What a Loser!

I'm wearing yoga pants...a Gap t-shirt...no shoes. I'm on my fourth beer and I think I just started an argument with my husband. Happy Freaking New Year!!!

Seriously, though...who wants to go out tonight? I mean, I know it's New Year's and I do wish we were with our friends hanging out, but I really, really don't want to get all dressed up in glitter and heels and be jam packed like sardines with the rest of the DFW area and pay double prices on everything. I'm happy where I am...but there is relatively little chance of me seeing midnight. Four beers by 7:30 p.m.? Yeah, we're doing good if we make it to 9. Luckily, my kids can't tell time.
If you live in Frisco and you hear some random people popping champagne poppers at 8:45 p.m. tonight, it's us, fooling our kids into thinking it's 2009 and time for bed!
Love Y'all!!!

Business As Usual

So we made it home Sunday night, after a puke-free, fun-filled holiday in Oklahoma. We had plans to go with our friends down to their ranch to celebrate New Years. Surprise, surprise. I have a sick kid. It's Rhett this time. Sinus and ear infections, plus a minor stomach virus. Aaron is only surprised that I'm surprised. We always have sick kids around holidays and fun plans. It's the way we operate around here. So please, people, stop inviting us to do fun things. Seriously, just lose our number. That way, we don't have any expectations and you guys don't risk getting cooties from us. Deal?


P.S. I'm just kidding. I just need to find a babysitter who will keep kids when they are vomiting/snotty/have diarrhea. Overnight.

It wouldn't be a holiday....

in the Jackson household if a kid wasn't either feverish, vomiting, or both. We've got both. Poor Avery is sick today. How sad to be sick on Christmas Eve. We are going to press on, however. This will not ruin our Christmas. I will look at the silver lining: At least I only have one child yelling every five minutes, "NOW, can we open presents?" Avery is too sick to keep asking.
If we can't go to Oklahoma tomorrow as planned, we'll go the next day. Or the next day. We'll keep trying until we get up there, dadgummit.
In the meantime, I'm cooking us our very first at-home Christmas dinner and saying prayers that Jesus and Santa and whoever else is watching over us, will send us an overnight delivery of good health! I wish you all the same. I hope you don't hear from me for the next few days...if you do, it means we're stuck at home with sick babies! :)
Merry Christmas!

Cold Weather

My favorite thing about kids and cold weather:









Funny hats, especially when they don't want to wear them.





My least favorite thing about kids and cold weather:

Gloves for anyone under the age of, oh, seven. Trying to fit fingers in the correct holes is maddening enough. But then, when you finally do get them all in one hole, they have to go potty, taking the gloves off and you have to start all over. Don't they sell mittens anymore?????

Cristy Lane

I've been watching Fox News for about three years now. There was a tiny part of me that thought it meant I was either getting old or that my inner dork was becoming a more prominent piece of my personality. But I dismissed those thoughts in favor of more self flattery. "You are just paying attention to the world around you. It's good to be informed. More people should turn off the Friends reruns and start watching Fox News so that we have all the facts about our world." But the other night, I saw a commercial that shut that nicer, more flattering voice right up. It's a commercial offering Cristy Lane CDs. Here is Ms. Lane, in a still photo. (Notice it's copyrighted, so dont' get any ideas about printing this for above your mantle.)

She, supposedly, has "one of the most beautiful voices in music history" and I am totally missing the boat if I don't order the CD. Today, in a moment of complete boredom, I checked out her website www.cristylane.com. You have to see this. I cannot stop laughing. I mean, I'm sure this lovely lady was a great singer back in the Andy Griffith era, but I'm not exactly sure who they think their audience is if they are trying to sell them now. If the Cristy Lane audience is the Fox News audience, then, the only conclusion I can reach is that I'm not only old, but a huge, loser nerd.

I'm thinking of starting a support group called It's Hip To Be Square. If any of you love The O'Reilly Factor, or went to visit the website and found yourself silently wishing someone would get you "One Day At A Time, Volumes I and II," let me know.

A Funny Story

So, I'm feeling alot of pressure right now. Most of your totally sweet, self-confidence boosting emails, said things about me making them laugh or smile...so now I'm like "Ok, I've built this damn thing up for a week and I can't think of anything funny." You know, because the first meeting of the secret club needs to be good. And I suck at meeting people's expectations...so I pulled a story from my mind that always gives me a good grin...hope it works for you.


You may remember the weekend that I went to visit my brother, Bo, in Kingsville. Aaron was home with the kids for three nights - the longest he's ever been alone with any of them, much less all three. I must tell you, though, that Aaron is a champ when it comes to taking care of all three kids. I know some people whose husbands can only handle one or two at a time. Not my husband. He may struggle at first, but he gets the hang of it and usually does a fabulous job.
The most important thing to note is that he tries so hard to do things "right." He tries to do things exactly how I would want him to do it - except for all the junk food - and he puts alot of effort into them when he's with them.
So, being the sweet, helpful man that he is, he decided to take them to buy their Halloween costumes that weekend. He knew I was a bit panicky about being gone the weekend before Halloween because weekends are generally my only time to shop. He knew what they wanted and took it upon himself to take care of this daunting chore. He called me that Saturday and told me they had been to a party store and Target, but hadn't found anything yet. He was pulling up to Toys R Us while we chatted. He stopped me mid-sentence, saying "Hey, there's a costume shop right here by Toys R Us. I'm going to go in there for a minute." He kept me on the phone the whole time and the conversation when something like this:

Him: Come on guys, we're going to go see what they have in here.
I hear him getting them all unbuckled and out of the path of moving cars. I can hear the door dinging as they walk in.
Him: Hmmm...this all looks like grown up costumes...let's go check in the back.
I can hear the kids all talking. Avery is looking for vampire teeth and Reese just wants to buy princess stuff.
Him: I don't see any kids' stuff here. What kind of costume store doesn't have kids' costumes?
Me: Hmm, that is weird. Is it just set up for this time of year? Could they be out of everything already?
Him: I don't know...let me look over here. Oh wait. I think this store is just for adults. I see some creams and stuff that looks a bit sexual.
About 4 seconds passes
Him: OH MY GOD, there is a giant dong!!! AVERY, KIDS, LET'S GO! WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE!
I'm just listening, trying not to freak out, but also wondering why is there a giant dong anywhere that my kids are?
Him, (finally outside): Oh God...that was an adult store. Like porn. Oh my god, and I had the kids in there.

He wonders if they saw anything and if so, do they know what it is? Sadly, we'll probably never know. Well, at least until the next parent-teacher conference.

The Secret Club

Ok, does anyone else feel like I just started the dumbest secret club ever by forcing you to get on an "invite list" in order to read about my mundane little life? No? Awesome, thanks.
Seriously, though, I'm totally flattered that any of you read it for more than one day and I mean that. So thanks!
And here's a tiny explanation of the situation....as many of you saw, I got a negative comment about a month ago. Of course, I'm not going to shut my blog down over one person's opinion of me, but it didn't stop there. (It never does with these yay-hoos.) Emails started coming and it started yet another conflict with people I don't want to have anything to do with. As much as I loved documenting life at home with my kids and connecting with people over 5 during the day, I started to feel a negative vibe coming over me when I sat down to write anything. I found myself thinking, "What could I say that would really "sting" her without coming out and saying it?" I don't want to be like that. So I just decided to quit it altogether. But then that sucked. I didn't take one picture between last week's "retirement" and today. That really sucks because Lord knows I can't remember anything past one day, much less long enough to save it for when I get around to scrapbooking.
So, there you have it. I have, essentially, reverted back to junior high, rallied all my people around me so that the mean girls can't touch me. Maturity is overrated anyway.

Today's real post coming up.....

Just call me Brett Favre...

or Michael Jordan...or anyone else who has retired and then 30 minutes later, came out of retirement.
Here's the deal. I love writing about my family...but I don't love that anyone in the world can read about it. My husband loves to read things about the kids and I like sharing with my mom and sister and close friends.
So I'm setting this blog to private...if no one but my husband and I read it, that's ok. But if those of you who sent comments are seriously interested, for whatever reason, in reading, just shoot me an email and I can add you to the "included" list. dodiajackson@yahoo.com I will set the blog to private before my next posting.
This way, I get to do what I want to do and I get to decide who is reading and who isn't.

If you think I'm a complete idiot who takes myself entirely too seriously, just hit the red X and pretend you never read any of this.

Thanks again so much for all of your sweet comments. You made me feel so loved! :)

The End of the Line

Hey guys....I have some news...this is my last blog post. As soon as I figure out how to get all of the previous posts printed and/or saved, I am going to delete this blog.
There are many reasons for this, but the number one reason is that I think it's run its course. I'm sure my kids will continue to do miraculously cute things, but that's what scrapbooks are for.
While I will miss writing and connecting with y'all, I think it's time for me to move on...
Thanks to all of you for reading and being interested in my boring little life!!

Oreos

Do not buy these. I repeat: Do NOT buy these. If you do, you'll be sorry. Your three-year-old will ask you 435 times a day if she can have one. After you've said no for the 436th time, she'll start sneaking them. You'll put them up high, but she'll have a stash somewhere so that, every time you see her, she has one in her hand. There will be red Oreo creme ground into your carpet. There will be black chunks everywhere. You might think they are chunks of dirt (sometimes they are) until you see the tell-tale signs of creme and saliva around the edges. Finally, when you just can't take it anymore, you will be forced to go into the kitchen, open the package and eat all remaining Winter Oreos, just to eliminate the trouble. It won't matter if there are 3 or 23 left. You have to eat them all in order to stop enabling the three-year-old to eat herself into a diabetic coma by 3:00 each afternoon.

Please save yourself the trouble I've been through. Do NOT buy these cookies.

Tipping on the Holidays

Yesterday I went for, what will surely be, my last hair appointment of 2008 and for sure the last one before Christmas. It hit me on the way there that I usually give her a little gift or something for Christmas and that I hadn't even thought about it. I was going to tip her double what I usually tip her, but frankly, I couldn't afford it. (Sidenote confession: Until I was about 25, I never tipped a hairdresser. I just thought you paid them what they asked and that was it. I only tipped waiters. And then, I was at a happy hour with friends and they were all "So how much do you give him on a color versus a cut?" and I was mortified. I made a hair appointment immediately following said happy hour and apologized for being a clueless country bumpkin. I used all my grocery money on hair and tips that day.) Wanting to do something, but not having alot of money or time, I just ran by this Mexican restaurant and got her a drink she likes. She is Guatemalan and has this secret rice milk drink she loves that only one restaurant serves. So I got her that, tipped her the usual 20% and moved on.
On the ride home, I turned up the radio, only to hear Russ Martin and Co. talking about how stupid holiday tipping is. As I listened, my face reddened. Once again, I was a clueless country bumpkin. I've made a list of the ones I remember from yesterday and then others I found online today. See what you think. (I've added my own commentary just to try to make myself feel better.)

Live-in Nanny - (If you can afford one of these, the tip probably isn't a big deal to you) - a cash gift equaling at least one week's pay, plus a nice additional gift from your child.

Regular Babysitter - One night's pay and small gift for child. If regular, weekly service, up to one week's pay. (I would die dead if the parents of the kids I babysit for gave me a week's pay for a gift. I'd return it after I picked myself up off the floor. For once, I'm thankful we don't ever have a babysitter.)

Daycare provider - $25-70 for each person who provides for your children and a small gift from your child. (Day-uhm. That could get pricey....)

Private nurse - small gift from you. (How come the babysitter gets a week's pay and the private nurse, who may change wounds and/or adult diapers, gets a small gift?)

Housekeeper - Up to the amount of one week's pay and/or a small gift. (Glad I don't have a housekeeper so she can't get pissed at me b/c my neighbor gave her a week's pay and I give her a Hallmark ornament.)

Hairdresser/Barber - Cash in the amount of haircut or service provided. ($125 gift for a cut and color? Mine got a milk drink. Poor her.)

Dog walker - One week's pay and/or gift. (Reason number 476 that we don't have a dog. Also, if you have a dog, but no time to walk it, how do you have time to enjoy a dog?)

Mail carrier - Small gift. (Um, my mail carrier has never gotten anything from me except insufficient postage on a package.)

Trash collectors - $20 each. (Again. They've never gotten anything from me but smelly diapers and rotting meat.)

Teachers - Small gift from your child, no cash. (This one burns me on a personal level. As a former teacher, I would venture to say that cash is the number one thing on a teacher's list. I got gift cards all the time when I taught Kindergarten and while I loved the kid-chosen gifts (Half used bottle of Jean Nate or stolen DVD from Kroger), I have to say it sure was fun to get Gap and Starbucks cards. I sure don't understand why a dog walker would get more than the person who gets paid virtually nothing to deal with kids with disabilities, behavior problems, injuries, accidents, etc. So don't skimp on the teacher gift. I am a loser on every category listed above, but I got Avery's teacher something pretty good. Not $100 or anything, but still better than a wooden apple with her name on it.)

Hope this list was useful. Besides making me feel more clueless and ignorant than ever, it also helped me realize why I don't have a gardener, babysitter, or dog.

Have a great day. (I'm off to the closet to find something for the mailman. Do thirtysomething young men enjoy half-burned Yankee candles?)

It's That Time of Year

It's that time of year. A time for joy, happiness and reflection on the previous year. I always try to think of ways to make next year better. I have about a gazillion and one things I'd like to improve about myself, but I've kind of hit upon a rough spot. Forgiveness.
Well, maybe not so much the forgiveness. I really don't have a problem forgiving people when they ask for it. I grew up in a family where fighting and getting over it were as much a part of life as changing underwear. So I get the whole "I'm sorry, It's ok" part of it all. Here's my problem. The forgetting and the letting go. Maybe it's ok not to forget, but how about letting go of it? This is my issue...if someone has hurt me and they say "I am so sorry I did that. I'm not sure why I said it/did it/felt that way, but I did and I apologize," I think I do a fairly good job of forgiving them. And I really, truly don't hold it against them. Trust me, I've done plenty of crappy stuff and I've been fortunate enough to be forgiven, so I'm not a fan of holding a grudge or refusing to forgive.
But what about this: Someone has hurt you and yet, they either don't think they have hurt you or they refuse to admit that they have hurt you. How do you move on from that? If they don't think they've done anything wrong, how can you be sure they won't continue doing the same thing? How about when you confront someone about how they hurt you and, instead of apologizing, they just start bringing up all the times you've hurt them? How do you get anywhere? If you're dealing with people who just "don't get it," do you keep giving them chances?
Here's my thing...we are all human. We all screw up. We all deserve second, third, fourth chances. But I also believe that you have to set boundaries so that you don't put yourselves in hurtful, negative situations. Being around people who don't feel kindly about you can't be good for your insides.
So what do y'all think? When do you forgive, forget and pretend everything is hunky-dory again and when do you just decide to forgive and then move on, eliminating a person from your life as much as possible?

Great Column in the Washington Post

I found this column today. Before you read, let me clarify something. I have been a working mom and am now a stay-at-home mom and for me, being a working mom was 10 times harder. I was meant to be at home. I know it's not that way for everyone, but my heart hurts for women who want to be at home and can't. So while I may whine from time to time about having no time to myself, or being exhausted from being kept up all night, I recognize that I'm extremely fortunate to have this choice.
Ok, now that that's out of the way...read this.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/05/22/AR2007052201554.html

Thanksgiving Pictures

We decided, at the last minute, to drive up to Oklahoma to spend Thanksgiving with my family. Aaron and I haven't gone anywhere for Thanksgiving since we got married because of some issues with "fairness" on where we spend the holidays. (Divorced parents, in-laws, you know how it goes.) So, in order to be fair and eliminate drama, we've stayed home every year. Frankly, it gets lonely and doesn't really feel too "holiday-ish." Plus, it's kind of dumb to stay home based on what someone might say about where we went. So I asked him what he thought and he said he agreed that being with family is better than being alone. My mom and Nana were at my Aunt Judy's house in Tulsa for Thanksgiving so we got up early Thursday morning and made the 4 hour trek. We stuffed ourselves silly and then went on to Pawhuska. Even though Reesie got a tummy bug and threw up all weekend and twice on the drive home, the trip was well worth it. (I'm not sure my family wants us back at Christmas, though.)

Here are Grammy and the kids at Juju's. You can tell my kids are city kids because they are collecting landscaping rocks as if they are fossils in the forest.

Here's Avery holding our newest family member. This is Baby RJ, my little sister's youngest. He is 100 times more perfect and precious than he looks in this picture, which is amazing because I think this is pretty stinking cute.

Reese and Macy B. have finally reached an age where they are able to enjoy each other. It helps that they are both drama queens, both love playing babies and both think they are princesses. They were so cute together. Here they are playing their Leapsters in Macy B's room.

We also started, what I hope will become a new tradition. The kids, along with Nana and Grammy (sans a pukey Reese and a napping Rhett), went out to the "woods" to cut down a Christmas tree.

I love that my 87-year-old Nana is riding in the back of the truck with all the kids. And that Baby RJ is dressed like a woodsman, crying his little eyes out. It was COLD!

My brother Josh and my big, strapping husband cut down the tree. (I wish we had a forest nearby because I'd like to see him cut down trees more often.)

Meanwhile, I had been back at the house, making preparations for the birdseed, peanut butter and pinecone ornaments.

Did I mention the tree was for my mom's patio? It didn't go in the house. So it's not like there was peanut butter and birdseed all over her house.

Some of the kids enjoyed putting the ornaments on the tree. (Reese, JD, and Avery)

While others enjoyed the peanut butter and birdseed for other reasons. (Em, I promise we took it away from her. I just had to take a picture first!)

This picture has nothing to do with Thanksgiving, but I love it. It's my poor, sick baby Reesie, who was feeling so icky, she just walked around, looking for any place to lay her little head. It makes me so sad for her, yet I can't help smiling.

Update

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. I hope that you have all been able to exist without this blog. I know it must be hard.
Seriously, though...besides the fact that we, last minute, decided to go out of town for Thanksgiving, it's been hectic. Reese got a stomach bug while we were in Oklahoma and has thrown up several times a day. Her last episode was around 2:00 yesterday afternoon. I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God that no one else got it.
But, as usual, I spoke too soon. Rhett woke up in a pile of vomit this morning.
So, while I have some really cute pictures of our time in Oklahoma, I have to spend yet another day, washing towels, sheets and clothes. Plus, there's all the rocking that has to be done. Which I dont mind at all. I just wish I didn't have to get puked on in order to enjoy quiet time with my babies. Oh well, I'll take what I can get.
So please, please keep me in your thoughts (pray that I don't get sick!) and just know that, when I crawl out from under this huge pile of laundry and hose all the vomit off of my clothes, I'll have some fun pics of Thanksgiving and my precious baby nephew, R.J.! :)

Diary of a Bad Mommy (Volume 10)

For me, afternoons are the worst. That icky time between 2:00 and 5:00 always gets me down. I have no idea why, but I can get really grumpy around that time of day. My kids are usually whiny and grumpy too. And the phone rings off the hook, starting at about 2:00 or 3:00 every day. If you know me, you know that the sound of the phone ringing drives me to drink. Add this to my normal afternoon slumpiness and it's not good. Today, with Avery home all day and it being a bit too cold for them to stay outside for any length of time, was an especially rough one.


Sometime around 3:30, I found myself yelling at my kids. I'm not proud of it, but it happens. They had made the 50th mess of the day, left it sitting, and were in the midst of asking me 407 questions, while I answered the third phone call in less then 3o minutes. And I lost it. I just started bitching and didn't stop. I was on the phone with a friend and I forced her to sit and listen to all the bitching.


I felt bad, but not bad enough to stop. I kept going until both girls had retreated to separate corners, in tears. I was happy though, because finally, all the crap on the living room floor had been put away and the kids were out of my hair. Until Avery brought me this note:


My heart softened. This had to be some sort of an apology note. I thought I could make out the word "whining." I called Avery over, just to make sure. "Can you read this to me?" I asked her.
She took the note, and in a very stern voice said "Ok, Mom. I wish you had fun and were good enough to play with us."

Just for that, I'm not writing them an apology note either.

Precious Moments

I'm not talking about the Precious Moments that some people, who shall remain nameless, collect for reasons I cannot understand. I'm talking about the rare moments when your kids are not only not fighting, they actually seem to enjoy each other. Yesterday, we had two such moments.

Avery was really reading to them. (What she doesn't know, she improvises.) And they were really listening.

And my precious baby girls napping, late into the afternoon. Nevermind that they were up last night until 11 because of this 2-hour snooze-fest. They were the most blissful 2 hours of my weekend.

Moments like these are what keep me going. There is always the glimmer of hope that they will happen again.

Right now, all I can hear is Reese yelling "Give me that belt! I want to use it like my wope!" And Avery say "This is my rope for catching bad guys! Get away or I'll tie you up with it!" (It's MY robe belt and if they don't stop arguing soon, I'm going to tie them to the chairs and gag them with dirty socks.) But I have the memories of these Precious Moments. I have a feeling I will need to escape to these pictures many times this week, as Avery is out of school for 7 more days.

And hey, if the magic of the pictures fails to preserve my sanity, there's always Benadryl.

They Hear Everything

Here are a few snippets from conversations with my kids over the last week or two:

Reese: (in the kitchen, talking to one of her dolls) Oh, Dammit!
Me: What did you say?
Reese: Can we say "Oh, Dammit?"
Me: No. It's not a nice word. Where did you hear that? Please dont say me, please don't say me.
Reese: From my dance class.
Whew. Wait. She isn't in dance class.



Avery, sitting at the dinner table last night, burst into song. So glad she chose this one:
"Dontcha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Dontcha."
Note to self: Gotta filter that iPod.


We are all at the chiropractor yesterday for my 2nd adjustment. The kids are looking at x-rays with me.
Avery: Wow, cool! Is that your head? Cool.
Doctor: See how this is kind of crooked? We're going to fix your momma right up so her back won't hurt anymore.
Reese: (Very loudly) Are you gonna fix her BOOTY too????
Doctor: Her booty?
He glances at me with a questioning look.
Me: Ha ha. Um, it's kind of an embarrassing thing.
I start explaining and he interjects with "It's ok. Sounds like a private matter."
That's more embarrassing than just telling him about the stupid boils!

Have a great weekend!

Not just for cooking anymore....

Turns out, these are fairly versatile and can be used outside the kitchen. Let me explain.

I have boils on my butt. Yes, they are gross, they are painful and they are difficult to reach. If you know anything about boils (Sadly, we know plenty in our family. We are disgusting boil/staph/funk people.) you know that, in order for them to heal and not let the infection spread all over your body, you have to constantly drain the boils. It goes like this. Press with a warm cloth or soak in a tub. When all the pus (ewwww) rises to the top, it forms a whitish head and that's when it's prime for popping. It hurts like hell, but if you don't do it, the pressure builds up and hurts even worse. So, I now have three of these on my BUTT. Near my crack. My poor husband, up until recently, has been in charge of draining these. He hates it. Partly because he hates hurting me and partly because he has a very weak stomach when it comes to blood or pus or general ooziness. But he's done it, because my other options are to go to the doctor and have them lanced (hurts like double hell and keeps hurting) or let an infection spread to my bloodstream and I'll die.

However, on Monday morning, he left town for three days. He won't be back until late tonight. Which means I'm on my own in Boil Land. And they are hard to reach. Have you ever tried to squeeze anything in your crack region, using both hands? I'm not a contortionist, so I struggle. I've let it go a bit, but last night, after taking two Vicodin and still not getting any relief from the pressure, I decided I had to do this somehow. I soaked in the tub for 30 minutes. These babies were ripe when I got out. They were sick and huge and ready to be squeezed. But I couldn't get a grip on them. What can I do? I can't ask my kids. I don't have any friends that I'm willing to lose over a butt boil. What do I do? And then it hit me. I need a tool. Not pliers because that might hurt. But something like that. What do we have around the house that will squeeze without damaging? Ah, yes. Tongs.

You know what? It's a bit ridiculous and it hurt like hell, but it worked. It's easier than using my hands because there's something innate that prevents me from hurting myself. Using tongs creates the illusion that someone else is hurting me. Pus squirted, pressure relieved, problem solved. I feel like a genius for getting myself out of this strange predicament. I've used the tongs two more times (on the butt boils only), just because I can. Still in pain, but I feel better knowing I've taken matters into my own hands (or, in this case, tongs).

And just in case some of you were worried about being invited over for fried chicken, I've already added tongs to my grocery list. The Butt Tongs will be trashed immediately following the final draining.

Now, I don't know about y'all, but I've suddenly got a craving for some tapioca pudding.

What is it with kids and being naked?

My girls have always appreciated their own nudity. They'll get naked anytime, just for the sake of being naked. We allow it (at home) because we want them to get it out of their systems before high school.

Now their little brother has gotten in on the action. And he's learned that I'm going to try to catch him and dress him, so he tries to find a place to hide.

Sunday, I was getting him dressed and realized I had run out of diapers in the living room. I ran back to his room to get another pack and came back to find him in a spot where you just know he thought I couldn't get to him!

Note: He's carrying his Disney Cars...he had them in his hands while I changed him...and made sure he took them with him when he went AWOL over the gate.
I also like how the gate is strategically placed over his unmentionables. It's like it was planned! (It wasn't.) He's laughing at me, by the way. I feel him saying "Na na nee boo boo! You can't catch me!" I would have punished him for hiding and laughing at me, but I have a feeling that the naked trip over a wood and metal gate was punishment enough.

Kids, We are in a Recession

"We are in a recession." That's the 2008 version of "Money doesn't grow on trees," and it's the talk we had to have with Avery today. She asked "Can we go out to dinner tonight?" (She's become very big on going out to eat lately.) Her dad said "Do you have any money?" She said "Yeah, I have that money that Pa Pa gave me (about 40 pennies in a Skoal can) and I have money that Brad paid me for playing restaurant (our neighbor who gave her way too many quarters for pretending to serve him food)." I asked her if she knew where any of that money was. "Well, um, no. But I have it somewhere."


So, her dad and I proceeded to inform her that we were in a recession, and it hard times like these, we have to make sacrifices. While it would be possible for us to go out to eat tonight, we'd probably have to scratch a few things off the Christmas list. You can guess her response to that. "NO WAY! I want presents! But I still want to go out to eat."
So I came up with a plan. We would go get the money can out of the closet. You know the one...we all have some sort of can/jar/bank that holds all the loose change. If we could roll up enough money to afford dinner out, we'd go.


The bad news: These girls are pitiful at counting and rolling money. So I had to do it all.

The good news? We got $63. I let Avery pick the place. She chose Arby's. We really splurged. Everybody got their own meal. No splitting drinks, fries, etc. And we even stopped for Cold Stone ice cream on the way home. And Momma still has $25 left. Woo hoo! Party at my house. Oh, wait. Rhett needs diapers and Avery's lunch account is down to $7.65. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

Somebody Feed This Kid

Guess where he got his breakfast this morning? Hint: It's in the picture with him...and it's not the laundry basket in the background.

I blame Reese. She's the one who threw away a perfectly good apple. I know it has nothing to do with neglectful parenting.

Does not.

Blah

I wish this was me. Right now.

That's all.

His Latest Hobby

I love that my little boy has developed this latest hobby. It can keep him busy for extended periods of time. Periods of time when I don't have to worry about what he's getting into. Plus, I think it's just adorable. He discovered cars and trucks a long time ago, but it seems he just figured out what to do with them.






Look how serious he is! First, he lines them all up, as if he is "parking" them. He'll switch their spots about 40 times before they are all where they belong.

Interrupting this process elicits this look:





(As I type this, he is sitting at the kitchen table with three of the same cars, making what I assume he thinks are car noises. He is also using the girls' puzzle pieces to cause very loud "crashes.")





He still manages to stop and say "YEEEE!" (Cheese!)

Pics from the Mud Run

I learned something about myself this weekend that disturbs me and thrills me at the same time. I like rolling around in mud. A lot. I like being dirty and sweaty and filthy.

This disturbs me because, well, I'm a 36-year-old woman and it's not dignified or lady like to roll in mud. It thrills me because it makes me feel young and it also sheds a lot of light on why Avery doesn't like girly girl stuff. She comes by it naturally.

Anyway, the run was more fun than I had imagined. There were walls to climb, which left me with countless bumps and bruises, and big mud slides that I would give anything to do again right now. Doing this also made me feel extremely tough and strong. The only bad thing is this horrid blister I have on my left foot. I'll tell you this, folks: Running in combat boots just ain't natural!

So, aside from the bumps and bruises and that big ass blister, and a snotty nose from all the muddy water in my sinus cavity, I came away pretty unscathed. At least where it matters...my face was intact for family pictures Sunday morning, which was my main concern.

Here are a few pics from the event. Aaron brought the kids out to watch, which made it even more fun.

Enjoy!

The girls arrived just as we were about to begin the race. You've heard of "Mom Jeans?" These are Mom Camos. Just as comfy as they are attractive. Actually, just walking around in them wasn't so bad, but running in them and then running in them while they are weighted down with water and mud is torture. And I would do it again. I'm sick that way.

Can you see me jumping around like an idiot?

This is the "long" run before the first muddy obstacle. I was smiling, although I'm pretty sure the blister had already started.

Here are two of the kids, climbing a tree to get a better look at Mom's foolishness. They didn't get to walk down to where all the obstacles were, so they saw me running off, dry and clean. The next thing they saw is me coming across this bridge.

That's me, the one in front facing the dude with his shirt off. The kids said I looked like a "grungy monster." They were right.

Here we are as we approach the finish, tired but proud. (only 100 more feet before these boots come off!)

Here I am, being hosed off. By the freezing cold water from a fire truck. That was it. They came up, threw the hose for a bit and then drove off. I had to cut my underwear off of me in the parking lot and go home commando. Very dignified.

Ok, one last picture and I'm only posting it because of my new love of being pitied. This is the blister. Does it look as painful as it feels? I cried in the shower when the water ran on it. Last night, when I soaked it in peroxide, I chugged a beer in the hopes it would dull the pain. It didn't.

Do you feel sorry for me, even though I brought this on myself? I choose to believe that you do. Thanks.

Today is Friday

Thank goodness, too, becauseI can't handle any more school days this week. My 5 year old darling is going to turn my hair gray with her drama and attitude.
Avery had a runny nose and was up all night long, crying and snotting all over the place. When the alarm went off, I tried to wake her and she wouldn't budge. I actually thought I would just call our neighbor and tell her to go to school without us because Ave needed to sleep. But she heard me dialing and bounced up and freaked out. She whined and griped all morning. Everything I did was wrong and she let me know it. I was worn out before the other two kids even got out of bed. I wanted to crawl back in my big, king-sized bed and just shut out the morning.

And then, this came in the room....





She was a little salty that I made her wear sweats today, but she spiffed it up with pink socks and tap shoes and all was right with the world.
This poor guy, however, is not so lucky. He has to wear sweat-capris because his mommy hasn't bought him any comfy sweats that are long enough this year.



But he has a "Rhett Pop Tart" (Reese's name for a Nutri Grain bar) so he's cool about the high waters for now.

Have a great Friday!!!

Momma Wears Combat Boots

I'm feeling a little envious of my husband this morning. He walked out the door to get on a plane to Miami this morning. He's only going for dinner and then will be back tomorrow. How "jet set" does that sound? All slicked up in his dress clothes, flying to Miami for dinner. But, as he was leaving, he said "This guy is probably going to want to go somewhere really trendy." Aaron doesn't go for trendy. (FYI-Aaron thinks non-fried shrimp is trendy. I'm not sure he had ever even tried asparagus before he met me.)


I, however, would LOVE to go somewhere trendy. In Miami. All dressed up, having adult conversation. Yep, I'm a little jealous.


But, as they say, the grass is always greener. Turns out, he is jealous of me right now. You'll never guess why. So I'll tell you. It's because I get to wear these:

Yeah, that's right. These are real, live military combat boots. Ok, they are GI-copy Jungle Boots. The real ones are twice the price, but I'm all about the cheap imitation.
I have to confess: I love them. I mean, I really love them. I look ridiculous in them and Avery says that, when I put them on with my real, live USED (not from a dead soldier - I checked) camo pants, she "knows I'm still her mom, but I look more like a dad." Every woman's dream, right?
Now, you might be wondering why I am wearing camo pants and combat boots. It's not because I'm trying a new fashion experiment. No, it's much more insane than that. I signed up to run a Mud Run on Saturday in Fort Worth. You are required to wear pants and at least ankle-high shoes. Since I don't have either of these items that I would allow to be soaked in mud, I ordered from the Army/Navy surplus store listed on the Mud Run website.
So, about this Mud Run: A friend of mine was on a team of girls and a girl dropped out. She thought I might like it and when she told me about it, I jumped on the idea. I like to have a fitness goal and I like to do unusual work out things. Then I read the website. This thing is not a fun run. It's a 10K obstacle course in the mud. Designed by a Marine. Hence, the name: Fort Worth Marine Corps Mud Run. I like the mud idea, but after reading people's testimonies, I'm a little nervous. These are some of the reminders: "When you are crawling, crawl on your belly, like Marines. Do not crawl on your knees." "Remember to empty your pockets of mud and water as much as possible." "When running/swimming through the "English Channel" (a ditch of water, apparently) go through the middle. If you try to go through the shallow part on the sides, you have to start over."

So now I'm nervous. I wasn't going to tell anyone. But I decided that, if I told everyone (all 40 of you) that I was doing it, then I have to do it. I will have to finish because I can't get on here Sunday and say "Oh, I gave up. I couldn't do it."
So, I'm doing it. I think it will be terribly difficult, but also totally hilarious and fun. I actually can't wait. My friend and I wore our boots to boot camp (How's that for irony?) this morning, to break them in, and got lots of attention. Everyone thought they were super cool...I may start wearing them all the time. I had them on with shorts the other day (again with the breaking in) and made quite a fashion statement to all the neighbors, I'm sure.
The point is, I'm doing the Mud Run. In combat boots and fatigues. And my husband is flying to Miami to have a big fancy dinner and stay in a very nice hotel. And we are jealous of each other. See? The grass is always greener. We always want what we can't have. You never know what you have until.....ok, you get the point.
I think that, next year, we should have my mom come stay with the kids, do the Mud Run together in the morning and go out for a fancy dinner later that night. Then everybody is happy. Good plan, huh? We'll just decide about that IF I survive this weekend....

Things to be happy about right now....

1. No more political discussions for a while. Woo hoo!

2. You don't have to clean up this mess:

Strategy

Looks like McCain should have actually used the "Sad Grandpa" strategy. He described this, on SNL last weekend, as the strategy where he whines that "This is his last shot at becoming President. Obama can run lots more times."
Poor, sad Grandpa.

Pity is Underrated

I've always despised pity. I don't want people to feel sorry for me, even if I'm conducting a full-scale pity party of my own. I want you to understand, but I don't want your pity. And I hate to listen to people whine about the same things over and over. (However, I to like to "discuss" the fact that I can't seem to lose an ounce of weight over a plate of cheese fries and cold beer.)
I like to vent to my friends and Lord (and those sweet friends) know I complain and vent alot. But I really, really, really don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. It makes me feel weak and it's embarassing.
Buuuuut, in the last few days, I may have changed my position. Last Friday, I was a bit hormonal and completely lost my mind because I couldn't leave the house to get a diet Coke. First of all, I go days without a diet Coke. We had been out for over a week. It rarely bothers me to NOT get a diet Coke. It's bad for you and I need more water anyway. But this day, I had a headache, all four kids were crying (my two, plus the two I babysit) and I was tired. And I wanted a diet Coke. Once I realized I couldn't leave to even run through Sonic (Hello? 4 car seats in a Toyota Highlander? Not happening) to get one, I broke down. I felt sorry for me. My husband called and I actually cried. I'm not proud of this, people, but I'm all about full disclosure when it comes to me being an ass.
Anyway, it was a long day without diet Coke. I finally got one after gymnastics around 4:30.
I didn't tell my friends about it until after the fact because, well, it's stupid. Plus, what do I want them to do? I mean, what do you say when your friend calls and says "I'm so mad I can't go get a Coke?" I mean, talk about putting someone on the spot. I know my sweet friends and I know any of them would have said "I'll bring you one" and I just couldn't handle that.
But, me being me, I have to tell every mundane detail of my life to anyone who will listen, so I mentioned it a few times over the weekend. Mostly to say how ridiculous I was, but also to let everyone know that I am HOME WITH FOUR BABIES ALL DAY EVERY DAY AND AM TRAPPED AT HOME which is my choice and I could stop at any time. But it's much more fun to play the martyr (read that last line with sarcasm) and whine.
I felt like a tool acting so pitiful, but you know what? I kind of think it's paying off. Yesterday at play group, all the other moms were scrambling around trying to help me clean things up, when we have a standing rule that it's your house, your mess. Then, this morning, I mentioned to my friend Jennifer that I was out of my appetite suppressants and wasn't going to get them until this evening. Guess what she did? She went and picked them up and brought them to me. Along with a Skinny Vanilla Latte.
And my other friend, Kealey, called me on her way to Michael's to buy craft stuff for a turkey disguise we have to do as a school project and asked if I wanted her to pick something up for me.
So I'm thinking...if you have really, really nice friends who will offer to do just about anything for you, go ahead and use pity to your advantage.

So here we go...this morning, I did full sit-ups on the cement and scraped the skin off of my boo-tay. It hurts bad. I probably need one of those donuts to sit on. Or maybe I need some alcohol. The drinking kind, not the rubbing kind.
Also, as I was getting out of the shower, my angel-baby, Rhett laughed out loud and pointed at my saggy boobs swinging around as I toweled off. So I need a boob job. But I can't afford one unless I keep about 12 more kids and that, my friends, ain't gonna happen.

There you have it. I need new boobs, vodka, and a donut for my bottom. Do what you will with that information. And feel free to pity me. If only because I'm a loser who writes about diet Coke and skinned butt cheeks on a website.

Diary of a Bad Mommy (Volume 9)

Well, I've done it again. I've failed these poor children for the thousandth time. And I've only had the oldest one for 5 years.

Today, we got up early. Time change, remember? Yeah, I did remember that. Not last night, but this morning, when every clock was wrong, I clued in pretty quickly.

Anyway, we had tons of time to lounge before we went to Target to get a birthday present for our neighbor, who is turning 3. We spent a good 45 minutes in the toy aisle before finally choosing a gorgeous Fancy Nancy feather purse and sunglasses.

We came home, wrapped the present, fought over who would draw on the card, and got ready to go. We sat and waited and waited for 2:30 to come. That extra hour sure does make the morning drag on.

Finally, 2:15 came. I loaded the girls in the car and we drove to the park, where the birthday party was taking place. I checked the time on the invitation one last time before we left. Yep, 2:30-5:30. Got the time change factored in. We are good to go.

When we got to the park, we saw the bounce house that had been mentioned on the invitation. Only it wasn't a princess bounce house, as stated. This one was a sports bounce house. Oh well, the kids won't care that the bounce house guy brought the wrong one.

We walk up to the pavilion where all the people are and I see tons of pizza boxes. Hmmmm, K mentioned that they would have finger foods...I didn't know they were buying pizza for everyone. Shouldn't have fed the kids!

We walked around, smiling at everyone, looking for a place to put the present. Avery asks "Where is Andrew?" He's her age and the party honoree's older brother. I didn't see him. Or the little girl. Or her parents. Or anyone who looked vaguely familiar.

One man asked "Can we help you guys find someone?" I said the little girls' name. He says "No, that's not us...this is ____'s party."

I am a bit confused. Did I get the time wrong? No, I checked that before we left. Maybe the place? Yeah, that must be it. Wrong park. We have two or three in our neighborhood, so it could have been another one.

I tell the girls we need to run home and get the invitation. Avery immediately panics, as if she senses that Mommy has made a terrible mistake and that, if we do go home, we'll have to stay there. "Mom, just call K and ask her where it is."

"Honey, I can't call her. She's not at home...they are at the party. We'll just run home and check. We won't miss a thing."

She tries another tactic. "Mom, let's just drive to all the parks we know and see if they are there."
"No, Honey. Then we'll be really late. We're running home."

So, we head home. Avery is bouncing in her seat, begging me not to go home. She knows I've screwed up and she's desperate for me to keep driving.

We get home and I tell the girls they can wait in the car while I run in. I run into the bathroom, grab the invitation off the counter and read it. My heart sinks. Sunday, November 9, it says.

Shit. Shit. Wrong day. I didn't even have to put on makeup today? Shit. I didn't have to go to Target and spend my last bit of cash on a present? Shit. I have to tell the girls there's no party? SHIT.

"Girls, come inside." The wailing begins. Reese has no clue why they have to come inside, but she knows she doesn't like it. Avery is panicked. "Mom, what are we doing? Why do we have to come in?"

"The party is next Sunday. I got the dates wrong."

The wailing turns to gut-wrenching sobs and Reese, by this point, has joined in. Reese keeps saying "But I have a present!" as if she's been mistakenly banned from the party because she didn't have a gift. "But I have a present," she keeps moaning, through tears. Here she is, showing her dad the present, begging him to save them from their wretched mother.

Sadly, Dad won't accept the present. He also won't answer them because he's too busy trying to hold back laughter. The laughter is, like their anger, directed at me. Because I'm a loser. And that's funny.

It went on for a good four or five minutes. They weren't even speaking to me at this point, just begging their dad to save them from this devastating situation. When I tried to apologize, it made things worse. The sound of my voice apparently reminds them that I exist. Which, to them, at this moment, sucks.

I know it doesn't help that I keep taking pictures of them as they cry, but really, how much worse could I have made it? I had already ruined their entire day. Might as well get a blog out of it, right?

Trick or Treat!

Trick or Treat from the Vampire, the Princess and the Frog Prince. Have a great weekend!

Fun Run

Is it already Friday? Whew! This week has been a whirlwind, and I couldn't even tell you why. I just know that I feel like I haven't looked up since my last post, which was Tuesday? Wow.

Honestly, between Reese's birthday last weekend and getting costumes ready for Trick or Treating tonight, I haven't been too focused on, well, anything. So, instead of a really enlightening, entertaining post, I'm just going to post pictures of Avery's Fun Run. It was a really cute fundraiser her school held on Wednesday. She had to collect pledges prior to the run. She hit us up, as well as her grandparents. Most people pledged $1 per lap. We pledged $2 per lap. Our expectations were that she'd run about 20 laps. She ran 29. We are broke.

Anyway, it was a great idea, in my opinion, for a fundraiser. Much better than selling the usual cookie dough or wrapping paper. Best of all, we all got to attend the run and be part of the action. I took Reese, Rhett and one of the babies I keep up to the school to watch. It was a blast!

The Spectators

Here's Flo Jo, I mean, Avery getting started. Notice the blue wristband. It is a watch. It is horrid and was the prize for getting at least 5 people to pledge. She loves it. She sleeps in it and wears it constantly.

I think it makes her run faster.

She took this whole thing very seriously. She reminds me of my brother, Bo. They are all business when it comes to athletics or any kind of competition. But when you scratch beneath that serious, tough exterior, they are both sweethearts...

Happy Halloween!

I Have to Say It

If you know me at all, you know that one of the biggest curses of being me is that I can't keep my mouth shut. Ever. If something bothers me, you know it. If I have an opinion, I tell you. And if I want you to think I'm hilarious, I'll get drunk and dance on a table. I have no shame when it comes to being obnoxious....so in keeping with my "put it all out there" spirit, I have to say this: I'm terrified that Barack Obama is probably going to be our next president.
Before you Obama supporters say "Oh God, another right-wing fanatic,", let me explain....

I don't think that Obama is the Antichrist, as some religious groups have suggested. In my opinion, that sounds ridiculous and frankly, a bit ignorant.

I also don't think that he is a terrorist. I don't believe that being friends with Bill Ayers makes Obama a bad guy. I do think that that friendship, combined with his quiet acceptance of the hateful, racist rantings of Jeremiah Wright, speaks to far-left leaning mentality, but I don't think Barack Obama himself is a bad guy.

I also don't think that, just because he campaigned for his cousin in Africa, who commandeered all sorts of violence when he lost his election, that means that Obama is a violent, hateful person. On the contrary. I truly believe that Barack Obama is a humanist. I believe that he genuinely believes in helping those less fortunate. And I admire that.

But here is my fear: Income redistribution is a slippery slope. I don't think America was founded on socialist principals and while Obama says he isn't socialist, his health care policies, as well as his economic policies say otherwise.

It sounds wonderful that we would tax big corporations while giving refund checks to people who are too poor to even pay taxes in the first place. It sounds very Utopian, very loving, very humane. But here's what will most certainly happen if you tax big corporations. They will either raise their prices to compensate for the tax increases, which hurts the consumer, or they will lay people off. Or both.
The middle class in this country is not what drives our economy. I'm married to a financial guy and even though he doesn't care much about politics, he says the basics are simple: the rich people are what keep this economy going...tax the rich and they quit spending or quit investing in our stock market, which makes the dollar value go down, which drives our economy into the toilet. Where it is now. Democratic policies got us into this mess....I'm so afraid that more liberal, democratic policies will seriously put us into a depression.

Not to mention that when he revokes the Bush tax cuts, we ALL will see a decrease in our monthly income. (yes, corporations, including oil companies will too, but like I said before...when their taxes go up, they will just put it out on us.) Because we, the upper middle class (Obama's definition of middle class is what I would consider "upper poor"), are going to suffer the most. We aren't rich enough to find tax loopholes and we aren't poor enough to benefit from Obama's policies. When he says 95% of Americans will not see an increase in their taxes, he's not lying. He's not going to raise your taxes. But he is going to eliminate the Bush tax cuts, which WILL raise your taxes in the long run.

The last thing is health care. I think our health care system is broken in that insurance companies have been allowed to jack prices up sky high so that people who are struggling can't afford basic health care. I think that is an outrage. But the fact remains that we do have one of the best health care systems in the country. Not financially, but medically. There is a reason that people from Canada, Sweden and other countries with socialized medicine come here for treatment. I, personally, have seen how the government runs things and the last thing I want them in charge of is my health care. Especially if I have a serious condition. Imagine if you are, God forbid, diagnosed with a malignant tumor. The doctor isn't sure he can treat it, but he has an experimental medicine he'd like to try. You think the government is going to TRY to heal you? No way. They are going to pay for the basics. There will be no more research or experimental treatment because there will be no money in it.


There. I just had to say it. I know it's the celebrity-cool, hip thing to do to be for Obama, but if you haven't looked at the facts of his economic policies, please do. PLEASE...Not the facts on his website, which (just as McCain's are) are spun to his advantage. Look at the facts on Bloomberg Television or CNN or Fox News Channel. Look at an objective website or TV channel and see if you can afford these policies. I know I can't.

And to my dear friends, and possibly family, who will vote for Obama next week...I still love you and when we all lose our asses in 2009, I won't hold you personally responsible. I will, however, ask you for a room in your house!

Happy Birthday, Sweet Reesie!

Today you are three. And you are sweeter and more precious than I could have ever imagined.
You are growing so much every day. I think we are both shocked that you are "FWEE!"

You are my girly girl. I love that, even when I make you wear pants, you find a way to make it "princess-y." I love that you will sit for 15 minutes, wearing a tutu over your clothes, waiting for your nails to dry.

I love that when we walk to school to pick up Avery, you want to bring your baby and stroller, "Just like mommy," and that you never forget to bring your purse. I love that you carry a purse filled with "tweasures" everywhere you go.

I love the clothes you choose for yourself and how adorable you are wearing them. I love that you stand in front of me (or your daddy) after getting dressed, waiting to hear "Oh, Reesie, you look beautiful." I even like that you wail, "I wanna be bootiful!" when I make you wear "regular" clothes.

Most of all, I love your sweet little personality. I love how you get so excited when you get to do something fun, or are given something "just for you," that you are so happy that you throw your arms around the closest person to give them an excited hug. Yesterday, when we brought your cake out and started singing, you were so excited that you just grabbed Avery and squeezed her.

Most of all, Reese-A-Roni, I love you. I hope you always remain a sweet, innocent, "bootiful pincess." You are amazingly wonderful. Happy 3rd Birthday, Baby Girl.