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.