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!