Daily Affirmations with Stuart Smalley

Here are the random thoughts which are bouncing around in my noggin like the room full of balls from Mr. Macgorium's Wonder Emporium...

1) Annie is silently plotting to take over the world. I don't have any real documentation of this beyond my own gut feeling that she's a bit too smart for her three-year-old body and she keeps eyeing me when I deliver a time out or other consequence that she's not pleased about.

2) I'm my own worst enemy. The more book knowledge I cram into this head, the more common sense gets squeezed out. Case in point... My parents were out of town and I had to tend to their animals. I simply drag the 120 pound dog to my house and let the kids pretend they actually got the pony that they've always wanted. However, their cat (aka Diablo, Lucifer, Satan and a host of other "pet" names I've granted her) is stuck staying behind in an empty house. Poor, poor kitty. Anyway, she hates her routine being changed. When she's mad, she poops in the tub. Who would make up this ridiculousness? Anyway, on her third attempt at letting me know that she was unhappy with my custodial care, I decided to get smart and simply fill the tub with water. (I'll admit that I was doing the evil snicker and dreaming of the cat having to dog paddle around the tub for hours). Anyway, after cleaning the tub and then filling it with water, I walked out the the bathroom feeling victorious until I noticed the door stop on the floor. Then, it hit me. Why the heck didn't I just close the dumb door to keep her out of the bathroom? It's moments like this when I just stand in awe of my own stupidity and listen for the air hissing out of my ears. Geez. Ok. I'll admit. I left the door open and the tub full hoping that the cat would go for an accidental swim anyway. :0 Oh darn. Poor kitty cat. Did your nice fluffy butt get a little wet?

3) Nagging preteens is pointless. The last couple of weeks have been really hectic around here and bedtime has not been held to any sort of standard. That translates into mornings being like scenes from some weird zombie movie where the mom is the zombie and keeps chasing the kids around the house and threatening to eat them if they don't get moving. I did, however, finally figure out a secret weapon. After all this time of getting the kids up and out the door by myself, I found the miracle cure - Annie with a squirt bottle! The drill now goes something like this - First, get Annie up by taunting her with a fully loaded squirt bottle and giving her permission to "shoot" anyone who doesn't get up when she tells them to. Annie (now locked and loaded) quickly dismounts her bed and heads off to torment the big kids while I get ready. Yes, I do hear frequent screams and guttural sounds eeking from the hallway but... The big kids have hauled their butts out of bed faster than they have in quite a while. Yes, their clothing has been a bit damp by the time they load up in the van but they've yet to melt. So, I'm going to invest in a whole arsenal of water cannons. I may even label them. One gun would be simply for "encouraging" folks to get their homework finished. Another cannon might be deemed for reminding children to finish up their chores. Wow. I'm beginning to think seriously about writing a parenting book with all of the creative tactics I'm devising out of sheer necessity and the goal of survival. (Oh, the other thing that works well is taping construction paper hearts saying, "My mommy loves me," to the side of the van when pulling up in car line. This method yields immediate results for a whole host of things). I'm beginning to think I might just live up to my parenting mentors - Claire and Cliff Huxtable!

4) Change is the new normal. I'm a creature of habit, routine, and overall dullness. However, I'm slowly learning to let go of that and ignore the house looking like a bomb went off in order to simply have fun. In the words of Ms. Frizzle (Magic School Bus), "Take chances, make mistakes, get messy!" There have been chances way out of my comfort zone. There have been LOTS of mistakes. There have been more messes than an entire warehouse of Mr. Clean could handle. However, I'm finding myself in a new season that has been borne from all of these things. I'm a completely different person than I was a year ago. Yes, there are definitely scars and bruises that I have to be aware of but those scars have added to the character of who I am now. And, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!" (Daily affirmations with Stuart Smalley).


And, these are the Boggle letters that are being jostled around in my brain right now.


Good night, all.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Annie!

So, poor Annie has fallen victim to the "3rd Child Syndrome." While I have tons of pictures of her with all of her birthday goodies, those pictures are locked into the deep dark corners of my camera's memory!

However, her birthday was definitely something special this year. This was the first year that she actually "got" blowing out the candles, getting presents, and eating HER cake! I just don't know where the last three years have gone. From the surprise of, "How can I be pregnant," to, "What if she has Pompe's," to "Is it ok to put her in a cage?" I regret that I don't have the time or energy tonight to follow the thought tangents which are bouncing around my head like a box of spilled super high bounce balls. The bottom line is that Annie is becoming her very own little person. She absolutely LOVES babies and cradles, coos, and cuddles over every doll she can get her hands on. Her sitter is now keeping a baby a couple of hours and week and Annie spends the entire days telling me about what the baby did. Annie, like the other kids, loves to please everyone, too. She has absolutely mastered pooking her lower lip out like a grumpy Gerber baby when she thinks she has upset you. She was overheard complaining to Dasha last week that I had, "Talked loud to her," and she didn't like it. Despite her fiery tendencies, she definitely has a tender heart under the stubbornness. (Please remember that I'm writing all of this as she sleeps soundly in her room and not under my feet. If she were awake and rousing the troops, my soliloquy might be a bit different)!

So, to my baby girl who's brought so much sunshine, laughter, gray hairs, and insanity to our house, Happy Birthday. Without you, things around here would be... quiet? boring? restful? Nope. Without Annie, life as we know it would be very different!

Good night, all!

(As an addendum to my last post, my lawnmower accident did require my leg to be glued back together again like Humpty Dumpty and a tetanus shot. I'll admit that I'm still laughing about the whole darn thing! Like I said, it just gave me a bit more character)! :) Good times at the Randolph Asylum!

2nd Annual Randolph Lawn Freak Show

Here's the run down for today...

• 5:55 a.m. - Mom, I'm sick. I can't go to school.
• 6:15 a.m. - If you plan on riding to school and not walking, get up NOW!
• (This coming from the child who spent the weekend on a ship with a bunch of other scouts in Charleston and is extremely sleep deprived).
• 6:20 a.m. - Mom, did you realize that Annie doesn't have any pants on?
• (Um, we've already pulled out of the drive way so she'll just have to go "as is" today).
• 10:30 a.m. - Phone call from middle school nurse letting me know Grant wasn't feeling great. Once again, I get another strike on this nurse's tally sheet for my lack of concern by replying, "He'll be ok. There's only five more hours in the day."
• 1:00 p.m. - Front office calls to tell me to check my voice mail regarding a phone call from the middle school nurse. Are you kidding me? I couldn't figure out how to check the VM on this new phone (pining for my iPhone) so I didn't worry about it. I'm sure she added another tally next to my name!
• 2:00 - 4:30ish p.m. - This time block was somewhat of a blur of trying to finish up the yearbook and filling out the annual "letter of intent form." Ugh.
• 5:00 p.m. - I give up and go get the kids from mom.
• 5:30 p.m. - I realize that Dasha isn't wearing the same clothes I sent her to school in. Not good. Her nice loose jeans had been traded for yoga pants that left nothing to the imagination. This wardrobe change was the topic of the nurse's second phone call according to Dasha. Also according to Dasha, someone made her laugh so hard she peed her pants. (Second code yellow for her in less than a month due to hilarious laughter at lunch). After realizing that she was clueless about the condition of my blood pressure, I simply told her that on the 3rd code yellow, you have to wear Pull Ups to school. She can go ahead and add it to her list of topics to talk with the therapist about. Ugh.
• 6:00 p.m. - I need to escape. I'm surrounded. I decide to hold the second annual Randolph Lawn Circus. Yep. First, there was the ordeal of starting the lawn mower. I'd already tried to do this and then someone lovingly pointed out that it "might" just be out of gas. Hmmmm... Yeah. So, the lawn mower and I did the first act without too much drama. I did have to pull the string several times and ended up yanking the knob off of the end of it but that wasn't anything a good 'ole knot wouldn't fix. In the second ring, though, the edger and I ramped up the drama. I couldn't start the darn thing to save my life. I primed it and cranked it but by the time I'd pushed the throttle open, it stalled. So, using every ounce of common sense I own, I sat down in the drive way, put my foot on the throttle and cranked it. Ta Dah! (I think it was probably around this point when the neighbors started calling their kids inside for fear of what I might do next). I have to say that I'm completely astounded and in awe of folks who can edge in a straight line without sending sparks flying everywhere. Not me. I'm surprised I didn't set the yard on fire with all of the sparks flying. Metal against cement. The sound is as bad as fingernails against a chalk board. As one guy walked his dog down the sidewalk while I was working, I think I saw him bend over and look down into the trench I'd dug to see if it was really a mote filled with angry crocodiles. Oh well. I dare weeds to grow next to my sidewalk or driveway any time soon! Ring three of this circus was supposed to be the weed eater. But, alas, despite every trick I did, I couldn't get it started. I'm thinking that my poor old Craigslist weed eater may be destined for the junk pile. But, I was left with a problem. I needed the weed eater to get the wildness off of the bank between my house and the drunken neighbor's. (Although, if I just let the weeds keep growing, maybe she'd get lost wandering over and stay on her side of the hill)! Anyway, I decided to start the mower again and try to just mow around the ground cover shrubs on the hill. (This is the point when you should hear the theme music from Chariots of Fire playing). I restarted the mower with one pull. I think I might have heard a strain of the Hallelujah chorus with that one pull! Then, I gingerly starting pushing the mower in a diagonal design across the hill. Not up and down. I'm not stupid. I didn't want the mower rolling down on top of me. However, I neglected to factor in the old weed barrier cloth that was up underneath everything. In one swoosh, the mower sucked up the cloth the way the vacuum sucks up abandoned Legos. My first reaction was to tug. Duh. I let go of the throttle which killed the engine (major blessing) but then found myself falling backward over the spiky shrub and having the mower following me with quite a bit of momentum. Somehow, I ended up on the ground with the mower in my lap. It was a picture for one of those World's Most Stupid... shows. Luckily, I only sustained surface level wounds which will simply add some character to my wounded ego. However, I'm sure my neighbors are all taking about the freak show at this year's circus! Geez.

Meanwhile, I'd left Dasha at the table working on homework and Grant overseeing Annie. Yeah, I know. Not great decisions on any level at any time. However, I drug myself back into the house in order to get everyone to bed and now I'm ready to give up for the night myself.

While I may be adjusting to the "normalness" of this new life, there is nothing normal about it! There are days when I wonder if I'd be better off working at Disney as one of those characters that you frequently see kids slugging and then I'm reminded how blessed I am to have a job that allows me to do this drama with my kids every afternoon and still provides for our needs. Provisions, blessings, grace, and a very steep learning curve have marked this last year but in nothing short of a miracle, life is good and I'm grateful.

Good night, all.

Conversations with Convicts

So, the new normal seems to be a Monday night post to update the last week's insanity. There's just no time to catch my breath right now. Here's the run down of the last week. Please heed this warning, if you are prone to blush or be easily embarrassed, you might as well stop reading right now. If you are prone to spew your drink out of your nose if you laugh too hard, you'd better put the drink down now. It's been one of THOSE weeks!

February 2010

February 2011

February 2012

Let's just begin this little jaunt down looney lane with last weekend. It was Dad's birthday. I'm amazed at the progression of the kids each year through these pictures. However, look closely at this year's picture and you might be just as disturbed as I was. Annie is holding the cake cutter as if she's Chucky coming to get you. Dasha is eyeing Grandma like she's sizing her up compared to the straight jacket she just bought. And then there's Grant. His look (and the lighter) say about all that needs to be said. So, what is normally considered to be a joyous day sort of takes on a story of it's own after looking at this year's picture. (And, poor Dad isn't sure if he should lean in and snuff out the fire stick or try to protect Grandma from the cake cutter). Where was I while all of this was going on? Well, I've learned a thing or two over the last few months and I'm getting smarter by the second. I was behind the camera gently inching toward the front door ready to flee the moment things got out of hand. Yep. This girls got some learnin' goin' on in her noggin!

The broken doughnut

I mentioned this whole drama last week (I think). Anyway, Annie woke up for several nights in hysterics screaming about her "broken doughnut." Of course, I'd go in and comfort her (while mumbling under my breath that I wish Benadryl would work on this little angel). Every night, it was the same thing. She'd cry and cry and blow snot bubbles and tell me about a broken doughnut. We emptied out her entire kitchen area looking for a broken doughnut. There was nothing there. She did have a few other doughnuts in her set but they were just fine. Finally, we found the broken doughnut. It was not a figment of her imagination as I'd assumed. It was real. It was at Grandma's house amongst the kitchen stuff there. Geez. I really was beginning to worry that this girl was dreaming about being a cop and missing her doughnuts. I'm still not sure why this crazy mystery only surfaced between 1 and 3 a.m. but I'm grateful that I didn't have to call in NCIS or Columbo to solve the mystery! (I'd probably have tried to get the guy from Lie to Me first, though)!

And that, my friends, brings me to last Monday night. Prior to my post last week, I really thought that I was going to have to hand my Mommy Card in. For my Dad's birthday, I baked 3 dozen cupcakes to surprise him with at the scout meeting. First of all, I've admitted more than once that I am not Martha Stewart. The only thing that I ever might even have in common with the woman would be getting locked up. However, in moments of crisis, for some crazy reason, the spirit of Martha always seems to possess me! Thinking I was some diva baker, I whipped up 3 dozen cupcakes (thank you Betty Crocker boxed cake mix - definitely NOT Martha approved) and let them cool. As they cooled, this little crumb snatcher, grabbed a couple of "muffins" and popped them in her mouth. OK. I calmed down and did the math. There were still enough "muffins" to feed the troops so things were going to be alright. Then, I needed to ice those bad boys. Ha. I felt like Dora when she chooses the map (instead of the crayon) to get her over the Troll Bridge or when Blue finally sits on his Thinking Chair and solves the mystery! Ta-Da! I'd seen Martha use a Ziploc bag before as an icing utter. (Um, not sure what the appropriate term is but I bet you know what I'm talking about despite your utter shock)! :) I plopped a bunch of icing into the baggie, snipped the corner off and, nope. Not gonna work. I didn't snip enough of the bag off. So, I snipped again. Yep. It worked - a little too well. Icing started oozing out every where. I moved as fast as I could to just put a pile of the stuff on each cupcake. Mind you, as I'm doing this and feeling very panicky, Annie is dragging her stool around my feet saying, "Can I help you? Can I help you?" I'll admit. I wanted to scream, "Yes, you can help me by being quiet for 3 nanoseconds and standing still over there, away from my bubble of anxiety!" No. I didn't say it. (If you don't know Annie, I'll tell you that even if I had said that to her, she wouldn't have been bothered. She would have continued to drag her stool around and follow me). So, I finally got icing globbed on each cupcake and then used a butter knife (I think that's what it is. It's a cute little knife with a triangular shaped blade) and smoothed the icing out. Finally, I stuffed the cupcakes into a big box and waited for Mom to come and watch the girls so I could deliver the confections to the meeting.

I really thought that I was getting the better part of this deal. Mom was left to bathe and bed the girls while I delivered cupcakes and celebrated with Dad and the boys. NOT! Do you know what a group of boys between the ages of 12 and 18 acts like? I heard more bodily noises and disgusting jokes than I care to hear in a month. There wasn't enough sweetness in those 30 cupcakes to counteract the testosterone pumping through that building. Ugh. However, I managed to tough it out and Dad was genuinely surprised. It was worth my elevated blood pressure and need for a very long and hot shower to wash away the stench of all of those boys afterwards!

For some kids, they need to carry about a blanket for security. For others, they want a special lovey to carry around. For Annie, she needs her stool. I can identify the exact location of Annie by the sound this stool makes while scraping across the floor. Our newest discovery - reaching the sink via the stool. This is a wonderful thing when it's time to wash hands or clean a dirty face. However, turning the sink off seems to be a challenge that she's not up to meeting yet. Once again, I am SO thankful to have tile floors in the kitchen. Whew.

If you haven't seen these "Annie Antics" via FB, please take a moment and make up your own captions for these. And yes, it has already been very well established that Annie is simply mimicking me getting on my own broom in the last shot. Go ahead and say it. Many others have! :)

As for the big kids, there aren't any photos to go with their antics this week. (Those who've heard the story are breathing major sighs of relief on that note)! So, the first email came on Friday. Dasha's teacher informed me that she was having conversations with a boy about... oh, what shall we call it... girl business, lady's days, meeting Aunt Flo... ok. I'm sure you got the picture. I've had SO many conversations with her about being discrete and private but for some reason, she just doesn't get it. So, this weekend, knowing that I was opening up a major can of worms, I kind of danced around having "the talk" with her to see what she knew. Here's what I got. The birds and the bees according to Dasha - Having a boyfriend means that you talk and hug. If you kiss them, that means you've had sex with them. The only time a boy and girl should touch is if they're hugging, kissing, or helping each other. (OK, I got the giggles so bad at that point that I had to take an intermission. The smart alack in my brain wanted to say, "I've never heard it called 'helping each other' before")! Geez. Anyway, I tried to gently steer the conversation back to first base and start at the beginning. Well, it didn't take too long to realize that we needed the remedial beginner's version. After a few very blunt questions from me, I came to the conclusion that Dasha didn't have any clue that there wasn't anything like "boys business, men's days, or visits from Uncle Flo!" Why in the world was she worried with trying to be secretive about something that she thought everyone dealt with. Ugh. I'll admit that I had a visual image of someone stamping "FAILED" across my forehead at that moment. So, I gently lowered the bomb that boys didn't have the same issues. Of course, that was followed with, "Then why do girls have to deal with it?" I truly tried to give just the facts and leave any emotions out of my whole delivery. However, the look on the poor girl's face was just too much to handle at some points and I couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. So, we ended the conversation much as I end the conversation with Annie. Boys and girls are just different. After pondering that thought for several hours, I think I might just leave the discussion at that because that's about all that holds true in every single account! :) (Oh, but I did order a couple of books from Amazon because I'll admit major defeat in this area. Eric handled this business with Grant and I have a hard time staying serious. I can't even say some of the terminology without getting the church giggles). Geez.

However, it got even better after that. Don't say I didn't tell you! The minute a boy gets involved, things get ten times more complicated! So, Grant climbs in the van and kind of sits quietly for a minute. I can't decide if he's huffing at me for another unknown reason or if there's a problem. So, I fall for his bait and ask him what's wrong. Absolutely nothing could have prepared me for his question (not even my discussion with him after this year's sex ed class). He mumbles quietly so I almost had to have him repeat the question but he said, "What does choking the chicken mean?" Seriously? I'm SO thankful that I was stopped at a traffic light. I'm pretty sure that I would have put the van into a ditch if I'd been any further down the road. Well. Now. Do I answer him? Play dumb? Tell him to call his dad? Crap! In my mind, I was flipping through all of the episodes of The Cosby Show to figure out what Cliff or Claire would have done if Theo had asked them a question like that but I came up empty. So, I tried to answer his question with a question. (Some might call this stalling). After a few questions from me that got more and more detailed, his poor face went white and then he burst out laughing. Well, dang. I was glad he was laughing because my blood pressure had definitely exceeded it's maximum limit! (Look folks, the first thing I'll admit to is naivety so I'm not really even sure how I knew what the term meant but I was kind of glad that I did at that moment). For the rest of the night, every time Grant made eye contact with me, he bust out laughing and ran off. Poor thing!

What I neglected to mention about this whole scenario was that the girls were in the back seat. I thought they were doing their own things and oblivious to my heart attack and Grant's embarrassment. Nope. Without going into any more detail than I've already subjected you to, I can tell you that Dasha heard just enough to be dangerous. She decided to "one up" her new found knowledge about what boys don't have to deal with by telling someone that boys can most certainly choke chickens. (When she told me what she'd said, she literally made a choking sign with her hands around her neck). Ugh. And this, my friends, is why I'm having a sign painted to hang over the front door that reads, "Randolph Asylum!" Once again, we had another conversation about parts and pieces, their respective owners, and the privacy that they demand. Maybe Dasha would have been better off in a nudist colony where there are no secrets of this nature. Just saying!

So, as the week begins, I'm looking forward to celebrating Annie's 3rd birthday this weekend. She's getting a new "big girl room" with an official big girl bed that she won't fall out of. (Oh yeah. Add her falling out of the little toddler bed every couple of nights to our list of night time interruptions). :)

As for me, I'm finding myself again for who I really am and I have to admit that it's kind of fun. New friends, new experiences, and... well, lots of new and different things that I had no idea I enjoyed.

Philippians 1:9-10
And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ.

Good night, all.

(Oh, and to the anonymous deliverer of the rubber chicken this afternoon, that just about made me faint from not being able to catch my breath from laughing so hard. Very funny! You must have a house full of boys yourself)!!! It's so nice to have demented friends who constantly make me feel like I'm a little bit normal!