Discus Throwing: Muffin Tins, Laptops, Tablets, and Dasha

 

Words are few tonight and honestly sort of spilling out in a quite unorganized manner. I have a log of blog topics that I jot down as they come to mind but none of them seem appetizing tonight. So, I'll fall back on "snippet" blogging. Here's a glimpse of what has rattled around in my brain over the last few days...

 

Saturday night - Eric dropped the kids off and told me that he'd be taking Dasha's cell phone back to TX with him. She'd had it less than 48 hours and had already blown it big time with the rules. She repeated the rules and acknowledged her understanding. However, when she continued to break every one of the blasted rules, her response always started with, "But I wanted to..." Ugh. Maybe, just maybe, she can earn it back for her birthday next month.

 

Christmas Eve - We went to Mom's and had dinner and then opened up gifts. It just wasn't the same without my sister here. There was no bickering. There were no Scrabble games which ended in blood shed. It was sort of boring.

 

My sister did call and tell me that she was sending money to get Annie the one gift that I'd deemed outrageous but she kept asking for - Baby Butterscotch. It's a darn stuffed animatronic horse that makes a neighing sound that sounds more like a fart and shakes its head up and down as if it's having a seizure. When Annie talked with Santa, she told him she wanted Baby Butterscotch and Princess and the Popstar Barbie. I sort of hoped that she'd forget about the blasted carrot eating varmit since Santa had prepared her items back in July before the advent of Butterscotch. Oh well. My sister got wind of the situation and decided that her gift to Annie would be in the name of Santa and arrive on Christmas morning in the form of an outrageously priced Baby Butterscotch. Um, did I mention that finding Butterscotch anywhere in the metro area was nothing shy of a Christmas miracle? Gotta love my sister.

 

Since Santa left all of the kids' gifts in wrapped condition, there wasn't too much drama in that department sans the "eco" dollhouse which was four feet tall and assembled from three sheets of cardboard. Grant actually ended up being the elf to assemble that beast! I spent Christmas Eve night holed up in my bed watching reruns of Criminal Minds. Yee haw.

 

Christmas morning - Kids all slept until 7:00 a.m. which was very surprising. However, once Annie was awake, she deemed it necessary to rouse the remaining troops, as well. Everyone charged downstairs to see what the jolly old man had left. Grant handed out the gifts and sort of stood back and watched while the girls destroyed their piles of gifts. Dasha ripped through every piece of paper on the packages and then threw it to the side without any real thought about what was around her. Annie opened her gifts like the Muppet Animal. However, she piled her scraps into a neat little heap. Then, there was Grant. When he finally started opening his gifts, it was so slow that it was painful to watch. I'm pretty sure that I could have reused 90% of the wrapping paper from his gifts because he didn't rip it but neatly untaped the ends and slid the items out. I've got to admit. Dasha's method was a bit over the top but Grant's tactic was like watching a geriatric person with ADD trying to unwrap their medication.

 

Once the gifts were all unwrapped, the girls ran off to play with their new toys. Dasha got a tablet (no, NOT an iPad) that needed charging so I plugged it in at the bar in the kitchen and told her to leave it alone. (Duh. What was I thinking)? Grant got a new laptop but immediately started pointing out the flaws in the dumb thing. Yes. It was refurbished but it was better than what he had. I'd checked the statistics with Eric and he'd agreed that it was a good fit for what Grant used it for - video chatting, iTunes, Netflix, and school work. Ungrateful is putting it nicely. At one point, I thought about using the darn laptop as a discus and hurling it through the back door and onto the cement patio. His attitude was nearly the undoing of the teaspoon of Christmas cheer that I had left over. (Can I mention that as I'm typing this entry, he is currently huffing and puffing that he can't figure out how to get his music from his old iTunes account onto his new one)? The boy is about to find out what it feels like to go back to the Stone Age with CDs and paper and pencil.

 

As I stewed over the laptop situation, Lucy called and said that she and Desi were ready to be picked up and chauffeured to my aunt's house where we were going to have Christmas dinner. Can I just say that having those two characters trapped in the van with my own three convicts was not putting any more Christmas cheer back in me? I jumped in the shower and then rushed the kids to get dressed so we could get to our destination about a week early! Ugh. Maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe. When Mom came bolting out of the front door, she had bags of gifts to take. Ok. No biggie. Then, she started bringing out all of the food to take. Don't put this there. Don't let that turn over. Make sure you don't squish that one - it has the rolls. Be careful. You wouldn't want that to spill in your van. Once again, for the second time that day, my mind started imagining what it would be like to use those darn muffin tins as discuses. In my imagination, I decided that muffin tins wouldn't be too aerodynamically sound and that the round Pyrex dish would make the best UFO. I'm not sure why my mind kept going back to the ancient Greek games and everything looked like a discus. Maybe I need some meds.

 

When we finally arrived at my aunt's house, we were the first ones there. Shocker. Lucy and Desi piled out of the van. Oh, wait. The funniest part of the whole journey was that my uncle is actually my Dad's physician and he didn't want him to ask questions about his black eye or fractured elbow. I kept telling Dad to just tell him that Mom socked him in the eye but he wanted something more elaborate. Um, just a note here... if you are aging and trying to make up a good story (lie) about something, the fewer details, the easier it is to keep your story straight. Once again, simply telling people that mom elbowed Dad in the eye while he was asleep because he was snoring would have worked. And, might I add, this would be very plausible, too.

 

Anyway, dinner was uneventful. Even the Dirty Santa game was uneventful. No one picked a dirty fight to steal someone's prized gift. The worst battle was over an "As Seen on TV" tortilla maker and things didn't even get too heated then. Oh well. I guess some people go on meds to keep their lives mellow and calm but, I'll admit that I do like a little more flair to my holiday excitement. (Maybe someone should spike the tea next year and see if that gets things stirred up a bit).

 

Christmas evening was to follow in the new tradition of dining at IHOP for dinner. Lucy and Desi wanted to go, too. Look, I'm not trying to be ungrateful. Someone recently reminded me just how lucky I am to even have family to be in my business. I get it. However, when Mom and Dad are present, I am the little girl and they are the protective parents. I've tried everything I know to break out of this mold with them and it just doesn't work. Since I've been "on my own," their protective measures have increased ten-fold. Oh well. We dined at the illustrious IHOP.

 

Then, we went home and everyone went to their rooms to collapse after a long day - or so I thought. Dasha decided to sneak back downstairs and play with her new tablet. She is very adept with technology and it's almost like it's a drug to her. She managed to sign in to the Android system, set a password for the screen, and then another password for the operating system. Mind you, I was fast asleep by this time and was clueless about her midnight rendezvous with the technology monster.

 

Post-Christmas morning - I went to unplug the tablet and sign into the wi-fi so Dasha could Skype with Eric. Surprise. Hmmmm.... When I turned the thing on, it kept asking for a password. I looked all through the instructions and couldn't find information about a preset password. Now, the thing was refurbished so I thought maybe I'd gotten a tablet that hadn't been properly erased. Maybe? Nope. When Dasha came downstairs, she gave an Oscar worthy performance. She acted clueless about the passwords. However, when she offered to "help" me figure it out, she tapped in a four-digit code and then whole thing miraculously hummed to life. Seriously? Once again, I was dreaming of how well that tablet would fly through the air like a discus - right through the kitchen window and into the backyard. Meds. I must get meds to fix this infatuation with throwing objects. Anyway, when I eyed Dasha, guilt was written across her face, dripping from her shoulders, and basically oozing all over her. I started asking her questions. (New tactic - you're not supposed to ask kids with Executive Function Disorder "why" questions so you have to beat around the bush - step on the bush - crawl under the bush - and basically sit in the bush and wait until the truth accidentally spills out). Dasha finally admitted to having played with the tablet during the night and setting the pass codes. How in the world does she have the mental capacity to do stuff like this and plot and plan but can't remember to go to the bathroom before it's too late? I don't get it. What I did get, though, was the tablet. It's now tucked into my nightstand. I'm not sure when or if she'll get it back. When I asked her if she was sad about losing two of her favorite Christmas gifts, she simply said, "Not really. I didn't get used to having them, anyway." Wow. (Truth? I pictured her as a discus. I haven't trained enough to heave her butt like that, though). Her reality simply baffles me.

 

Oh, and the bit excitement of the day was a friend's husband coming to fix the garage door. He reinforced the back of the door with aluminum strips and now I can resume parking in the garage. While I'm really not good at accepting help, he saved me about $800 and was a blessing to a need that I had absolutely no way to meet.

 

Post-post Christmas - Time for a jail break. I love my children but staying trapped in the house with them all day makes me long for stronger meds. My students gave me a gift-card tree filled with lots of cards to different places. I knew that there were several theater cards. I checked the local AMC theater thinking that the cards were for there. Wreck it Ralph was playing and that looked like something that we could all watch together as one big happy family. However, as we were headed to the theater, I told Grant to pull the cards out and he informed me that the cards were for Regal theater instead. Dang. I started fumbling with my phone trying to find what movies were playing at Regal. I had a smile plastered on my face, three clean and semi-happy children strapped into the van, and I was determined that we weren't going home. As I fumbled for a Plan B, I heard Grant say in a clear prepubescent tone, "Siri, what movies are at Regal theater?" Are you kidding me? The darn phone answered him. (He got a new iPhone 5 from his dad and it obviously has powers such as water walking). Wow. The phone rattled off the available movies and the only thing there that was half-way appropriate was Monsters Inc. We decided that we'd give it a try. We (I) also had some fun with Siri on the remainder of the drive. I asked it where I could bury dead bodies and it found six dumps in the local area. Not kidding. Then, I might have said, "You're dumb," and it replied, "Now, now." It's like a miniature version of Rosy from The Jetsons. I wonder if it could cook and clean, too. Maybe I'll sneak into Grant's room tonight and nab the phone and see what other powers it has. On second thought, I'll send in a professional. I'll get Dasha to sneak in and get it.

 

Anyway, the movie was ok. Annie spent the majority of the movie with her head in my arm pit. If she wakes up during the night tonight screaming about Sully, Mike, or Randal coming to get her, I'm going to need one of those memory zappers from Men in Black. Anyone seen those on Craigslist?

 

But, despite the bumps in the road this week, I've gotten lots of school stuff accomplished and written out some goals for myself (and the kids and finances) for next year. There's so much that I want to do but I simply don't know how. It's so easy so sit back and use my limited finances and limited resources as an excuse to do nothing and not plan but that's not going to get me anywhere.

 

For now, I'm going to snuggle into my bed and enjoy whatever sleep I get before Annie wakes and wants to come inject her toes into my spleen.

 

Good night, all.

The Heart of Christmas

What a day. My brain has been going non-stop today. For tonight, just know that I'm writing from a good spot. Although my heart is tender and raw today due to several "moments," I've climbed out of the hole and am a willing participant in the land of the living.

As a side note, if you have Gospel Music Chanel (I know, it sure doesn't sound too interesting), they are airing a moving called The Heart of Christmas. It was one of those movies that I knew I didn't need to watch but I couldn't stop watching. I literally sat perched on the side of my bed with a constant intention of going to get the laundry out of the dryer for the whole second half of the movie. I just couldn't get up. The basic story is of a little boy with lukemia at St. Jude's in Memphis. So much of the movie was like looking back through a window at our time with Ansley at Egleston. It also doesn't help that it was this time of year when she was first admitted to the hospital and the downward spiral began. Anyway, hold your babies tight tonight and be thankful that you have them despite their disasterous rooms, stinky laundry, whining, and lack of respect. They are gifts.

Good night, all. I'll save the real intellectual stuff for later. Tonight, I'm going to bed (with Annie already tucked underneath my covers).

Emotional Grenades and Crumbling Garage Doors

This is one of those blogging episodes that I will probably regret. However, I've had a week that was filled with snippets of what Hell must be like and I'm weary and I can literally see the SNAP in the near future. If you need the translation of this... This entry will be a reality check and if you're prone to feeling like I whine too much (thank you anonymous friend - again), just stop reading.

So, based on my normal behaviors, I usually filter everything I write through the "Is this going to build others up or tear them down" filter. Today, that filter is not operational. I'm aware of what I'm saying might be hurtful to others but I'm tired of being responsible for everyone elses' emotions. When is someone going to worry about mine?

Star log - Monday night, Grant's Court of Honor

I was horrified at how some of the boys acted in God's house. Are you kidding me? I know I'm a prude and my expectations are way too high but what happened to being reverent?

Star log - Tuesday, Mindset training
So, I created and left plans for a substitute to babysit my students while I went to a training on how to de-escalate volatile students and then how to restrain them properly if necessary. I also had to practice these martial arts sort of maneuvers on another adult. Let's just say that I now have moves and I know how to use them. Ugh.

Tuesday night, Eric picked the kids up for ice cream.

Star log - Wednesday, making ice cream and packing gifts
Wednesday was sort of a blur. I do vividly remember making ice cream with 24 students and the other teacher in the room threatening not to come back if I pulled any more stunts like that one! Did you know that rock salt leaves a horrible residue behind and that cheap-o baggies burst like a Dollar Store balloon?

Eric picked the kids up from school and the sitter and left me to get some work done in my own classroom. When I did get home, I seem to remember baking about 4 dozen cupcakes using 2 six count muffin tins, wrapping gifts for all of my students, and then packing up all of the extras for the kids' last day before the break. I think this is the point where I put my first foot out on the tightrope and just sort of stutter stepped trying to decide what my next move would be.

Star log - Thursday, preschool musical and class party

For those of you who work in corporate America, I'm sure you think this is crazy. However, elementary school teachers are given to having thematic days. Thursday, third grade dressed like characters from The Grinch. (Grant was mortified by my shirt. I'd never wear it in a middle school but for elementary kids, it's ok). Anyway, at some point in the morning, I made a quick wardrobe change and bolted for the preschool so I could see Annie perform. Now, I knew Eric would be there but I wasn't expecting his fiance. (Thank goodness Grant had given me a heads up on the ring situation). Anyway, the whole thing was simply awkward. "They" went on to Annie's party and I headed back to school. I have cried very few times in the last year. I've sort of learned to compartmentalize emotions and lock my heart behind concertina wire. The weariness coupled with the awkwardness simply did me in. My teammates welcomed me back into the nut house with open arms. (I do remember one of them getting riled up and threatening me with a yard stick but she eventually calmed down and went back to her cage)! :)

 Then, there were the questions from coworkers who'd seen his big engagement photos on FB from Wednesday night. Seriously? I'm going to leave it at that but it was just more fuel for my downward spiral.

Once again, Eric picked the kids up from their schools and then deposited them back home.

Knowing that Eric would be taking the kids to celebrate Christmas with his side of the family, Grant wanted to wrap the gifts we'd gotten for them. The problem was that I didn't have any boxes. So, I buckled Annie into the van and we were going to head to the Dollar Store. About the time I closed the van door (in the garage), there was a huge boom and I looked in the side mirror and realized that the garage door was laying on top of the van. Are you kidding? The tears were flowing before I ever opened the door. Poor Annie was clueless and whimpering about her missed opportunity to go to the Dollar Store. Upon further review, I realized that the door actually wasn't ON the van but was hanging precariously inches about the rear window.

Who do you call? I didn't think Ghostbusters would help much with this scenario other than capturing the monsters that I was letting loose from my mind. I didn't want to call dad. I knew he was exhausted after a rough week. The van was stuck in the garage and it was just that simple. I didn't feel like I had anywhere to turn. I do NOT like feeling helpless and I really detest admitting that I am helpless. So, I swallowed my pride and called my dad. He mumbled a few choice words and said he was on his way. By this point, it was dark and the wind was howling, too. Not the best conditions for analyzing what was deemed to be something stupid that I had caused. (Is it a dad's job to always blame the daughter for screwing it up)?

Anyway, when he arrived on the scene, he had a black eye and looked rough. I promise that I did not deck him and give him the shiner. Yes. I did think about it when he accused me of causing the whole door to jump into the air and then fold in half. What the heck? As he started taking inventory, I asked my mom what had happened to him, she said that he'd tripped at work. I think I gave her the evil eye because she found it necessary to tell me that she hadn't blackened his eye, either.  So, as we chatted, poor dad somehow yanked the door down and secured it so it wouldn't fall in on the van. As he came out of the garage, my mom jokingly grabbed his elbow trying to lighten the mood. He yelped like an injured dog. This is the man who buys me Christmas trees while passing kidney stones. He can hold his pain like a sailor holds liquor. He finally admitted that he'd injured his elbow, as well. My thoughts were a little selfish and went something like, "Great. You're my one ticket to getting this door fixed without having to call in a repairman and now you're injured." Maybe not my most grace filled moment.

So, mom and dad left and the kids came out of hiding. Poor Grant had taken the girls upstairs not knowing exactly which direction my potato head parts were going to fly when I snapped. I love that boy. When the kids came downstairs, my tears started again and Grant simply scooped me into his arms and hugged me. I admit that it just made me cry harder. While I'm making admissions, I'll also tell you that I went into a soliloquy shouting out at God saying, "I've done nothing but try to do the right thing! Why the heck (um, yeah, it might not have been heck that I said) am I the one that keeps getting the short end of the stick? I'm the one who has the house falling in around me and the kids to keep on the straight and narrow and a bank account that has to perform miracles every month to make the ends meet!" The whole show just went down hill from there. I was left standing alone in the cold kitchen feeling like I was at the bottom of the well. Grant had once again scuttled the girls back upstairs but as soon as Dasha thought it was quiet, she came back downstairs and decided to unknowingly take another shot at me while I was down for the count.

Out of all three kids, she's the best one at lobbing emotional grenades at me when I least expect it. She said, "What does engaged mean?" I tried to keep it simple for both of us and just told her that it was when a man asked a woman to marry him. How hard is that? Her response was, "So, you can only have one wife, right?" Now, I've admitted that Sister Wives is one of my guilty pleasures so I'm sort of laughing in my head thinking that I should make sure that she's not in the vicinity when I'm watching. However, when I confirmed her belief, she asked, "So that means that Daddy can't marry you again?" In the words of my teammate, sugar honey ice tea! I did not have the capacity to play Dr. Phil. I felt like my world was crumbling around me like the darn garage door. Once again, I confirmed her belief and I left it at that. She said, "So, I guess I'll have a step-mom now," and she went back upstairs. Yeah, I know. Once again, I'm mom of the year material. So, I'm not sure what she's processing right now but I'm sure I haven't heard the end of it.

Star log - Friday
Did I mentioned that my mom set up a calling schedule to keep calling me and checking on my every hour to make sure that I hadn't completely lost it? Well intended but very annoying when you just want to be left alone. Anyway, her calls resumed at 7:00 a.m. after a very rough night with Annie. (She still has a nasty cold and ended up in my bed where I could keep her propped up on pillows). Mom said that dad was going to the ER to have his arm x-rayed. I started to say, "No, duh, Ethel," but decided that was a bit too sassy. Then, she went on to say that dad was going to go to Home Depot and get some "stuff" to fix the door. Crap. Crap. Crap. I was quite sure that by "stuff" she meant things in the same category as duct tape. I panicked and put my pride away and called a co-worker to see if her handy man husband could at least help me get the van out so the door could hang by its hinges indefinitely. I also called a garage door company to come and give me an estimate on a fix that wouldn't include duct tape. (Eric had picked the kids up early that morning so they weren't having to see my hysterics).

To get to the point (my eyes are falling shut and Annie needs more cold medicine), my friend's husband and her dad came and freed the van. The repair guy came and said the door needed to be completely replaced with a price tag of about $800. Hmmm.... How much does a roll of duct tape cost? They even have those cool designs now. I could have a designer door that would completely tick the HOA off.

So, I spent the remainder of the day looking for solutions. I did splurge and get take out tonight and watched reruns of Duck Dynasty while eating Thai food and Christmas cookies. (Yes, it was definitely cookieS - plural).

The good of today? When I ran to Home Depot to get an idea of their prices, the Service Engine Light in the van went off. Maybe the light just burned out. Who knows but we'll see if the van's close call with death while trapped in the garage scared it straight or if it's just scared that I'll unleash my next dose of crazy on it if it doesn't straighten itself out!

That brings me to 10:51 on Friday night. I'm tired. My eyes are sore from crying. I need to get clothes laid out for everyone for tomorrow. Eric is picking the kids up again and I'll spend the day wrapping gifts. I used to enjoy wrapping but now that it's mandatory, it's not so amusing. Oh well. It's just much easier to do without little eyes everywhere. This blog was supposed to be filled with hateful crap and stuff that I could say, "It's true no matter how much it hurts," but it isn't. I just can't do it. Believe me, I'd love to push some of these thoughts out and clear my brain but... Anyway, if I ever got caught in a Groundhog Day movie scenario with the events of today, I'd have to give up and call, "UNCLE!"

Good night, all.

God is MIA from school?

This post has been brewing all week. I'm not sure that I can get everything from the tangled mess of my noggin onto this page but I'm going to give it a shot because I'm weary of media.

Last Friday, a tragedy struck in Connecticut. I can't imagine the loss that those families feel. Yes, I've lost a child but I knew it was coming. It's completely different. Those parents put their babies on buses to school Friday morning and headed off for their normal routines not having a clue that they'd said their last good-byes.

Since Friday, the media has been swamped with coverage of the catastrophe. I can't watch any of it. I've yet to hear a full report. My stomach knots up and the what-if monsters start creeping out. It's just too much.

However, the one thing about the whole situation that has made my blood boil is the constant postings across social media saying that the whole thing happened because we took God out of school. Really?

Let me tell you what I know about the God that I serve. He is NOT something that is boxed up and only released into sacred places. He is everywhere. He is omnipresent. God was in that school building on Friday morning. He knew exactly what was happening. He was there when that teacher was shoving her kids into cabinets. He was there when those parents were standing outside the school building. Just because his presence wasn't audibly announced over a loud speaker and pictures of Him weren't posted on the walls does not mean that He wasn't there.

I can tell you that I work in a public school with over 1,200 kids and God is there. There are teachers who pray for their students daily. There are parents that pray for their teachers daily. There are students who utilize the moment of silence to invite Him to travel their day with them. No. We don't have crucifixes on the walls and say a collective prayer each day. However, please don't tell me that God is not in our school. Boloney. 

The Newtown disaster did not happen because God had taken a vacation from the building. He was there. For those who don't believe in God, think about it this way. If your baby was in a dark closet hearing gun shots and people screaming, wouldn't you find yourself praying that God would protect them? So many people don't want to believe in Him because they are afraid of handing over their day to day affairs. But, when tragedy strikes, everyone suddenly wants to believe. God sure seems to be more popular in times of crisis such as 911, Columbine, and Newtown. But, He's there to do the day to day business with us. Even the little stuff. He knew when I had to pee today but didn't want to climb over folks to get out of the training I was in. He knew about my tears tonight as the kids left with Eric. He knows my greatest fears and my smallest ones (goats chasing me). I've been told that I'm uneducated and immature for believing this way and having blind faith. Well, that's fine. Look at it this way. Let's say that I am wrong about this whole God thing, what do I have to lose? What if I'm right and you're wrong? What do you have to lose?

I have no need to preach. I'll leave that to the professionals. I just need folks to stop saying that God has been taken out of public schools. That's not true. He is there. Over sixty staff members at our school have shown up 30 minutes early every day this week just to offer support for our students. Do we get paid extra? Nope. I sat through a training today about deescalating potentially dangerous situations with students in hopes that I'll never have to use those skills but I did it to protect my babies. Do those things all point to God? No. But, they do point to a lot of people with servants' hearts who want to love on these babies and show them how much we care about them. Many of us do that knowing that the love we have from Him is what we're able to pass on to our students.

OK. I feel better now. Thanks for letting me air that out. Until they empty out our school building of a large portion of the parents, students, and staff, God will be there. In fact, He'll still be in that building even if they drag every last believer out of there. So, put that in your pipe and smoke it. (Ooo. That sounded sort of irreverent).

Good night, all.

Lions, Tylenol, and Motrin... Oh, my!

Ok. So I'm moving pictures around and found a few that slipped through the cracks. Here you go.

Mom, I really don't like this creepy scarecrow!

That's better. I feel much more like myself now!

This thing is very wiggly!

Tell me again what this thing is!

Can I have one of these for Christmas?

This stool is like my cape! It increases my super powers!

Santa, I'm three and next year, I'll be giving YOU the orders so enjoy your last year in power.

How much longer until the parade starts?

I can't even caption this one. She looks scary!

Twins

Not twins

Dasha - Her first day at "home" 7 years ago (12/7)

Dasha now

I'm tired. I have a very critical case of It's Not Fair-itis and I need to get a grip. I had to move all of my photos from Blogger to Picassa because I ran out of room so here are a few that slipped through the cracks. Annie is sick AGAIN and running a high fever. She slept with me last night with her head on the edge of the bed and her feet in my guts. It's looking like another night of Tylenol and Motrin dosing every couple of hours. Wanna hear me whine? When do I get a break? I've done everything in my power to do things right and I'm still stuck in this sickening game of Whack-a-Mole. (Although, I think the game is actually Mortal Kombat and it was just mislabeled as Whack-a-Mole). Maybe with some quiet alone time I'll be able to get myself back together. Oh, wait. When will that ever happen again?

On a happier note... Here are some random antics that I'd recorded for such a day as today.

Annie is learning left and right. However, she only sees it as right and "not right." If you ask her where her left hand is, she will simply hold it up and say, "This one is not right." It's like a game of Who's on First toddler style.

Last week, I actually went into the closet one night and closed the door. I was really trying to inventory the Christmas stash but I was also enjoying a few nanoseconds of time alone. Annie banged on the door and then tried to open it. (I'm not sure why she couldn't open that door. She can open every other door in the house)! Anyway, she yelled through the door, "Mama, what are you doing?" I huffed something back like, "I'm in time out, Annie!" Without hesitating, she said, "What did you do wrong?" The thoughts that zinged through my head make my brain swim. I yelled back, "I thought ugly things!" Hey, I thought I was buying myself some time in lock-up away from everyone. It got quiet and I thought I'd won the battle and she'd moved on to torment someone else. Nope. Her next statement was hurled through the door with quite a bit of gusto. She said, "You need to come out, Mama! Mamas can't have time outs!" By this point I was feeling a little guilty and opened the door. She smiled that darn angelic grin and said, "See? I'm glad you made a good choice and came out. If you're naughty, Santa wouldn't bring you anyfing." (Yes, she still can't do the th sound).

Dasha decided to try and give the dish washer super powers by using the regular dish detergent instead of the dishwasher gel. Hmmmm... The look on her face was priceless when I rounded the corner and saw her sitting in piles of suds on the floor with towels trying to mop up the mess while more suds oozed from the dishwasher. I ask her if she was having a problem and she simply said, "No. I'm not having the problem, the dishwasher is," and went back to sopping up the mess. Ugh.

Grant has spent quite a bit of time at my parents' house lately due to scouts and a host of other things. However, his one liners continue to floor me. He has the quick wit of his dad. Last week, the girls were into playing dog. One would pretend to be the dog and one would pretend to be the owner. I heard them pretending from the backseat and just kept driving. When we got to our destination and I opened the door, I realized that Dasha was wearing the dog's leash and Annie was coaxing her to get out of the van like a good doggie. Dasha barked and compliantly rolled out of the van. Annie tugged the leash for her to hurry up. Grant walked past and eyed the situation and simply said, "You better hope she's not like Michael Vick," and kept walking. He constantly does this to me and then leaves me trying to stifle my laughter so I don't let on that I'm amused. Geez. I'm hoping to get some Christmas pictures including the elusive Grant this weekend. We shall see.

This is just a sampling of what goes on around here every single day. Heaven help me. I'm trying not to grow weak and keep my eyes on what matters but it's really hard this time of the year. For the kids' sake, the tree has lights and garland (and is missing lots of needles because I keep forgetting to water it) and there are lights in the shrubs out front. The gifts are bought (although the ONE gift Annie is now asking for is the one that I didn't get for her) and I'm already counting down the days to tossing the dying tree out and throwing the lights back into the bucket. I keep hearing that silly song from The Grinch, "Where are You Christmas?" I know darn well where Christmas is and what it is. I just need to get my head out of my butt and straighten my attitude out. (I don't like it when I have to scold myself in public but it's better than ending up in time out and having an ankle biter coax you out).

Alright, it's time for another dose of Motrin. Oh, wait. Maybe I'm supposed to give Tylenol this time. Crap. Maybe I should look up the number for poison control while I'm at it. It's going to be a long night!

Good night, all.

Annie tells about baby Jesus' adventures...

 OK. So, most folks don't believe half of what I write about the antics of Annie. Here's proof. During our nightly coloring session, she retold the story of baby Jesus with her own twist. The video says it all. (I'm still not sure where she got the idea of baby Jesus falling from a tree onto a trampoline but I didn't question her)!

Sorry if the screen is all over the place. I don't have the energy to fix the HTML nonsense tonight! :)

Good night, all!

Ramen Noodles and Oh, Christmas Tree

Oh, where to begin. This is a compilation version of blog entries. For only $19.99, you’ll get two for the price of one. We’ll start with the Ramen Noodle side of the story and then move to the Oh, Christmas Tree part.

One thing that I had to learn right fast and in a hurry when I started this journey was how to manage money. I had never paid bills and had never really budgeted. I went from living la vida loca on the fluffiness of two incomes to living la vida pobre on one income. (Aren’t you impressed with my Spanish)? I won’t lie. Those first few months were terrifying. I was like Dave Ramsey on steroids. I recorded every single thing I spent. I tucked away every penny I found. At one point, I worked three jobs to try and keep everything current. I will never forget as long as I live the first time I took the kids out to eat on the “new and improved” budget. I had a coupon for Folks. (Don’t judge. They put some good coupons in the weekly mailer). Anyway, we got online and looked at the menu and the prices and actually wrote down what everyone would order. I knew to the penny what I’d be spending including the tip. With cash in hand, we headed out. When we got there, I found that the local menu differed a bit from what was on the national website. Crapola. There we sat in a booth in the back of Folks restaurant and I was trying to recalculate and figure out how to survive this mission impossible situation with my pride intact. Somehow, we managed thanks to kids’ meals and water but I learned a very valuable lesson that day. It’s impossible to plan any outing down to the penny with three kids in tow. Leave fluff room. When you round, round up – way up! That whole debacle was one of my defining moments that put me on my way to financial freedom. (I’m not sure that freedom is the right word but…)

So, I didn’t attempt going out to eat with all three kids again for several weeks. I continued to track spending and look for ways to cut expenses. I cut the internet speed back. I cut the cable package back. I changed cell phone companies. I started using coupons. I made it work. I won’t lie. It was very hard. I’d work at school all day long and tutor and then edit and copywrite into the wee hours of the morning. Somehow, those five loaves of bread and two fish somehow fed us and kept all of the bills paid. (Now, I guess this is the time to admit that my parents footed many of the kids’ extracurricular activities that I would have never been able to fund and there’s still a hitch inside of me when I realize that I couldn’t afford to give my kids what I considered the basics that I always felt were necessities even though they really weren’t – like music lessons and scouts. My pride is definitely still dented).

Now? Well, it’s not like the state decided to give me a huge raise and I can now afford to drive a luxury car and eat at fancy joints every night. I’ve learned about the Ramen Noodle effect. Never heard of it? That’s because it’s my own creation. Do you remember the big craze several years ago with the WWJD paraphernalia? Everyone was on the bandwagon to filter things through the statement of, “What would Jesus do?” I’m not doubting the impact of that but the WIERN principle is what drives my financial decisions these days. Will I eat Ramen Noodles? Is this splurge worth eating Ramen Noodles at the end of the month? Go ahead and laugh. It’s sort of a joke around here. While I haven’t let the kids see me wrestle with the big stuff like how I’m going to pay a surprise balloon bill from Sallie Mae, I have made my attempts at budgeting and making wise decisions a part of our daily lives. When Grant wants to go and eat at a local Mexican restaurant (with a coupon, of course), he knows that I might tell him that Ramen Noodles would taste much better. Last weekend, the girls both needed outfits for various reasons. We went to Old Navy with our coupons in hand and Annie picked up a pair of boots and asked, “Do we have enough money to buy these?” At first, yeah… deep breath. At first, my heart hurt that my three year old even understands that there might not be enough money. But, after some deep breathing and some quiet time alone, I realized that there shouldn’t be any shame in a toddler understanding that money is not unlimited and that we have to manage it carefully. 

Anyway, WIERN means financial peace for our family. It keeps things in focus. There have been very few things that I would say were worth eating Ramen Noodles for, though.

That brings us to the Oh, Christmas Tree segment of this walk toward the nut house. While I’ve subscribed to WIERN, I still struggle with some of those wants that I have. Heck, I’m a woman. I see pretty things and I want them. I see things I want for the house. I see clothes. Wait a minute. Let’s get real. I see chocolate. (I don’t see dead people like that weird kid, though).

That being said, I absolutely love Christmas and decorating the tree is a big deal for me. I “inherited” hundreds of glass Radko ornaments a few years back and I can create a beautiful tree with those outrageously expensive ornaments, lights, and ribbon. I should say that I could. Past tense. Last year, I found myself at a really low point after Christmas and I actually tossed my very expensive and beautiful fake Christmas tree. I loved that tree. We bought it at Michaels and it was like something from a designer showroom. The cat had chewed through some of the little white twinkle lights but that poor branch could be stuffed in the corner. Like I said, I tossed the whole tree into the garbage and cried that Friday morning when I watched the garbage man toss it into the truck. What the heck? I had seriously lost my mind. When I finally untangled the lights from the bushes out front, I simply tossed them into a box. Nothing was put away with care. What a disaster.

This year, ugh. I disregarded my WIERN mindset and went to find another tree. I was willing to eat Ramen for two months in order to replace that tree. However, I had no idea what fake Christmas trees cost – especially 7.5 foot tall ones with beautiful full branch with tiny little pinecones and white twinkle lights. $300. $350. I’d be eating Ramen for a year! Heck, I’m not sure I could even afford Ramen!

I really tried to do the responsible thing and talk myself away from the ledge. I got online and found a tree at WalMart for $60. (Yeah, if Dr. Phil is reading this, I’m aware that I was avoiding the situation by simply shopping online. No duh)! The tree arrived and the kids put the tree together with exuberance. (I stood by and watched the kids put the little puny thing together). They were all so excited. I was choking back tears. This was the epitome of a Charlie Brown tree. I haphazardly wrapped a few strands of lights on the darn tree and decided that I really didn’t even care. Lie. Liar. I did care. I didn’t put those beautiful ornaments on the tree. I seriously said to my mom, “That tree isn’t worthy of those ornaments.” Geez. What a brat I am. There are so few things that I actually am persnickety about these days but the tree… That night, I disassembled the tree and stuffed it back in the box. That was the weekend before Thanksgiving. The kids awoke to a treeless living room. I promised them that I’d get them a better one. They all looked at me like I was stupid because the first tree had been perfect to them.

Last Friday night, my mom watched the kids and I went tree hunting. I sort of felt like Miss Kay from Duck Dynasty looking for the perfect tree. (Except, I don’t think she would have to worry too much about the price tags). So, I started at Big Lots. Nope. I went to Old Time Pottery. Double nope. Then, I headed to Garden Ridge. No way. Hobby Lobby. Nope, not even with a 40% off coupon. WalMart. Nope. I went home empty handed again. Grant was camping but the girls were visibly disappointed.

Saturday morning, I heard the doorbell ring. By the time I’d gotten downstairs, all I saw was a tree propped up against the outside of the sidelight. A real tree. I've never had a real tree before because I can't take care of feeding the cat. Why would someone think I could remember to water a tree? Deep breaths.

My daddy (with kidney stones moving about and Vicadin) went and bought me a tree. He is my Achilles heel. I admit that I’m crying as I type this. For as brutish and manly as he may seem, I think his heart is bigger than three normal guys put together. He didn’t even risk waiting around for me to open the door. He dropped it and ran before any emotional moments transpired. A few hours later, he snuck back by with a tree stand and left the tree sitting in the living room in the stand still bundled by net. At that point, I didn’t give a crap what the tree looked like. (I did have a major fear of opening the tree and a squirrel jumping out of it Lampoon Christmas style). So, the tree is now covered with lights and garland. I’m not going to put the glass ornaments (I'm certifiably a brat) on it but we now have a tree standing in the living room that the kids love and I can honestly say that the tree fell well within my WIERN boundaries and it was a tree given out of a daddy’s love for his grown daughter that he still tries to protect and baby. 

So, there’s the Ramen Noodle story and the Oh, Christmas Tree story rolled into one big mess. However, I think the mess gives you a pretty good indication of where I’m at this Season. I'm a mental brat that would eat Ramen Noodles in exchange for my dream Christmas tree. I wish I'd had a neighbor who hoarded and had rescued that tree from the garbage last year! Here's to WIERN and a Christmas Season full of the important things (not including the tree).

Good night, all.

Dating for Divorced Dummies

OK. This post has been rattling around in my head for months. I’ve revisited and revised the initial post multiple times. I think I’ve actually deleted the whole post several times. Why? This is the real stuff. This is the mine field that I’m living in. I perceive it as dangerous to post this stuff. Dating. I’ve retitled this post multiple times, too. Dating for Dummies. Divorced Dating. Dating Dorks. And, maybe the best one yet would be Dang Dating Disasters. Anyway, as I muck through this post, bear with me. Like I said, this is really where I’m living right now and it’s like swimming through a sea of frustration and confusion with a grateful heart.

So, most of you know that I have put my foot back into the dating pool a bit. There was one marathon relationship, one half-marathon, and a few sprints. Here’s what I’ve learned through this…

1. It’s ok to ask for a full financial and health work up prior to the second date. There’s no need to waste anyone’s time.
2. Ask about the ex. If his eyes turn into red lasers and smoke starts billowing out of his ears, he probably hasn’t come to grips with the circumstances yet and doesn’t have a true understanding of grace. (If the eyes turn into lasers, ask for a criminal background check, too)!
3. Don’t even tell the kids that you’re going out until you’ve seen the guy several times and are quite sure that he isn’t a creepster.

Well, those are just the basics. I’m finding that this whole situation is simply terrifying. Dating with three kids in tow is nothing like dating without little ones you’re responsible for. Every move I make is watched by them. The way Grant sees me date is how he’s going to date. Lord help me, but the way Dasha sees me date is what she is going to deem acceptable from a date. And then there’s Annie… Now that she’s in preschool and sees and hears about other families, she realizes that our situation isn’t “normal” and has driven a stake through my heart more than once asking her innocent questions the differences in our family versus those of her preschool friends. (Please note that my kids have only met 2 dates. Two. That’s it – marathon and half-marathon. Like I said, it’s just too risky).

Can you tell I’m muddling through here? I feel like there are spider webs trapping the thoughts I’m trying to get out but for some reason, it’s important to me that I get the thoughts out TONIGHT. Weird.

Let me take another path here… Brokeness. I’ve found that divorce leaves most folks in pieces with nothing more than resentment, hurt, and thoughts of revenge surrounding them. And, can I remind you that these are people that I agreed to go out with? These aren’t criminals that I picked up at WalMart. These are professionals that are engaged in society and all have had some sort of acknowledgement of a spiritual background. Whew. More than once, I’ve been left to try and sort through someone else’s baggage and wade out far enough to realize that it’s not my job to clean up their past. I can’t. By nature, I love to fix people. I love to give and I love to create peace. I love to sweep in and save the day. However, I’m freaking worn out. And quite honestly, I had the epiphany that it’s simply not my job to have to go in like Mike Rowe from Dirty Jobs and rework someone’s issues. I’m so leery to leave that statement without justifying and re-justifying it. That all sounds so cold and heartless. However, it’s something that I won’t back down on. I’m not Dr. Phil. I understand that no one is perfect and I’m not looking for perfection. And, maybe part of my reservation about writing this is that I’m having a hard time figuring out what the difference in having real issues is with being a human being and trying to live in an abnormal world. Anyway, the bottom line is that I’ve found out how grateful I am that God was already holding my heart before this leg of my marathon started and that He has protected me from the raging resentment and hate that seems to tear outwardly strong and healthy men into shreds of helplessness and neediness that exhibits itself through seeking relationships to fill those needs. Make sense? If not, don’t worry about it because I’m still working on processing it too and I’m the one who’s knee deep in it!

The dating scene has definitely made me open my eyes, though. I’ve learned so much about myself through this process. And, that’s exactly what it is… a process. I’ve experienced things that I never thought I would have. I learned that I like sushi. I learned that singing karaoke isn’t for me but I’ll be more than happy to sit back and laugh at others who have the guts to do it. I learned that I have to police myself carefully because I’m willing to deny who I am and what I really want in order to make others seem happy. I learned that somewhere along the line I’d convinced myself that being a high-maintenance woman was a bad thing and wanting flowers, cards, or some other outrageous token is actually ok. I learned that my standards for anyone who will be in contact with my kids is sort of unrealistic but I’m not willing to compromise. I learned that if I say, “No,” and you don’t respect it, I’ll give you a three second head start before I release Annie on a Mtn. Dew high to attack you. Actually, yeah, that whole saying “No” situation was probably one of the scariest of my life and I learned that I trust way too quickly. Lesson learned and won’t be forgotten any time soon. I also learned that I’m pretty darn well-rounded. I know how to eat dinner in a nice restaurant (and wear heels without permanently injuring myself) and I also know how to bait a fishing hook with a real worm (not those plastic ones or a bobber). I still get a laugh about that one!

Bottom line, I’m thankful. This is definitely not the journey that I signed up for and I definitely had some rough spots (and will probably experience them every time someone brushes up against a bruise that hasn’t completely healed) but I can honestly say that I don’t walk around thinking about how to get rat poison into his coffee. I look around at my life and thank Him for sheltering me when I thought the storm would surely blow me off the path and out to sea. He has given me the strength to continue raising three kids which all seem to be constantly pulling at me like I’m one of those piñatas with strings attached that the kids pull to release the load of candy. (Joke is on them, though. When they finally bust me, nothing is going to pour out except Calgon and Tylenol)! It’s with a very thankful heart tonight that I sit and type this knowing that all three Shrinky Dinks are tucked into their beds and asleep. There’s food in the fridge. There’s a roof over our heads. There’s gas in the van. There’s enough money in the bank to pay the bills for another month. And, this house is truly a home that has been blessed over and over again.

So, whether I ever decide to go on another date again or if I decide to start collecting cats and become a crazy cat lady who lives alone, I can truthfully say that my heart breaks for the thousands of people who don’t escape the dark side of divorce and make that darkness their home. His grace has been more than sufficient for me.

Good night, all.

Piddle Pads

If you are interested in reading this entry, do it now. Once the NyQuil wears off, I’ll be mortified and delete it! Also, if you are of the male persuasion, you’d better skip this entry anyway unless you want Clorox images from your brain. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Side note: It’s not that I haven’t been blogging. I have. I just seem to have some extra special tattle-tale friends that like to push my entries out to their extra-special friends in high places who seem to feel like I’m blurring some lines here. Well, based on the wisdom of a very wise uncle of mine, I’m going with claiming freedom of speech (and hoping he’ll give me a job and bail me out of jail). Anyway, I’ll be dragging some of those entries out into the open over the next few days. Get ready.

Moving on… I’ve decided that the absolute most helpless feelings I’ve had on this crazy journey occur when I get sick. Really sick… not just the occasional mental hiccup. When I get sick, things go down hill. Last week, Grant and Dasha were sick. Then, the bug sideswiped me. Last night, it got Annie. I think this sickness shows up in the DSM-5 as PLAGUE. It starts with a high fever that just won’t quit no matter how many times you alternate Tylenol and Motrin. At one point, I thought about trying to add Lysol shooters in as the third round. About the time Grant and Dasha started to recuperate, the fever took me out. So, what’s the sole adult in the house supposed to do? I just wanted to cover my head up and disappear but I kept hearing things like, “Mama, come wipe me,” and, “Can I plug this thing into the thing over here?” Disappearing wasn’t an option. What the heck are you supposed to do? Crank up the DVD player for a movie fest. Get out every crayon and coloring book in the house and hope she remembers to only color in the book and not on the walls. However, if she must color on the walls… go for it. I have the power of those magical Mr. Clean scrubby things that will take gang graffiti off of any bridge. (How do they hang over the side of those bridges to paint that crap)? Anyway, with this vicious fever came a wonderful melodious cough. It sounds like a seal that is being squeezed through a meat grinder. Once the fever sort of abated, the cough hung on. That’s where my problems are stemming from. (Please remember that I’m typing through the effects of a NyQuil slushie and I’ll most like delete this entire thing tomorrow when, in the words of Jimmy Cliff, “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone…”

When I cough, it’s not just the cough that’s problematic. Ladies, you know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen the commercials. Sneezing, coughing, laughing… it all gets the same result when you’ve given birth to three kids. You twiddle. There, I said it. Just once, I want to see some guy bolt from a comical conversation doing the potty dance knowing that it’s already too late. At my house, this happens quite often. The kids are used to it. Close friends know not to be offended if I tear off toward the bathroom after they tell a hysterical story. Yeah, I’ve talked with the doctor about the “options” but for a girl who can’t even have a fever without denying someone the right to have their butt wiped, any sort of even minor surgery just isn’t in the cards. (And, never mind the finances…). So, this whole week I’ve spent playing a sprinkler. No, not the funny dance. I’ve been a real live sprinkler. During the first day, I literally went through every pair of drawers I owned (even those nice ones that get shoved to the back of the drawer and you never wear and wonder what the heck possessed you to buy them). So, I decided to get dressed and go in search of those piddle pads they kept advertising on TV. They strap one of those suckers between two spindles and twist it and absolutely nothing piddles out. That’s exactly what I needed! What I didn’t need was three kids in tow on this delicate mission. Oh well.

Did you know that as you stand in the aisle of Walmart and look at the piddle pads, there are about 40 different varieties? I could see that there were different brands but there were also different sizes, shapes, and absorbencies. Now, had I been standing in the baby section and looking at diapers, I would have understood my choices. First, choose the brand you want (Huggies). Second, choose the size you want (5). Third, if there’s a girl / boy option, make sure you get the right one because the piddle zones are located in different areas. Adult diapers are way more complicated. And, let’s face it. I didn’t even want to be seen standing there. I was so embarrassed! I actually circled the section several times just so it wouldn’t look like I was standing there studying.

Finally, I made a choice and thought I was getting the brand of those cool ones from the TV commercial and I hid them in the bottom of the buggy – until Annie pulled them right back out and started waving them around saying, “What are these?” I don’t remember my exact words to her but I’m pretty sure she will bring them back up in a counseling session years from now when she’s blaming me for her life.

We made it back out of the store and to the safety of the house. (How safe is it, though)? I ran for privacy thinking I’d just solved my biggest problem. I do remember thinking at one point, “My life is sort of sad if I’m thrilled about buying a package of piddle pads!” Oh well. I ripped those suckers open in a moment similar to when Charlie opened that Golden Ticket that changed his life. No golden ticket was in the package, though. Those things were the size of band-aids. Are you kidding? That’s definitely NOT what I’ve seen on TV! In a moment of desperation, I cried. I admit it. I cried over piddle pads. And, if you want to know the truth, the crying sent me into a coughing spell, which… you get the point. What a Hallmark sort of memory- Me, standing in the bathroom, coughing, peeing my pants, and crying.  In a stroke of genius, I thought maybe you could use the things like Legos and piece them together to make something more sea worthy. Hmmmm….

To make a long story short, you cannot piece piddle pads together like Legos unless you plan on using some sort of waterproof sealant to keep them stable. This was the point when I decided that doubling up on undies was my best offense. I’ll admit to longingly looking at Annie’s old training undies at some point and even eyeing those old rubber pants. This was becoming a major problem. Thank goodness we were off for the week. I’m not sure what I’d have done at work.

Fast forward to this afternoon, after a phone call to my doctor, I found out that one of the meds I’d been prescribed for bronchitis might have been exacerbating the problem. I think I might have actually said, “Hallelujah,” when she told me that. But, I have a few more days of the meds that I really need to finish so I knew that I was going to have to go back to the store and face the piddle pad aisle again. Ugh. This time, I left the kids at home. I believe I told them that I was going to go put gas in the van (which I did, too)! I snuck into CVS and prayed that no one would question my needs. Once again, I stood there dumbfounded. CVS had a completely different array. And, I’ll admit that I’d done some research and I knew darn well which brand could be twisted up by a laughing lady and not dribble. I didn’t see that brand. Crap. As an elderly couple entered the aisle and started looking at the very unmentionable products at the end of the aisle, I knew that I was about to get the church giggles and had to get out of there. (When the gentleman pulled out his spectacles to examine one of the boxes, I knew it was time to grab and go. I was having visions of him asking me to read the fine print on the box)! So, I grabbed the house brand and ran toward the cashier. Problem? There was a line. Really? I’m going to have to stand in line with pee pee pads? Dang it! Finally, I made it to the register after all three customers in front of me needed extra-special attention, which required a manager’s help. I had the cash in hand and was ready to be the speediest transaction of the day. But… What I thought was $7.99 was $17.99. Crap. If you didn’t know, teachers get paid once a month at the end of the month. There I stood with a financial dilemma with my ego melting away like the wicked witch after a good dosing with a fire hose. In a moment of sheer desperation, which sort of, no doubt about it, manifested as a lie, I said, “Geez. She didn’t give me enough money.” I made it sound like I was buying those suckers for some old lady down the street at the nursing home and she’d stiffed me. I got out of line and made the walk of shame and exchanged the darn things (not what I was thinking). I did notice that the elderly couple was still at the end of the aisle but they’d enlisted the help of the pharmacist in their quest for the perfect, well, um…. I prayed not to make eye contact with the pharmacist or the couple. I made it back out of the store with the $7.99 package that I’d budgeted for and headed home. I just wanted to get home.

Once again, I retreated thinking this time I might have gotten the Golden Ticket but, once again, realized that I had another issue. This pack held pads the size of the Titanic. Instead of band-aids, I had full-sized cruise ships! Ugh! No wonder old people don’t like to leave their houses! They’ve given up on these piddle pads and just sit at home in their leather recliners where their accidents can easily be wiped up.

I tossed the pack in the floor and walked away. The pinnacle of this entire story and the one moment of reverie came when Dasha emerged from my bathroom later in the day walking like she was riding a horse. J Oops. I guess she was a bit confused about the location of her products versus mine. The poor girl is probably thinking I’ve lost my mind and that I’m trying to kill her! I’ll tell her in the morning (right after I delete this post)!

So, there’s the story. I’m not sure why I felt the need to share this dose of TMI. Like I said, I’m still taking the medication and I think I’m probably going to feel a little differently about sharing this information come tomorrow morning. However, I now have enough piddle pads to fix any random leaks around the house, sop up any spills, or even to offer a hockey team their own beautifully packaged set of pads. Oh wait! Do they have girls’ hockey teams? If so, they could absolutely use today’s purchase as shin guards!

Good night, all. I’m going to bed in hopes that sense will creep into my snot laden brain during the night.

Clark Griswold and Forgiveness

The girl is growing up. My friend texted me this picture this morning from car line and it seriously left me dumbfounded. She's not a baby!

She may not be a baby any more but the trouble she gets herself into is going to buy her time at the juvenile detention center!

Things I'm thankful for -

1. A sense of humor
2. A comfy bed that's big enough for everyone to pile into
3. A family of teammates that will take tread marks on their own backs in order to pull you out from under the bus
4. Sharp crayons to get the detail work done
5. Facing the Giants
6. A bank account that seems to be a bit like the five loaves of bread and two fish. Just when I think it's not gonna happen, a miracle occurs.
7. Discernment despite my lack of wisdom
8. Grace

 What a day it's been. Remember that scene from Holiday Vacation where Clark keeps dreaming about the new pool (never mind the bikini clad boobalicious mermaid in the pool)? I keep having daydreams about sitting on a beach with a book and being completely off-duty for a while. Alas, I'm stuck with the Jelly of the Month club.

Anyway, I'll share just one of the many stories that I've logged in the "Parenting for Dummies" book this week.

Annie has learned that she can control situations with her tongue. I call it lying. She calls it accidentally forgetting. Slight logistics issue.

She called me into the bathroom this afternoon for canyon clean-up. When I opened the door (she now closes the door so folks don't see her "privacy" or so she's not "appropriate"), a new roll of TP had been unrolled on the floor. Not just a few spins of the roll. Nope. Almost the entire roll. She giggled at the look on my face. (She hasn't logged the "I'm way too tired for this" look yet to understand that I was on the edge of a SNAP)! I asked her how the TP ended up on the floor and her answer was, "I don't know!" Ugh. Let the inquisition begin. I asked her if she did it. She quickly answered, "No!" I asked how it got there and we were back to answer number 1, "I don't know!" Darn it! I was not in the mood for a rousing new version of Who's on First! So, I went all Cliff Huxtable on the girl and said, "Did Dasha do it?" Her answer was a solid, "Yes, she did it." So, I called Dasha and then gave her the wink before she made it all the way to the bathroom. I began fussing at her. I stayed on this side of the crazy line but my toes were eeking ever so closely to straight out insane. As I started "yelling" at Dasha and telling her to go pick up the TP, Annie started howling and the waterworks opened for business. I admit that I felt victorious because I thought a confession would quickly come and I could get back to fixing dinner. Nope. Amidst the snot and tears, I asked her AGAIN, "Annie, why are you upset? Did you have anything to do with it?" The little convict once again denied the allegations. By this time, Grant and Dasha were laughing so hard (hidden behind the stairs) that they were crying, too! This little mini-manipulator can lie like nobody's business! At this point, I didn't have any idea of what to do. I had exhausted the spirit of Cliff Huxtable and my options were to morph into Major Payne or just hide in the closet and go back to daydreaming like Clark Griswold. Grant decided to take a stab at the situation and Annie jumped into his arms and within a couple of seconds he had a confession from her. Seriously? At that point, I admitted defeat for the night and just went back to scraping the now burned stir fry out of the bottom of the pan. However, as I wearily stood at the stove aggravated about the whole thing and now the burned dinner, I heard someone in the bathroom and I could hear the TP being rolled. What??? About the time I had scraped the last of dinner onto the plates, Annie emerged from the bathroom like a triumphant solider and said, "Don't worry about it. I fixed it." She had rerolled the TP. She came and hugged my legs (which she's now more at butt level so it's sort of weird) and said, "I'm sorry I lied," and then ran off to play. It was that simple for her. Ask for forgiveness and move on. Yikes. I sure wish I could go with that mentality. There are a few too many folks that I've had to ask forgiveness from over the last week. How nice it would be to just ask for forgiveness, know that the person you wronged had truly forgiven you, and then forget about it. As I finished getting drinks to the table, it hit me. That IS how it's supposed to be. Once again, some of us with the hardest of heads have to learn life lessons from the innocence of children.

"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." Matthew 19:14

Good night, all.

Spork in the road

Sunday morning - I got up with all intentions of heading to church but then realized that I still felt nasty and gave up. I pulled the service up online and watched. Then, I logged into another church's service and watched that too. No comment. Double dosing doesn't help your attitude. I decided that no matter how much "church" I poured into myself this morning, my attitude wasn't going to change until I changed it. Might as well get showered and go get groceries.

Grocery shopping with the girls in tow is like a moving three-ring circus. I normally try to corral Annie to the buggy and then have Dasha hang on to the side of the buggy. Today... ugh... Dasha is still tired from being sick so even clinging to the side of the buggy, she continued to trip. I seriously think I've pulled my arm out of its socket in my attempt to catch her from landing on various obstacles around WalMart. Annie's antics weren't as physically tiresome but mentally, I was done with her by aisle 2. She normally sits in the big part of the buggy and categorizes the items as you hand them to her. Some weeks, she puts the cold things together. Other weeks, she puts the boxed items together. You just never know. Today, she decided to "build" herself a house with the groceries. If I haven't mentioned it lately, Annie has very little patience. When the grocery blocks wouldn't sit on each other nice and neat, she started to melt down. "No, Annie. The apple slices can't be under the box of crackers. Put all of the boxes on the bottom." Have I mentioned that the girl doesn't like to be told what to do, either? By aisle 6, she was beyond mad at her crumbling house (and, the bagels and apples were squashed into oblivion). For some reason, she noticed the little pop-up dot in the middle of the lid on the salsa during her explosion. She quickly decided that the button was a camera button and started used the GLASS bottle of salsa to take pictures of everyone. Whatever. I only had a couple of aisles to go.

I finally made it to the checkout with all of the items on my lists. As I slid my card, Dasha yells out, "Mama, why do you always push the numbers X X X X on the calculator after you slide your card?" Come on now! I'm already several fries shy of a full Happy Meal so don't go there today!

If that wasn't bad enough, as I was unloading the buggy into the back of the van, Annie stumbled and fell right on top of the gallon of milk. (Thank goodness that I'd chosen to buy the WalMart brand and not the Horizon stuff which costs twice as much). The milk exploded and puddled under the cart. Both girls just stared at me watching for their cue to either laugh or melt into tears. I figured that tears were risking a bit too much so I just shook my head and laughed. Annie asked if her camera had gotten wet. Argh!

Once home, things didn't get much better. The girls were intent on testing out the "survival of the fittest" theory and continued to bicker with each other until I called for nap time. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I was dreaming of a good long hibernation for both of them. As they slept, I worked on school work. Although I technically only get paid for 35 hours a week, the county probably gets about 50+ hours a week out of the majority of teachers (despite the furlough days). I got semi caught up with paperwork and then tried to take a nap. Nope. I still feel rotten but I slept all day yesterday so it just wasn't going to happen today.

Once naps were over, the girls agreed to color quietly. (Ok, quietly to the girl species is relative). However, Annie came rushing in to me and told me that she wanted an envelope so she could put a letter in the mail to Daddy. That's fine but the envelopes are in the garage - that was the office until last weekend - and the only way to get to the file cabinet is to crawl through the van. I told her to wait but moments later, I heard the garage door open and then a van door close. Not good. Remember how persistent and stubborn this kid is? I call it disobedient, too! By the time I'd gotten downstairs, she was emerging from the far side of the garage via the van with an envelope in her hand. Geez. We put the letter in the envelope and then she asked to go put it in the mail box. Once again, I told her to wait until I found the address. While I went upstairs to find the email with the address, I heard the front door open. You guessed it. (Please remember that I feel like crap and I am so incredibly tired of battling this monster on my own. Don't judge until you've tripped around in my shoes). She put the mail in the box and then came back in and sat on the sofa watching the mailbox. I didn't think much of it until I realized that she was still sitting there 15 minutes later. When I asked her what she was doing, she said that she was waiting on Daddy to come get his mail. Crap. (No, that's not really what my mind said). She's seen Blue's Clues a million times and know all about Mail Time - or so I thought. Let's just say that the next few moments after my explanation were the last straw for me and for her. We just cuddled up and had a good cry. The letter is now laying on the counter awaiting the address and a stamp.

I think there's a part of me that is refusing to slow down because I know there's some major stuff on my plate that I need to deal with. Most people talk about standing at a "fork" in the road on their journey and having to make a decision about which path to take. I feel like I'm standing at a spork in the road. I can clearly see the roads available but I keep hovering in the safety of the bowl part of the spork. When I start to move toward a path, I get cold feet and run back to safety. I feel like there's so much more grace in the spork. There's room to stumble, room to fall, and room to wallow in weariness, and whine. Once I commit to journeying down one of those tines, it's more like a tight-rope act. One wrong move and I'm done. So, this spork-loving girl simply has her head in the sand right now.

Ouch. That much philosophical mush tired me out. Well, Grant just came back home and handed the girls each a stuffed-animalish fluff ball that makes whining sounds and both girls are talking like babies while the fluff balls whine and Grant is laid out across my bed talking my ear off. Yeah. Let the deep breathing resume.

Good night, all. (Yeah, I know it's 6:00 but my mind is already in sleep mode).