Panty Pop

I have been waiting to write this post since it all went down, but unfortunately yesterday a deflated Santa Claus got in my way. Never fear - now I can share with you the chain of events that was my Sunday. I have mentioned before that I devoted an entire chapter in my upcoming book to Sundays with my family, simply because the Lord's Day, what should be the most restful and relaxing day of the week, often turns into the most hectic and humiliating day for me. Allow me to explain.
We live in a small town where everybody knows everybody else, and most of their business as well. And if they don't know all the details about your business, well, don't worry - they'll just make something up. The church we attend is one of those small town churches where everyone has their pew reserved. Well, not really reserved, it's just sort of understood that this is where so and so sits every Sunday. Want to get the stink eye in a small town church? Sit in someone else's seat. Go ahead, I dare you.
Before we got the amazing opportunity to appear on America's Funniest Home Videos, I used to think that sending my children down front on Sundays for children's time was the most terrifying thing in the world. I confess that while everyone else was praying for dear old Granny Jones who fell and broke her hip, I was sitting in the back praying that my kids didn't say something too horrible or inappropriate in front of the whole church. I now stand corrected, however. Having someone hand your kid a microphone on TV is the most terrifying thing in the world. That gives them the chance to humiliate you on a global scale.
Anyway, last Sunday my kids headed to the front of the church at a run (doesn't seem to matter how many times I say, "we don't run in the church.") I think what we are missing is one of those terrifying old ladies that I grew up in church with who would have clotheslined your ass and then told your mother they did it. It was perfectly acceptable to discipline other people's kids AND tell your parents so they could tear your butt up when you got home. Now you would have a lawsuit on your hands.
When my kids got to the front of the room, our sweet, patient, retired school teacher of a pastor's wife told her story slowly and carefully about a family of bears getting ready for Christmas. I'm sure there was some extremely profound Christian message in there somewhere, but again I confess I was busy praying they got back to their seats without telling a fart joke or using one of Daddy's "sale barn words." When she had reached the end of her story, Mrs. Linda said, "Let's pray." And suddenly, with the immediate and awful recognition of one of my children's voices, I heard, "Wait a minute, wait a minute! I have a question." Oh, hell, here we go. "Mrs. Linda, did those bears really talk?" Awesome. Obviously she was listening carefully to the content of the story as well!
The completely unflappable Mrs. Linda kindly explained that another child had asked her the exact same question, and that the characters in the story spoke "bear" but she didn't, so she had to tell them what was said in English. Well played, Mrs. L. Well played.
Our fun at church continued when the offering plate was passed. My children have not yet learned the fine art of simply placing your money in the plate. They have to hold it themselves in order to feel that they have done their part. When the first sister refused to turn loose of said plate, a silent but violent war broke out. It was a struggle to the death over who was going to hold that plate. As visions of money flying through the air flickered through my brain, I silently reached over, placed one hand on the arm of each child, and squeezed it as hard as I could. I then returned the plate to the usher and glared at my kids while the people across the aisle snickered uncontrollably.
The most memorable moment from this particular service came, however, when we stood up for the closing prayer. My underwear was, as rodeo clown Lecile Harris used to say, "Indian underwear - it keeps creeping up on me!" It had indeed crept up on me, so I thought the appropriate thing to do was wait until the prayer. At least that way most of the people in the room (and hopefully the ones behind me) would have their eyes closed. So I waited, and waited, and then it was time. With tremendous amounts of stealth and my head bowed, I reached around behind me, grabbed both sides of my undies and "POW!" Quite possibly the loudest sound elastic has ever made since the dawn of time. My husband snickered under his breath, right on the edge of losing it all together, and I'm pretty sure everybody in the church who doesn't use a hearing aid heard it. I know the people behind me did!
And here's the kicker - I thought that was the most embarrassing moment of my day! Little did I know there was more to come. After a relatively uneventful meal at our favorite Mexican restaurant, I headed to the restroom. As we were getting ready to leave, our overly friendly waiter walked up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and informed me that the back of my dress was tucked in my underwear! Before I was a mother of three (I'm pretty sure most of my modesty left my body with my babies) I would have literally passed out from the horror of it all. As it was, I laughed until I cried and decided I needed to go home. Fast.
I'm thinking I should invest in new underwear. Maybe it will change my luck. Perhaps a thong! Or maybe not.
 

Santa's Flaccid

Those of you who have ever had the pleasure of meeting my husband know how funny he is. He can come up with some off the wall remark to make pretty much any situation funny. I mean really, once when the baby pooped in the bathtub, I was totally freaking out. The germophobe in me was absolutely about to mutiny over the fact that I had to touch my child who had just been sitting in poop water. But the mom in me won out, and I rescued her from the cesspool. My husband, meanwhile, actually managed to calm me down, make me laugh about the whole situation (by re-enacting me standing there by the tub screaming, "OH MY GOD! SHE POOPED! SHE POOPED IN THE TUB! HELP! OH MY GOD! IT'S SO GROSS!") He then carried said baby bathtub way into the woods behind the house and dumped the whole thing, bath rag and all, walked back in the house, and in the spirit of Chevy Chase in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation when talking about the squirrel in the house, said loudly, "GONE!"
After 15 years, I'm pretty well acquainted with his sense of humor, but I have to admit that he caught me off guard this morning. I was standing in the kitchen half asleep making my breakfast shake when he came in from feeding horses. Keep in mind that we had not seen or spoken to each other yet today, as I was asleep when he got up. Our conversation went something like this. He came in the door, took off his coat, and said this.
Husband: Santa's flaccid.
Me: Excuse me? That sounds like a personal problem there, Santa!
Husband: I meant the 12 foot tall inflatable one in the front yard. It's raining and the wind is blowing so I deflated it. Santa's flaccid!
Me: Well, get him some Viagra.
Husband: You used him up. I thought I saw you kissing Santa Claus!
We spent the rest of the morning making up Christmas songs with risque lyrics. For example, "Santa Baby, don't be waiting under the tree for me. Send an elf here instead!" and "Hurry to the drugstore tonight!" LOL
I freely admit that there are only a certain few who can truly appreciate our sense of humor, but it's always good to start the day with a giggle. You know who you are.

Something Happy

My heart is very heavy today thinking about the niece of my high school classmate. She's having surgery today to remove a brain tumor, which will be followed by chemotherapy. She's FOUR years old. Merry Christmas, little girl. I can't begin to imagine the pain that not only she, but her parents must be in. My thoughts and prayers are with her family, and I've definitely hugged all my kids a little tighter this week. Here's hoping for a Christmas miracle for that family.
So, in light of such tragic news, I have decided to write about something happy. Many of you know that my family adopted an old, sad English bulldog from the shelter a couple of weeks ago. I am proud to say that she is doing very well. She weighed approximately half as much as she should have when we got her. Although she is still underweight, she has begun to gain. She had a terrible cough and a runny nose, which have cleared up with aggressive antibiotic therapy. One eye was extremely red and cloudy. It looks essentially normal now.
She looks better, she feels better, and she actually played a little bit yesterday. She has also wormed her way into my house and into my bedroom, although I draw the line at letting her sleep in my bed. She smells bad, she has horrible breath, and she snores like a chainsaw, but our family is officially in love with her. It's funny - I catch myself telling her over and over again what a good girl she is. It's like I feel the need to make up for the fact that some person used her for what they could (having puppies,) starved her, and threw her away.
And by the way, it's worth pointing out that people tell themselves when they turn an animal over to a shelter that someone will "find them a home." I'm about to dispel a popular myth, so get ready. Unless your animal is young, healthy, adorable, or otherwise desirable (purebred, etc) the chances that they will be adopted are extremely low. The chances that they will be euthanized are very high. Our sweet Zoey would not be alive today had it not been for my tenderhearted husband. And frankly, that would have been a real shame.
Naturally, since he's the one who brought her home, she has adopted me. She follows me everywhere I go in the house. She can be dead asleep, sawing logs, and if I get up to leave the room she wakes up and comes with me. It doesn't help that her expression is so sad. I'll pretty much do anything for her at this point. If there is such a thing as gratitude in a dog's eyes, she has it. Granted, us adopting one old, sad dog isn't going to make a huge difference. But it did to her. And you know what else? It did to me, too.

Momtrepreneurs

"Slow down, Mommy! There are red lights up ahead!" Advice from the two year old in my backseat. I thought it was fitting, because after watching a segment on the Today show this morning, the topic of "stay at home" working moms has been on my mind. The segment was about something they called "momtrepreneurs," who were women that had launched businesses from home while raising their kids. While I applaud the ladies they had on the show for being successful businesswomen, I also started to really think about people like myself, moms who work from home.
I am really torn on this issue. Part of me says that being able to "work" from home is the most amazing thing ever. People who know me know how much I enjoy writing, and that I would be thrilled if I were able to do it well enough for it to become my job. I actually finished writing my book earlier this year, which I couldn't have done if I had a full time job outside our home. I so sincerely appreciate each and every person who has shared this blog with their friends. My readership has begun to increase, and that's what will be necessary for me to turn this into more than just a hobby. Thank you!
Another part of me thought, here we go. We women are doing it to ourselves again. When we have a job outside the home, we feel the need to be Supermom. We must be all things to all people. We simply must bring home a paycheck of equal size to a man in our position, provide a spotless home, pay for every little thing that our children's hearts desire, prepare healthy meals for a sit down dinner every night, and spend quality time with our little cherubs, all while maintaining a size 4 figure and functioning on little to no sleep. Does anyone else realize how ridiculous that sounds? But women really do try to live up to those standards! Just ask one of them if you don't believe me. And they continually beat themselves up if they are unable to live up to their own impossible expectations.
So what do we do? We quit our "real" jobs so that we can stay at home and raise our families. I admit that I take pride in the fact that when the ABC Mouse commercial voice informs me that birth to 5 years are the most important years in a child's life developmentally and then asks where my kids are during those years, I can answer with a hearty, "At home with their mother!" But here's the kicker. Now, society is telling us that staying at home and being mom isn't enough, either. It's not enough to take care of your husband, home, and children. Now you have to do all those things and run a business from home as well. Just to play devil's advocate, I have to say that working is working, no matter where you do it. Granted, your kids aren't in daycare, and kudos to you for that! But it is really right to tell women that mothering and doing it well isn't enough? That they must also bring in money and do something to "contribute to the family?" I love that line!
In the interest of full disclosure, when I quit my job as a veterinarian to be a mom to my twins, I did feel guilty. And I did use those EXACT words. I can vividly remember telling my husband that I just wanted to make a "contribution." The feminist media had drilled into my head that it wasn't a good thing to be dependent on a man. Fortunately, my guardian angel of a mother also made sure that I married a really, really good man. A real man, who knew how to go out and kill something and drag it home. He put his arms around me, told me how proud he was of me, what a great mom I was, and that the most important job I had now or ever was taking care of his babies. He reminded me that the reason he was able to go out and do a great job at work supporting our family was because he wasn't worried about where his kids were or who was taking care of them. They were with their mother, and that's where they were supposed to be.
Remember when I said he was a really good man? He's also quick to tell me how proud he is of me and to remind me how capable I am of accomplishing anything I set my mind to. He completely supports my desire to be an author (and still get to barrel race), and because of that I try to make sure that he and the kids don't suffer because of it.
I guess the moral of the story is this: I think moms who want to work from home because it's something they enjoy and it makes them feel good about themselves should do it, particularly if it means they can spend more time with their kids. (That's what they want, moms. Your time. The latest greatest toy can't kiss their fears away and tuck them in at night.) But I also think that moms shouldn't feel pressured to work at home because society tells them that the contribution they are making is somehow less than the one their husband is making. Being a mom is the hardest job in the world. It's also the most important. Think for a second about the role your mom played in your life. Pretty darn significant, whether she was a PTA mom or not. Exceptional people come from exceptional mothers, those who bring home a paycheck and those who don't. I'll say it again, motherhood is the hardest job there is. It's also the most worthwhile.     

The Trip

Here are the rest of the details about our trip to California that I forgot yesterday. Hey, what can I say, three kids and a house of cards to keep standing have left my brain fried. My memory isn't what it used to be!
First of all, when we stepped off the plane my "middle child" - and yes, I know how ridiculous it sounds to refer to a twin as the middle child, but she is thirteen VERY important minutes younger (just ask her sister) and if there is truly such a thing as "middle child syndrome" this one has it in spades. Anyway, as soon as her feet hit the ground inside the airport she began to tell us how beautiful California was. Although we were given the option of a rental car by the TV show, my husband and I wisely decided that neither of us had any business driving in LA traffic, especially since we had very little idea where we were or where we were going. Therefore, a wonderful driver from the car service was waiting for us at the airport baggage claim. Judging from my kids' reaction, you'd have thought they sent Justin Beiber to pick us up. I'm not sure, but I'm willing to bet that guy has never gotten that kind of reaction from the people he was sent to pick up.
As we were pulling out of the parking garage, middle child starts again telling him how California was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. Keep in mind, we had been to LAX and the parking garage at this point. Apparently we need to get out more.
When we arrived at the Manhattan Beach Marriott hotel, my kids experienced for them what I think may have been the highlight of their trip. USC and Oregon were playing that weekend in LA, so floating in the hotel fountain was a bright yellow rubber duckie, complete with sunglasses, no doubt placed there by some clever Oregon fan. My sweet little sheltered children thought this was THE most amazing thing they had ever seen in their lives. Talk about feeling like a redneck out of their element. It's like I could hear the hotel staff under their breath going, "Yep. That's got to be an AFV family. Listen to them talk! Those little hillbillies have never seen a rubber duck before!" We had to take pictures of the duck, try to touch the duck, and listen to them talk about the duck during our entire stay. Although I have been accused of exaggerating before, I really think that if you asked them what was the best part of the trip, the rubber duckie would be right there with winning the $10,000. Heck, I'll go out on a limb and say the smug little sucker might win. And no, we didn't steal it, although my kids totally would have if I had allowed it.
 Like any good mother would, when I found out on short notice that we were going to be on national TV, wait, make that worldwide TV (AFV comes on in all kinds of other countries) I immediately went out and bought the kids new clothes. Notice I said the kids. Kirk and I were like, "Well, I can wear this." I think it's a mom thing. Anyway, dad got a new tie, the kids got new clothes, which I have mentioned before were extremely hard to find while abiding by all the rules about what we should and shouldn't wear on camera. The day of the taping, we all got dressed, my stress level completely at the max, and my husband looks at us and says, "Gee, we look like we're going to a funeral." Thanks, Honey. Here I thought we looked sort of chic and all matchy matchy. Perhaps I will let them dress themselves next time. I'm sure a Sponge Bob glow in the dark t-shirt from the school fundraiser and jeans will look awesome on TV! (By the way, I'm only kidding. There's no way in hell I'd let my kids dress themselves to go out in public for an event like that. My OCD would put me in the hospital.)
Anyway, we found out last night that we will go back on January 19th to film the $100,000 show. Naturally, after I have told everyone that I've ever met that we will need them to vote for our video, the show has changed its procedure for selecting the winner. Now the voting will be done at the taping, by a studio audience that is a lot larger than the one from the first show. Too bad the kids have to stay in the green room until the vote is over. No chances to persuade the audience voters at all. Oh, well, I guess whatever happens, happens. We have had an amazing journey thus far, had a lot of fun, and won some money to boot. Life is good.

The Book Project

For those who have asked (and thank you very much for doing so) my book project is underway. The publisher's first self-imposed deadline is today, so I an anxiously looking forward to hearing from them. I will be posting more on the whole AFV experience later, but this morning I am excited to say that I have a rehab case to tend to. Miss Kitty will be getting a laser treatment on her bowed tendon shortly. More to come!
Oh, and one more thing...yesterday's post was read by more people in a single day than any other post. THANK YOU! As I hope to increase my readership enough that this will one day become my job, I am very appreciative of any sharing with your friends. Thanks again!

The Secret is Out!

So our secret is out! After the longest month on record, my kids can now tell everyone that our video won the $10,000 weekly prize on the show America's Funniest Home Videos! Whew! I can't tell you what a relief it is to just be able to say it out loud. I'd never said the words "nondisclosure agreement" in my life until November 3rd of this year. For the last month I've said it at least three times a day. And to the people who begged me over and over to tell them the outcome of the show, all I can say is, "Look, these people flew us to LA, paid for our trip, and gave us ten grand to boot. I'm not tyring to piss them off for ANY reason whatsoever!"
The taping was a blast. Getting three small kids ready on time and to the taping was interesting, to say the least. Because the show has a rule limiting the studio audience to 7 years of age and older (and kudos to whoever came up with that...you'd never get an entire show filmed with my kids in the audience) my sweet husband sat with the kids in the green room while I watched the taping from the very back row.
The funniest moment of the day for us came when the producer suggested that if we won, we should "act surprised." My husband blurted out, "Really? You're giving someone ten grand on TV and you're telling them to act surprised?" Have you MET my kids?" I was pretty sure there would be glass shattering in the studio if we won.
The studio was a brisk 55 degrees, so I tried to dress everyone warmly, even though it was 75 degrees outside when we left the hotel. We were given guidelines about what to wear, which were fairly tricky, to be honest. Things like no polka dots, no harsh plaids, no solid, one color outfits, no harshly contrasting colors, etc. Totally blew my plan to combat the 10 30 extra pounds the camera adds by wearing a long black dress for camouflage. And may I just say, my hair is NOT actually the lovely neon red color that it appeared to be on TV. I'm not sure what was up with that, but I really don't go around looking like Bozo the clown, for those of you who were worried.
While sitting in the audience (and before the show) I tried to size up the competition. I listened very carefully for whether the audience laughed, and how much, at the other finalists' clips during the taping. When they played ours, I held my breath until I nearly passed out, but was relieved that the audience laughed. I surveyed the room several times. Lots of Asian college students. I wasn't sure that was a good thing for us. Then when the voting took place, the one person's keypad I could see did not vote for our video. Not what I was hoping for!
Hope was restored, however, when my kids came into the studio and I heard a collective, "Aww!" Audience members and producers were high fiving the kids. That had to be a good sign, right?
Sheridan spotted the TV camera and gave it her best "CHEESE!" which got another laugh. Maybe we were going to be okay.
I'm fairly certain I didn't breathe again until the results were announced. Our mouths fell open, we looked totally shocked (because we were) and the kids went bananas. One of them danced out of her shoe. I completely forgot that the host of the show was about to interview us. On national TV. I snapped out of my fog when I realized the host of the show was talking to Savannah. You want to talk about an instant heart attack? Let someone hand your six year old a microphone on TV and ask her what the grossest joke her dad has ever played was. Holy cow. I'm surprised I didn't pass out on the spot.
What a crazy and amazing ride it has been! We get to go back in February for a chance at $100,000! If we win that one, look for me on the floor. I'll be the unconscious one.