More Blog Material

Sundays with three kids are always eventful, although I have to admit I'm deliriously happy that we switched to a church that is 25 minutes closer and starts 2 hours later. Unless we're out of town, there's a really good chance that we're going to show up. Heck, sometimes we're even early! As we headed into the sanctuary Sunday, my child gave our pastor what I'm pretty sure was his first curtsy for a greeting. Then came the "meet and greet" portion of the service, which my kids love and my husband hates. Our new congregation is full of little old ladies, who my kids adore. The twins are huggers, which I'm fairly certain they got from their dad. Those grannies sure do grin when my little ones run up and throw their arms around them.
As the service progressed, it was time for the offering. The older gentleman on our side of the aisle looked at me, smiled...and kept going without passing us the plate. Was there something in my smile that said, "I'm broke today?" or maybe, "Dude, I don't think so!" I really don't think there was. What was I supposed to do? Wave at him like I was at a screening of Magic Mike? The words highly inappropriate come to mind here. Actually, both of my kids and I had cold hard cash to put in the plate. And if you knew how rare that is for me, you'd believe in miracles. I am a debit card kind of girl. So after the snub heard round the world, I smoothed things over with my kids as best I could. Then it was time for some of the most stressful moments of my week...children's time. I never know quite what's going to come out of the mouths of my little cherubs, but it's usually good for a laugh. I whispered that they could put their money in the collection plates when they got up front, as they were still sitting on the altar. So as they headed up the aisle, Savannah turns around, looks back at the offending usher, holds up her dollar with a flourish and says, "You forgot us!" Ah, yes, subtle as a train wreck. That's my girl.
The lesson for the day was about money, so the first question was, "What can you use money for?" Several kids listed things like bills, food, etc. I thought we were going to dodge the bullet when I heard one of mine say loudly, "And HAIR BOWS!" Just so we know what's important.
Our Sunday tradition after church is lunch at the local Mexican restaurant. Kirk had gone to the buffet and I was trying to get three hungry children ready to eat when our waitress brought our drinks. She strolled over to the table, leaned over...and poured my husband's entire glass of sweet tea on the table and me. For anyone who's never had the experience, ice cold liquid poured into a pair of sandals is not a pleasant sensation. The waitress headed to the kitchen for a towel while I tried to push the baby's highchair over so tea didn't run off the table and into her lap. The lady across from me felt sorry for us and got up to give me her napkin. I guess I picked a bad day to wear a maxi dress. At least it had a busy print. The material from my knees down was soaking wet. But on the bright side, when they brought a fan to dry the floor, it blew on my dress and gave me my own private air conditioning. So I guess it wasn't all bad.
After lunch, I had one quick errand before we went home. I needed to enhance a birthday gift. I had purchased an adorable monogrammed bag for a child we went to church with. When I showed it to my daughter, she was completely underwhelmed. "That's her present? Just a BAG? Well, I don't think she's going to like it very much." So off we went in search of a beach towel and sunglasses to go in the bag (my husband's idea.)  No less than THREE stores and lots of walking later, we were able to head home. Now there was a time in my life when, if you had told me that I would go in three stores after having something spilled all over my dress and being totally oblivious as to how it looked (no full length mirror in the Mexican restaurant) I would have told you politely that you were out of your mind. As it was, I had made up my mind that I was going to get what I needed while I was in town and if people wanted to laugh at me behind my back or assume that I had wet my pants, then so be it! Isn't it wonderful how children change us?
There was also a time in my life that I would have probably showed my butt when that waitress poured tea all over me. But she didn't do it on purpose, and more importantly, my kids were watching to see how I handled it. And yes, we still left a tip. Starting this blog has had a lot of unintended side effects, one of which is my newfound ability to step back when my day has totally gone to crap, shrug and say, "Oh well, more blog material!" Maybe our waitress has one, too.

If I Didn't Laugh - the BOOK!

I have two exciting bits of news to report. My book project is on schedule, and I have been approached regarding a "Where is She Now" article in the newsletter of an organization I am part of. I have to say that the rough draft the article that my friend wrote sounded much better than "Two exits from the mental hospital and hanging on by a thread!" I'm not sure that's really what people want to read about...or maybe it is. Hopefully it is! You will all be getting an in depth look at the twisted way my mind works when my book is finished!
I am excited to report that the reason my "daily" posts haven't been so daily is because I'm working hard on putting a project to bed...If I didn't laugh, I'd Cry - the BOOK! Writing has been a lifelong passion of mine, and completing a book has been a goal for a very long time. I am pleased to say that my manuscript is nearly complete (I think I could find things to change forever if I kept at it.) The cover photo shoot is done, now I am just waiting for the photographer to finish editing the images. The publishing company assures me that once EVERYTHING is in place and submitted, it will take approximately twelve weeks for me to be holding a copy of my first book. Thank you very much to everyone who has inquired about this project, and especially those of you who pushed me to actually do it!
I am thrilled that my girls will have a written record of their childhood from their mom's perspective, something I surely don't have. My other hope for this project is that other moms will be able to identify with me and my glorious mess. If I can give them a giggle along the way, then so much the better.
Motherhood is definitely not what I thought it would be. It's better! And worse. And well, a lot of times it's somewhere between the two. It's harder, and more wonderful. It's frustrating, and so, so rewarding. Hopefully I can convey to my readers that this whole experience has been kind of a mixed bag for me, but I'm happy to say that the highs far exceed the lows. And I wouldn't change a thing.

The Oil Change

I don't know exactly what my children say to each other when they wake up in the morning, but thanks to a FB share from my friend Dottie, I'm pretty sure it goes something like this:
"Let's see if we can drive mom completely bat shit crazy today, k?" "Yeah, because we got so close yesterday!" My kids are determined if nothing else. They have a goal in mind, and by golly they are going for it!
I generally try to consolidate errands. I do this with the completely sinister plan of hiring a babysitter while I do them so that I don't have to put short people in and out of the car so many times. A lot of times, I swear it takes me longer to load and unload them than it does to accomplish the actual errand. Well either that or the errand takes me FIVE TIMES longer than it should because I'm having to stop and answer "Can we have..." every thirty seconds. People who design end caps and checkout lines, I'm onto you. And I don't like the way you play dirty pool. Not one bit.
One day last week, I allowed my sense of financial responsibility to override my common sense. I was already in Tupelo and had the baby with me. I needed an oil change, so I figured it would cost me less to go ahead and stop rather than taking the baby all the way home and driving back. Getting the babysitter off the clock quicker always makes my husband smile.
So off we went to the ten minute oil change place. Every time I've ever been inside that place in the last six years, there's been a magnetic table and a few toys for kids. Excellent, I thought. The baby can play and I'll read my book. Cool! I pulled up, unloaded my baby, my book, my purse, and the diaper bag that usually outweighs the kid. We headed inside to find that, naturally, the table and toys had been removed. Just like that my plan dissolved into thin air.
The tiny room was full of people, and of course my oil change ended up taking closer to thirty minutes than ten. I had amused my little girl with pretty much everything I had, including my cell phone. Anyone who's ever been in a tiny room full of people with a toddler who no longer wishes to be there knows what a picnic that is. I was getting desperate, so I broke out the snacks.
She crunched quietly for awhile, then asked for her favorite food in the world, fruit snacks. These little guys were the first food item that she gave a name and asked for. She calls them "a nanas,"  although none of us are really sure why. She was freaking out in front of the pantry one day repeating the word "a nana" so I just held things up until she smiled and jumped up and down when I got to the fruit snacks. They really are a food group as far as she's concerned. When she outgrew her bedtime bottle with Daddy, he substituted fruit snacks and she still eats them every night.     
A pack of fruit snacks generally keeps her quiet for at least 5-10 minutes. I opened them for her and sat back. Yes, a break! I was enjoying my moment of peace when I saw her drop one on the floor. NO! I swooped down on her like a hawk on a baby rabbit, but it was too late. With a grin, she popped that treat in her mouth and swallowed it whole. The guy sitting across from me had been watching all this happen with great amusement, and suddenly he couldn't contain his giggles anymore. I thought he was going to fall out of his chair. I was standing there thinking, "Really dude, I've got three kids. This isn't that funny" when I realized what I had done. In her haste to cram the contraband treat in her mouth, the baby had spilled the remaining treats in her bag on the floor. As I stepped back to return to my seat, I had managed to step on one...and weld my shoe to the floor. It made an awesome sucking sound and stretched at least six inches when I picked my foot up. I took out a baby wipe to clean my shoe and the floor with as much dignity as I could muster. Mr. Giggle Box was still LOLing from across the room. I opened my mouth to say, "I'm glad we could provide so much entertainment for you during your oil change. Tips gladly accepted," but then I saw my child headed for the public restroom to play with the toilet water. Yep, throw in a kid and even life's most mundane tasks become a challenge. Or another rung on the ladder to the nervous hospital. Whichever.

A Weighty Issue

I am pleased to report that I'm still running every morning. Okay, maybe "running" is a strong word. More like jogging separated by periods of walking uphill. I am also pleased to report that my thighs rubbing together have not yet caused a fire. I had a fire extinguisher on standby those first few days! I have finally started to lose some weight now that my body is over the shock of being asked to move so early in the morning.
I tell myself every morning that I can see some changes in the mirror, but as I refuse to take a "before" picture, you will have to take my word for it. Sorry, ladies, I'll just have to help you out with some mental imagery. I am pretty happy from my head to my ribcage and my knees to my toes. The area in between is a vast wasteland of lumps and stretch marks. My two-sizes-too-small blue running shorts make my butt look like a big round blueberry. Yes, yes, I know. I could invest in a larger pair of shorts. I'm using them for motivation, because you're going to hear all about my happy dance the day I put them on and they actually fit.
Which brings to mind a question: why is it that I don't feel "fat" until I start trying on clothes? I was reasonably happy with how I looked until I went into a store I'd always wanted to shop in and realized that their clothes don't come in my size. Talk about a big old shot of self-esteem! I can vividly remember the first time I was made aware of the fact that other people were talking about my weight. Someone close to me confided that she had run into an old friend who reported that she had seen me somewhere, and "boy, she's gained a lot of weight since the last time I saw her!" My "friend" went on: "And I told her, well haven't we all?"
It's worth pointing out that the "last time she saw me" I was a senior in high school. Since then, I had lived through being away from home for the first time, my mother's lengthy battle with cancer, and her eventual death. I have mentioned before that I know about depression. My mother's death was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. If there has a been a rock bottom in my life, that was it. My high school boyfriend jumped ship on me a month after she died, because I was "sad all the time." So yeah, I put on a few pounds. Personally, I consider the fact that I didn't end up as an alcoholic or an addict to be a miracle in itself. Three different doctors tried to prescribe antidepressants, which I was afraid would turn me into a walking zombie. I flatly refused. And somehow, my one trip to an on-campus counselor didn't snap me out of my depression and make everything right in my world again. So after going through hell with no chemical assistance and living to tell the tale, I wasn't all that concerned with the fact that I wasn't a size 3 anymore.
To give you a little insight on how my mind works, I was also left to ponder my "friend's" motivation for telling me such a thing. Did she want me to know so that I would be pleased that she defended me, or did she just want me to know that someone called me fat? I have my theory on this one, but I'm going to keep it to myself. During a conversation with the same person, I once mentioned that I had never really had a problem with my weight. She looked at me and sniffed, "Well, we'll just see what you look like when you're forty!" Don't worry, honey, I'm using you for motivation too. Because I've got a great doctor who'll get my hormone mixture right, and if she doesn't I'll find another one. When I'm forty, I'm going to look fanfreakingtastic! I've got five years to work on it. It's gonna take me at least that long...

I See Your Bladder!

My children are getting to the age that anatomy lessons are becoming more and more frequent around here. I guess when you have someone exactly the same age to look at and make comparisons, naturally questions are going to arise. Shortly after my third daughter was born, one of the twins came into my room while I was dressing. After studying me in my underwear for a moment, she walked up and put her finger on my bikini line. "Um, Mom, I can see the hair right there. I think maybe your underwear is getting too small." Duly noted.
Those of you who don't have kids, keep in mind that when you're admiring that pregnant woman's luscious, full head of hair that it sure isn't the only place that looks like that. And if you want to have a private giggle, keep in mind that chances are she doesn't even know just how bad it looks down there because she can't see it over her belly anyway. Just a heads up. You're welcome. And yes, I have seen the clip from "Sex and the City" too. Samantha swears she could be "on Death Row and not have that situation." Samantha doesn't have any children, on screen or off. Her "situation" and our situations are different. WAY different. Just worth pointing out.
The other night, the girls were in the bathtub when their dad heard the following:
Child 1: I see your bladder. (Giggle, giggle.)
Child 2: I see yours too! (More high pitched giggles.)
Daddy returned to the bathroom with towels to find one child standing outside of the tub, bent over and staring at her crotch. "Nope! Mine doesn't have hair on it either!" Then my giggling, naked child showed up in the kitchen. Mom took over at this point.
Me: What are you talking about?
Child 1: My bladder! It doesn't have any hair on it! See?
Me: Well, yes, but that's not your bladder. Your bladder is on the inside. If someone can see your bladder, we need to go to the hospital.
Child 1: Then what is it? Your china? Oh yes, that's right! It's your china! But what was that little thing that was sticking out on that boy baby at the church? You know, when his mom changed his diaper...that little thing? (Squinting her eyes and holding up the end of her finger.)
Me: That was his penis.
Child 1: Oh, yeah! That's right. And that's what makes him different from a girl?
Me: Yep, that pretty well sums it up. And it's not a "china." It's a vagina. With a "v."
Child 1: How do you spell that?
Really? Is it important that my five year old know how to spell this word? Sigh.
Me: V-A-G-I-N-A.
She recited it back to me and then collapsed into a fit of giggles. I remembered suddenly that this was the child who looked at me the other day and said, "Mom, if you smell somebody's toot, it's mine!" Ah, yes, the human body and toilet humor. What could be more fun? I can't wait for her to start first grade. I'm already getting ready for the call from her teacher.
And then it hit me. When we decided over six years ago that we wanted a baby, I never pictured myself standing in my kitchen spelling the word "vagina." I also never pictured myself trying to have a private moment with my husband with three kids banging on my bedroom door. But that's a story for another day. And it's a good one, ladies. No "50 Shades of Grey" or anything, but it's really freakin' funny. Now get your mind out of the gutter.
I guess the moral of the story is this: for all you gals who think that having a baby isn't going to change you, get over it. A baby changes EVERYTHING. Every last facet of your life, from what and when you eat to when you go to the bathroom to how long you sleep. Those little stinkers invade your brain and suck out your memory. They squeeze into your heart and make it impossible for you to watch a news story without thinking, "What if that were my kid?" They change the way you look at yourself, your husband, and the world. And once you're in, you're in. No take backs. There's no such thing as a little bit pregnant. You might as well sit down, shut up, and hang on. The only thing I can promise is that it's a bumpy ride, full of parts that make you scream with joy and parts that will make you lose your lunch. Here's hoping your trip is more fun and less vomit.

Lessons Learned from "Cops"

I have a confession. My kids love to watch "Cops." I don't encourage it, but I swear that show is like porn for them. They know they're not supposed to watch it, but they just can't help it. I blame their love for "Cops" on genetics. My devout Baptist, holy roller mother got the biggest kick out of that show. Personally, I think she just enjoyed singing the theme song at the top of her lungs. Nevertheless, she enjoyed it and so do they.
Not long ago we were in a store and some thug kid got busted for shoplifting. I've never seen two children more excited in my life. When half of the store staff began chasing the guy out through the parking lot, my child stands up in our buggy and yells, "Dad, are they going to call the cops?" "Yep." Then in perfect unison my children burst into song: "OOOOHHH! BAD BOYS, BAD BOYS, WHATCHA GONNA DO..." One of my prouder parenting moments. Then my soft hearted child spent the next two days worrying about the shoplifter and asking me if they had food and a place to sleep in jail.
The other night I busted them watching "Campus PD," a raunchier version of "Cops" shot on location at college campuses around the country. Before I firmly suggested that perhaps we should find a more appropriate show for two five year olds, the following conversation took place.
Child 1: Daddy, why is he putting that guy in the car?
Dad: He's getting arrested for being drunk.
Child 1: For what?
Dad: For drinking too much.
Child 1: For drinking too much what? Alkerhaul?
Dad: Yep. Too much "alkerhaul."

The cop on the show then proceeded to ask the suspect what he'd had to drink. "Three pink panty droppers," the college kid replied. For those of you like me who don't know, this involves some mixture of tequila, vodka, and beer. See, you really do learn something every day.
Child 2: Dad, what's a pink party...
Dad: It's a drink.
Child 2: Well is it alkerhaul or drugs?
Dad: It's alcohol.
Child 2: But do you drink it or put it in your ears?
Dad: You drink it.
Child 2: And if you drink too much of it, it makes you act silly?
Dad: Yep. That's pretty well how it works.

And lest you worry that my kids aren't learning anything by watching such a show, consider this. As the police were loading a suspect into the car, my child looked at her dad and said, "Dad, they really should have checked his pockets before they put him in the car."

The Water Park

July in Mississippi is hot. Really hot. Steamy, suffocatingly hot. I love to hear people out West say, "It's 110 degrees today, but it's a dry heat." Whatever. We don't have dry heat here. We have "walk outside the door and you'll be sweating like a whore in church" heat. (Had to throw that expression in for my husband. It's his favorite.) When my nephew was a little boy, one of his friend's very religious parents, upon finding out that he hadn't yet been saved, glared at him and said dramatically, "Son, do you know how hot HELL is?" He looked at her and replied solmenly, "No ma'am, but it can't be much hotter than it is here today." He was completely serious; they thought he was being a smart aleck. I think he may have had a small point.
In order to escape the heat, we took the girls to Geyser Falls on Saturday. Never having been to a water park, they of course thought it was the most fantastic place we had ever been. I love to go places with my kids. At least for now, they are so innocent. They don't have any preconceived notions about ethnic groups. To them, everyone in the world is a person, just like they are. They automatically assume that everyone has and uses manners. I figure I'll try to keep that notion going for as long as possible. They'll figure out that's not the case soon enough.
Now, not to sound like a grandmother, but that place was full of some of the rudest kids I've ever seen. More than once my husband had to remind a child (or a teenager) that we were standing in line for one thing or another. One little boy pushed his way to the front of the line at one slide. When he got to the top where a little girl was standing, watching the lifeguard for instructions on when it was safe to slide, he simply ducked under her arm and slid down. While I was standing there wondering where the heck his mother was, and why she hadn't taught him better than that, I saw his "chaperone." She was about twelve. No wonder.
The "Lazy River" was anything but, and I thought my kids were about to get to see a side of their dad they aren't familiar with when a group of about six teenage boys all holding on to the same inner tube came up behind us and nearly pushed me underwater while trying to shove us out of their way. I have to say, I'm really starting to understand what people are talking about when they refer to today's teens as the "entitled" generation. My husband also had the joy of busting a teenage girl about to steal my cap. I left it with him while I took my girls on a waterslide. He stayed at the bottom to guard our rented inner tubes. Since the ride didn't allow hats, I had to leave it at the bottom. Beats all I've ever seen. She didn't even have the decency to act embarrassed about being caught trying to steal something. Is this what our society has come to? I sure hope not.
Another thing that wasn't allowed on the waterslide: clothing. The park actually had the nerve to require people to wear a bathing suit. Several disgruntled girls were making their way down the hill because they had been told they couldn't wear their shirts. Since they had basically nothing under them, they chose not to slide. The "lady" in front of me had on blue jean shorts, a tank top, and a black lace bra. I know this not because she lifted her shirt, but because I could SEE most of it just standing behind her. She didn't slide either. She and her six year old daughter spent most of their time in line asking my kids which preteen shows they liked to watch on TV. Finally I just looked at her and said, "They're five years old. They watch cartoons." She didn't have much to say after that.
The best part about going to a water park is people watching. Dollars to doughnuts if you asked most of those people if they would go out in public in their underwear, most of them would say no and act horrified. Yet they will wear a string bikini in front of God and everybody. I don't get it. Pregnant women...do you really need to wear a two piece? I wore a swimsuit a few times when I was expecting. They really do make one that will cover your belly. And this leads me to the most important lesson of the day. Ladies, just because you can fit it that bikini doesn't mean it's a good idea to wear it. Although I guess the immodest among us do play a vital role. Following a decidedly un-Sports Illustrated swimsuit model type lady in a two piece, I heard the woman behind me whisper, "If she can wear it, then I can wear it!" Just because she can doesn't mean she should.