped on the way home from roping to eat at our favorite Mexican restaurant. As the kids started unloading, I giggled and said, "Look at all those little rednecks getting out of that motorhome!" My daughter grabbed her throat and and, looking slightly horrified, squealed, "Is my neck red?"  

 I'm afraid so, Sweetheart.    

Zoom Through the Zoo

My Memorial Day weekend definitely started out differently than it ever has before this year. While everyone else was gearing up for their beach weekends and mini-vacations, my husband and I were gearing up for a race. Not a barrel race, but a foot race. And not just any race - a four mile race through the Memphis Zoo. I have to confess that if you had told me a year ago that I would be running a four mile race - wait, make that running in a race that does not involve a horse, period - I would have asked you what you were smoking.
When I blew the dust off of my treadmill and started running last year, I never had any intention of entering any sort of race. Then a high school friend and college sorority sister got leukemia. When I heard that there was going to be a 5K race to help raise money for her, I still didn't plan to enter. Only after relentless badgering by my husband and being told at least a thousand times that I should enter because I "could" did I reluctantly agree to give racing a try.
I wasn't entirely sure I would even finish the race without puking, but I did, and ended up going faster than I imagined I could. So after many more early mornings and lots of miles on the treadmill, Thursday night I found myself standing in the restroom at the Memphis Zoo, waiting in the world's longest line and desperate to get in just one more potty break before the start of the race. A classy looking, very fit older lady was chatting with her friend, asking her what sort of time goal she had set for herself. She then proceeded to share with her and everyone else in the restroom that the course was not four miles, but more like four and a quarter. And oh by the way, there was a large hill right before the finish. I stood there thinking, "Gee, thanks, lady! You're all what kind of time do you want to run and I'm all my goal for this race is to not die! You're just a stinking ray of sunshine."
Unlike any of the other races I have run, this one had a substantial number of entries, as in 1500. As I do not have a death wish, I started near the back. My preferred starting position is usually just in front of the people pushing strollers, although I have learned that most people who are dedicated enough to run four miles pushing a stroller are wicked fast and will run over my slow ass. Most of those kids have whiplash by the time the race is over. Moving toward the starting line like cattle, I wondered briefly if I would have room to run at all, but it didn't take long for everyone to get spread out, especially when the elite athletes ran off and left the rest of us like we were standing still. I got a good look at them when I met them headed in the other direction. I had a fleeting hope when we met the first group that the turnaround spot was just ahead, but I was sorely mistaken.
Approximately two miles into the race I needed to pee. As we were indeed running through the zoo, we passed several sets of public restrooms. I have to confess that it was one of the most difficult things I've done lately to run past that ladies' room and not stop, especially when I saw other runners taking advantage of the facilities. But I had no time for a potty break! I figured that surely some other part of my anatomy would start hurting badly enough that I would forget about my bladder, and eventually it did.
My sweet husband moved on out ahead of me pretty quickly, and at one point I got really excited because I saw a man in black shorts and blue shoes bent over tying his shoe. I really thought it was Kirk for a minute, and was completely surprised when he straightened up and it turned out to be someone else. Talk about being thankful I didn't run by, give him a "hey Babe" and slap him on the butt! Because that would have been REALLY embarrassing. Thank the Lord for small favors.
Anyway, after a lot of huffing and puffing, a lot of running and a little walking, I rounded the last corner. As I did, I couldn't help but notice the guy dressed like a hotdog and holding a cardboard sign with a big green circle on it. The caption read, "Hit the turbo button!" And yes, I totally punched the turbo button on the way by, and it made me ridiculously happy to do so.
After laboring up the last hill, I spotted the finish line and my afterburners kicked in. I'm not sure if it was my competitive spirit or just the fact that I knew I was almost done running, but several yards from the finish I started to sprint. I was tired, my legs were aching, and it really hurt, but with a mighty grunt I was at maximum speed when I crossed the line. As I was throttling down (which couldn't take long no faster than I was going) I must have made some sort of terrible face, which I can only imagine must have looked like the "pain face" from Ridiculousness. So terrible was my face that a woman just inside the zoo felt compelled to ask me if I was alright. Sure lady, don't I look alright? Doesn't everyone cross the line red faced panting like a dying pony and making a "pain face?" Or did I miss yet another memo? Nobody tells me anything.
Since I began running, my bathroom scale has finally been forced to admit that I've lost two pounds. Two measly pounds. And I have to say that I have never worked harder to lose nor been prouder of those two pounds. It got fairly discouraging there for awhile when my body shape was changing and my clothes were fitting differently but the scale stubbornly refused to admit that I weighed any less. I mean, really, you can only sell yourself on the whole "muscle weighs more than fat" bit for so long. And now my muscles and fat need a nap!       

How did your kid get hurt?

Anyone who has been a parent long enough for their child to get past the rolling over stage knows that children can hurt themselves in a rubber room. They can also find a myriad of interesting and unusual ways to injure themselves and each other. My children are particularly gifted in this area. When the twins were three, the gift of two toy acoustic guitars turned into an episode of WWF when one child proceeded to break hers over her sister's head. How much fun would that one have been to explain to the newbie doc in the ER? "So, ma'am, how did your daughter get a concussion?" "Well, it involved her sister and a pink guitar..."
My girls often come up with weird and wacky ways to get hurt, but the other night they really outdid themselves. The twins were in the bathtub together, a habit which will soon come to an end simply because they are about to outgrow it and the tub. Apparently there is an understood rule between the two of them that if someone farts in the water, the bath is over. More than once, naked and wet children have come screaming into the living room, one laughing and the other crying. On this particular occasion, one sister had the bubble guts. She raised her rear up out of the water (to avoid defiling said bathwater) and relieved her uh, problem. Her sister screamed, panicked, and whacked her knee on the faucet trying to get out of the line of fire.
I heard the wailing from the other room and rushed in to inspect the carnage, fully expecting blood to be shooting out of someone's body, or else. When I heard the explanation for the blood curdling shrieks emanating from my daughter, all I could do was laugh until I cried. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new record holder for the most ridiculous injury in our household. Another day in the life. Sigh.

Thanks!

Thanks so much to everyone who has ordered "If I Didn't Laugh, I'd Cry" the book! I hope some of you have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it...or at least figured out that your situation is not unlike mine. Motherhood really is a roller coaster, full of ups and downs, twists and turns, upside down sections,  and one really big twist - it's one heck of a ride, you don't understand it until you are on it (and by then it's too late) and once you are buckled in, there's no getting off. I have learned over the past six years that you can fight it, you can try to force it (and have it punch you in the face), or you can sit down, shut up, hang on and enjoy the ride. Oh, and having an awesome spouse who makes you laugh definitely makes the whole hairy process a lot easier. Here's to moms - ALL moms: single, married, divorced, working, stay at home, even the ones who are believing for a baby in the future. You are strong, you are tough, and you CAN do this. Rest is for the weak! (And me...)

Goodbye, first grade!

My babies finished the first grade today. The precious little short people that I still see as tiny little bundles resting in my arms walked across that big old stage and collected their certificates for making All A's. Those first long, long nights when they were eating every two hours seemed to last forever. Our lives were thrown into a blender and seemed to come out moving at a snail's pace. Each and every day my only goal was to keep everyone alive until tomorrow. For some reason I decided that, for the first eight weeks of their lives, if I closed my eyes to sleep one of them would surely stop breathing. The first month seemed like one long, sleepless day. I kept telling myself it will get better, it will get better, it has to get better. And then I closed my eyes, and today happened.
My babies are no longer babies. They are officially second graders. Even scarier than that is the fact that we are putting them in different classes next year. One of them is all for it, the other is not so sure. My objective is to allow them to develop their own identities and friendships. While I am so, so glad that they have each other to walk through this life with, I understand that it gets old to always be seen as part of a set. I want the world to see them as the fantastic, unique individuals they are instead of calling them the wrong name half the time. I can't help but think this has the potential to be the best thing we ever did or a colossal failure. Life is about taking chances, right?

 

Our last AFV show!

So our last AFV secret is out. We didn't win the grand prize vacation for the season. And yes, my kids were disappointed. You can see them crying behind Tom Bergeron. It was also about 3 AM when we filmed that show, and all of us were totally exhausted. I didn't blame them for crying, to tell you the truth. I didn't really have the energy to be disappointed. At that point I just wanted to go to sleep!
We have had an amazing ride during our time on the show. Two trips to LA, one trip to Disney World, and $110,000 is not too shabby for a few seconds of video shot with my cell phone! I couldn't be more excited about the way things turned out. My family got to have so many new and wonderful experiences because of that video. I got to experience pure bliss more than once, and that's sometimes hard to come by. We are so very grateful to have had this amazing opportunity! Remembering the fact that the one who urged me to send our video in was my late friend Beth, I can't help but think that she and my mom were pulling some strings for us up there!  

Late Night Comedy Club

I have shared before (and I am sure that he's oh-so-grateful) the fact that my husband does his best comedic work in the middle of the night. A couple of days ago, it happened again. At approximately 4:30 AM, he wrote what I'm pretty sure could qualify as a Saturday Night Live skit.
Allow me to set the scene for you. Two utterly exhausted parents lay sleeping in their bed, trying desperately to make use of each and every peaceful second of slumber. Suddenly, at approximately 4 AM, the mother is snatched from her blissful state of REM sleep by the sound of a wailing child. Snapping to attention and wiping her eyes, she hears those dreadful words, "Mommy, I wet my bed!"
Naturally, the first word that went through my mind was not "pee pee" although it did involve a bodily function. Fortunately, it didn't come out of my mouth. I stumbled to the laundry room in search of clean sheets, underwear, and pajamas. My daughter headed to the bathroom, ostensibly to finish what she started in her bed.
By the time I got upstairs, my husband was standing there running his hand over her sheets. After the third time, he looked at me and announced, "If she wet this bed, I can't find it!" After I came to the same conclusion, I shoved the clean sheets in a drawer and headed back downstairs. My child's nightgown wasn't wet either, and we finally came to the conclusion that I "wet the bed" meant there were three drops of pee in her underwear. Apparently she started to go and woke herself up. Thank goodness for small favors.
One clean pair of underwear later, she was tucked back into her bed and I was halfway back to dreamland when Mr. Comedy started his routine. Judging by how wide awake he was, he obviously has not mastered the skill that most mothers are very familiar with...the ability to handle almost any situation while remaining at least partially asleep. So there we were, trying desperately to get that last hour of sleep that we needed so badly, when my husband's sense of humor kicked in.
In his best infomercial voice, he suddenly said, "Introducing the NO PEE, an industrial strength diaper for older kids! Got a kid who wets the bed? Not anymore! Just get them a NO PEE and sleep blissfully through the night! Just ask little Sally!"
In his best little Sally voice, "I wet my pants NINE times last night, but thanks to the NO PEE my sheets stayed nice and dry!"
Back to infomercial announcer voice: "The NO PEE comes in fashion colors, so your kids can be totally discreet. And this just in...announcing the BEER PEE for dads! Now your dad doesn't even have to leave the couch on those long football Saturdays! Available in your favorite teams and colors! Wear it under your Snuggie and be totally discreet! Order in the next 30 minutes and receive your FREE gift!"
I don't know if that conversation is as funny on paper as it was in person, but instead of sleeping I once again found myself laughing so hard I was gasping for air. There might have even been a snort in there. At 4:30 AM I laughed to the point I was wishing I had a NO PEE. Just another day in the life of being married to this guy.
And now I have to go. I was pondering what the sound was that was coming from my kitchen. It sounded suspiciously like some sort of demolition. My two year old daughter has arrived with her keyboard and the electric screwdriver  to inform me that the batteries are dead. I'm going to go out on a limb and say we are out of AA batteries. Oh, darn! ;)

Muffin Top

It's always refreshing and humbling to be around people who just speak their minds. My children specialize in this particular area. This morning I walked into the kitchen after finishing my 4.3 mile run to find my daughter standing there in her nothing but her My Little Pony underwear. On the table were at least twelve school outfits.
"Mom, I need help finding something to wear. I've tried on everything on this table and nothing fits!"
"Okay, well there are two pairs of denim shorts right there. They'll go with any shirt here. I don't see the problem."
"Well, I tried these on and they are too big. They're a size 6."
"Yes, they are too big, because you wear a size 5. Here."
"Hmpf! I am six years old, not five! I'm so tired of being little!"
"Baby, the size of your clothes has nothing to do with your age. And trust me, when you are older you will be glad that you have a small frame, Skinny Minnie! I used to be skinny, too. You're built just like me."
After a moment of careful thought, she said, "Mama, I think you're pretty skinny. Well, except I mean you have this little ring around your middle." She put her hands on her waist to emphasize the last part. "If you could just, you know, make that a little smaller, then you would be really skinny."
Gee, thanks, I think! Nothing like having a brutally honest person point out your muffin top! Just gives you a shot of self esteem to start your day. Guess it's back to the treadmill for me!

Mother's Day Lessons

As usual, there are a million things rolling around in my mind that I want to get down on paper. I'm pretty sure most of them will never make it out of my brain, and a lot of them probably shouldn't. However, since yesterday was Mother's Day, I felt like I had to slow down long enough to jot something down. Mother's Day is always a difficult day for me, as I am sure it is for lots of people. Those who have lost mothers, children, and the children of moms who aren't so great don't have a lot to celebrate.
Seems like I always miss my mom just a little more at this time of year. And, yes, I am so very grateful to have been blessed with my three beautiful girls. They make me happy each and every day (at least once.) They also drive me completely crazy, but I suppose it's a short trip. I'm pretty sure they think that I get up and let the sun out every morning, which to be perfectly honest, is a tremendous amount of pressure. I really try to be the person they think I am each and every day, and at the end of the day I generally feel like I have fallen short.
Last night, however, I got to teach a "parenting" lesson that I'm fairly certain I never daydreamed about while lying around like a beached whale on bedrest during my pregnancies. I got to explain what a "wedgie" is! Be jealous, ladies, be jealous.
I have to admit that I'm not really sure how the subject came up, (I think it had something to do with Spongebob) but suddenly there was a short person behind me touching me in an extremely personal area. And then the following chain of events took place.
With a completely straight face, I yelled, "Girls! I am not sure if you understand what wedgie means! Giving someone a wedgie does NOT mean sticking your finger up their butt!" My husband immediately began to laugh. I feel the need to point out that it wasn't a giggle, but one of those laughing so hard no sound is coming out laughs. His eyes began to water, and the next thing I saw was him lie down on the kitchen floor. Keep in mind that there was still no sound coming out. After a few moments I began to wonder if he was having a heart attack.
The kids and I all rushed into the kitchen, at which point he grabbed my daughter and administered a properly executed wedgie. She screamed, she laughed, and then suddenly looked thoughtful. After along pause she said seriously, "I'm not sure if I'm going to kiss you goodnight tonight." She proceeded to remove her underwear from her backside and then yelled, "But I am going to touch you with my wedgie hand!"
The most awesome monkeypile ever ensued, right there on the kitchen floor. And I was able to laugh on Mother's Day, which was the real gift. Thanks, guys!   

Still going...

I ran 3.75 miles this morning. I'm telling you this not because you care, but because I want documentation of the fact that I actually traveled that far under my own power and not under any sort of duress and didn't die to exist somewhere in cyberspace. By "not under duress" I mean that I wasn't being chased by anyone or anything, like a Doberman or a zombie. l just made up my mind and set a goal, and I'm doing my best to get there this week! I still haven't run to the point of puking, although this morning I got dangerously close. I can count on one hand the number of times I've experienced that particular bodily function in the last ten years, so it's going to be sort of a big deal when it actually happens. I'll be sure to let you guys know, because I know you're interested in that sort of thing. (That last sentence was written in my sarcastic font.)

I have begun to consume massive amounts of water. Okay, maybe not massive amounts, but at least I'm finally getting the eight glasses a day you are supposed to drink. Of course, the wonderful side effect of that is me needing to pee every thirty seconds. Brings back some not so fond memories of my pregnancies. Oh well, at least I'm doing something that's good for me, for a change. I'll try not to make a habit of it.

Road Trip!

Today I'm excited to be spending the day with my husband, minus our three precious children. My big girls are at school and I've hired a babysitter. So what sort of romantic, fun-filled day is in store for me? A picnic lunch, or maybe a corner table at our favorite restaurant? Nope, a trip to the feed mill in Demopolis to pick up horse feed! And the truth is, I wasn't kidding about being excited. From the time we met, I have always enjoyed spending time with my husband. Talking to him is like a sport. He always makes me laugh, and we are forever discussing our next business adventure. (No, that wasn't a typo, any business venture we are involved in always seems to turn into an adventure, some good and some not so good.)
Having a few hours to ourselves to discuss things we enjoy without someone yelling, "Mama, mama, mommy, ma, ma, mother, mommy" is truly blissful. Sometimes I think that my lack of ability to focus on the task at hand is less a product of "mommy brain" and more like the result of being interrupted constantly by short people. Perhaps I can't concentrate for more than five seconds because I'm never allowed to try! At any rate, the babysitting money is definitely well spent! 
It's so important to be married to someone you can talk to. I feel certain we will not solve a single one of the world's problems today, but we'll definitely have a laugh and reconnect with one another. And maybe, just maybe, we'll figure out something monumental, like who let the dogs out.

All About Perspective

I don't know how many times I've heard the expression "it's all about perspective." As far as I'm concerned, truer words were never spoken. The other day, my daughter told my husband that she wished she could be me. At first I was flattered, then she added, "Yeah, cause if I was mom, I could sleep late and take naps!" My incredibly sweet and patient hubby then pointed out that by the time they get up for school, mom has usually run three miles. And apparently she had conveniently forgotten who fixes her hair every morning. (Cause it's not her fairy godmother!) And we all know lunches make themselves and laundry washes itself, right ladies? Not long ago her sister informed me that I "don't have a job" and I was moved to devote an entire chapter to the subject in my book.
My perspective on parenting has definitely changed. I have said before that the twins were my "practice kids." After surviving the first four years with them, I knew before she ever made her grand entrance that things were going to be different with my third child. Never was this fact more evident than a few weeks ago, when she spent the entire weekend at a barrel race wearing a Sleeping Beauty dress over her clothes. The whole "I would never have let my other kids do this" thought crossed my mind again later the same weekend when I was watching her sit and play in the only mud puddle at the whole facility. What can I say? You live and learn...to pick your battles.
On another note, as anyone who picks up a new sport does, I have been reading up on running. Among other things, I have learned that you can't really call yourself a runner until you have run to the point of puking. In that case, I am officially a still a "wogger." I'll be sure to alert the media if my status changes.

Call off the jam!

These days I seem to be so busy living my life that I don't have time to write about it! Okay, okay, I don't take the time to write about it. One of my dad's favorite things to tell me as a kid was that I had "all the time that there is. It's how you choose to spend it." So lately I've chosen to spend my "free" time doing things like eating and sleeping rather than blogging. So shoot me.
My kids are hurtling toward the end of first grade at the speed of light. It seems like just yesterday I was dropping them off for kindergarten with a giant lump in my throat. Now they are two years into their school experience, reading up a storm and doing well in math. I really wrestled with the decision to enroll them in public school instead of home schooling, but I think that right now, for our family, the decision we made was the right one. My girls have been blessed with two young, energetic teachers who have truly gone above and beyond to make sure their educational experience was a positive one this year. I was very blessed throughout my education with wonderful teachers, and it made all the difference in how I felt about school and about myself.
I am proud to say that I'm still running, both on my treadmill and occasionally outside. I am dealing with the difficulties that result from so much activity as they arise, fun things like tight hamstrings and shin splints. I bought some calf compression sleeves to run in, which look a lot like knee socks from a distance. After adding my "Will Run for Ice Cream" headband to my ensemble yesterday, I looked and felt like I was going to play roller derby. Just for confirmation of this fact, as I was walking out the door my husband was yelling, "Call off the jam! Call off the jam!"
As if looking silly wasn't enough, when I got to the neighborhood that everyone in our area goes running in, I was forced to huff and puff my way along behind Mr. Shirtless Wonder and his wife, Mrs. Stick Figure. Pay no attention to the fat girl "wogging" behind you, people.
Even worse than being forced to look at skinny people during my workout, I was almost dog bitten twice and run over once. One dog was a large mutt, and the other was a Jack Russell "Terrorist." Fortunately, both critters backed off when I yelled at them. Legally, if one of them had bitten me, I could have demanded that it be put down and its head submitted to the State Lab for rabies screening. I'm just throwing that out there, dog population! You do NOT want to bite the vet jogging in front of your house!
I am making a sincere effort to keep a cleaner house, and my young barrel horse has been on a roll, even winning me a saddle last weekend! So between being a mom, housekeeper, barrel racer, cook, runner, and writer, my time is pretty much spoken for all day, every day. But at least I'm really living my life instead of just writing about it. That's got to be worth something, right?