Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Anyway, I look decent today. And guess what? Someone flirted with me! Actually FLIRTED. I saw a really pretty house with a For Sale sign out front across from Avery's school and, out of curiosity, stopped to get a flyer to see the price. Two young, adorable in a blue collar way, city maintenance workers were standing outside the house. (I promise this isn't why I stopped. I didn't even notice that they were cute at first.)
As I got out of the car, one of them (the cutest one) said "Well, how much is the house?"
Me: "Is it a bad sign if it doesn't say how much?"
Cute worker guy: "I think so, but you look like you can afford it."
Me: "Really? That's funny because I don't have a job."
Cute worker guy: "Yeah, I can tell that too...and we could use more of your type in this area."
Me: (adorably flirtatious laughter) Oh, you are funny...sweet, but funny.
*Rhett begins to scream from the car and reality hits.*
Me: I gotta run ...one of my three children is screaming at me.
Cute worker guy: You have three kids? Whoa (The other guy says something to him that I can't hear. I like to think it was "She's way too fine to have three kids.")
Me: Yeah, whoa is right.
Cute worker guy: You come back anytime, ok?
Me: (More giddy, silly laughter)
I get in the car and drive away before I can embarrass myself any further. I know it is desperate and stupid to grin like an idiot because a 25-year-old street worker flirted with me, but dangit, it feels good to be noticed. When you spend your days covered in spit-up and smelling of milk and poop, a brief moment of youth and hotness is a moment of sheer joy.
Monday, January 28, 2008
The caption next to this picture read: "Angelina's bump...another baby or merely bloat?"
Seriously. They call this a bump. Possibly a BABY bump. Let me tell you something - my belly was bigger than this 5 minutes before I conceived each of my 3 children. Hell, it's bigger than this right now and my youngest is 8 months old. I would give my left arm (ok, I would only give the moles on my left arm) for a belly like that. If you want to see bloat, you should see me with PMS, 5 minutes after inhaling a Chipotle Steak Bowl...all of it in one sitting. Oh yeah. That's bloat.
First of all, if Angelina is pregnant again, I have two things to say:
1. Good Lord, woman, slow down...Kids are like puppies. They do grow up and become slightly less adorable and cuddly. And the more you have, the more you have hating you during their teenage years.
2. How many kids do you need to have to finally get fat and/or have visible stretch marks? Or frown lines? Or gray hair? Or even a husband, for crying out loud? (Uh oh, is my Oklahoma Bible Belt upbringing rearing it's ugly head?)
Ok, so that's alot more than 2 things to say, but these are the things that keep me up at night.
That and radar detectors. But that's a story (though not much of one) for another time.
TINY WAIST? ME? Are you kidding me?
I was cleaning out some boxes the other day and came across this picture. Forget what is going on in the picture. Forget the dress, the long hair, the tiara. (For the record, it's not that hard to become Homecoming Queen in P-town...and it doesn't hurt if your dad is the head football coach.) No, let's just look for a moment at that waistline. How did it ever get that small? I do remember when the dress came back after being altered, it was a bit tight. I must have been bulking up for the big day because the dress wouldn't zip when I tried it on a week before I was to prance around the football field for all of P-town to observe. I also distinctly remember starving myself all week before Homecoming, only eating grapes and saltine crackers in order to squeeze into said dress.
Do you know what would happen now if I ate nothing but saltines and grapes? Me either, because it would never happen unless someone told me they would take my children away unless I could wear a size 6 dress, but let's just pretend for a second. Besides the occasional fainting that most certainly would occur, I imagine there would be a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth. I envision my husband suddenly having to work late every night and the children huddling in the corners of their rooms. I see myself slipping in and out of consciousness, seeing the grapes and crackers as Snickers and pizza and then screaming like a banshee when the truth set in. It wouldn't be a good situation.
But back to 1989. From what I recall, I was as pleasant as any 17-year-old. Possibly more pleasant considering I was Homecoming Queen and probably very proud of it. I think I was happy to be starving myself because it was for a good cause. The most important of all causes back then...vanity and popularity.
Frankly, I'll take my love handles, sagging boobs and cottage cheese behind over that skinny girl any day. I have a life now.
Oh jeez, isn't this what every computer nerd says when they realize they are no longer attractive enough to "play" in the real world, so they spend their days hiding behind a monitor?
Uh oh. Maybe I'll eat just a few grapes. And a little less pizza. :)
Saturday, January 26, 2008
When I was younger, my dad had this big dirt pile in our backyard. Our backyard was large, therefore, we had room for such things. I still don't know what the dirt pile was for, but from time to time, Dad would yell at the boys, "Let's go outside and move that dirt pile." For a couple of hours after that, they would shovel the dirt from one side of the yard to the other. I have no idea why. I don't think anyone knows. And we aren't supposed to ask.
What's the point of that little story? The point is, that right now, I'd rather be out there moving an unexplained pile of dirt from one location to the other for no apparent reason, than running the measly 4 miles on my agenda for today. I know I will be mad at myself if April comes and goes and I miss the run.
For now, I'm going to Runnersworld.com to see what these dedicated running freaks have to say. But if you have any words of advice on how to get excited about this, I need to hear it. Please. Help me. Save me from my boring gym-DVD-housewife workouts and get me back out on the road.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
"No, Momma. I do it my-telf."
See, Momma? I don't need any help.
Wait. Did I miss something here? Something is wrong with this shirt. This can't be right. First neckhole, then sleeve, right?
Ok, on to sleeve two. Something still seems a bit off, but I'll work that out later.
(5 full minutes later)
Ok, this feels wrong. It feels really wrong, but this has to be it. Right? I will not give in. I will not give up. I am two.
Oh yeah, I got this. Told you I could do it.
9:15 Sweet husband is in the girls' room, reading and putting them to bed. Rhett is in bed with me because he has a terrible cough and cold and can't seem to lay anywhere, so I'm holding him on my chest so he can rest.
10:30 I'm trying to go to sleep, but my nose is now running and I can't even think about sleeping with snot coming out of my left nostril. I rotate to the other side and it gets worse.
10:45 I get up, pop a couple of Benadryl and get back in bed. My getting up has awakened Rhett, but he quickly falls back to sleep. Husband shows soon after. All is well.
Midnight Avery makes her first appearance in our room, crying. I tell her she needs to go back to her bed and she tries to bulldog her way into the bed and on top of her brother. He is awakened and I am mad. Husband takes Avery to her room. She is screaming all the way.
12:03 Avery is back. Screaming louder than ever. Rhett is now crying. I tell her, through gritted teeth, to march herself back to her room and don't come back. She goes.
12:05 She comes back. I tell her to leave. She leaves.
12:06 Back in her room, she is still screaming, which wakes her sister. Which angers me further. I go into their room to calm Reese. When all seems quiet, I go back into my own bed.
12:10 Avery is back. Wants in our bed. She has no idea how much trouble she is in. Either that, or she doesn't care. I send her back. She goes down the hall, screaming. Rhett is now in our bed crying, Reese is awakened again and screaming. I go back to the girls' room. Avery gets a swat.
12:20 I am back in my bed, all is quiet. I don't hear from anyone for a while.
3:00-ish Rhett is awake, coughing and I am awake with a runny nose. Dangit. I am sleepy. Somehow, I doze off.
5:30 Both girls are in their bed, screaming. Husband goes to them and comes back asking me why their bed is wet. Having been in a dead sleep and pretty sure I didn't' go into their room and soak it, I say "I have no clue." He goes back to the room, comes back to report that, although it doesn't smell like tee-tee, it may be a leaky diaper. He returns to the girls' room, strips the bed and puts a new comforter on it. They are settled.
5:45 Both girls are in our room. Husband returns them to their bed.
5:47 Girls are back. Husband goes to shower and get ready for work. Girls are settled in my bed, somewhat. They are sort of fighting over who will lay next to me and then I clue them in that I have no desire to be next to either of them. I realize my bed is also wet. Rhett's diaper has also leaked. What are the chances of two kids, whose diapers rarely leak, both leaking in the same night? Not sure, but I wish I had bought a lottery ticket last night.
6:30 Everyone is up, bathing. I am washing sheets. Avery is excited to be taking a bath "in the middle of the night." I am not excited about washing sheets in the middle of the night. At all.
This brings us to now. Avery has been punished. If she is not responsible and grown up enough to sleep all night in her own bed at four and a half years old, for crying out loud, then she isn't responsible and grown up enough to pick out her own clothes. Which means I get to choose her outfits. Which means I choose panties instead of boxers and pink sweats for camo cargo pants. Ahhhh, sweet revenge.
Note to all single parents out there: God bless you all. If I had to do last night alone, I'm afraid I would have gone Mommie Dearest on these kids.
Note to my husband: You rock. I couldn't do it without you.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
I went to an old friend's father's funeral this weekend. Actually, my friend used to be my best friend. We hung out together constantly throughout high school and part of college. Because of stupidity, selfishness and general girls being girls, we had a couple of incidents that led to the eventual loss of that friendship. But I still felt as though I wanted to be there when I found out that her dad died. Her dad was one of the kindest men I know. I was a mess in high school and didn't always have the best relationship with my own father, so I was always amazed at the gentle nature and closeness of L.'s dad. Anyway, I went to the funeral. And I'm glad.
I got to see my friend and her family, which was nice. I spent the weekend with my brother, Josh and his wife, Emily. I love, love, love being at their house. It's casual and perfect and lazy and fun all at the same time. The only thing wrong with it is that they don't have internet. Or maybe that's why I love it so much. I had withdrawals, but it was nice to just be for a couple of days. I love Oklahoma. I love my life here, but there is just something about going home. I'm glad I am able to share both sides of my life with my children. There is no place like home. And it's worth the sore back, cranky kids, and exhaustion that come from the long trip there. I'm already looking forward to the next time.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Look at him. He is clapping. What's so great about that, you say? He's clapping because I said "Pat-A-Cake." Any time I say that to him, he begins to clap. If you don't think that's great, then you are just being mean. I refuse to accept that this could possibly be normal 8-month-old behavior. I choose to believe he is brilliant. I also believe he gets it from me.
Reese, on the other hand, is the spitting image of her father. Here she is in the backyard. Eating dirt.
Oh well, two out of three ain't bad!
Monday, January 14, 2008
Here is the question from someone who obviously has waaaaaayyyy too much time on her hands:
"The other day, I was in a bathroom at a restaurant and to find out whether a stall was occupied, I knocked on the door. The response was a muffled "Excuse me...
What is the proper response to a knock on a bathroom door? My feeling is that the woman had every right to be in that stall, so there should have been no need to excuse herself. My mother taught me to say the very obvious, 'Someone's in here'."
Are you kidding me? Did someone really take the time to write this letter. As if she is trying to point out that the woman in the stall was wrong for saying "excuse me?" Is there ever an inappropriate time to say "excuse me?" I mean, really, can you ever be faulted for saying polite words like that? And why in the world would Miss Manners print this question? Is there anyone else in the world who would be interested in the answer? (By the way, the answer did chastize the lady for trying to assign blame to this poor woman who just wanted to be left alone on the dadgum toilet.) Is the letter-writer going to take this article, walk around the mall with it, just waiting for that classless wench from the stall so she can once and for all show that her what an idiot she was for saying "excuse me?"
What a complete waste-of time, print, and my eye muscles.
Ok, so now I'm wasting your time too. But what I have to say is important. And people like to know this stuff. And have their flaws pointed out. Right? Right? Hello?
Saturday, January 12, 2008
To be precise, my phone rang, I didn't recognize the number, but knew from the area code it was from Oklahoma. I said to my guests in a politely confused voice, "Excuse me, this is someone from Oklahoma, which is where my family is, so I probably need to get this." Yeah, not so much.
I think I know who it was, but since she was at a concert, I couldn't hear her voice too well. I just can't imagine who else it was. She was yelling (and all of my Bunco guests could hear her), "I'm at the George Strait concert and the girl next to me wants to go to the Wormy Dog and I thought of you!" If it's the friend I think it was, we spent quite a bit of time on at the Wormy Dog. In fact, I spent so much time there that, when I walked in, whoever was behind the bar would slam a Bud Light down on the bar before I could even order. And once, when my dad came to town to see me and I wasn't at home, he went to the Wormy Dog to find me. Apparently, the guy working the bar told Dad, "Oh, she doesn't usually come until later." (I'm sure Dad was so proud of his baby girl at that moment.)
I did love the Wormy Dog. It was a hot, dirty little upstairs bar with saddles for barstools and peanuts all over the floor. I would go on a Wednesday night for penny beer or on a Saturday afternoon in cutoffs to play pool. I never went by myself, but even if I had, I wouldn't have been alone once I got there. It was like the country version of Cheers to me. Sadly, I guess I was Norm. Only not as fat. Not then, anyway.
So what does this mean? I hope it means that I'm a nice, respectable wife and mother who used to really like to have a good time. I choose to believe it just means that the words "Wormy Dog" remind my friend of all the fun we had there instead of thinking that I could very well have been a trashy barfly. Of course, even if I was a trashy barfly in college, that was over 10 years ago. I'm certainly not like that now. I don't even go to bars anymore. Ok, so I still like to have a good time. But I don't get bucked off of a barstool anymore and I don't wake up with peanut shells in my bra. I don't drink on Monday nights anymore. And I haven't done drunken karaoke in a really long time. Oh wait, ok, yeah, we did do that on Christmas a few years ago. But that was with family.
Um, ok, I'm really digging myself a hole here, huh? I guess I have now figured out the answer to my original question. I think it means I need to learn to knit or do needlepoint, cleanse my soul, spend more time in church, and don't answer the phone after 10:00 anymore.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I don't think that she's been the best mother ever. I don't think she has proven to the public or to the court system that being a mom is number one on her priority list. I do think, however, that she has been unfairly judged and scrutinized. I also think that denying even visitation is way, way to harsh and frankly, I don't think that would ever happen to her if she wasn't in the public eye. Consider this: Michael Jackson has been accused numerous times of molesting children and yet his children have never been removed from his custody. Mel Gibson got a DUI, but he still has his kids. Danny Bonaduce was shown on TV shooting up drugs and destroying his house in fits of rage. His children stayed in the home. The courts ruled that Britney was not allowed to drink within 12 hours of getting her kids. Where were the kids on New Year's Day? I would assume they were in Federline's custody, who was seen with Paris Hilton on New Year's Eve holding a bottle of Jack Daniel's in his hand. Maybe it was just a prop, but I kind of think he may have been drinking. Why is he allowed to drink but Britney isn't? I'm not advocating drinking around your children, I'm just pointing out the descrepancies and saying that I don't think that the fact that someone drinks makes him or her an unfit parent.
I think the court system was correct in stating that Britney couldn't drive with the kids. She ran a red light and has a history of putting her kids in the car incorrectly. But here in Texas, a woman was breastfeeding her child and speeding while driving. She was fined for not properly restraining her child, but as far as I know, the child is still in her custody.
I have a friend who works as a social worker. A dad who was found guilty of sodomizing his toddler is still allowed visitation. Supervised, to be sure, but is still allowed visitation. Britney doesn't get to see her kids AT ALL anymore because she had a meltdown at her own home. The child wasn't physically harmed and Brit was found to have been clean of any drugs, prescription or otherwise.
Clearly, this girl is in trouble. She needs some serious help. She either needs a psychiatrist, a physician, or a swift kick between the pockets to knock some sense into her spoiled little brain. But I feel sorry for her. Every time I see a story outlining her latest meltdown, I am thankful that there were no cameras or reporters around when I was 26. And I'm thankful that I wasn't a mother then, because I doubt I would have been a good one. I was way too selfish. I probably would have, occasionally, put my own wants and needs before my children. I might have wanted to go out and party if I got a divorce (which I most certainly would have been had I married the first boy I was engaged to).
And why do so many people seem to hate her and almost find enjoyment in her pain? Sheesh, her skin is 1000 times thicker than mine, because my crazy, head-shaving, bathroom-door-locking meltdown would have happened much, much earlier.
All I'm saying is (in the words of Chris Crocker), "LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE!"
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
of bedtime battles
of kids who won't eat
of sibling rivalry
of kids who won't share
I Am Not Tired...
of sweet hugs and wet kisses
of endearing voices that say words wrong
of being having three buggles to snuggle with
of innocent laughter
of the most precious faces I've ever seen
of loving so much it hurts inside
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Or this kind...
I hate this kind of peanuts:
Friday, January 4, 2008
I like to wonder why Guiliani was the obvious favorite 6 months ago, but ran to Florida yesterday because Mike Huckabee came out of nowhere to beat everybody. I love to watch Fred Thompson dang near fall asleep at the podium every time he talks. I love the guy, but maybe he should stick to acting. He might drop dead of a heart attack the first time he gets a 3 a.m. phone call at the White House.
I don't know why I didn't pay closer attention in Coach Christenson's government class. Maybe it was because I was a dorky cheerleader trying too hard to be cool. Possibly it was because there was someone relatively cute sitting next to me. It could have been because I was busy passing notes, planning the next party. Whatever the reason, I was a fool. This stuff is really interesting.
Ok, it's official. I'm old. And boring. And nerdy. But it's fun to watch something I can never be a part of. I will never, ever run for office of any kind. Not even PTA Treasurer. I don't care that much, plus I have WAY too much of a past to even put my name in the hat. (Thank God there were no video cell phones when I was in college!) My husband can't run because they'll trash him because of his wife's wild past. So, I'll just sit at home and be a boring, nerdy observer.
Hey, when you're at home all day with three kids and your choices for outside entertainment are the computer or daytime TV, you get your kicks where you can.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
I'm here to warn you. Don't let their innocent smiles fool you. They are not nice children. They are conniving, lying, clever little toots. They are smart. And there are two of them. I never had a chance.
This was never so evident as it was yesterday morning. It started like any other morning. Eating, getting dressed, arguing over sippy cups. Nothing unusual. But then we discussed how Reesie was getting to be a big girl and maybe we should try again to get her to go tee-tee in the potty. So I took her diaper off of her and took her to the training potty in our room. She sat for a good 5 minutes, getting up intermittently and shaking her bottom and laughing. I could tell she wasn't taking it at all seriously, so I just said "Hey Reesie, if you are able to go tee-tee in the potty even just a little bit, we'll all go make cupcakes together." She agreed and said "Yeah, Momma, I do it!" I watched for a bit longer and then said, "Come get me if you need me," and she and Avery stayed in the bathroom.
A few minutes went by and nothing happened. Until, suddenly, both girls came out of the bathroom, shrieking with delight. "I went potty!" Reese declares. "She did it, Momma!" Avery says. "WHAT?" I say. This isn't the first time Reese has said "I did it," when all she did was sit there, looking adorable. So, I went to the bathroom to check out their story. And you know what? The little potty was full. I couldn't believe it. I said "Reese, you went potty?" She grinned and said "YES!" so excitedly, I couldn't resist picking her up and swinging her around, cheering for her and chanting her name. Avery said "Momma, I went on the big potty while she went on the little one!" "Good for you, girls," I exclaim. "I'm so proud of you! Let's go make cupcakes!"
Off we went to the kitchen. We were all so excited and happy. I went on and on about it. The girls never flinched or changed their story once. As I got into the pantry to get out cake mix and frosting, a nagging doubt reared it's ugly head. I had to ask. "Avery, did she really go tee-tee in the potty?" "Yes, Momma. Remember? You came in and saw it," she reminds me solemnly. "I know, I just can't believe it," I respond. And then I start to really question it. All of a sudden, I can't believe it. Because in all the times I've sat Reese on the potty, she has never, ever gone and seems to me to have a stubborn resolve against going on the potty. So I ask them both again. And again, they give me adorable, grinning assurances that indeed, Reese is a big girl and she did finally go tee-tee on the potty. I pull the Jesus card: "I'll bet Jesus is so happy that Reese is such a big girl. You know he can see everything you are doing, right?" "Right, Momma. He is so happy," Avery tells me. I feel sick at the thought that my child would lie right in front of the Good Lord, but I'm still suspicious. So, I grasp at the only thing left I can think of. "Ok, well, as soon as I check the tee-tee to make sure it's Reesie's, we'll make those cupcakes and party all day!"
And then the truth comes out. Avery sheepishly admits, "Ok, Momma. It wasn't really Reese. I did it." "What? You went potty and said it was her?" I ask. "Yes," she says. "Why?" as if I don't know. "Because I wanted cupcakes," she responds. "But why did Reese say it was her if it wasn't?" I ask. "Because I told her to." She isn't even upset about this. She doesn't seem embarrassed or sheepish or even disturbed by the depths of her deception. The only thing she seems slightly upset about is the fact that we are probably not going to have cupcakes. This doesn't stop her from asking if we will still be able to make them. As if she isn't in more trouble than she's been in in a looooong time. As if she didn't just tell about 15 bold-faced lies to her mother. Not to mention the fact that she is dragging her innocent 2-year-old sister into her tangled web of deceit. Nope. She showed no remorse. And it terrified me.
It hit me later today that this is the first of what is sure to be many, many con jobs they pull on me. And they will only get better. Let's face it, today, their matching stories and sweet grins almost worked. If it weren't for Mother's Instinct, I would never have questioned them. Let's just hope that instinct sharpens with age because I have a feeling their stories will be much more elaborate and well-rehearsed in the future. I'll say it again. I don't have a chance.
However, there is one resolution I'm determined to keep. Much like last year's being more green and volunteering more, this one is one that will add to the happiness and peace in my own life as well as those around me. I hope that, by posting this resolve for all the world (or at least all 22 of my regulars) to see, it will encourage me to keep it in the forefront of my mind, making it less likely to be forgotten. So here goes:
I vow to become more accepting. Accepting of others and their differences, accepting of my own failures and shortcomings, accepting of things I have no control over and therefore cannot change (Serenity Prayer, anyone?) I promise to try really, really hard not to get upset or get my feelings hurt when someone doesn't behave in the way I think they should. I will accept that everyone does things in their own way and just because I wouldn't do things in that way, does not mean they are wrong.
And here's something I find interesting. The letters in the word PEACE are found in the word acceptance. Coincidence? I highly doubt it.
I'm going to do this one. I think my sanity depends on it.
Oh, and I did add lose weight to my list because there hasn't been a New Year's in history that I didn't need to make that one. I bought Advocare's Fiber Cleanse and am cleansing as we speak. It lasts 10 days, so wish me luck. Hopefully, I won't be on the toilet too much to fulfill my daily duties as mother, wife and computer nerd.
Happy New Year!!!