Thursday, May 29, 2008


Yesterday, I had to go grocery shopping. It was one of those times when I didn't really want to go, especially with all three kids, but there were things we had to have and I couldn't wait until after boot camp to go. Anyway, as usual, I dug through my coupons to see if I could save any money. I found a Kroger coupon for a free package of Oreos. Now, I've been on a fairly strict diet for the past 4-5 weeks and have tried really hard to keep my favorites (Oreos are on the top of the list) out of the house. But a free package? You can't really pass that up, can you? Besides, my kids and husband love them too. I won't even eat any. Probably.
Ok, so we're at the store. I picked the mint-filled Oreos because, even though I'm not going to eat any, they are my very favorite. After ringing up the groceries, the very young checkout boy asked if I had any coupons. I handed my stack to him. The Oreo coupon was the very last one. He tried to scan it and handed it back to me. I said "Why are you handing this back to me?" He said "You didn't get these." As if the free Oreos would have been the item I would have forgotten. Soy milk, yes, Oreos, never.
The Oreos weren't bagged yet, so I pointed at them and said "They are right there." He said "Oh, ok. Hang on." He tried to scan it again. It didn't work, so he looked at the coupon and handed it back to me. "You're supposed to get the Kroger brand." Now, I'm not usually one to sit and argue if they refuse a coupon. It's usually something I needed anyway, plus I feel bad holding up the line. There were three people waiting in line behind me. My girls were running around, hiding from each other, and shrieking every time they found one another. I should have left. I should have just said "Forget it" and told him to take the Oreos off of my bill. But I wanted them. And the only way I could justify getting them was because they were free. Not because of the money, but because of the diet. How can you claim to be a healthy eater and bring home a pack of Oreos?
So I responded, "It says Oreos on the coupon. The Kroger brand are not called Oreos." (I don't know what the Kroger brand is called, but the Wal Mart brand is Twist and Shout. My brother, Josh, bought Twist and Shouts when I came to stay with him just so we could laugh about it.)
Young Checkout Boy said "Oh, ok. Hang on." He tried to scan it again. It didn't work. He goes "Oh, I think it's because they have the green inside and maybe you have to get the plain."
My heart skipped a beat, I felt my face getting hot, and I said in a very firm voice. "Come on, Dude. (Yes, I called him dude...I was trying to connect on a younger level.) The coupon doesn't say it has to be plain. It says Oreo Sandwich Cookie and those are obviously Oreo Sandwich Cookies. I'm going to get that package right there for free. If we need to call the manager, we can, but I'm not paying for them and I'm not leaving them here."
I really said that. Over a pack of Oreos.
He didn't call the manager. He just voided the Oreos and bagged them up. As I walked out, I imagined I could hear him and his equally young bag-boy friend laughing at me. "How about the fat lady that yelled at me over a bag of Oreos?" I didn't care. Not much, anyway. One of these days he may be overweight and on a budget and he will get it. Or not. At any rate, I have my Oreos. And I haven't touched them. Yet.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008


My girls are usually really good about playing together and about knowing what they can and can't get into. Together. I have learned that it is Avery who keeps it honest. I have learned that Reese is a sneaky, conniving little thing. In short, she is a 2 1/2 year old who wants to do what she wants to do when she wants to do it. I always get a bit nervous when I can't hear or see her.
Last weekend, I heard Avery in her room and went in to make sure Reese was in there with her. She wasn't. Avery didn't know where she was. I called for Reese and heard nothing. Uh oh. It's a bit worrisome when I can't hear her, but when she doesn't answer, I know she's up to something. I began searching the usual spots: upstairs in the playroom, our master closet, behind her dad's pants, in the corner of our bedroom behind the chair. I couldn't find her anywhere. I came into the kitchen and yelled one more time. I heard a very distinct, fairly exasperated sounding, "WHAT!"

And this is what I saw:
This is our dining room. No one ever goes in there. Until now. See those little feet sticking out from behind the china cabinet? That's Reese. And I'm nervous about what she is doing behind there. This is a new hiding spot for her, and if she went to the trouble to find a new spot, I'm thinking she's involved in something pretty serious.

What are the little plastic pots lying around her? I'm starting to think I know what she is doing and it's not as bad as I thought.

Yep, it's what I suspected. Makeup. The girls have a purse full of my old makeup that I let them play with on occasion, under supervision. I'm not actually bothered by the fact that she's playing with makeup. Sure, she ruined this cute little top, but that could have happened doing anything. The thing that bothers me is the sneaking. They are always supposed to ask before they get into the makeup. But Reese, fearing the word no, just goes ahead and does whatever the heck she wants to do. Little sneak...are all 2-year-olds like this? It's only been 3 years since Avery was Reese's age and I can't remember...maybe because there was only one of Avery, I always knew where she was and what she was doing. Who knows? All I know is that my husband and I are nervous. If it's true what they say and it really is always the quiet ones, then we're in big trouble!

Monday, May 26, 2008

My Baby Boy's Boo Boo

Friday evening, we were getting ready to leave for Wal Mart to stock up on junk food and fishing supplies for what was supposed to be a fun-filled weekend in the country. I picked Rhett up to change his diaper and I felt something sticking out under his arm. My mind started racing. I remembered a point earlier in the day when I had picked him up to smell his pants and he cried. At the time I thought he was just annoyed because he wanted a cupcake and I was sniffing his diaper. Now I realized I must have dislocated his shoulder and now his bones were sticking out. I had to gather up all of my courage and hold my breath to lift up his shirt to look. Please don't let it be bad pleasedontletitbebad. I looked. It was bad. But not what I expected. It wasn't a bone. It was a hard, pus-filled knot topped by a white boil-like blister. I had experienced this before, on myself. Remember the golf-ball sized lump I went on and on about in the fall? The staph infection in my pit that caused my husband and I to miss our romantic trip to Vegas? This was the same thing. Aaron said "Maybe it's a spider bite. It looks like a spider bite." That's exactly what he said to me when I had my pit infection. I knew better. And I dreaded what was coming next.

I immediately put Rhett in the car and rushed him to Acute Kids Urgent Care. When the doctor stepped in and I showed her the boil, she immediately said "Oh no. Yeah, that's a bad infection." She was very perky and upbeat about the whole thing and she said "If you can wait an extra 20 minutes, we'll put a pad with an anisthetic to numb it a bit." If I couldn't wait, he'd have to have it administered via needle. I had that happen to me and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. A needle in a painful, infected lump is excruciating, to say the least. I couldn't let them do that to my baby boy. I said we'd wait. And then I said, fearfully, "What are you going to do?" She said "Oh, we'll have to drain it and I'm sure it's painful, so we'll just numb it a bit and give him some Motrin. We'll be right back!" It was all said so cheerfully and matter-of-fact, that I actually thought they were just going to pinch it to drain it. That would definitely be painful, but I can handle that. My girls get boils sometimes and I have to drain those until they go away. I don't like it, but it's tolerable. Ok, I can handle this.

Twenty minutes passed. Rhett was doing fine, crawling around and laughing. This was all going much better than I had expected. And then the doctor walked in. And I heard the nurses talking about who was going in. The doctor said "Come on guys, we have to do it." And I freaked. I mean, if the doctor was dreading it and the nurses were arguing over who had to help, this couldn't be good. Two nurses and the doctor came in. The doctor was carrying a tray with all kinds of sharp, shiny tools and instruments. My instinct was to grab my baby and run far away. But then he'd have this rotten boil that would make him really, really sick, so I had to stay. They wrapped him tightly in a sheet like a little burrito so he couldn't move his right arm and the nurse was holding his left arm up above his head. He was already crying and looking at me like he wanted me, so I offered to hold his arm so I could at least be close to him. The nurse began pushing on the sore and gunk started oozing out. She said "Oh good, it's already open." I breathed a sigh of relief. If it was oozing on it's own, there would be no need to cut or poke with anything sharp, right? Wrong. There was a huge pocket that they couldn't get to, so she cut him. I honestly have never experienced anything so terrible in my life. I don't know if there is anything more difficult than watching someone hurt your baby, even if it's for his own good. The sheer panic in his eyes was almost too much for me to bear. He screamed bloody murder and thrashed about so that the burrito sheet came loose and both of his arms were flailing. He was sweating and choking and terrified. He was reaching for me and grabbing for me and all I could do was pin his arms down. Then, as if cutting him wasn't enough, they put a tube of water down in the wound to try to flush out the junk. But it wouldn't break up. They had to put scissors inside the wound to break up some of the infection. I must have started to cry a little bit because the doctor said "Hold it together, Mom, we're almost done." For a split second, I contemplated saying "I can't do this anymore," and backing away and covering my eyes, but then I looked at my baby boy. He didn't have the option to leave, so I had to stick it out with him. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the torture ended. They bandaged him and handed him to me. He held on for dear life with both chubby fists. I couldn't get him close enough to me. I think we were both shaking and crying. They brought him a popsicle and that helped him, but I was still a mess. In fact, on the way home, I thought about pulling over onto the side of the road to cry. I needed to release all the fear, tension, and horror that was resting inside of my chest. We came home and I just couldn't put Rhett down. I didn't want to put him in his bed. I just wanted to know that he knew how much I loved him and that I didn't want to hurt him. I wanted to know that he still loved me and that he forgave me. Here he is first thing the next morning. Does he look like he's holding a grudge?

Saturday, May 24, 2008

The Graduate

Avery graduated from Pre-school Thursday night. It was quite a production. Caps and gowns, diplomas and a shiny new bible given to each graduate by the lead pastor. It's a Christian Pre-school, so they all sang lots of songs about the Bible and Jesus and stuff. At the end of each class' performance, they had each child come up to the front and say his/her name. They asked each child what they wanted to be when they grew up. It was the usual stuff - mommy, teacher, cop, firefighter, doctor. Avery's choice was rock star. She told her teacher and I that's what she wanted to be. So of course, that's what I expected her to say when she was called to the front of the stage. But when Miss Shannon (her teacher) asked her what she wanted to be, she said "police officer." I've never heard her say that before. Now, she did pick a cop outfit for her Build A Bear when we went last month, but she never talks about being a policeman. I asked her after the ceremony if that's really what she wanted to be and she said "Oh, yeah, I guess so." I said "What happened to the rock star thing?" She said "I got stage fright. I wanted to say it, but I just got scared." I guess even she knows that maybe saying you want to be a rock star at a Christian Preschool graduation would seem sacriligious, at best. At any rate, you and I know the truth. Her public persona is policewoman-in-training, but we all know there's a rock star deep inside her.
Here are some pictures from the big event. Enjoy!

P.S. Smile now, because my next blog is going to be about Big Tuna's devastating trip to the emergency clinic last night.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

The Dishwasher

What is it with kids and the dadgum dishwasher? Somehow, I guess I've forgotten going through this with my other two kids, because it's got me completely baffled, frustrated and irritated as if it's never happened before. Rhett is obsessed with the dishwasher. If he hears it open he crawls, as fast as his thunder thighs will let him into the kitchen so he can "help me." I spend the entire time alternating between loading/unloading dishes, picking them up off of the floor to re-wash or re-load, and keeping him from climbing on the door.

It's worse if I'm not in the kitchen.

If I lock the dishwasher, he turns it on. At any time of the day, I might walk into the kitchen and notice that the dishwasher is running. We do lots of small washes. The other day, I put away three knives and a sippy cup. Energy conservation does not seem to be high on Rhett's list of priorities.

Look at his's like he is trying to find just the right setting. "Hmmm...pots and pans or normal wash?"

If I leave it unlocked, here's what happens:

You know that can't be good for the door.

My only consolation, besides knowing he will grow out of it (sob!), is thinking that he might not grow out of it. And he'll be my little helper in the kitchen. Big Tuna, the dishwasher. Yeah, that'll happen.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

The Party

Oh my goodness. Last Saturday was the combo birthday party for Avery and Rhett. It was our first "kid" party and we are still recovering. I just today finally got all the trash carried out and mopped all the red icing off of the floor. It was nuts. There were so many people there, that I can't even remember half of what happened. All I know is that the kids had a great time and that my house was wrecked when it was over. A sign of a good party!

Anyway, I thought I'd share some of the pictures...the bounce house was a big hit! We didn't add the water until the "official" party was over. I didn't want the neighborhood parents to hate me for sending their kids home wet and muddy in their good party clothes. I saved that for close friends and family!

The bounce house came 2 hours before the party started. Thank goodness it didn't come at 8 a.m. as originally promised. Avery would have passed out by then!

I must say, it was a bit difficult for Reese at certain points during the day. Imagine being two and wondering why your brother and sister get cake and presents but you don't. She didn't understand, but thank goodness for Grammy, Pa Pa and my friends Kealey and Erin. They each brought Reese a little something so she wouldn't feel so left out. Poor middle child. I'm putting money in savings for the therapy that is sure to come. Thank goodness, because if being left out of a party wasn't enough, her older cousin Dalton, pushed her down the water slide in her underwear...look at her face.

I can hear hear now: "I'm FEEKING OUT!!!"

Of course, when you get a bounce house, you have to expect lots of bumps, bruises and skinned elbows and knees. We had our fair share. Thank goodness most of the "serious" injuries happened to family members - they can't sue us. Wait. I guess they can. But I don't think they will. (You won't, will you guys?)

Here's my nephew, Cash. He went down like a bad Goodyear. It took him a good hour to recover. Actually, I'm not sure if it was the injury or the fact that he had to share Grammy and Pa Pa with his cousins. He's the tender-hearted one of the bunch. But don't think he's soft. He's a champion Mutton Buster, remember?

He recovered nicely. Here he is, taking a break with Avery.

Aren't they cute? I love to see kids, all wet and red-faced, wrapped in towels. It's one of my favorite things.

Here's one of Avery with her Grammy. Avery is crazy about Grammy.

I think the feeling may be mutual because Avery only had to ask Grammy one time to go down the waterslide with her. Grammy is a trooper! (Her pregnant Aunt La-La and I did it to..somehow those pictures got lost!)
Here's the one of Grammy...

HA! mother would KILL me if I posted a picture of her looking anything other than her very best!

I'll leave you with one of Rhett enjoying his cake.

I especially like this picture because it looks like he's saying to Avery, "Have you had cake yet? Oh, it's the best. You gotta get some of this!"

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl

How can it be that five years have passed since I first saw your face and you were so tiny you fit on the arm of our sofa?

You were so tiny and precious and perfect. Not much has changed. You aren't so tiny anymore, but I still think you are precious and (almost) perfect.

You no longer have dark brown hair and you would never, ever allow me to dress you in head-to-toe pink or put a (gasp!) headband or bow in your hair. You do, however, still allow me to snuggle-buggle with you daily and hug and kiss you whenever I feel like it.

You have always been a child who knew what she wanted. Back then, you would scream and shout if you were wet, or hungry, or wanted to be held a certain way. Now, there isn't as much screaming and shouting about it, but you are always firm and strong in what you want. I like that about you. In fact, there are many things about you that I like and that I hope never change.

I like that you are fierce and determined. I love your strong will. I like that you know how to be silly, but can be all-business when it comes to school-work or sports. I love how sweet you are to your younger siblings. I love that you tell me sweet things for no reason. I love that you are able to have fun doing just about anything. I could look forever at your shining blue eyes and elated smile when you are excited about something. I like that you want your hair cut like a boy, but that the soft blonde curls around your face can't be tamed. I love that you dress yourself and wear whatever YOU want to wear, even if no one else wears black socks with shorts or blue stripes with camo shorts.

I fell in love with that sweet face 5 years ago and, even though I didn't think it possible, I love you more now than I did then. You bring more joy to my life than I ever imagined.

Happy 5th Birthday, Baby Girl.

Thursday, May 15, 2008


I am ashamed to admit that I normally don't pay a whole lot of attention on things that go on in other countries. I am one of the people who thinks that it would be much cooler if celebrities spent all their time, money and energy helping their fellow Americans rather than globetrotting. It's not that I don't care about other people, it just seems like we should solve our own problems of poverty and crime before seeking out others.

Today, however, when I read an article about the recent earthquake in China, I was so overwhelmed with sadness, I actually cried. It was bad enough that more than 19,000 people were killed. The part that tore at my heart was that over 400 children have been found dead so far. And that officials wouldn't let the parents in the school to help dig for them. And that some of them were missing their fingernails because they had tried to dig themselves out of the rubble.

There were photographs of parents cradling their dead children. I saw one picture of tiny bodies covered in white blankets, lined side-by-side in a makeshift morgue. A father described his feelings of desperation as he searched for his daughter, as he dressed her body in pink pajamas. This, in a country where families are only allowed to have one child. I cannot imagine the devastation. The whole thing was so depressing.

And I'm sorry if I'm depressing you. But the whole thing made me think. And pray. And think some more.

It made me think about how we are so fortunate to live in a country where we can have as many children as we want. And even though I believe there are people who have children for the wrong reasons, I'm so glad that I live in a place where we have that option. I am sick to death of hearing all the anti-American rhetoric that the mainstream media spews, but I am so glad that they have the right to do so. The poor parents in China had no course of action to take when they were denied access to their children. Can you imagine the outrage if that had happened here?

I thought about what it would feel like to lose a child. Your only child. You were not allowed to help your child escape from a dark, dirty, desolate school building. You had to stand outside the building, held back by officials who, instead of digging, were concerned with keeping you away while your most precious treasure lay inside, alone, afraid, injured. I cannot imagine. I hope I never encounter such loss.

And then, when I looked again, for the tenth time, at those pictures, at the grief on those parents' faces, I thought of something else. How, despite cultural and ethnic differences, we really are so alike. We are all just humans. People. Mothers and fathers, loving and cherishing their children with all that they have.

Ok, so that is depressing...I'll stop now. How about a picture of Big Tuna getting a brain freeze while wolfing down his very first ice cream cone?

Worked for me! :)

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

What The...?

If you have children, then you've had those moments. Those times when you come across something in your house and all that comes to mind is, "What the _____?" Sometimes, you sigh, shrug your shoulders and ask "Why?" But I don't recommend that you ask why. Unless you want the explanation, which is only slightly more frustrating than whatever you are sighing over in the first place.
Over the past few days, I decided to document a few of these moments.

I like to call this one Balls in a Toilet.

I know what this is. It's a picture of Max (of Max and Ruby fame) printed from the computer. But what's with all the tape? Who said they could use the tape anyway? Or print? And why is it just randomly affixed to a wall no one looks at?

I like this one. It's the Cowardly Lion driving Dora's van. Well, technically he's not driving. He's in the passenger seat. He's probably waiting for the Tin Man to finish his weekly greasing at Jiffy Lube. Or he's sleeping one off, knowing he's a prime target for DUI if he passes out in the driver's seat.

I think this speaks for itself. Unless you think someone spilled a drink on the couch. They didn't.

I made the mistake of asking 'why' on this one. The answer? "I am thirsty."
Told you - NEVER ask why.
Enjoy...there will be lots more where these came from!

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Up Shit Creek

Sorry for the crude title, but that's how I feel right now. I wasn't going to bore you with the gory details, but then I decided that, if only one person felt sorry for me, then it would all be worth it. And hey, it's my page anyway and if I can't vent here, where can I?
On with the show...
Today, I went to a friend's to help her out with babysitting. She keeps three kids in her home. They are 3, 2 and tiny. I've done it before and it's really not a big deal. The busiest time is lunchtime and even that isn't much more hectic than lunchtime at my own home. Plus, I can always use an extra buck or two, so sometimes I look forward to her asking me to help.
I regret ever thinking that after today.
All was going well until after lunchtime. That would be nap time. The baby and the 2 year old went down with no trouble. The three year old was a different story. First, he stalled on going potty. I finally had to carry him in there and stand by the door and told him he couldn't come out until he went. I have no idea if he really did go, but he flushed the potty and came out and told me he went. I took him into the room where he naps and laid him down. He told me no. I said yes. I told him not to get up and then I left, shutting the door behind me. A few minutes later, I heard banging. I went in and he was jumping on the bed. Again, I told him to lay down. He did. I left.
Meanwhile, Rhett was smelling sorta ripe, so I changed him. Very poopy diaper. While I was changing him, I heard Mr. No Nap banging around again. I checked on him. He was upside down in the bed, with all the covers all over the floor. I reminded him of the rules and walked out. As I stepped out into the hall I thought "Hmmm, it sure smells a lot better out here in the hall than it did in that room." Not wanting to even imagine what the smell in that room was, I kept going. But then guilt overtook me and I went back.
This time, the smell hit me like a ton of bricks. The only smell that actually becomes an entity the longer it sits. Poop. On a 3 year old child who is not my own. Dammit. Dammitdammitdammitdammit. I did NOT want to clean it up. I said "Joe (not his real name), are you poopy?" He looked at me with a smug grin and said "Yep." And then I walked toward him. It was EVERYWHERE. On the sheets, on the WALLS, all up and down his legs. I didn't know what to do. I stripped him, bagged the t-shirt and shorts, rinsed the undies out in the toilet and then threw them in the trash. I put him in the shower, squirted two huge handfuls of soap into his hands and said "Scrub everything you can reach." I don't really know how people feel about other people giving their children baths and showers, so I just decided to play it safe and let him do it. I left him in there for at least 1o minutes while I scrubbed the walls, the bathroom floor, the toilet and put the sheets in the wash.
I went back in when I felt like, even if he hadn't scrubbed all the necessary parts, the water had to have washed him clean.
I got him out, dried him off, dressed him in his spare clothes and said, "I know you thought that, by pooping in your pants, you would get out of napping, but I don't work that way. You are going back. And if you get out of that bed, I'm calling your mom."
I'm not proud that I said it in a 3rd grade "nah, nah, nah, nah, nah" tone, or that I resorted to tattling, but I wasn't feeling too kind at that moment.
He never came out again. It's a good thing too, because I don't know his mom's number.
Anyway...I went back out to the living room to scrub my hands and arms with hot water and to check on my own children. I felt as though poop was emanating from my pores. I could smell it everywhere. I sat down, trying to relax. The smell would NOT go away. I picked Rhett up. The smell was worse. Poopy again? Diaper check. No poop. Have I got poop on my face? Mirror check. No. Where could it be coming from??????
I look down. It's on Rhett's hands. And the sofa. Apparently, when I changed him, he got his hands in it and I didn't notice, because I was so busy thinking of a punishment for Mr. No Nap Shitpants. Thankfully, it seemed only to be on his hands and the sofa, which is leather. It wasn't so bad. But what are the odds of two poopy accidents in one day? I guess with 5 kids and me, it's probably something like 2 to 1. Oh know what they say. Shit happens.
(You know I had to say it.)

Friday, May 9, 2008

Big Tuna is ONE!

My husband calls Rhett "Big Tuna." It came from the show, "The Office" and I think it's totally fitting. Who cares what it means? It fits. I mean, look at him...he's so Big Tuna.

It's hard for me to believe it's been an entire year since I first saw this face:
What a great, exciting, adventurous year it's been. Happy Birthday, Baby Boy!

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Stealing Cinderella (Post 2)

Good Lord, have you heard this song? Stealing Cinderella, by Chuck Wilkins (I think). I had heard the chorus, but never knew what it said. A couple of weeks ago, one of my friends told me I had to listen to it. I finally got around to downloading it to my iPod. I was in the middle of a jog when it came on. I had to stop and walk while I cried. Seriously. I was sobbing. Tears, shaking shoulders, the sucking, gasping breath. It was RIDICULOUS. But how can you have two baby girls and listen to that song without crying? For those of you who haven't heard it, here is just a sampling of what you will hear. The premise behind the song is about a guy coming to ask a father for the daughter's hand in marriage...while he's there, he notices pictures of the daughter on a shelf. It says something like this:
Playing Cinderella, riding her first bike.
Jumping on the bed, looking for a pillow fight.
In her mind, I'm Prince Charming
But to him I'm just some fella.
Riding in, stealing Cinderella.

SOB. GASP. SOB. I added insult to injury by coming home and looking for some pictures of my baby girls.

Who do I talk to about stopping time? Just for 20 or 30 years!?! WAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Diary of a Bad Mommy (Volume 7)

My girls argue. A lot. Like, 472 times a day. Really. They also play-fight and wrestle a lot. I have told them time and time again, I will not referee any fights or arguments, real or pretend. I usually stick to it unless there is real violence or harsh language (you know..stupid, shut up, fart, etc)

The other night, they were wrestling and giggling. All was fun and games until Avery started to cry. I didn't even flinch. I said "I'm not getting in the middle of this. I told you not to play too rough." She kept crying.

Side note: Avery is tougher than a boot. She could seriously fall and skin her face on the sidewalk and jump up as if nothing happened. But if Reese so much as looks at her cross-eyed, she goes into full-blown hysterics, as if someone has just ripped her arm off. This is why I wasn't more affected by her tears. It's a 10-time-a-day occurrence.

I was insistent that I not be put in the middle of this. I told them they needed to take a break from each other and sit down for a bit. Avery finally stopped crying. She walked over to me to ask me a question and I noticed something funny on her face. It looked like chocolate. Only more of a rusty color. "Avery, what's on your face?" I ask. "I don't know, Mom...just nothing." She responds.

And then she turns her head. And this is what I see. (Warning...if you are squeamish, you may want to look away from the computer.)

I gasped. "OH MY GOD (they aren't allowed to say this, so it had great affect on Avery), YOU ARE BLEEDING!" So much for staying calm in a crisis. Avery starts to panic and cry again. She wants to see it, but can't, which makes her panic even more. I took a picture so she could see (not just to show you people) and that made it worse. It was a tragic scene, to be sure. And here I sat, all guilty and sheepish, because I hadn't responded when she cried earlier.

Apparently, Reese had been holding the phone in her hand while they were wrestling and accidentally hit Avery in the head. It was barely a nick, but man, those head injuries can bleed. When I finally convinced Avery to let me wash it all off, it wasn't even noticeable. I still feel guilty. But Avery LOVES to look at this picture and show it to all our friends. We look at it almost daily. It's her badge of honor. And yet another badge of poor mothering on my part.

P.S. Reese hit her head yesterday and asked me to take a picture of it so she could see. I could barely stop laughing long enough to take it. She was disappointed. She said "Momma, where's my boo-boo?" I love that kid.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

I'm Sorry

No, I'm not sorry. What do I have to be sorry for? Ok, probably lots of things, actually, but that's not the reason for my post.
I was watching a Dr. Phil episode yesterday afternoon...maybe it wasn't yesterday's episode, maybe it was. I have a bunch recorded and just watch them willy nilly whenever I feel like it. Ok, so, whatever date it originally aired, as usual, there were some people feuding. Not just arguing, but feuding -I'm not sure what the difference is. Ask Dr. Phil.
Anyway, what I learned from yesterday's show were two things I've always suspected, but was thrilled to have confirmed by Dr. Phil. And as we all know, if Dr. Phil said it, it must be true. (I kid. Sort of.)
The two things I learned are this: Admitting you're wrong, especially after a long period of time has passed, is one of the hardest things in the world for a person to do; and there is a right way and a wrong way to say I'm sorry. Dr. Phil outlined it a bit yesterday, so I thought I'd share...I know none of you want to be going around making inappropriate apologies. And you know you've gotten some. You know the ones....the words "I'm sorry" did come out of the person's mouth, but with every fiber of your being, you know they didn't mean it. And if they had the nerve they would have probably said "I'm sorry....sorry that you are such a turdface that you are forcing me to apologize."
So here we go with some examples...if you don't like it, see Dr. Phil. This is his area of expertise, I'm just the messenger.

Right way: I'm so sorry I hurt you. I feel so bad. Wrong way: I'm sorry you were hurt.
Right way: I never meant to upset you. I'm sorry. Wrong way: I'm sorry you took it the wrong way.
Right way: I was wrong. I'm sorry. Wrong way: I don't know what I did to make you so upset, but I'm sorry you are upset.
Right way: I'm sorry Wrong way: Well, soooorrrrry (in a sing song voice like when you were 12...Dr. Phil didn't say this one, but I thought it was important to mention.)

What was so funny to me, watching yesterday's show, was how hard it was for some people to get. This lady kept saying "I'm sorry...I still don't think I did anything wrong, but I'll say I'm sorry if that's what it will take to make this all go away." She never got it. Some people never do.

Ok, so this was a weird post, I admit. I just had to clarify a few things. And if it makes any of your lives easier, all the better.

Monday, May 5, 2008

The Beauty Shop

I had an appointment yesterday for highlights and a haircut. Normally, I look forward to this time as "me time." Two full hours of nothing but gossip and magazines. I love it. But because I'm such a wonderful, loving wife, I decided to take pity on my poor husband and, instead of leaving him with all three children, I took one with me. I took Reese because, as the middle child, she never gets to be the one. I never spend any alone time with her and I thought this was a great time for us to have some mother-daughter bonding. I made her promise that she would be on her best behavior the entire time. I threatened that I would bring her home if she whined, threw fits, or didn't mind me. We filled her "pack-pack" with books, DVD's and the DVD player, and we were off. We stopped and got snacks on the way. She was ready. Here she is, settling into the chair next to mine.

After changing her mind 412 times about which movie to watch, she decided on Dora. No, make that Word World. No, Monsters Inc. No, Dora is good. Ok, we're watching Dora. I expected to have at least 30 minutes of peace as Betty went to work foiling my hair. Reese had all the expected questions at first. "What is she doing in your hair, Momma?" "What is that stuff?" "It's bee-custy!" Then, she changed her mind about movies. And dropped the DVD player on the floor. And nearly sent poor Betty flying across the floor, trying to catch the DVD player before it hit the ground. She missed. I
I took the DVD player away and told her she had to sit and read books. She read all three in about 15 seconds. And she was bored. I had to keep getting up and picking things up off of the floor, which made the foil take an hour instead of the usual 30 minutes.
Then it was time for me to sit under the dryer. It was quiet over in the corner, and I set Reese up next to me with Dora again. She was happy. For three minutes until the battery died in the DVD player.
I turned off the dryer, got up, went out into the store part of the salon and picked out some nail polish. I then went back to the dryer, turned it on, and gave Reese a mani-pedi. That took care of 4 minutes. She spun in circles in front of me, drying her nails, for a while. A good song came on the radio and she danced for all the salon patrons, making some smile and some look at her like "Why is that child at the salon? Can't her mother find a babysitter for one hour?" No, her mother can't.
I handed Reese the bag of chocolate covered pretzels and let her go to work. This kept her busy for a while. I also realized that removing her shoes and telling her to put them back on wastes alot of time, too.
Somehow, we made it. I was in the chair, ready for a haircut when Reese had to go potty for the 27th time. I don't know how the other people felt about her going in there, but I found it quite hilarious that she would go in, sit on the potty forever, yelling that she was "going tee-tee!" or "I going poopy!" She would yell at me that she was done, I would go in and she would tell me she wanted to be by herself. It was probably very aggravating to Betty, who just wanted to cut my hair and get me out of there, but I did get a giggle out of her.
The final straw was halfway through my blow dry. Reese was, as usual, on the potty yelling. The yelling stops and I hear the potty flush. Assuming she was done, Betty and I, as well as the 5 other people near us, turn to make sure she's coming out ok. Oh, she came out. Nude. She was holding her panties, which were full of skids, and saying "Momma, deez yucky. I don't like 'em!"
I feel certain that the next time I go in there (without children) there will be a sign on the wall. PLEASE DO NOT BRING CHILDREN INTO SALON.

Sunday, May 4, 2008


Have you ever thought about which celebrity you might look like? I don't really think about it much for myself. My friend Erin catapulted to the top of my friend list when she said I reminded her of Charlize Theron. She may have been drunk at the time, but I'll take it any way I can get it!

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. Look-Alikes. More specifically, my kids and their look-alikes. Once, in a grocery store, a lady commented on Avery's pale skin, curly hair and blue eyes and said that she looked like Nicole Kidman as a child. What do you think?

I think if Avery ever let me dress her like a girl (this was for her Pa Pa's wedding and she'll do anything for her Pa Pa), I might see the resemblance. I doubt I would have thought of it if someone hadn't mentioned it, but I can see it. Sort of.

A few days ago, someone was commenting on Reese's "adorable face" and "pixie cut" and suggested that she looks like Suri Cruise.

The coloring and the haircut, maybe, but check this out.
I think this one is dead on:

Have a great week! :)

Saturday, May 3, 2008

Boot Camp

I started a boot camp two weeks ago in order to jump start what is sure to be my journey toward a smokin' body. (In truth, I'd just like to be able to button some of my fat pants.) I go three times a week and every single time I go, Avery asks if she can go. Then, Friday afternoon, in her snottiest why do you get to do everything and I don't get to do anything? voice, she said "Why do you always like to go to boot camp and we don't get to do it?" Reese chimes in "I want to do boot camp." So we did boot camp. In the backyard. I set up stations and taught them the exercises. They actually did pretty good at paying attention - for the first 5 or 6 minutes. Then they went back to arguing over the swings, but not before I was able to snap a picture of their amazing strength and physical fitness.

If Reese doing situps in her underwear doesn't make you grin, then you just aren't trying!

Friday, May 2, 2008

The Kid Can Eat

My baby boy, Rhett can eat. He's always been that way. I can remember once when we had friends over and I mixed his bowl of cereal, she was like "Oh my gosh, is he going to eat all that?" He did. And wailed when it was finished. He's over the cereal stage. In fact, he eats regular people food all the time now. He doesn't even take a bottle. But he still eats like a champ.

Here is his breakfast tray. I used to put little bits at a time, but got sick of running back and forth, so now I just round it off.

For those of you who are worried that I'm overfeeding the child, here he is when he realizes he's almost finished.
It's funny now, but can you imagine our food bill when he's in high school? Don't mention that to my husband...he'll develop an ulcer.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Heidi Klum

I love Heidi Klum. Not LOVE, love, but you know. Not because she's beautiful (I usually hate people for that reason), but because she seems really sincere, funny, laid back, and happy. I like that in a person. I'm not sure I understand the attraction to Seal, but hey, to each his own, right?
Anyway, as you may or may not be aware, Heidi has come out with her own skincare line. I saw her promoting it on Ellen one day and she was so excited about it, I thought I would try it.
I just got it in the mail last week...and guess what? I've been using it for a week, and while I do think some of the products are good, I don't look any more like Heidi Klum than I did the last week. I also developed a new zit. It goes really well with all the others I've developed in the last few years. Not to mention my new glasses.
Speaking of the new glasses. I picked them up at the mall yesterday. When we got home, I put them on and Avery died laughing. She said "Oh, Mom, those are really hilarious!" I said, "Why are you laughing at me?" She said "Uh, Mom, don't you remember? We laughed at you in the store too. They are really funny." (NOTE: This is true. When I tried on the first pair of glasses, Reese started belly laughing really loud, as if I were the most hilarious person on earth. That does alot for the ol' self esteem, let me tell you.)
I don't have a prayer. Dangit.