The Little Things

When you are a stay at home mom with three small children, you don't get out much. At least I don't. If you are my mom, you are thinking "You go all the time...I never went anywhere," but in comparison with lots of my friends and neighbors, we are real homebodies. And when you are at home all day, almost every day, you begin to appreciate the little things. If you are always out and about and have lots of excitement in your life, stop reading now. None of this will be even remotely cute, funny or interesting. Actually, you may be bored out of your skull and still find it mind-numbingly un-interesting because after all, these are my kids and who honestly gives a hoot about someone else's kids?
(For the record, these are all from yesterday and they all involve Avery. Not because I think she's cuter than the other two, but she is frankly, a better conversationalist and therefore, we have more conversations which can be considered funny. Reese is hilarious, but it's mostly because she copies everything that Avery says and she says words wrong and acts silly. But you gotta see her stuff on tape, or it loses it's hilarity. Rhett's funny too, but only because he's Big Tuna and he eats and grunts all day...which is surprisingly, only funny to his dad and I.)


This happened yesterday...
Avery: Mom, I found your beer shirt in the backyard.

Me: Beer shirt?

Avery: Yeah, you know...your beer shirt.

Me: I don't think I own any shirts with beer on them?

AVery: NO, Mom, not a shirt for you, a shirt for your beer!

Me: Huh?



Well, duh! Of course! It's a beer shirt. Not funny to you? It only gets worse. Stop reading now.



Last night, we had a slumber party night. Sometimes this means all five of us in our king-sized bed, but last night, we had a movie conflict, so Reese and Daddy went to the girls' bed to watch Enchanted, and Avery and I went to the big bed for (gag) Batman. Rhett was the Lone Ranger because he doesn't care about movies and we don't appreciate him crawling on our faces while we watch Batman. Anyway, I turned of Batman around 10 o'clock so I could watch Bill O'Reilly...a commercial came on for bagels...I looked at Avery and said "That looks good, doesn't it?"
Avery: Oh yeah, Mom, I'm starving.
Me: I'm hungry too...should we go get a bagel?
Avery: Mom, it's nighttime and we're in bed. We can't have a bagel!
Me: Who says?
Avery: (laughing) Can we really?
Me: Sure...just don't tell anyone. And we have to be really quiet.

Avery bursts out in hysterical laughter, I tell her to wait there and I'll bring back the snacks. A few seconds later, I hear the pitter patter of little feet and there she is, covering her mouth as she giggles. (Sidenote: Is there anything more precious than the giggle of a 5-year-old little girl? I think not.)
She said, and I quote, "Mom, I'm so excited, I feel like my heart is beeping out of my chest!"

All over a bagel in the bed. How's that for appreciating the little things?



Avery: Mom, if I eat lots of butter will it make me big and strong?
Me: Well, not exactly. Butter isn't healthy for you.
Avery: (Exasperated, as usual) Why do you let me eat butter then?
Me: Because I sometimes let you eat stuff that isn't healthy just because it tastes good, like candy or chips or butter. I just don't let you eat too much of it.
Avery: Does butter make you fat?
Me: Why would you say that?
Avery: Well, look at my huge belly. It's fat.
Me: I don't think so
Avery: Yeah, it is.
Me: Do you think fat is a good thing or a bad thing?
Avery: Oh, it's bad
Me: Ok, fat isn't necessarily a good thing, because it can be hard for your heart to work right if you have too much fat. A little fat is ok. But I don't ever want you worrying about being fat. Mommy feeds you lots of healthy stuff and I make sure you don't have too much junk. And you are really active and play and exercise, so you don't have a thing to worry about, ok?
Avery: I know, but my belly is fat.
Me: Ok, so do you think your belly is bad?
Avery: No. My cheeks are fat too, sort of.
Me: Do you think your cheeks are bad?
Avery: No way, I think they are cute.
Me: So you think your belly and cheeks are fat, but not in a bad way.
Avery: Yeah, that's what I think. They are kind of fat, but I still think I look good.

Sheesh...how many more of these conversations do you think we'll have to have before she's oh, 30 years old? I never say the word fat in front of her and I don't allow her to say it...but she's still getting it from somewhere...I didn't necessarily find the entire above conversation funny, but I sure did think it's cute that she thinks she has some "sorta fat" spots, but likes them anyway. You go, girl! :)

P.S. She informed me that my belly is also fat because "it's so jiggly" but it's funny, not bad.


If you have time today, write down one "little thing" that you notice (not necessarily your kids, but they do provide easy material!) and send either through the comments section or to my email dodiajackson@yahoo.com
I'll share them all next week (without your name, if you choose)! :)

Pictures from the Ranch

I love this picture. I may have it framed for our bedroom.

Avery caught a fish our first day there!!

Clowns in a Volkswagen? Nope...clowns in a Suburban, after an afternoon of fishing.

Check out the adorable "hamburgers" my friend's sister in law made. They are cupcakes! How precious is that??? Eat your heart out, Martha Stewart!

It was a big weekend for the kids. Avery learned to play pool.

And Rhett learned to...

...ACK! Drink beer? KIDDING, people, JUST KIDDING. He picked this up out of the trash. I know it's trashy to laugh at a kid holding an empty beer can, but I can't help it...

Avery and the boys caught frogs, while Reese watched. Reese actually got brave enough to touch a frog and eventually, pick it up by it's face (according to her, she "gwabbed he eyeballs!"), but she dropped it so fast, we couldn't get a picture.

Reese thought about fishing for a minute....

...but found a much easier way to get the fishies she likes.

Obviously, we had a great time. We'll be ready to go back as soon as we catch up on sleep and lose the extra pounds we added from all the eating and drinking! Thanks to our sweet friends, Kealey and Bob and their family for treating us to this fun holiday weekend! You guys rock! :)

The Fourth of July

I hope your 4th of July was as awesome and exhausting as ours. Our friends invited us to stay at their ranch house a couple of hours south and we had a ball. I'm busy downloading and saving all the pictures everyone is sending because shockingly, I only had about 6 or 7 on my camera...it seemed like my camera was always where I wasn't when a photo op occurred.
I'll post pictures tomorrow...I can't wait to share, but right now, I'm trapped under a pile of laundry and am so tired, my eyes are being held open with toothpicks.
Happy Monday...be ready for LOTS of pictures tomorrow!
(That's assuming I don't die at boot camp tonight...let's just say that Bud Light will most likely be coming out of my pores this evening...forget about the brisket, chili dogs, and chicken fry gravy! It's not going to be pretty.)

Happy 4th of July!!!!

Where, Oh Where....

...has my little boy gone? Oh where, oh where could he be?






Look how sweet and happy he is here. This was taken about 5 weeks ago. I couldn't find a more recent one of him looking this precious and happy. For the past couple of weeks, this is the face I get most often:




This is not the result of a severe beating with a wet noodle, as he might want you to believe. I think this picture was taken after I moved him away from the dishwasher. It's not that I expect him to love being told "No", but it has gotten a bit ridiculous. Every little thing causes a serious, Category 5 meltdown. Honestly, I think if I hired someone to do a study, the results would show that he spends 65% of his day crying, 5% laughing and the other 30% sleeping or eating.
Wait. Sometimes he cries while he eats. If I put something on his tray that he doesn't like (that's the other thing...there are actually foods he dislikes now!), he screams until every last morsel is on the ground where it belongs. So we could actually be looking at a 75% cry rate each day. That's enough to send any mom over the edge either into insanity or alcoholism...and I was teetering on the edge of both anyway. I know it's probably just a stage and totally normal for his age, but I miss my cuddly, happy little boy. Come back to me, Big Tuna...Mommy needs you!

Lady of America (NOT a 4th of July Post)

Ok, yesterday I got on my soap box about going green. I was all prepared to give you a light-hearted, fun post today, but I'm afraid I can't. I'm so frustrated, that all I can do is bitch, bitch, bitch right now. I apologize for the boring, angry posts so far this week, but if you'll just let me rant for one more day, I will be back tomorrow with love and kindness. K? Thanks, here goes:

LADY OF AMERICA CORPORATE SUCKS. Ah, that felt good. Lady of America has been my regular gym for the past year. Of course, you have to sign a three-year contract, so it wasn't like I had any other options for a while anyway, but I actually enjoyed it. It's all women and I liked all of the instructors and the owners. It was a bit disorganized at times, but it was small and personal and I liked it. They had some trouble keeping help in the childcare room, but that's to be expected. All in all, it was a good place to be. I recommended it to my friends and even used my "Bring a Friend" coupons a few times in the hopes that they would join with me.
Then, about three weeks ago, my friend told me to watch the news that night. I watched, and saw that Lady of America in my town had closed without notice. They showed people standing around the doors, wondering why they couldn't get in. There was a note on the door stating that they were closed and would not be re-opening. Weird, huh?
I hadn't been in a while because I had started the boot camp, so frankly, I wasn't terribly disappointed and figured this was an easy way out of the contract. I called LOA Corporate, and was immediately put on hold after pressing two. I was on hold for 12 minutes. One of the more hilarious things about being on hold with LOA is their recording...it says "Today is a high volume call day...call back either between the hours of 3:30 and 5:30 p.m. or Thursday or Friday for a shorter wait time. This call was on a Thursday at 4:00. Finally, I was able to talk to an operator about the situation. Unfortunately, she was unable to cancel my membership at that time because "corporate still hadn't been alerted to the situation and they can't cancel without that information" but I was welcome to send a letter in the meantime and then wait for a call back to confirm my cancellation.
Fast forward to today, three weeks later. Aaron emailed me to say that LOA Corporate had authorized payment on my card for July. I called Corporate. The first lady I spoke with said that there was no record of me ever having been a member. I said "Well, then what do I do about being charged for membership to a club I'm not a member of?" She said, "Hmmm...well, there's really nothing I can do because I don't have any information on you, but just hold on." Six minutes later, another lady came on. She had found my membership information, but that was the only bit of good news in the entire call. Here's the conversation to the best of my recollection. Sadly, I am unable to portray, in writing, just how ridiculous this woman sounded, but I'll do my best.

Me: Hi. I was just calling to say that, even though my gym has closed and I have tried to cancel, I'm still being charged for my membership.

Her: Hmmm....what branch were you? (I tell her) Hmmmm. Well, we don't have any information about that branch closing, so I'm afraid I can't help you.

Me: Well, um, what do you think I should do? I mean, I can't be expected to pay to go to a gym that no longer exists, can I?

Her: Well, see, when a gym closes, there is a lot of legal stuff that happens and so you just have to, unfortunately, keep paying your dues until we resolve the situation.

Me: Seriously? I mean, how long could this take? Could I be expected to pay for the entire three years until you figure it out?

Her: Ma'am, I'm being very helpful and it seems that you are getting upset.

Me: Well, I apologize for being upset with you, but yes, this situation is very frustrating. No one seems to know how to help.

Her: Sorry I can't help you. How about this? Give me like, a week, to figure all of this out and then call me back.

Me: Ok, well, what do I do about not paying for my membership in the meantime?

Her: Oh, sorry I can't help you with that. We're just the billing office here, so we have to have that branch send us information before we can do any cancellations. There's a LOT of legalities that go along with a branch closing.

Me: So, if you are a billing office, you can't help me with billing? Like, suspend my payments until you get it figured out?

Her: Just give me a week and call me back, ok?

Me: How do you know you will know something in a week?

Her: Because I have all the information right here, it's just not in the system yet.

Me: What? You just said you don't have any information about that branch closing.

Her: I never said that.

Me: What? Seriously?

Her: I think I'm going to have to discontinue this conversation because you seem to be insistent on not listening to me.

Me: Yeah, I think that's for the best because I'm starting to feel like I might be in the Twilight Zone here. We'll just go through our credit card company to dispute the charges until you guys get it figured out.

So I hang up and I replay the conversation over and over in my head. Am I crazy? I know I am frustrated but does frustration cause you to black out, forget words, and replace those words with other words?
Maybe I need to go lie on the couch with a cool rag on my head for a while. Actually, I probably ought to go work out to blow off some steam. Oh that's right. I can't. My gym is closed. So what am I paying for again?

Going Green

Ok, I'm going to stand on my soapbox for 2.2 seconds here. I made a New Year's resolution in 2007 to be more green and I'm trying to stick with it. Plus, it's become totally "in" to be green, so how can you go wrong? Help the environment, be cool at the same time. Love it.

ANYWAY....here's one easy (a bit time consuming, but if you have time to read this trash, you have time to do this) way to help the environment without lifting more than your index finger.
www.catalogchoice.org
This is a FREE website that allows you to opt out of any and all catalogs that are clogging up your mailbox. For example: I love Pottery Barn and Pottery Barn Kids. But do I really need to get four magazines a week from them? I think not. They each have websites for my shopping pleasure, plus there's a mall with both stores about 20 minutes from me. Same with Dillard's and Macy's. I don't dislike the store or the catalog, but it's not necessary. Get it? How about Columbia House or BMG Records or any others that go straight from mailbox to trash? Save the environment while eliminating irritating junk mail.
All you do is register, activate using the email they send you and then go through an alphabetical list and select the ones you want to delete.
It's easy and, if you do this, you can totally walk around wearing a shirt that says "Green is the new black."
You know you want to.

Cooking Up a Storm

These girls love to "cook." It's become a constant request lately, especially by Avery. "Mom, can we cook? Just pretend." "Momma, do you have anything I can pour in here to cook?" "Mom, just please let me cook...you always get to cook, why can't I?" (That one is my favorite...Mom GETS to cook all the time!)

Outdoors, they use soap and mouthwash in buckets. It creates a delightful smell and is super easy to clean. Inside, though? Look at the above picture. It was taken about 10 minutes into the cooking experience. If I let them have this many ingredients, they will cook for at least half an hour, maybe more. It's so nice to have that much time to get something done without hearing arguing, whining or demands for "something to do." I can snuggle with Rhett, fold a load of laundry, and even vacuum the living room during that time.

But ohmygosh, the mess. The floor looks like the table times 100. Seriously, it's a vacuum, broom, mop extravaganza when they are finished. It's amazing what kinds of gunk that I can find on the chairs, table and floors. I just wish I could find something to occupy this kind of time without creating this kind of mess.

It's always a trade off being a mother, isn't it? Half an hour to yourself, but a 45-minute clean-up after. If you choose no messes, you have no time to yourself. Who designed this system anyway????

The Playboy Club

I've racked my brain to think of a fitting word or phrase for the Playboy Club in Las Vegas, but no matter how fancy I tried to get, I kept coming back to the first two words that popped into my mind when we walked in the door. "HOLY BALLS!"
You may already know this, but the Playboy Club is at the top of the Palms Casino. It's not really very close to the strip and the last time we were in Vegas, it wasn't even mentioned as a "place to be." It seems to have gained in popularity ever since the MTV show, "The Real World" was filmed there a few years ago. Still, it was never even on our radar as a place to visit. (Aaron and I, by the way, are so not "the place to be" type.) But Aaron has a business associate who offered to put us on his VIP lists when we were out there. The Playboy Club was one and The Foundation Room, which tops Mandalay Bay, was the other. I opted for The Playboy Club because I see celebs in US Weekly visiting the Playboy Club and I'm always up for celebrity spotting. Our only option was Saturday night, our first night there, so that's what we did. And all I can say is, again, HOLY BALLS.
First of all, we walked up to the Palms Hotel from the street. Where the bus dropped us off. I walked in bare feet to the bus, so my soles were jet black, but I was wearing heels and couldn't take the walking anymore. Stretch limos lined the driveway, where fabulously young, possibly rich, definitely over-indulged MTV types emerged, dressed to impress and attract. Already, we knew we didn't fit.
Then we walked in. Just passing through the slot section of the casino, we noticed that the vibe at the Palms is different than any other place in Vegas. It's filled with the same young, rich (maybe), over-indulged children coming from the limos out front. No one looks tourist-y, or desperate to win, or disappointed that they don't have $5 blackjack. It's a very cool, laid-back atmosphere. We are very tourist-y, very desperate to win, and always looking for $5 blackjack, so again, we didn't fit. But we still didn't know how out of place we were. Until we saw the line.
As we walked toward a sign that said "PLAYBOY," we noticed a line of people, approximately 50 people deep. There was also a sign that said N9NE (the steakhouse), so we thought (hoped) the line was for dinner. No such luck.
As we walked toward the line, we noticed two gentlemen in dark suits directing traffic. I walked toward one of them and told him we were "supposed to be on a list for the Playboy Club?" He pointed to the other man in the dark suit and said "Ask him."
We noticed several other people asking him. And being turned away. It was like being in the movies. Some were turned away because they weren't on the list. Some were turned away because they were dressed inappropriately, and others had "too many guys" in their group. I started to sweat under my arms. What if we were turned away? What do you mean, 'what if'? We are definitely going to be turned away. We are too old, too dull, and too married to be in this place. I almost turned to Aaron and said "Let's just forget it." But then I thought about that long walk back to the bus. And my dirty, sore feet. And I decided, What the hell? We'll never see this guy again. And just like that, it was our turn to be rejected. "We are supposed to be on the list," I told Rude Guy in Dark Suit. "Name?" He said shortly, much like the David Spade receptionist character on SNL. I told him our names. I was wishing our names were Biff and Muffy Beauregard at that moment. "Who put you on the list?" We said the two names we were told to say. And Oh.My.God, he's lifting the velvet ropes. We are IN. He gave us a little card and said "You are VIP comp tonight." Thank goodness because the cover was $40 per person. And that was it. We were in.
And once you are in, you are in. Even Rude Guy in a Dark Suit is nice to you once you are in. It's amazing. There are Dark Suits everywhere, directing you to the bathroom, riding with you in the elevator, and generally just making sure you are the happiest club-goer in the land while you are there.
I have to be honest. I kind of started to feel like somebody. Even though I was wearing jeans and heels while every other girl had on slinky, shiny, tight dresses, I felt like I belonged there. Because we were on the list. And as you know, not just anybody can be on the list.
We sauntered up to the bar like all the other rich, fabulous clubbers and ordered. Vodka tonic and Bud Light. "That will be $18." What? Did he just say $18? Holy balls. (sorry I can't think of anything else to say) We will be the only sober people in this club at that price!
I have to say, the club itself is cool, but not amazing. It's just a club, with music, drinks and dancing. It's the people and the money that is amazing. There are groups of sofas and chairs with either people or "reserved" signs on them. The reserved tables have drinks already there, especially for the high-rollers who will be sitting there later. For example, if a "client", as they say, likes vodka, then there is a bottle of Ketel One Vodka with carafes of cranberry, tonic, Sprite, orange juice and just about anything else you can mix with vodka. I always wondered how people like Paris Hilton can run up an $8,000 bar tab on one night out. Now I know.
There are also blackjack tables. No $5 minimums here. The miminum bet here is $100. And there are also reserved blackjack tables. We saw an older (60s, at least) man sit down at "his" table with two very young, very sexual looking young women. They just sat there, arms hooked in his, watching him bet $5,000-$10,000 hands, looking very bored but very attentive to "their man." Frankly, I was repulsed.
There is an escalator, which takes you up to Moon, a top-floor club with a retracted roof so that you can see (duh) the moon. Dancing under the moon...ahhh, so nice. Wait, did I mention that the dance floor is packed with sweaty, over-privileged young people? Yeah, so we danced two songs and went back down to Playboy. It's so much more us. (Can you read sarcasm in that statement? Please do.)
After an hour and a half of people-watching (sadly no celebs), and eighty freaking dollars in drinks, we decided we'd had enough. We were still feeling pretty ritzy though, so we took a cab back to the hotel. No stinky bus and sweaty, black feet for us after a night mingling with the rich folk.
We discussed our night on the way back...we both agreed that it was definitely worth the $80 drinks and the $20 cab ride just to get a glimpse into that lifestyle. And we also agreed that grilling with friends in our backyard and drinking longnecks at local hole-in-the-wall bars is more our style. And we like it that way.

We Made It!

Well, we made it back from Vegas. Broke and exhausted, but alive. Actually, not broke. We came back with $100 (each) in our pockets and for us, that's a big win in Vegas. We were down to nothing the last day, but decided, as only the most addicted gamblers can, that if we could just get a little more money, we'd win it all back. I won $250 on one hand of Let It Ride, which carried us for the rest of the afternoon. But does anyone really care what we won? Didn't think so.

The important thing is that we had a great time. We were alone for the first time in FOREVER and guess what? We both remembered why we fell in love in the first place. Sounds hokey, but it's true. You know how, after a few years of marriage, kids and responsibility, you start to look at your mate and think "Seriously, this is who I fell in love with?" No, it's not who you fell in love with...it's an older, more responsible (stressed) person and let's face it...they aren't as much fun as they were when you were both single whose only real obligation was to make sure they had enough money to pay for beer every weekend.

The point is, vacations work. From now on, if I ever think we don't need a vacation and that it won't make that big of a difference, remind me that I'm an idiot and I don't know anything about marriage! We will try our hardest to continue to be Vegas Aaron and Dodi, but I know, in time that these kids will, once again, suck the fun and romance out of us. We'll know it's time to book that flight! (Unless gas prices keep going up, in which case, we'll drive three miles to the nearest hotel and spend one night remembering who we used to be.)

Oh, and did I mention it was our anniversary? 7 years...some great, some not-as-great, but overall, the best 7 years of my entire life. (3 kids in 7 years? There must still be something we like about each other!) More on Vegas later this week...for now, here's a picture of us, blissfully happy in Vegas at the Wynn Hotel. Beautiful, amazing hotel. But not as amazing as our night at the Playboy Club at the Palms Hotel...more on that later. It's a post all it's own!

Vegas, Baby

We're leaving for Vegas tomorrow. Aaron and I are in desperate need of some alone time; something that, with three kids, is hard to come by. My mom and Nana are coming to watch the kids, which excites the kids to no end. Needless to say, our house is abuzz with eager anticipation. And apprehension. On my part only, I'm afraid. What? You didn't honestly think that someone with my obsessive compulsive, neurotic nature would just be happy and excited did you?
I mean, come on...think of all the things that could go wrong. Plane crashes, muggings, terrorists. Not to mention all the trouble at home. Injuries, choking, bathtub mishaps....it's enough to send me to my room, sucking my fingers as if I were Reesie.

So, basically, I'm 90% excited and 10% neurotically obsessed with negative thoughts. That's quite an improvement from when Avery was a baby. I was much more 60/40 back then. I even left a long letter detailing who I wanted raising my kids (Mom...she can pass them around to my siblings when she gets sick of them) and who was in charge of their medical care (Mom, again.) I didn't relax and feel happy until my 2nd in-flight Bud Light (hey, that rhymes...in-flight Bud Light). This time, I think I'll feel relaxed mid-way through the first in-flight Bud Light (I'm going to keep saying it). Just in case, I may pack some of my Vicodin from the good ol' staph days. I'm kidding...I'm not a drug addict. I'm NOT!!!

Alright, so nothing bad is going to happen. We are going to be alone. Every couple needs alone time and we never get it so we deserve this, dadgum it! It's going to be a fabulous time...especially for a gambling addict like me. My kids are the furthest thing from my mind once I see the bright lights and hear the bling bling of the slots. Plus, Aaron's fancy VIP friend has us on the list (what is this list anyway and is there really one with MY name on it?) at the Playboy club in the Palms and some other fancy bar. How fun is that? Oh wait...what will I wear? I better go get started right now...we may run into K-Fed!

Have a fabulous weekend...see you next week!

Sexual Harrassment

When I was in college, I worked in the athletic department. With coaches. I'm going to make a broad generalization here, but it seems to me, in my experience, coaches are a, um, virile bunch. Maybe it's all the testosterone and muscles, but I think they think about sex and women more than say, a banker or an account executive. Maybe all working environments are this way, but I've never experienced anything quite like working in the athletic department.
Shoulder massages while I typed playbooks; prank phone calls from desk to desk with heavy breathing; naughty jokes were a dime a dozen and sexual innuendo laced 90% of conversation in the office. Somehow, these guys could make "Hey, I need my expense report filed" sound like a proposition. They commented on everything. I remember when I got my hair cut short, one of the coaches said "Whoa, what did you do? Why did you cut it? It's not bad, though...you're still doable, of course, but the long hair was HOT."
And you know what? Not only did I never complain or file a grievance against any of them, but I liked it. I took part in the back-and-forth
I loved it. And I miss it now. Never again have I experienced this level of attention and feeling of being the hottest person on the planet. I wasn't the hottest person on the planet, of course, but when you are constantly surrounded by people who notice when you lose 3 pounds or get a new haircut or outfit, it sort of causes you to think constantly about how you look. And sadly, when you have relatively low self-esteem, you begin to rely on this sort of attention to reassure that you do look good.
So, there you have it. I'm not politically correct. I like sexual harrassment, if only because it boosts my self confidence. If any of you want to begin prank calling me and telling me dirty jokes, email me for my number. Heck, you can email me a dirty joke if you want. As long as you tell me I'm hot.

Matching Chairs?

Look at these two girls. More importantly, look at their chairs. The chairs look the same, right? They are both Pottery Barn Kids chairs. The only thing different is their color, right? Yeah, well, not exactly.

You see, Avery got one of these chairs for her 1st birthday from her grandparents. It was pink and had her name embroidered on the back. It was adorable and she loved it. But, ever since she decided about 2 years ago that she hates all things pink, it hasn't gotten much use. So, for her 5th birthday, her Grammy got her a new cover. Batman. I believe the cover was $59. The original chair was around $100 at the time. So, in total, Avery's chair is worth about $160. Not too shabby for a 5-year-old who contributes nothing to the financial status of this family. But she loves it the chair again, so it's worth it.

Then there's Reese's chair. Poor Reesie. She's not the first. She's not the baby. Poor, poor middle child. She never got a $100 chair (they are now $129-damn inflation!) for her first birthday. She has been sitting on the floor for 2 1/2 years. Until now. Now she has her very own, red, shiny (shiny canvas?) PBKids chair. But, she's the middle child. Do you honestly think we would shell out $129 for a chair for our middle child? The baby, maybe...the oldest, certainly. But surely not the middle. Nope. Hers came from a garage sale down the street a few weeks ago. I was driving home and spotted it in the front yard. $5 for a PBKids chair. Covered in animal hair. No worries...I came home, washed the cover in the sanitary cycle twice and sprayed an entire can of Lysol and Febreze on the cushions. And now, it's as good as new. Or at least as good as Big Sister's. She doesn't look like she minds. In fact, she's probably the happiest, most well-adjusted of the bunch. (Have you seen her "go to her happy place" and suck her fingers like there's no tomorrow? If that's not well-adjusted, I don't know what is!)

Tell me I'm right and that it will never bother her that she never gets anything new and special.

Never mind. I'll just make another huge contribution to her Future Therapy Fund. (And pray that someone dumps a PBKids chair in the garbage so Rhett can have one too. Lord knows he can't have a new one now!)

Side note: The fact that Avery is all nonchalant, drinking her drink and refusing to smile at the camera is just more indication that she is over-privileged and has gotten too much attention. Reese is just so glad that I'm taking her picture that she would probably swallow a flaming baton if I asked her to. There's a special place in Heaven for the Middle Child. And that's coming from an over-privileged, attention-hogging Firstborn, so you know it's true.

The Pool

I have to admit. I don't really like going to the pool. Don't get me wrong. I love to swim, I love the water, and I like to get a bit of sun. But since I had kids, the pool seems more like a job than a recreational activity. You have to pack sunscreen, swim diapers, towels, floaties, more floaties, pool toys, floating rings, rafts, snacks, drinks, hats, and the kitchen sink. Not really on the sink, but seriously, it's a whip trying to remember everything you have to bring to keep three kids occupied and safe.

Plus, I have an unnatural fear of my kids in water. The thought of taking my kids to a lake makes me queasy. I have had nightmares about them drowning in the bathtub. I have a hard time relaxing (or breathing) when we are at the pool, I am so afraid that one of them is going to fall in without floaties or an adult. I will not take the three of them by myself. Every time my husband mentions that Avery is almost tall enough to be on slides at the big water park, I freak out. We are NOT going. I happen to know that my neice, who swims very well, almost drowned at a water park with her grandparents last summer. I would seriously have had a heart attack if that were my child.

As you can see, I have quite a bit of weird, over-the-top anxieties about my kids and the water.

So why do I even take them at all? Why don't we just stick to the slip 'n' slide in the backyard and forget about the pool? Because they love it. I have the pictures to prove it.

I also like what the sunscreen/chlorine combo does to Rhett's hair.

I don't know what causes his face to look like that, but I like it.

The Prayer

When Avery was born, I made a deal with God. Well, not so much a deal because I've heard that God doesn't make deals, but I threw an offer out there that apparently, He couldn't refuse. I prayed for a lifetime of little stuff to go wrong and that we would never have anything big to deal with. I said "I hope we have little 'uh-ohs' daily so that we never have a sick child/spouse or serious accident or anything like that." I believe God listened. And I also believe that God has a sense of humor. We have had our share of little things. It seems like, if something is going to go wrong, it does. It happens almost daily in our house. The latest is one that has me saying "Why me?" and then I remember. The Prayer.

I was bitten on the face by an ant. I have a bad history with ants anyway and I'm severely allergic to a certain kind of fire ant, so they aren't my favorite insect anyway. But who in the hell has ever been bitten on the face by one? Of course, since I practically begged God to torture me daily, it's me. It happened in boot camp Saturday. We were doing some sort of demented, harder-than-heck push-up. Our instructor always tells us to go down as far as we can. So I did. We were in the grass, so my face was touching the grass on the down portion of the exercise. Apparently, an ant was just sitting there waiting for me to come down again because on about my third down time, I felt something stinging my face, right next to my eye. It burned severely. And then I felt another one on my cheek. I saw ants crawling around my hands and I knew that's what it had been.
I tried to finish my push-ups because I was too embarrassed to stand up and have everyone see that I was bitten in the stupid face by a stupid ant. Of course it didn't happen to anyone else. Why would it? No one else prayed The Prayer. Just me.
I did finally have to stand up and use my water to try to rinse my face because it was burning so badly. But thankfully, it wasn't the bad kind of fire ant because I didn't have a reaction. And my friend looked at it and said that it was a bit red, but you couldn't even tell.
When I got home that day, I couldn't see anything. Whew. That was just a little "uh-oh." Just the kind I was talking about. Thank goodness. How stupid would I feel if I had to walk around with ant bites ON MY FACE? Pretty stupid. I mean, I would feel so stupid I wouldn't even want to leave the house. I wouldn't want to have to say "I got bit by an ant. "In the face????" "Yep. In the face. Yes, I am an idiot and ridiculous things like this happen to me all the time. You wanna make something of it?"
Thank goodness that wasn't going to happen. There were no obvious bites. It itched a bit, but the important thing was that you couldn't see anything. Double whew.

Hey, guess what I learned yesterday? Ant bites fester overnight and don't turn into a stupid, red, obvious bump until the day after.
The moral of this story...don't ever think you've escaped the ridiculous. Especially if you are me.

Oh Sweet Reesie

Reese's latest saying is a bit, well, naughty. Not to an innocent 2 year old, of course, but I'm a perverted old lady. And every time she says this, I want to die of embarrassment or laugh hysterically. It happens almost every meal. See if you can tell what she is saying....

If you guessed "Will you eat me?" you were correct. This is what she says when she is trying to get out of eating her dinner and she wants me to feed her. She means "Will you feed me?" but she has it a bit wrong. At least I hope she means that. I hope to God my baby girl isn't really saying "eat me" at her mother. At any rate, I usually say no, because I don't want to start a trend of feeding her again...that's a step backward and I've already got Big Tuna to handle. But sometimes I just give in because I get tired of her yelling "EAT ME!" at me. It just ain't right.

The Tennis Champ

Here she is, the tennis champ herself. Avery Evert Lloyd. Or Avery Jean King. Whatever you want to call her, doesn't she look cute?

I'm kicking myself because I forgot my camera today, of all days, when she was wearing her perfect little tennis skirt and matching Dri-fit top. I couldn't resist buying the tennis skirt for her, even if she never wears it again. You see, I've never had the nerve to wear one. I always think that, to be cool enough to wear a tennis skirt, you have to be a really good player and I've never thought of myself as a really good player. So I've never purchased a tennis skirt for myself and I am going to take every opportunity I have to live vicariously through my daughter.

But I digress (as usual). Back to Avery Navritilova. She totally loves the camp. They keep them hopping and she's learning all kinds of good stuff. It's been great, even if my other kids are dragging us down with their sickness and boredom. Here they are on the first day, watching their big sister. This was during the first four and a half minutes while they were still interested.

So, have I gone on and on about this too long? Is it obvious that I love tennis and I really really really want Avery to love it so we can play together and have totally awesome, really fun mother-daughter matches where we wear matching skirts (I'll finally get good enough to deserve one) and give each other high fives as we switch courts.

Ok, so I haven't slept in three days...I'm in a sleep deprived haze and I may be hallucinating...pray that we are all back to normal tomorrow!

Busy, Busy

Wow, is it Tuesday already? Time has flown by the last few days.
We had a mini-vacation over the weekend. We took the kids to a hotel 20 minutes from our house just to get away. More on that later.
We have also started tennis camp and swimming lessons this week. Oh yeah, and did I mention that Reese and Rhett are both sick? Rhett had 103 temp yesterday. The doctor can't find anything wrong with him except his cough. But he is one miserable baby. I've never seen him so lethargic and whiney. Reese woke up with it this morning, but isn't suffering quite as badly as her brother. Hmmm...Avery sailed through this illness in about 24 hours. Reese has barely complained. And yet, Rhett has whined and cried and kept everyone in the house on pins and needles for a day and a half so far. I wonder....hmmm...no, it can't be. Maybe. Do you think? Do you think it could possibly have anything to do with the fact that he is a MALE?
I'll let you decide.

More on tennis camp and our mini-vacay later...gotta go tend to The Baby.

Sick in the Head?

When I was a kid, my dad would tell us that getting sick was a sign of mental weakness. In fact, if he wasn't in the mood to hear us cough , he'd tell us to stop. Period. "Stop that coughing!" he'd say and he meant it. He said that if we were mentally tough, we could overcome the coughing and we'd stop. Apparently, I wasn't the most mentally tough 10-year-old in town because what I would do is that red-faced, cough-with-your-mouth-closed thing that probably looks as ridiculous as it feels. But coughing aloud was not something you did much around our dad. I was thumped in the back of the head a few times for coughing in church after he had said to can it. I'd rather do the idiotic cough-with-your-mouth-closed thing than get thumped with one of those monstrous, gnarled fingers my dad has.

Also, if we were sick enough to stay home from school and Mom let us lay in their bed to watch TV, the minute he came home, he'd kick us out. He'd say "I don't want that mochus in my room...get out of here with that." I'm not sure what mochus is, but I know he didn't like it. I think it's just a general funkiness, only I don't think my dad has ever used the word "funky."
Anyway, I used to think my dad was super mean to say I was mentally weak and that I could control my own sickness. I still think it was mean to make me cough like a nitwit, but what happened Wednesday actually got me thinking that he was on to something. Not that I would ever stop my kids from coughing out loud, but that there is a mental aspect to sickness.

Wednesday was check-up day at the doctor for Avery and Rhett. Rhett's one-year checkup went well and was uneventful except for the four shots. Avery's was fine except for one thing. She had a fever of 101 degrees. But she was fine. She had been playing and acting like her normal goofball self. Even when he asked her how she felt, she said she was fine. No sore throat, nothing wrong in her ears. She was fine except for the fever. He said it happens and that sometimes, their bodies are fighting something that we can't see and she was probably fine, but keep an eye on her.
We went straight home because I didn't want to chance her making other kids sick at the playground. The second we got home, she said "Can I watch a movie? Since I'm a little bit sick?" And there it goes. Now, she has a cough, runny nose, has had fever twice since the doctor's visit and is just, in general, carrying around the mochus/funkiness.
Now, I have to ask...Is that a mental thing? Did she get sick because the doctor told her she was sick? It made me think about all the people who are diagnosed with a life-threatening illness and die like two weeks later. They were totally fine and then one day, they just died. Would they have died so soon if they hadn't known they were sick or did the fact that they were told they would die lead them to believe it, thus causing it to actually happen? It's something to think about...well, maybe. I mean, if you're like me and the only thing you have to do is think about whether or not your daughter's doctor actually caused her illness, it's something to think about. Otherwise, go on about your too-busy-to-think-about-it lives.
Happy Friday!

I Think It's Finally Safe to Say....

He's walking! (I have tried rotating this damn thing 400 different ways and it keeps showing up on here like this...sorry!)





Sure, he has the occasional fall, but he is getting around pretty good. He's about a month or two behind where his sisters were at this age, but hey, he's a man...plus, he has about 10 more pounds on him than they did, so what do you expect? All in all, I'd say he's doing a fabulous job.


Except when he chooses to be Dorf instead of walking around like a normal person.
Remember when that guy from Carol Burnett did those stupid Dorf videos? He walked around on his knees. (Did he even walk or just stand there, on his knees?) He even put shoes on his knees. The only one I remember is Dorf on Golf. (Did anyone think that was funny?)
Anyway, Rhett seems to have taken a cue from good old Dorf because when he's not walking on his chunky little meat-pie feet, he's doing this:













He can move pretty quickly like this. I've tried putting shoes on his knees, but he gets irritated. I'm taking that as a good sign.

The Urinator

See this precious little girl?

She has an alter-ego I like to call The Urinator. The Urinator pees on everything. Couches, floors, beds. I often go into her room to put something away only to step on a pair of soggy underpants, squishing into the carpet. The tile around the toilet is damp and dark with urine at all times. I wash sheets every single day. Our entire house has that faint ammonia scent that I try to mask with Tyler Candles' Pineapple Crush.

How did this happen? Two weeks ago, we were diaper free all day and all night. No accidents. Well, not NO accidents, but they were minimal and understood...didn't make it to the potty because we were outside having too much fun, or we were at Wal Mart and the damn restroom is always furthest from where you are. But she had it. She was potty-trained. And then, for some inexplicable reason, The Urinator took over. And let me tell you something. The Urinator is mean. She is working overtime to beat me down. And she is winning.

The only thing that keeps me from throwing in the towel is this: when The Urinator is in a hurry to make her getaway without being caught, she is often hasty in donning her replacement skivvies. The waistband-as-leghole always gives her away and I know The Urinator has struck again. And as sick of pee that I am, this never fails to make me laugh.

I Am So Weird

I have lost a cup. Not an expensive, one-of-a-kind cup. Not a rare piece of china or crystal passed down from my mother's grandmother. No, just a plastic cup. An Eskimo Joe's cup, to be precise. But it's not just any Eskimo Joe's cup. Not the regular short, fat ones. No, this one is a big tall one that you can only buy at the store. I bought four of them last fall and I LOVE them. I use one every day.
Ever since the big birthday party, I've been missing the pink one. And I've looked everywhere. I'm sure someone just walked off with it. Probably my dad. He and his family have this weird quirk about taking cups from other people's houses. So what's the big deal, right? It's just a plastic cup, I have three more, and besided, I can always order more if I need them.
Here is the problem. I confess, it is about as anal-retentive and obsessive-compulsive as you can get. My problem is that there are only three left. As in 2 in one stack and a stack of, well, one. Which isn't a stack at all. So there's always just one sitting there, stackless. And it drives me nuts.
I gotta get a life.

Oreos

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.

Sneaky

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!

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?

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.

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 face...it'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.

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! Gotcha...my 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!"

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.

Earthquake

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! :)