Gut Check

I had a wonderful weekend with my husband and my kids at the barrel race. Well, let me rephrase that. I had a very educational and profound weekend at the barrel race. My kids had a great time. The producer of the run collected five dollars from everyone that lost a hat in the arena. On the last day of the event, they stapled the money to large pieces of play money and scattered it in the arena. The kids lined up and raced for whatever they could collect. My girls did great. Savannah got $10 and Sharlee got $5, which was more money than their mom won this weekend. More importantly, they each had a sticker on their play money (thank you Jesus for letting them both find one) which meant that they had won an additional prize. These were cute watches, albeit a bit grown up for two six year olds.
The most exciting event however, turned out to be the hula hoop contest. After discussing with my children the fact that they don't know how to hula hoop, they both decided to participate in the contest. I think the last thing I said was, "Don't be disappointed if you don't win. You're entering a contest based on something you don't know how to do." Now I have to say that they looked super cute. And one of them did manage to get in a few revolutions before her hula hoop hit the ground, but predictably, they were both eliminated in the first round.
As they were leaving the arena, one of them looked up at me tearfully and said, "Well the reason I lost is because you spent all our time teaching me how to RIDE instead of how to HULA HOOP!" To which I replied, "That is the saddest thing I've ever heard. I think I'll call Child Protective Services. No wait, I think I'll just mandate an hour of hula hoop practice every day from now on!"
And so it begins. I really was under the illusion that everything didn't become my fault until they got to be about 12 years old. Aren't we starting a little early on this one? I mean, really. Someone told me yesterday that it was time to get back out the parenting manual and read the chapter entitled "Everything is Your Fault, Mom." To which I say, "There's a freaking manual? Why haven't my friends who are parents told me about this? You all suck!" But I'm pretty sure she was just kidding.
The major thing that happened this weekend was a gut check for me. When I was in high school, I once had a bull rider ask me how I was sitting in the year end standings. "Not very well. I haven't been making very good runs here lately. Hitting a lot of barrels." "Oh," he replied. "Well, you just don't want it bad enough." "Excuse me?" Picture me as a teenager full of righteous indignation. "What do you know about riding a barrel horse, mister big, bad bull rider?" "I know that if you wanted it bad enough you'd be sitting better." And he walked off. At the time, I was furious. How dare he? What did he know, anyway?
And here's the kicker. HE WAS RIGHT. When I went home and decided that I wanted to go to the National High School Finals Rodeo worse than anyone else, I rode harder. I worked at it five, six, seven days a week. I rode my horse when it was hot, cold, rainy, muddy. And I went to the rodeos and put everything I had into every run I made. And I DID IT. I qualified for the NHSFR in Gillette, Wyoming, not only in the Queen Contest but also in barrel racing. At the time, I'd never been prouder of any accomplishment in my life. It happened because I set a goal, I worked really hard at it, and I achieved the thing I wanted most.
Fast forward a couple of years. Okay, several years. Now I have three kids and a fantastic husband and my priorities have changed. I still love barrel racing, and I still want to win. For the first time in my life I have access to a covered arena 7 days a week, 365 days a year. But at the moment I am severely lacking in the area of horsepower. The mare I "ran" this weekend is 17, she has some serious lameness issues, a major gate issue, and not a whole lot of heart. I have done everything humanly possible to solve her lameness issues. I have spent countless hours working on her gate problem (which I wasn't aware of when I bought her, making her the second horse I've owned lately that came to me with a gate problem no one bothered to tell me about.) She has hurt me once, dragging my leg down a set of metal panels in the alleyway, plus she has an endearing habit of trying to take her head from me and run off in any direction. She has fallen with me at a local barrel race, putting a front leg through the reins before getting up. She's so fractious in the on deck area before my runs that I have to wait until the horse before me runs to get on her.
So as I stood there this weekend waiting my turn, feeling my heart pounding in my chest and trying to keep from throwing up, that still small voice in my head said, "Why are you putting yourself through this? This is supposed to be what you do for fun!" And naturally, after all the drama and anxiety, she went in there and didn't half try. Honestly, I worked harder than she did.
If I'm going to work that hard, spend that much money, and give up time with my kids to practice, loping the pattern and hitting barrels is not my idea of a fun weekend. Now to be fair, the barrels I knocked over this weekend are the first ones I've ever hit on this horse. I've run her 20 or 30 times and won a check on very run but two. It's worth pointing out that those checks were 3 and 4D checks. There is a certain amount of "ish" I'm completely willing to put up with for a horse that runs 1D or 2D times. But as I left the arena this weekend, the phrase "too much sugar for a dime" kept running through my head. As my husband so eloquently put it, it costs the same to feed a decent horse as it does to feed junk. And he's right.
I took my colt to Starkville not long ago and had a fantastic weekend, no drama at all and even won a little money with him just loping the pattern. No army of people to get him in the gate, no wondering if he's going to hurt me acting stupid. Just a fun weekend and a reminder why I do what I do.
People without children have no idea how difficult it is for me to even get to ride a horse some days. The only reason I get to practice at all is because my husband is willing to help me by saddling horses and taking care of the kids while I ride. Add to that the "mommy guilt" that my kids pile on when they don't me to leave and the supernatural levels of exhaustion that come with being a parent of small children. I have to remind myself every single day why I want to do this anymore. But something inside me does, and it just won't go away.
My husband, who is always very honest with me, knows that I am realistic about my abilities as a rider. That seems to be the one factor that many people choose to ignore. Parents want to go buy the fastest horse there is, and automatically assume that their kid can ride it. There's a reason that some people do this crap for a living and some of us do it for "fun!" A great rider is the difference between a horse that places in the third division and one that places in the first division at a handicapped barrel run. Don't get me wrong, some horses have God-given ability that others just don't have. And some make up for their lack of natural gifts with supernatural amounts of heart and try. I have a horse standing in my pasture that no one's been on in six months, and if you saddled him today and sent him in the gate he'd bust a gut trying to win something for you. It's just who he is, and I love him for it.
So I've said all this to say: I'm ready to ride something that I like. If I don't love the horse I'm running and it's not fun to make that run, I'm going to find something else to ride. I've reset my goals and raised my expectations for myself. A wise man told me the other day that if I want my young horses to quit being 3 and 4D horses, I've got to quit being a 3 and 4D rider. And you know what? He's right, too.

I'd Rather Be Doing It

Ok, ladies...this one's not for kids! My sweet husband shared with me some important information about the male psyche, and as a "journalist" I felt compelled to pass it along to you. In a casual conversation the other day, I asked the love of my life how he was.
He replied, "Good. I mean, I'd rather be doing it, but I'm okay."
Me: "Huh? Doing what?"
Him: "IT."
Me: "What? OH! You're so crazy!"
Him: "Well, it's true. I would rather be doing it. So would ALL men. It's just a fact. Eighteen year old boy in the mall, rather be doing it. Forty year old guy in the grocery store with nine kids, rather be doing it. Ninety year old man sitting in front of you at church, rather be doing it."
Me: "ALL the time?"
Him: "Yep. All he wants is to see something nekkid. Well, "good" nekkid, anyway. Not "bad" nekkid, you know, like on Seinfeld."
Me: "More than eating? More than sleeping? More than watching sports? More than FOOTBALL?"
Him: "Yep. I'd rather be doing it."
Me: "If I put that on a tee shirt, would you wear it?"
Him: "I'd rather be doing it? Um, yeah!"
Me: "You would not!"
Him: "I might..."
And I also agree with Dr. Laura when she reminds women that those husbands who would rather be doing it would rather be doing it with YOU. But if you won't, someone will. So take care of your business at home.
Speaking of taking care of business at home, when we decided to have kids, I never envisioned myself trying to uh, connect with my husband with short people beating on my bedroom door. Because let's face it girls, there's nothing more romantic than someone rattling the doorknob and screaming, "MOM! The TV went off! Can you come fix it? Why is this door locked?" at the top of their lungs. If you can focus on the task at hand through that, you deserve an Olympic medal. And if you can do it without laughing, it should be gold. I have no medals to speak of, and that's all I'm going to say about that. And yes, we could wait until our kids were asleep. Kate Gosselin claimed she and Jon did. And we all saw how well that worked out. When they are asleep, I want to be asleep! And when my husband needs my attention, I give him my attention.
So there you go. For all of you that asked him what he's thinking about and he said, "I don't know. Nothing." What he really meant to say was, "I'd rather be doing it."

Sink or Swim

My blog and my laundry had a war... and the blog won. There is still an enormous pile of laundry on top of my dryer, but the voices in my head needed to get out worse than I needed to get it folded. It happens.
My twin girls had their sixth birthday party last weekend. Their birthday is tomorrow, which means that by this time six years ago I had checked into the hospital and was in labor. They weren't born until 6:17 and 6:30 the next morning! Actually, I knew I was in labor on Sunday night, so by the time they got here I had been in labor a grand total of 32 hours, but who's counting? Oh yeah, that would be ME. My husband was there for every agonizing moment, and he swears I have forgotten some of the horrors of that day. He thinks I must have in order to be willing to sign up to do it all over again. I submit to you that I haven't forgotten a darn thing. Admittedly, there were a few moments that were clouded by drugs (lots of drugs) and exhaustion, but that is not the same thing as, "I forgot." I remember what I went through, and although it was difficult, painful, and at times downright terrifying, I was ready to do it all over again because it was also WORTH IT.
Parenting is hands down the most enormous challenge I have ever undertaken. It is a never ending job that begins when your eyes open. I haven't had an undisturbed night of deep sleep since my children were born. For the first eight weeks or so of the twins' lives I was convinced that if I closed my eyes they would stop breathing. After we moved them to the nursery, I slept with the baby monitor screen on for another month. I guess it was too much trouble to sit up and hit the button when they woke me up in the middle of the night. Speaking of being awakened, a fireman's got nothing on a mom. I can be awake and halfway up the stairs in 30 seconds or less if one of my kids needs me. Notice I said that I "can be." If I play my cards right and they wake dad up too, I can usually beg him into going to check on things. Besides, I've already admitted that he's sweeter than me. He has a lot more patience than I do when he's getting the low down on a bad dream just like it's four in the afternoon instead of four in the morning.
If you are particularly unlucky, you fall into a blissful sleep only to be awakened two hours later by someone screaming, "Mom! I threw up in my bed!" That particular phenomenon combines two of my least favorite things about parenthood. Sleep deprivation and vomit. I HATE vomit. I don't throw up often, and if I do, something is really wrong. Usually it's related to kidney stones or pregnancy. Thankfully I don't deal with either one very often. My own vomit is bad enough, but cleaning up someone else's is almost more than I can take. Smells really get to me, and that's one of the worst. The only thing I hate worse than vomit is potty training, and we're about to start on that wonderful journey (the last two words were written in my sarcastic font) again. More on that later!
Every time my children turn a year older, I think about how much my life has changed since they came into it. Everything is different than it used to be. I have whole new set of priorities. Things that used to be the center of the universe as far as I was concerned are all but forgotten. I've had to consider subjects I'd never given any thought to (who knew that kids didn't come here knowing how to dress themselves and use the toilet) and I've been forced to see myself the way other people see me. If at any point in my day I can be the kind of person my kids think I am, I've done really well.
Which brings me to my point: I think most parents are doing the best they can with what they have. Now I realize that there are people out there who suck at parenting and have no plans to change that. I'm ignoring them for the moment. I think most people who set out to become parents, and even some of the ones who became parents unintentionally, really are trying to be the best parents they know how to be. Some of us had a better example set for us than others. When you are really honest about it, you have two choices. You can be the kind of parent your parents were, or you can make a conscious decision to be different. I am eternally grateful that my mom didn't just go with what she knew. She grew up with an abusive, alcoholic father. Domestic and child abuse were part of her daily life. She wanted better for me, and she made sure that my childhood and hers were at total opposite ends of the spectrum.
Everyone has had a parent tell them at some point, "Well, when you have kids of your own, you can do things the way you want them done." That's usually immediately followed by, "And I hope someday you have a kid who acts just like you!" This is the mother's curse, and IT WORKS. Believe me, ladies, it works. Use it wisely. The great thing about the whole "when you have kids..." thing is that it's TRUE! You can do it the way you want. And I will guarantee that it will be harder than you thought! Some people fall into the trap of, "Well, my parents did this or that and I turned out okay!" Personally, I often find myself trying to be the kind of parent I want to be instead of the one that I am. It would certainly be easier to just go with what I know. But there are things I want to do differently with my kids, just like everyone else.
As first-time parents of multiples, my husband and I were thrown into parenthood at the deep end and told to sink or swim. Some days you move through the water with the precision of an Olympic synchronized swimmer. Other days it's all you can do to keep your head above water and hope someone rescues you before you give up and go under. I spent a lot of time treading water when my babies were little. Sometimes all I could think was, "If I can just keep everyone alive until tomorrow..." I am happy to report that these days I swim a lot more often, and I've learned to let go, stretch my arms out, and float when I get tired. I'm definitely no Micheal Phelps, but maybe those Infant Swimming Resource Lessons were teaching me as much as they taught my kids. Now I know how to swim, float, swim until I get to the edge of the pool. It's worth mentioning that there are some days when I'm pretty sure I'm swimming in the ocean...with the sharks. Maybe I'll hear the "Jaws" music in time.   

Priorities

One of my children sleeps with a flashlight. I don't really know why, but maybe she's afraid she'll need to go somewhere in the middle of the night and won't be able to see. Part of her bedtime routine is to "shine" her daddy with the flashlight when he tucks her in. Last night during the shining, the following conversation took place.
Child 1: Daddy, you sparkle in my eyes.
Daddy: I love you.
Child 1: I love you, too. Daddy, I'm always going to love you.
Child 2: Yeah, me too, until he dies.
Child 1: I'm even going to love him after that.
My children adore their father, and it's because he makes them a priority. He just knows how to make them feel loved. I have learned over the years that it's not about what you do for people or even what you say that they are going to remember when you are gone. It's the way you made them feel. My husband is exceptionally gifted in this area, because as I have mentioned before, his mother is. I have never known anyone who made me feel more welcome, loved, and accepted into a family than my mother-in-law. I will always remember that about her, and when it comes time for my girls to get married, I hope that I can make their husbands feel the same way. My mother once told me that she planned to love my husband like the son she never had. I feel sure she would have done just that.
On my birthday this year, a friend of my mother's, someone I have known for a very long time, said one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. She wished me a happy birthday, then added, "You were a well-wanted child." My mother had wanted a baby for a very long time before she had me. What a wonderfully comforting thought: to know she really, truly wanted me. I will always love her for that, and I will always love Suellen for telling me. I hope that someone will tell my girls something like that one day after I am gone. You can bet that I'm gonna tell them while I'm here!
Children are such a blessing from God. Granted, some days they are a mixed blessing. I would love to say that I have enjoyed each and every blissful moment of motherhood since my babies came into the world, but that would be what we call a LIE. A big, fat, smelly one! As I don't make a habit of lying, I will say that the fantastic moments have made all the not-so-fantastic ones bearable. My mom never said motherhood was easy, she just said it was worth it.
Dr. Phil McGraw says that the difference between a dream and a goal is that a goal comes with a plan and a deadline. My mother was a woman of tremendous faith. When she received her cancer diagnosis, she told her doctor that she was going to watch her daughter graduate from high school. I was two years old at the time. She set a goal, she made a plan, and she accomplished that goal. She passed away when I was a freshman in college. Now that I am a mother, I can't imagine what it must have been like for her to look at two year old me and be fairly certain she would never see me get married or hold her grandchildren. For those of you who talked about how she spoiled me, I can tell you I'm pretty sure that knowledge entered into every decision she ever made about me. I know it would for me. I freely admit there have been times I've been somewhat lenient with my kids on one thing or another because the thought crossed my mind: what if I'm not here tomorrow? Would it be the end of the world if she stayed here in my lap for a few minutes past her bedtime?
People often tell me that boys and girls are "different" when it comes to parenting. I completely agree. I don't pretend to know a darn thing about raising boys, but I can tell you about girls. Little girls get their self-esteem (or lack thereof) from their daddies. He is her first love, the first man to tell her that she's wonderful and beautiful and exceptional. Or he should be. When girls get to "that" age, around 12 or 13, some dads no longer know what to do with them. I am here to tell you something: those years are when your daughter needs you the most! If you don't make her a priority, someone else will. If you don't tell her all the things she needs to hear, she WILL find some teenage boy who will. The same goes for marriage. Ladies, if you don't pay attention to your husband, believe me, someone else will!
Make your family and your children a priority. They want, need, and deserve your time and attention. I used to beat myself up about not being the perfect parent, until I realized I was striving for a goal I was NEVER going to reach! I read a fantastic example once about kids and cupcakes. Your kids want to eat cupcakes. They don't care if you spent hours making them from gluten-free ingredients and snuck vegetables in there or if the woman in the bakery at Kroger made them. They don't care if they got to help or if they have tons of sugar. They just want to eat cupcakes, and they want to eat them with YOU. What they want is your time, however they can get it. (Okay, and a cupcake!) Make time for you kids. They really don't want perfection, they just want you.
Remember, if you continually put someone at the bottom of your priority list, don't be surprised when you are not at the top of theirs!

The Legpit

My child has once again renamed a part of the human anatomy. Well, sort of. I'm not really sure that the back of your knee technically has a name. Those of you who are familiar with my family know that my kids have been exposed early and often to various body parts through their parents' work as veterinarians. Let us not forget the "tentacles" (testicles) "kenis" and "china." I think the last two are self-explanatory. But yesterday my oldest child (by 13 all important minutes) dropped a new one on us. The conversation went something like this:
Child 1: Dad! I have a mosquito bite and it ITCHES!
Dad: Oh, really? Where is it?
Child 1: It's in my legpit and it really itches!
Dad: Your what?
Child 1: MY LEG PIT. See? (Scratching frantically and pointing to the back of her knee.) If this is your armpit (pointing dramatically under her arm) then THIS would be your legpit, right?

I have to say that it was hard to argue with her logic. One of the best things about having kids is that they force you to look at mundane things differently. They also cause you to reconsider every single step in your personal hygiene routine. Putting on makeup with my kids around is like sitting in front of a firing squad shooting questions instead of bullets. What is that? Why do you wear this? Where does that go? What color eye shadow are you going to wear today? Will you wear the purple eye shadow, Mom? Will you? Will you? Puuhleeeaseeee! Wear the purple! Can I have some of that? Will you put some lipstick on me? Can I wear lipstick to school? Can we have a puppy? Are you going to dry your hair now? What is that stuff you're putting in it? Can you spray mine, too? What day is it? Can we have ice cream for breakfast? It just goes on and on and on. Some days it's enough to make Mother Teresa say, "For the love of puppies, would you please shut up?"
So I kick them out of my bathroom, they head upstairs to give each other a "makeover," and return looking like two streetwalkers. You really have to get creative when your child asks you how she looks and she's wearing purple eyeshadow up to her eyebrows and bright red lip gloss. "Like a hooker" is probably not the answer she's looking for. Or the one that's going to earn me enough brownie points with them to dodge the old folks home later on.
And therein lies the problem that moms of girls deal with on a daily basis. How do you teach a child the difference between "pretty," "sexy," and "trashy?" My five year old already uses the term "hot" in reference to a woman's appearance, thanks to some stinking boy she went to kindergarten with. Apparently his favorite pastime was to tell all the babes in kindergarten that they were "hot." I have made repeated attempts to explain that it just doesn't sound good coming from a five year old girl, but then she wants to know why. So without delving into subjects that I just don't want to discuss with my child, I have nothing better to say than, "Because your mother told you not to say it!" Stellar parenting, I know, but I just feel like kids are way too worldly way too early these days. I don't want my daughters to be thinking about boys and makeup. I want them to enjoy pretending they are fairy princesses and that the world is a fair and wonderful place. Childhood is so short as it is. I don't think it's wrong for them to enjoy being young while they are young. So anytime you girls want to slow down, it's okay with your mom. I love you, armpits, legpits, and all!

Hooray for Good Husbands!

I saw an ecard on Facebook today that bothered me. It said: "Marriage is a fancy word for adopting an overgrown man child who can't take care of himself." A lot of my friends found this funny, but it just made me sad. Is this really what young women in our society think about men and about marriage? Then no wonder so many of them are deciding to stay single!
Ladies, if you treat your husband like a child, then you have every right to expect him to behave like one. If you treat your husband  (the man you fell in love with and promised to honor and cherish) like he's an idiot, talk down to him in front of people, and continually criticize him, he's not going to act like your knight in shining armor when you need him. If you tell your daughter that she is smart, capable, and beautiful, that's what she's going to believe about herself.
Personally, I have three small children to take care of; I don't need a fourth. I treat my husband like a man because that's what he is, a MAN. Not a child, not a bank, not a girlfriend or a babysitter, but the MAN I fell in love with and chose to make a lifelong commitment to. I choose to take good care of him because he takes good care of me. He is a fantastic father, something I knew he would be great at, I just didn't know how great until our babies were born.
Words are very powerful. I have heard it said that mothers use their words to paint a picture on the canvas that is their child. My children watch and listen to every single thing I say or do. Yes, sometimes they pretend that they didn't hear me the first 87 times I called them, but I know better. They also listen to everything my husband says, probably because he is a lot sweeter than I am sometimes. And more patient, tolerant, understanding, all that sappy stuff he learned straight from his wonderful mother. She is the kindest person I have ever met. Period. When I am really trying to MAKE myself be the parent I want to be instead of the one I am sometimes, I say that I am channeling my inner Mama Dot!
This morning, one of my girls was comforting her baby sister, who was crying because she had strawberry cereal bar all over her hands. She hugged the baby, smiled, and said, "Don't worry, Little One. It will come right off. Mama's not mad at you. You got a good mama." It sure did my heart good to hear her say that, and I know right where it came from: her daddy. He tells our girls all the time in front of me, "Girls, you got a good mama." And I've heard it so much, I've started to believe it, too.
I have had many friends who wanted a wedding, but as it turned out, they didn't really want a marriage. I think that's why the divorce rate is so high. Marriage is about choosing to love someone, choosing to take care of them, choosing to be happy instead of being right all the time. I choose to be at home, taking care of my husband and my children, each and every day. I married a man, not a child. He loves, supports, and encourages me every single chance he gets. And because he does those things, it makes me want to do the same things for him. He could absolutely take care of himself. He was doing that before we met. He could take care of our children, just not as well as me. (Kidding! Love you, Babe.) I am his wife, his girlfriend, and his biggest supporter. I am a lucky woman, and I know it. Hooray for good husbands! And kudos to the moms who raised them, because let's face it, that's really who made them good husbands.

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.