Thursday, November 29, 2007
I'm talking about my four-year-old. Four and a half, if anyone is asking. She seems to grow taller, thinner, and smarter every day. And this week, it seems as though her behavior has become more dramatic and frankly, smart-assed, and it's driving me crazy.
First of all, on the way to school yesterday morning, as we turned onto the main road, she still wasn't buckled so I firmly asked her to buckle again. And she said "Uh, do not talk to me like that."
And that isn't where it ended. She also said, sarcastically, "Thanks for making Reese cry," when I got firm with Reese when she refused her own car seat. I didn't even know Avery knew what sarcasm was. But she does.
And the drama. Oh, the drama. Tonight, she did not want to eat her dinner. It was a chicken and rice casserole that my Nana used to make and it's a time consuming and delicious meal. And it made Avery gag. Which made her get in trouble. So she finished her dinner in silence. Not happy, but she ate it. She didn't say another word about it until last night, when I was putting her to bed. She said, in the sweetest, teariest voice, "Momma, my throat is killing me. It really hurts. I think it's because I had to eat all that food tonight and some of it is still stuck there. So can you get me some medicine?"
I get the medicine, not because I believe that she has food in her throat (is there even medicine for that?), but because she has had a cough and runny nose for days and I have just been looking for an excuse to dope her up on some Tylenol Cold so I can get some peace.
After the medicine, we talk for a bit. We talked about Christmas presents and what we will do tomorrow (she doesn't want to go to the gym because "she's just so tired of it"). I made the mistake of telling her that I already had one gift for her, hidden somewhere. Will I ever learn? Sheesh. She could have won an Oscar for this performance. "Mom, why won't you just ever tell me anything? I never get to know anything. All I want is a real horse and I want you to tell me if you got it for me because I need to feed it. Mother, please. Just tell me. I have to know."
Somehow, I dug myself out of that hole by discussing what I had gotten her father. And then it was time for me to go to my own bed.
"Mom, can't you just sleep in here?" No. "Just for tonight? Just once?" No. "Mom, you used to sleep with me when I was three, so you should still sleep with me (I did not)." No. "Mom, I just can't be alone tonight. I just need to sleep in Rhett's bed with him, that's all I need. Just please, Mom." Honey, no. I'm going to bed. Good night. "(Sobbing desperately, clinging to my shoulders)Mom, I just really need you. (Sobbing stops abruptly) Can I sleep in the office tonight?" No, you're already in bed. "(Sobbing resumes)Oh Mom, I just can't be in here alone. I need to sleep with you. I just need you."
The thought that sent me to my bed sobbing desperately is this: She is only four. I'm only just beginning. And there's another one coming up behind her. I've said it before...I'm in big trouble.
Yeah, so last night, we decorated our tree. I'm not finicky, I said. I'm not as picky about this kind of thing as my mom is. It's their tree, I thought. I'll let them do it the way they want to do it. And here is the result.
If you come over to my house, please don't look at the top, right side, left side, or the back of our tree. There is a 2' radius of ornaments smack dab in the middle. In the front. And it looks ridiculous. And I tried to be quiet, but I found myself saying several times, "Avery, don't forget to space them out." Her response was always "I am, Mom. I know, Mom. I'm doing it, Mom."
It drives me crazy when I realize my mom was right.
(I'm moving the ornaments today, while Avery is at school. One day, in about 30 years, she'll know why.)
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Ok, so that's the long version of the story of these pictures. The short version is this: Look at my precious boy, who is 6 months old. These are my "rough draft" pictures, but I love them anyway!
Definitely not my favorite. He appears as though he is not the sharpest knife in the drawer in this one and I feel in my heart that that is not true. You never know at this age, but I choose to believe he's brilliant unless and until proven otherwise. I'll not be framing this picture. But he's still cute.
LOVE this one. LOVE IT. Not because it's fabulous quality or anything, but because it's funny and he's so stinking cute. And he drools constantly and sucks on his lips and this one just captures him perfectly.
I like this for two reasons...one, his eyes look beautiful and two, he looks like a hilarious little old man. It doesn't really even look like him, but I like it anyway.
I like this because he's just so pretty. And the booger isn't showing and neither is the scar. And I like his fat little hand.
And this is my very favorite. I'm framing this one for sure. I love it. He's so cushy and cute and funny and precious. Did I mention cute? When I look at this picture, I can hear his deep little gurgly laugh and it tickles my heart.
I love this guy. Boogers and all.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
It started roughly two months ago with your average cough/cold/crusty booger combo. All three kids seemed to have runny noses, but as long as I had Kleenex and some Tylenol Cold nearby, I was fine. I really only had to tend to Reese and Rhett anyway because Avery figured out the shirt-sleeve-swipe pretty quickly and took care of herself. I had it under control.
But then pink eye came along. If you haven't dealt with pink eye, I'll give you two key pieces of information in case you encounter it in your future. One, it's not really that big of a deal to cure if you don't have a problem sitting on top of a two-year-old's arms in order to squeeze eye drops into sealed eyes three times a day and two, there are TONS of eye boogers involved. And we're not talking a little gook in the corner of your eye when you wake up. No, I mean, BOOGERS. Sealed shut, crusty, gooey boogers that have to be scraped off of little eyelashes with your fingernails because even a warm wash cloth won't budge those suckers first thing in the morning. Naturally, they all three got it. Separately, because it would be far too easy to just spend a day or two on Booger Patrol and then be done. No, it drug on for a solid week. And now, the pink eye seems to be gone, but the boogers remain. And, of course, Reesie has had it the worst, God bless her little middle child heart.
Here's wishing you all a booger-free Tuesday! :)
Monday, November 26, 2007
She's good, isn't she? I knew then that I was going to just have to play the Mommy card and quit trying to reason with her. "Avery, we can either go to the party with you participating and being nice about it, or you can stay home and I'll just take Reese." That did it. She said she would go, and she would be nice, and she would dress up, but that she wouldn't really like it. Ok, fair enough. That was our deal.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
1. I am thankful that I am here in my warm house with a turkey baking in the oven.
2. I am thankful that my sweet husband is spot cleaning the carpet because Rhett has spit up sweet potatoes for a week.
3. I am thankful that I have three of the most beautiful, happy, sweet children on all of God's green earth.
4. I am thankful I married my best friend and that he has changed my life.
5. I am thankful that he has a brother whose family is coming to hang with us today so we don't have to eat 12 pounds of turkey by ourselves.
6. I am thankful that I have family who, despite living in separate places, calls to wish us Happy Thanksgiving and whom I love so much that it almost feels like they are here.
7. I am thankful that I am not pregnant or nursing a new baby, which I have done 3 of the last 5 Thanksgivings.
8. I am thankful that I weigh 10 pounds less than I did last Thanksgiving and therefore, am not going to have to wear maternity jeans today (although I may put them on after the meal).
9. I am thankful that I am healthy enough to go for a short jog this morning and that it's nice and cold...my favorite running weather.
10. I am thankful for God for making all of the above things possible.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Ok, for just a second, I need to set the football down. I didn't drop it because I need my hands for balance. I just don't feel like playing with it right now. I'm just going to sit here and chill. I'm not balancing. I'm not.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
After a couple of hours of continous wiggling, whining, and sweating, I left. I shuffled down the hall to the office/guest bed and fell into bed. Not before I saw the clock. 1:47 a.m. I still, to my knowledge, had not been to sleep. I knew I would fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, unless one of the kids....yep. Avery heard me leave her bed and wanted to come in the office with me. Ok, fine. We'll bunk together in the twin. No problem. And it was fine.
Until about 3:30, when Reese realized she was alone in her bed and started howling for her daddy (she is SUCH a Daddy's girl). She wasn't pleased when she got me instead, but after a few minutes of consoling her, she went back to sleep.
But her howling had awakened her baby brother. So I got up, patted him for what seemed like an eternity, and crawled back into Reese's bed, where I slept, fitfully, for the next 4 hours until a ringing phone jolted me out of my coma.
So I'm awake, but barely. I had big plans of painting my new table and going to the grocery store for Thanksgiving food (and those Breathe Right Nose Strips for my husband. I don't care if he looks like a retired NFL player in them, he's wearing them!) but right now all I want to do is lay on the couch all day, watching old movies and pigging out on Mazzio's pizza like I used to do in the old college hangover days.
I think I can make it work...I won't be watching old movies, I'll be watching PBS Kids. And I won't be pigging out on Mazzio's because we don't have it down here, and if I did pig out on Mazzio's all day, I'd gain 42 pounds. And I won't get to lay on the couch all day, because Rhett has to be fed and changed and held (he's so demanding!). But I can make it work. Sort of. Maybe.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
How does this happen in less than 24 hours? Oh yeah. The 5 people living in this house. Who spit up, spill juice, dig in dirt, work out, sweat and bathe daily. I know this and yet, I'm still in awe of the fact that a basket of laundry, which was virtually empty a day ago, can fill to overflowing this quickly.
I'll never forget the moment when, my husband woke me one Sunday morning after an early trip to Home Depot. He whispered the most beautiful words I've ever heard, words which still send a chill up my spine when I think about them. "Babe, the washer and dryer you want are on sale at Home Depot and we're going to get them today."
That basket will be empty again tonight, thanks to these bad boys. They are the only way a family of five can NOT drown in a sea of laundry. I still get excited when I think of all I can get done in one load. It's thrilling.
Ok, I changed my mind. I think it's appropriate for you to pity me now. I have officially become a desperate housewife. Still, February 14, 2007 will forever remain the best Valentine's Day ever. Unless, by some chance, they come up with a machine that folds the laundry. That would be off the charts.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Here are the girls making cookies for Avery's school Thanksgiving feast.
Reese helped. After making a few cookies, she realized that icing the cookies with frosting and decorating with sprinkles and then eating the cookies was the long way. She decided on a more direct route. Drink sprinkles directly from bottle. Quicker sugar rush. Yum.
This picture actually has a story, but it's one I'd rather not tell. The short version is that this is my friend Erin, kissing my sweet boy on the cheek that wasn't rammed into the entertainment cabinet. Poor, sweet baby. He just wants to crawl!
On the bright side, his "scar" makes him look really menacing and tough.
Let's end on a happy note. Have a great day!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Last night, I read an article about adoption in Redbook and cried through the whole thing. This morning, I started to watch a new Brad Paisley/Sara Evans music video on YouTube and when I saw the first three seconds, with Jesus carrying the cross, bloody and exhausted, I teared up and turned it off because I don't have time to wail this morning. What is going on with me?
I haven't acted this emotionally since I was pregnant. Oh no. No way. No, I'm not. It's really not possible. I mean, I suppose it's always possible for a married woman of childbearing age. But I'm not. I'm really not. And if, by some amazing chance, I am, I know one vasectomy doctor in the DFW area who is getting a huge wedgie.
I AM NOT PREGNANT. NOT PREGNANT. For real, I'm not. Really. Just emotional. Lots going on. Holidays, family, etc. Or maybe it's pre-menopause. WAAAAAAAAAAAA.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Before I heard that Nana was fine, I had a few minor panic attacks at the thought of something bad happening to her. She is, after all, 86 years old and I guess, at that age, any type of illness or surgery is a risk. And I freaked out a bit. Reality tells us that one day, if all goes according to plan, we will lose our parents and grandparents. Logically, I know this, but really, I can't imagine my life without her. I don't see her all the time anymore and we don't talk on the phone once a week like we did when I was single (she and my mom live together, so it's not like we aren't in touch...it's just not like it used to be), but Nana is such a big part of my life, whether she's there or not. Nana is like the security blanket you tote to school, but never take it out of your backpack, because you are way too grown up to need a security blanket. But it's there. And you feel safe knowing that, at any moment, if you felt sad or sick or hurt, you could grab it and snuggle up to it and know that all was right with the world.
A lot of people aren't close with their grandparents. To a lot of people, grandparents are old people in the background of their lives. They see them a few times a year when their parents force them to visit. To those people, grandparents are a check in a birthday card or something to be tolerated. Not my Nana. She is a real presence in my life. I can talk to her like she is my friend. She will sit on the back porch, have a vodka tonic with you and visit about the little things in life. Or the big things. Whatever is on your mind, you can say it to Nana. She doesn't judge anyone. She may quietly disapprove, and you may know that she disapproves, but you know she loves you anyway.
When I was in college, I started staying with Nana and Papa on the weekends I came home. I know they thought I was wild and loud and crazy. I was. I remember Papa saying one time "My, you are loud." I think I drove him a little bit crazy, but he was nothing but kind to me. And Nana seemed to like it when I was there. One time, I had a few friends over...we had a few too many drinks and I went to bed, leaving all the lights on, doors open and mess in the kitchen. It was disrespectful of me and I am ashamed to have treated my Nana's house like that, but I was 22 years old and an emotional wreck most of the time and usually drank way too much to make good decisions. You know what Nana said to me? She told me that Papa wasn't too pleased about all the unlocked doors, but Nana just said "You know, this house has needed a good party." That's so Nana. She loves music, loves to dance and loves a good party. You would never catch her drinking too much or dancing on tables or hanging from the pergola outside her house, but she'll darn sure be there watching us, laughing and shaking her little hips to the music. One Christmas night, my siblings (and my mother!) and I stayed up until about 3 in the morning, singing (yelling) karaoke, drinking beer and being silly. Nana was in her bed and we were a little worried about what she was going to say about being awakened 400 times in the middle of the night. You know what she said? "I couldn't decide whether to come tell you to be quiet or to come join you!" She's a trooper. She puts up with all of us kids now that Mom lives with her and I know, at times, that's not easy. There are 4 grown kids, 8 if you include spouses, and 6 babies...it gets wild. And she probably gets tired of it. But she just hangs right in there, checking up on us, helping us with kids, making snacks, and joining in the fun here and there.
A lot of women who are 86 years old wear polyester pantsuits and SAS shoes and sit around watching quilting shows or scooting around on a walker. Not my Nana. She shops at Chico's and wears sassy, in style clothes. She wears Stuart Weitzman heels to church and white Keds around the house. (I will never, ever see a pair of narrow, white canvas Keds without thinking of my Nana.) She wears Tommy Hilfiger jeans because she likes the way they fit. She has cute jewelry and wears make up every day (she "puts her face on" at 9:30 every morning.) She goes to art classes and yoga when they offer it and is involved in several service organizations and goes out to eat lunch every day. She still plays golf and has friends and volunteers at her church. She has her hair done once a week at the local beauty parlor. Friday at 1:30 unless there is a special occasion. She has her nails done and is perfectly groomed at all times.
I wish I could be like Nana when I grow up. She is the classiest lady I know. She doesn't cuss, she doesn't gossip, she doesn't overeat, over drink or spend money impulsively. She is kind and gentle and quietly strong. I can never measure up to her, but I do like to keep my pantry stocked and have backup toothbrushes for guests, just like Nana. She is an amazing person.
And Nana, when you get home, I hope Mom makes you read this. Because I want to tell you this: Thank you. Thank you for saving me. I know it sounds dramatic and stupid, but there were times I didn't want to go on with life anymore and when I would imagine who would care if I was gone, I always saw your face. Thank you for providing me with a safe, secure place to be. Thanks for always loving me just the way I am, even when you don't get why I'm the way I am. Thank you for making me Jello and Dream Whip and letting me eat it before it set up. Thank you for taking me to the horse races with you and Papa and drink Shirley Temples and eat mozzarella sticks (for the first time!) at Howard Johnson's. Thank you for taking me to see Annie and the ballet and thank you for the braces and prom dresses and shopping trips. And for always smiling when I "forgot" a nightgown and toothbrush every time I came to spend the night and giving me one of your old gowns and a brand new toothbrush. And for sleeping with me and reading me stories at night. And for teaching me to love reading and for buying me books and then sharing your books with me when I was older. And for buying me a wedding dress even thought you didn't want me to marry that guy (not my current husband, people.) And for letting me live with you when I couldn't live at home. Thank you for filming me at the most awkward, stupid moments of my life. Thank you for being at every football game and pep assembly, watching me cheer. Thank you for making me feel important. I love you.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Now, we must add her misfortune of having a mother who ignores her medical needs. Today was her 2-year-old well check visit. She was fairly whiny this morning, but today is a school day for her sister and she is almost always whiny on those days. She doesn't like to wake up early and she doesn't like leaving her sister at school, so I just thought she was being her usual "I hate Tuesdays and Thursdays" self. But when I got to the doctor and they started her checkup, the nurse looked at me and asked me if she had been sick. I said no, but at that moment, I looked at Reesie's little face and she looked sick. Fever sick. You know how they look, with that watery, glazed expression in their little eyes? That was Reesie. And God love her, I had not noticed it all morning. I had been too busy getting them dressed, making Avery's lunch for school, and getting everyone's breakfast to even really look closely at her. But she was definitely not looking good and when the nurse took her temperature, it read 101. I felt so bad. I mentioned that she had had diarrhea yesterday a couple of times, but Reese always has tummy issues and that was nothing unusual. Or so I thought.
The doctor came and looked at her and while she did have a bit of a red throat, she tested negative for strep, so he just said to keep an eye on her. Little did he know that he was talking to the most neglectful, selfish mother in the world and that I had no intention of keeping an eye on her. No sirree, instead of coming home and rocking that poor baby, I put her in the chair to watch a show while I fed Rhett and got myself some lunch. I was straightening up the kitchen and sending IMs to my sister and in general just ignoring my children, when I realized that it had been a while since I had checked on her. I was hoping that the Motrin had knocked her out so she could get some rest. Not for my own selfish reasons, of course, but because that will help her feel better.
I walked into the living room to check on her and saw that she was still awake, sucking her fingers and watching TV. I went over to ask her if she wanted some juice or yogurt and noticed that she looked kind of messy. I got closer and realized that she had thrown up all over her shirt, pants and the chair. And hadn't said a word or made so much as a whimper. Bless her little middle child heart. She has gotten so used to being ignored, that she doesn't even tell someone when she pukes. I'm so sorry, Reesie. I vow to spend the rest of today holding you and loving on you and making sure you know how important you are to me.
Except for when I have to pick up Avery. And feed your brother. And change his pants. And fold the laundry. And make the dinner.
Other than that, I'm all yours..
Monday, November 12, 2007
About two years ago, we were at a friend's house and my oldest was playing in their boys' rooms. She was absolutely fascinated by their bunk beds. I'm not sure if she had ever seen bunk beds before. She ran out of that room with a new declaration every 10 minutes. "There's two beds! They are on top of each other! They use a ladder to get in bed! Two people can sleep in it!" And most importantly, "Mom, I want bunk beds!!!"
Friday, November 9, 2007
(Please ignore my ratty, chipped toenails and normally slim feet that, for some reason, in these pictures look like chubby sausages with Little Smokies for toes.)
Why do we buy toys and games? Seriously, if I would do the "airplane" game with them 10 times a day, we'd all be happy. They would be constantly laughing and my legs would be so firm you could bounce quarters off of them.
This is what I love about kids. It's the little things that make them happy.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Before I tell you what her first sentence was, I must issue this disclaimer: I do not necessarily endorse this sentence. I won't mention any names in order to protect the person named in this sentence, but alot of you will know who she is talking about anyway. I won't tell you if this sentence is accurate, only that we were in the car, so I can attest to the fact that she was not reporting something that had happened at that time because it was just the kids and me. I do not know if she was, perhaps, just making a statement about something that may or may not have occurred in her past. I have been told that certain traumatic events in a child's life will bury themselves deep within that child's psyche, only to be regurgitated at a later time when the child is ready to process said information. At any rate, this is what she yelled, clear as a bell, for no apparent reason at all:
"MY DADDY TOOTED!"
I think, when her daddy reads this, he won't worry about being thrown under the bus. I think he'll think "Woo hoo! Our kid can really talk! No costly speech classes for us!!" That's what I thought anyway.
And Babe, if you do feel like you've been thrown under the bus, I apologize. I apologize for having such a big mouth (is it considered having a big mouth if I am typing it?). I apologize for not keeping anything in our life sacred. I apologize for producing offspring who pay more attention to bodily functions than can be considered normal.
But in all fairness, it's not my fault that she chose that to be her first sentence. I had to post it. It was such a monumental moment. And people know you're human. And a man. Love ya.
Monday, November 5, 2007
I really enjoyed the class, left feeling very tall, very strong and very relaxed. And very much wanting to avoid the daycare room, where it is complete pandemonium.
I will go back, as much as I possibly can. And I encourage any of you who have crazy lives, stressful lives, busy lives or just a mind like mine, that runs non stop, always worrying, wondering, thinking, to try this. You don't have to be from India or eat nothing but organic veggies and granola to enjoy it. It's a pretty cool form of exercise. I feel enlightened.
Ok, so anyway. I'm going to start doing more of it. I think I need to find a way to exercise that doesn't strain my muscles and joints as hard (I sound like an old lady) and I think I need a time each day where I can just be with myself and sort of meditate or whatever you do in there that relieves stress.
So I'm going to the 9:30 yoga class at my gym. I like the idea of going to the gym because it's not an actual yoga studio and they don't expect you to show up all yoga-ed out in your flared-leg pants with matching lotus-printed cami and carrying your color-coded mat, one for each day of the week. I can wear my sweats and feel somewhat comfortable. I'm actually excited about going. I've been trying to go to this class for about a month, but between staph infections and sick kids, we've been homebound alot. So today is an exciting day. But in the back of my mind, there is a looming thought. It plagues me whenever I hear the words yoga and pilates and imagine myself in a classroom full of women in strange poses. I think of it often and if you have had children, you may or may not understand the problem I am having. What if I toot? I don't have a lot of control over those areas right now, if you know what I mean, and although I do my doctor-recommended exercises somewhat regularly, I'm still prone to releasing something if I cough, laugh or bend too hard. So wish me luck this morning. Let's all just hope I don't humiliate myself to the point of no return. Because I have a three year contract at the gym.
Friday, November 2, 2007
First of all, we are all sick. Not sick, sick, but coughing, snotty, up all night sick. And our nights are miserable. So the mornings are even worse. I can barely drag myself out of bed. And yesterday was a school day for Ave. When my alarm went off, I was so exhausted, I laid there, trying to think of a good reason for her to miss school. I just felt like I couldn't face getting them all dressed, getting myself ready, feeding them a good breakfast, packing them all in the car, then dragging everyone inside to drop Avery off in her classroom. I just didn't want to do it. So I tried to justify my feelings. She probably didn't get any more sleep than I did. Her cough is probably still bugging her (she is the most not sick of all of us.) She's only four and she's really smart, what's one day going to hurt? So I shut off my alarm. I just decided that I would sleep until they woke me up and I wouldn't even tell her she was missing school. Letting your kid miss school so you can sleep in is soooo white trash. I never imagined I would be that mom. I can just hear Avery now "I had to miss school because my mommy was so tired and she didn't want to get out of bed." Sounds like that movie, "When a Man Loves a Woman," like I'm hungover or something and can't function as a mom.
So anyway, the girls saved me from myself and came and got me soon after the alarm was turned off. So I drug myself out of bed and did all my motherly duties and took Ave to school. And she even looked cute and had her hair brushed. I dropped Reese off at the neighbor's so I could run by the grocery store on the way home without having to deal with an unruly 2-year-old covered in snot and we were on our way.
But I wasn't finished letting my inner white trash show. I remembered on my way home that I have Bunco Friday night. And we have to bring our own drinks. I know I probably shouldn't be drinking since I have this cough and stuff, but it might make me feel just a bit better to have a little fun and numb the pain just a tad. And there's a liquor store right around the corner from Avery's school. And I only had one kid with me, so I may as well stop and get my lime flavored vodka (it's not as strong as regular vodka, that's why I like it.) So I pull in to the parking lot and have another great debate with myself. Do I leave Rhett in the car with the windows cracked and run in? It's just right here. What is worse? Taking a baby in their car seat inside a liquor store or leaving him in the car? It's cool outside, so overheating isn't a problem. What should I do? I could just forget about the vodka, but I do still have to bring drinks tomorrow night and tomorrow I will have all three kids, so I won't be able to do THAT. I called my neighbor for advice...she said it would be ok to just leave him for 5 minutes with the windows cracked since it was a small store and I could see the car. And I did it. I ran inside, hurrying, with my eyes darting out the window looking for cops as if I was inside a crack house buying my daily fix. A cop did drive by while I was paying and I wonder if the clerk thought I was underage because I kept staring at the police car and I was so nervous I forgot to sign my debit card receipt.
I sprinted out of the store with my brown paper bag, jumped in the car, where Rhett was totally fine and sleeping soundly. I breathed a huge sigh of relief and reflected on the morning's decisions. This isn't good. I'm going down a road I really don't want to travel. I need to get myself together and be a decent mom. My white trashness needs to stop involving these poor children. Next thing you know, I'll be on the front porch, holding the baby in one hand, Colt 45 can in the other, with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. I gotta stop.
So, I came home, made Reesie some popcorn, snuggled with her and Rhett on the couch, then organized my bathroom cabinets, picked up Avery from school and spent all evening trying to make the kids forget what a loser I can really be. They didn't seem to notice. Even when, at one point, we were all in our underwear, eating "party food" for dinner because Daddy wasn't home. Dang, these kids are easy to fool/please.