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Behind on Life

November 14, 2013 by

The end of the year has somehow been placed on hyper-speed, and I am entirely unprepared for it to come zipping by. Piles of laundry stand in nearly every corner of the house, dishes cannot seem to find their home, Halloween candy is still on top of the fridge, yet somehow I’m already thinking about Christmas. And through all of it I want to scream STOP THE MADNESS!

This morning, as I clapped my kids out of the house, I felt the panic start to settle tight in my chest. As I begged my middle to child for the 50th time to please hurry up – Please get dressed – Please stop dancing in your room to the invisible beat in your head and put on your shoes – Please brush your hair, I had to stop, take a deep breath…and then laugh.

Yesterday I plucked a white – WHITE! – hair from my eyebrows, and I blame it on getting children out the door on time. But this morning as I watched her grin in her bedroom, talking to herself, having a merry party without any thought of missing the bus, I wanted some of that. I wanted just an ounce of her zest for fun. It’s annoying as all get out, but it’s an awesome trait.

Life is more fun if you don’t sweat the small stuff.

There is a solid chance I’m going to stay two steps behind on life until January rolls around. If I just accept this as fact and roll with it, life should be much less stressful. Upcoming birthday parties, Christmas parties, Thanksgiving celebrations, visitors, holidays, gymnastics meets, and every other things that is coming up will come whether I’m prepared or not – I might as well just enjoy the ride.

So today, as I put away laundry, clean the kitchen yet again, exercise and do myriad of other errands that aren’t very fun, I’m going to think of her.

tiasilly2

 

And maybe I’ll dance a little.

 

How are you doing, friends? Are you feeling behind on life? Join me in a virtual dance party!!!

Also, go watch this video because you’ll laugh, and all you parents will understand.

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Holidays, Life, Motherhood, Tia Tagged With: , , , ,

Miss Minivan America

September 16, 2013 by

MV5BNzA5NTAwNDc4MF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTYwNzM0OTg4._V1._SX263_SY475_Last night I caught a few minutes of the Miss America contest. Is it called a contest? Is that the correct terminology? I just don’t even know.

Now, I’m going to start this post with an apology to anyone who may happen to love Miss America. If you were a beauty pageant girl and get warm fuzzies whenever you think of strutting around in a bikini and heels, then this post might not be for you. With that said, I will confess:

I don’t get it. I do not get the allure of Miss America. I know everyone says it’s about the scholarship, and these girls are so well rounded, but all I see are young ones wearing too much make up, dancing awkwardly in the sand, then strutting their stuff in a two piece on national TV. There are other ways to get scholarships, right?

Now I must confess, I was kind of pulling for Miss Kansas. Mainly because she speaks Chinese and shoots guns and somehow this made her a little more rockstar. But still, after five minutes of watching the broadcast, all I could think of was Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality falling on her face and I got the giggles and had to ask Lee to change the channel back to football.

Lee says I’m just jealous because I’ve never been on Miss America. I told him he’s right and maybe I’ll start my own Miss America contest. Miss Minivan America.

Then he told me there’s already something like that – apparently it’s called Mrs. America and it’s for…well I can only assume it’s for married people? Older women? The more pressing question is HOW DID LEE EVEN KNOW THERE WAS SUCH A THING?! Who is he?

It’s concerning, really.

Back to my point, though. If I were to design my own pageant, it’d be Miss Minivan America and we would eliminate that pesky bathing suit portion of the whole shebang, because all of us would have had multiple children and we know better than to throw on a skimpy two piece in front of the world.

Instead we’d replace the bathing suit portion of the show with an athletic clothing parade. Yoga pants and tennis shoes would be the uniform of choice and we’d strut comfortably in front of the judges. Some could even wear skorts if they felt so inclined, because we all know that the skort combines the comfort of shorts with the fashionability of a little skirt.

I think I’d keep the evening gown portion of the show, because what minivan mom doesn’t enjoy getting dolled up every once in awhile? Of course, to keep it realistic, she’d have to have at least one spit up stain on the gown and there would likely not be enough make up in all the world to cover the bags under her eyes, but dang it, she’d rock sequins like it was nobody’s business.

For the question and answer portion of the show, we’d ask super important questions like, “How do you prepare a dinner for five in 20 minutes or less?” Or how about, “What are your tips for optimum daily function on three hours of sleep?” Or “You have three children: One begins projectile vomiting in the middle of the grocery store while the other pulls an apple off the bottom of the pile sending the rest tumbling across the floor. The third wails in horror as she’s covered in vomit. How do you handle this situation with both grace and poise?”

As there are no good answers to any of these, we’d all probably bark “WORLD PEACE” into the microphone, which would be a satisfactory answer, because who doesn’t want world peace, right?

The talent portion of the program would be most interesting as it would likely find women performing all sorts of miraculous acts such as simultaneously fixing dinner, folding laundry, talking on the phone and signing take home folders all while ignoring a whining toddler. And all this would be done in her cute athletic skort, of course.

Perhaps another contestant would be working on her computer while taking a phone call from the school about a child who is sitting in the nurses office with a sore toe and petting the neglected dog who whines at her feet.

A third contestant would demonstrate the art of cleaning a rancid minivan in under ten minutes. (Grab a large trash can, sweep everything into it, even if it’s not trash, spray Febreeze on the seats and call it a day).

The possibilities for talent would be endless!

And there wouldn’t be any super blonde Barbie hair or dancing on the beach. Ain’t nobody got time for that! Ponytails would be the preferred hairdo with roots that were at least a half-inch thick. And contestants would wear just enough make up to look human.

Now naturally, you cannot have a contest without a reward, so what on earth could we give to the crowning champion of Miss Minivan America?

Six hours alone to do whatever she wanted.

Now that would be a pageant worth competing in.

Amen?

Amen.

Image credit

Filed Under: Domesticity, funny stuff that happens, Minivans, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , ,

The Post About Hair

September 9, 2013 by

We tumble out of the car after church and rush into the house, a bundle of nerves and excitement.

“I’m scared,” she says, her eyes a little bigger than usual. “What if I mess up?”

“Go put on your leotard and your warm ups and we’ll talk about it,” I answer.

Ten minutes later she sits at the table and I begin brushing her long, kind of thin, white-blonde, mousy hair. Bless her precious little heart, she is the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen, but she definitely drew the short stick when it came to hair.

As she talks through the nerves she feels about competing in her very first gymnastics meet, I deal with my own nerves. Naturally, I was a little nervous for her, but my bigger issue came in the form of what on earth should I do with that hair?

See, I read the team manual. I know the rules. That hair has to be up and back and off the face and it cannot come loose under penalty of death. Or loss of a few tenths of a point. Whatever.

The point is, getting the hair right for a gymnastics competition is of the utmost importance.

And we all know who gets judged on the hair – she’s seven, folks. I’m on the hot seat for hair that refuses to stayed tied tight.

IMG_1788“Let’s put your hair up in a bun,” I suggest, and she immediately balks. I forgot to mention – she hates having her hair done. It ranks right up there with getting a shot. She does it because I say she has to, but she’s not happy about it.

I pull her hair back as tight as possible when it’s spun of pure silk and tried to secure it in a ponytail holder.

“You’re hurting me!” she wails. She grabs at the bottom of her head and yanks a chunk of hair out of my fingers.

“It’s supposed to be tight,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Well I don’t want it in a bun!” she cries. “My hair doesn’t work like that. I have small buns!”

I snicker as I tried to regroup the hair on top of her head because the twelve year old in me cannot hold back.

“Well what about braids? Your coach said braids are a great way to keep your hair out of your face.” I set to work weaving her hair into tight braids down the back of her head as she whines and groans about how much I’m hurting her and it doesn’t have to be that tight and sweet mercy if this child ever decides to become a dancer, she’s going to have to employ her own hair dresser because I will not survive such shenanigans!

I tie the braids, but they hang funny over her shoulders. It’s a bit Pippi Longstocking, and while I find it mildly adorable, I can envision her lying on a counselor’s couch one day lamenting the fact that she could have been an Olympian if only her mother had been able to come up with an acceptable gymnastic’s meet hairstyle.

I fold the braids under and secure them with ribbons and enough hair spray to chip out a small hole in the ozone layer, then tell her to do a couple of back walker overs and make sure it will work.

“It hurts! It hurts so bad! Ow, Ow, Ow, Ow, Ow! Why is it so tight! It hurts.hurts.hurts.hurts.hurts!!!”

It’s at this point I begin humming Jesus Take the Wheel while wondering what she would look like with a shaved head. (She’d look precious. I’m sure of it…)

She waffles back to the kitchen table, clutching her head as though I had woven thorns into her braids and we set back to work. The only issue is I’ve put so much hair spray into it, that it’s not going anywhere. So I twist, pull, tug, and pray until I have it tucked it in a way that allows her full movement of her head. She hops off the table and rolls her neck around.

tia meet

“Fell better?” I ask. She nods and runs to the bathroom.

She looks in the mirror, side to side, then looks at me.

“I look weird,” she says.

I drop my head, shrug my shoulders and wave her outside where I spray glitter into her hair because glitter covers a multitude of sins. 

And we’re on our way.

She ended up tying for third in her meet. It’s probably easy enough to attribute her success to her hard work and dedication, but after the fiasco we went through to get her there, I’m going to take full credit for her success.

Gold medal for Mom.

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Sports, Tia Tagged With: , ,

A Post About Nothing, Everything, and the One BIG Thing

September 4, 2013 by

Okay, friends. It’s confession time. 

 

I’m bored with blogging.

Gasp!

I know! It’s like I just insulted my dearest friend and her mom in one fell swoop! I feel like I should buy the internet an “I’m So Sorry” bouquet of daisies and an Edible Arrangement to make up for what is clearly apathy and a bit of laziness on my part.

I think this is just a temporary lull in the old blogging Mojo. I sense that it will return to me at some point and that when it does you all will roar in delighted laughter and the internet will forgive my indiscretion and will sweetly ask me if I enjoyed my little jaunts away from the the glimmering screen.

To be clear, I’m not leaving the internet. I like her too much to walk away completely. But there are other delights calling me and I feel like I need to answer. I miss writing, and by writing I mean the art of getting lost in a story. It’s a funny thing, writing a novel. It’s like the longest, most mentally exhausting labor in the history of ever, and then when it’s all over, you look at this little creation in your hands and think, “Man. When can I do this again?!”

There are other issues that make blogging more of a challenge these days than they did in the days of yore. (Because the internet moves and changes and matures so quickly, it’s very easy to refer to two years ago as “Yore.” You understand.)

First, the kids are older and I just feel kind of squicky sharing all their secrets now. I mean, they’ve provided me with a truck load of stories lately. There’ve been some real humdingers, to be sure. But somehow it feels like those stories should be theirs to tell, not mine.

Well, okay. That’s not entirely true. Some of these moments I’m just saving up to share with their prom dates, at their wedding rehearsal dinners, or any other occasion when it feels appropriate to dig into my cache of awesome and give away these treasured stories that I hold. I just don’t want to tell the whole world every little thing any more.

I’m also (lean in close, now, so I can whisper this in your ear) kind of enjoying my long quiet days. When the kids get on the bus in the morning, I know they think I head into the house and weep softly, but I don’t. I put a little music in the iPod, grab the dog and shimmy my way through the neighborhood for a walk. I come back and enjoy a long shower without fear of someone walking in to tell me how deeply they’ve been offended by a protesting sibling. And when those two things are finished?

I sit at my computer and think, “Huh. I have all this time. I bet I could start making a little more money now.”

So I’ve been brainstorming ideas, writing, editing, querying agents and publishers, and talking with friends who are in need of a writer and have the funds to hire. Then I scoot over to my little corner of the web and dust her off a little, wishing I could give her more of myself.

That’s where I am. I’m here, but my brain is a few other places and my brain has never been very good at doing two things at once. I do have an upcoming project that I’m taking part in, though. I can’t give you all the details yet because…well, because I don’t have them. But I have a little teaser, a photo to show you something big, something HUGE, that we can all do together.

MHK_inMercy_BlogTease_1_

 

Check out ‘dem apples!

We’re going to be a part of this one big thing together, my friends, and this is a good thing. This is the sort of thing that makes the internet happy and makes me never, ever want to leave blogging ever because our words and actions are going to change the world.

This one big thing is something we can all be a part of. We can help make huge improvements to this amazing ministry from the comfort of our own homes, while still wearing our slippers! Glory!

So I’m not leaving. I’m staying. I’m just confessing that I know I’ve been a little stale, but the internet is quick to forgive and you all are so very patient while I work out the kinks of this new phase of life.

So hang with me just a little while longer? And if anyone would like to send me an Edible Arrangement, I’d happily accept it…on behalf of the internet, of course.

Peace out.

 

Filed Under: Blogging, funny stuff that happens, Life, Novel, Random, writing Tagged With: , , , , ,

The One With the Slippers

September 3, 2013 by

babytiaWhen Tia was nine days old, I took her to have pictures made. I wanted to go all out on her newborn pictures, so I naturally went to Picture People and paid $10 for 150 pictures of the exact same terrible shot. (I paid an extra 10 bucks to get 150 of a second shot because I felt like splurging.)

In my defense, digital pictures were just now beginning to take off. Lee and I had only gotten our first digital camera less than a year earlier. I still preferred a camera with actual film because…I don’t know why. Because change is hard? And for all you young ‘uns reading this blog who don’t remember life without digital images, this is how fast technology can change the world. I also had a flip phone back then that I could never remember to keep charged and I didn’t text because tapping out the alphabet was a torture greater than trying to nurse an infant in a crowded room.

In short, I am old enough to remember the good old days.

I have digressed mightily, though. This post isn’t about technology, nor is it about the terrible pictures I got at Picture People. This post is about motherhood, obviously.

Back in those days (seven and a half years ago…feels like a lifetime), I did not yet have a minivan, I didn’t blog and I only had one and a half kids. An infant only counts as half, that’s how those census people are able to determine that the average American household has 2.5 children. Infants. They aren’t full people until they can support their own body weight.

Sometimes I think back to those early days with little littles and I laugh at how difficult it all felt. Just getting up and out of the house felt like a momentous task each and every morning, and indeed it was. Try getting half a person ready while a two year old (who should really count as three people if we’re being honest) terrorizes the house. Those days were hard. They were really hard.

sloantia

Our lovely, off-centered picture. I still have about 120 of these left so if anyone wants one, just let me know…

The morning I took Tia and Sloan to Picture People for those awesome of awesome portraits, I did it all on my own. Lee was out of town (because his company had impeccable timing and adored sending him away for a week and a half every time I had a baby) and I was on my own. I got up extra early that morning. Actually, if I remember correctly, I just didn’t go back to bed after the 4 am feeding. I took a shower, fixed my hair, put on make up (make up!), dressed two small children (one and a half, whatever…), changed diapers, fed said children breakfast, got them bundled up (February in St. Louis is cold in an evil, diabolical sort of way) and got out the door.

As I walked into the mall – the mall! – for our 9:00 appointment, I strolled confidently up to my mom. I had the car seat popped securely in the stroller and Sloan held tight to the side. I was rocking that motherhood gig. I felt like shouting LOOK AT ME, EVERYONE! SEE ALL MY AWESOME! BEHOLD, COME GAZE UP MY TOGETHERNESS AND MARVEL AT HOW EASY I MAKE THIS LOOK! I DID THIS ALL ON MY OWN! LOOK AT HOW GREAT I AM!

“You made it!” Mom cried. As if there was any doubt.

“Yep, and I got everything done! Look, I even got a shower!”

We stepped onto the escalator and as we did, I tripped slightly so I looked down to catch my balance.

I was still wearing my slippers. These were not slippers that looked like shoes, either. These were slippers that looked like slippers. I looked back up at my mom and she threw her head back and laughed.

“Well, if that’s all you forgot, you did okay,” she said with a grin.

Motherhood is exhausting and every season of child-rearing brings a new set of crazy. Sometimes the online world can make it seem like we all have it together. We’re coiffed and showered. Our clothes are clean and our children are picture perfect. The world online can look like sunshine and rainbows, and for the exhausted Mama getting up at 4 am so she can get out of the house by 8:30, it can feel like the entire world has it more together than you.

Just don’t forget that we’re all wearing slippers in some way, shape or form. Raising kids isn’t about having it all together, or looking put together, so don’t give into the pressure, because honestly?

Slippers are so very, very comfortable.

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Motherhood, Photography, Sloan, Tia Tagged With: , , , , ,

Dear Minivan Makers Everywhere

August 12, 2013 by
I have titled this photo: Road Trip from the Back Seat

I have titled this photo: Road Trip from the Back Seat

There are five people in our family. I realize that in the grand scheme of familyhood this is not a significant number. Three children is less than four or five or six or twenty children. I wouldn’t classify us as a large family. We’re a regular-sized family of five…who love to travel.

Since gas prices have soared (Boo! Hiss!), airline prices have gone through the roof. This means that an average family of five cannot afford to fly anywhere without having to sacrifice a small puppy to the gods in hopes that money will start falling from the sky. And since I’m not generally in the habit of murdering puppies, this leaves me with no alternative but to teach my children the finer art of the road trip.

(Sidenote: Can we talk for a minute about the absurdity of the fact that it costs less for our family of five to fly from Florida to California than it does for us to fly to Little Rock? What the huh?!)

In the last two weeks, we spent about 43 hours driving as we visited family and friends in Missouri and Arkansas. So the equivalent of two days were spent inside our minivan, which, incidentally, currently SMELLS like a family of five spent two days cooped up inside. Excellent.

car2In general, my kids have become quite adept at traveling by car. We have a system. They play for a bit, look out the window, whine for good effect, then ask to watch a movie. But before they can watch a movie, they have to do two math sheets or a reading comprehension exercise. This is my barometer for how badly they want to utilize technology.

If they get hungry, I throw a bag of Cheez-its their way. Thirsty? A tiny little water bottle gets hurled at their heads. If and when all requirements are met, they are then allowed to shut their brains down and watch quality, educational movies such as Rookie of the Year and Teen Beach Movie.

Once upon a time I was staunchly opposed to the children ever watching TV in the car. When I was a kid, I read on road trips. I cozied up with The Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley Twins (Ah, Jessica and Elizabeth…I wonder what they’re up to these days?). I didn’t have the option of watching a movie back then.

I also laid out flat on the back seat with the seat belt juuuuust barely fastened around my waist and wasn’t stuck sitting straight up and down in an uncomfortable seat with the seat belt snugly tucked across my chest.

And I walked to school up hill both ways barefoot in the snow.

Whatever.

The point is, I quickly came to the conclusion that there is no reason to be a martyr for motherhood. If the kids wants to watch a movie, they can watch a movie and I will be thankful for the serenity of modern technology.

But 43 hours is a long time, which means there was a lot of time spent NOT glued to the tiny TV screens. Most of the time the kids do a pretty good job of playing quietly, drawing, listening to music or reading. But there are those long stretches of time when they ask every five minutes if we’re almost there, when they cry because a foot has fallen asleep or, my personal favorite, when they start car wrestling, an activity that always, without exception, ends with someone crying.

This is where I need the developers of minivans to step up their game. I’m here to offer a proposed to solution for parents everywhere who are relegated to cross country car trips inside the bowels of their minivans.

 

How about a partition between parents and kids? Just a thought…a mere suggestion! Think of it like a limousine, because we all know that a minivan is a limo for very small people. Limo drivers can raise a partition between themselves and their passengers allowing for some privacy. WHY HAS THIS NEVER BEEN DONE FOR MINIVANS?!

When the kids are getting particularly squirrely, parents could quietly and non-chalantly raise the thick, sound proof partition thereby cutting themselves off from the insanity. Of course, we would still need to be able to keep an eye on the monkeys in the back – safety first and all. A monitor on the dashboard would be connected to the camera inside the partition allowing the parents to keep an eye on the children.

You could even install a button that parents could push to hear what was going on in the back if they wanted. Or they could keep it muted and assume that everyone back there is just fine.

I see a number of benefits to this idea. First: SANITY! Kids could blast the soundtrack to Teen Beach Movie as loud as their little ears could stand it while Mom and Dad listen to music that doesn’t make their ears bleed. Kids could wrestle and cry and duke it out without giving Mom all that unnecessary grey hair.

Honestly, I’m not sure that I really need to list all the obvious benefits of this (brilliant) idea. It speaks for itself.

A rare moment alone in the minivan. Look how clean it is? This was taken BRT - Before Road Trip.

A rare moment alone in the minivan. Look how clean it is? This was taken BRT – Before Road Trip.

Now I realize that putting this out there means it could be stolen and someone else could make a lot of money off my idea. No worries. This one is for free internet! Someone, please, take this idea and run with it. When it comes time for us to buy a new van in a few years, if I find that they all come custom fit with a separating partition between front and back, I will consider that thanks enough.

You’re welcome, minivan drivers across the world.

 

You’re welcome. 

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Minivans, Motherhood, Travel Tagged With: , , ,

The Greatest Version of The Star Spangled Banner You’ll Ever Hear

July 16, 2013 by

Galaxies.

Prince Charming.

It’s all in there, folks.

You’ve never heard The Star Spangled Banner sung quite like this.

Enjoy.

 

 

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Landon Tagged With: , , ,

A Repost, Because Summer is Crazy

July 12, 2013 by

This is, hands down, the craziest summer I’ve experienced thus far as a mother. We are moving from one thing to the next at break neck speed, and it’s all this Mama can do to keep from hyperventilating at ALL THE INSANITY!

See there? See the caps lock? INSANITY!

Today I’m packing Sloan up for his week long adventure to Washington DC and New York. My parents have told each of the kids that they will take them whereever they want to go for a week long trip when they turn ten (in the Continental United States – yes, that had to be defined because a certain child had big ideas about traipsing about Europe for her trip).

When Sloan returns we’ll have a few days at home before we leave for Kanakuk, St. Louis and Conway, Arkansas for two weeks. When we come home we’ll have a week and a half before school starts. Seriously, I feel like I can’t breathe when I try to think about all of it at once.

So while I go bury my face in a paper bag, I’m going to leave you with a repost, because I needed to laugh today, and maybe you did too. Happy Friday, friends! May your weekend be fun, restful and free of panic attacks.

*wink*

WHEN DADDY EXPLAINS

Originally published June 11, 2011

IMGP8919

I was on the phone last week, pacing the driveway.  It was a beautiful day and the kids were all napping or resting.  I just needed some air.  As I spoke with my friend, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.  I turned in time to see Sloan marching by with a twelve foot ladder tucked snuggly under his arm.  He didn’t even glance my way as he walked past, his face cool and nonchalant.  As if carrying around a ladder was normal.

I swear, if that kid had a stuffed tiger I would be living with Calvin and Hobbes.

“Um…I think I should probably hang up,” I said to my friend as Sloan set the ladder down next to the corner of the house and popped it open.  He looked up at the roof, his hand shading his eyes slightly.  I managed to reach him just as he stepped on the third rung, the ladder wobbling precariously on the slanted driveway.

“Whatcha doin’?”  I asked, grabbing hold of the base of the ladder.

“Oh, hey Mom,” Sloan said, still playing cool.  “I’m checking out the bird’s nest up here.”

I looked up and sure enough, there was a nest just underneath the roof.

“Can I?” he asked, looking down at me with his penetrating blue eyes.  Then he grinned.  Stinker.

“Yes,” I replied.  “Be careful.”

So up he climbed to the top rung and he peered over the side of the nest.

“There’s a baby bird in there!” he screeched.  Seriously screeched.  My ears are still ringing.  “It’s so cute!  Aw, Mom come see the baby bird!”

So we switched places and I climbed the ladder with him holding it steady.  Inside the nest was a tiny, newly hatched baby, it’s beak pointed upward, waiting for nourishment.

“Can I see it again?” Sloan yelled, shaking the ladder for effect.  Nice.

He climbed back up and looked in again.  “This is so freakin’ cool!” he yelled again.  To which I reminded him that I was only a few feet below and he didn’t need to scream.  Then he reached for the bird.

“Don’t touch it,” I cautioned.  “If the Mama bird comes back and smells you on her baby, she’ll leave him and he’ll die.”

With one last look and a wave, we pulled the ladder back down and headed on with our day.

Fast forward to this afternoon when we’re driving home from church.  Sloan pipes up from the backseat.  “Hey Mom.  I don’t care if it dies, so when we get home can I get the ladder out and pick up the baby bird and keep it?  I’ll get it worms and I’ll take care of it.  Can I raise the baby bird?”

“No,” I said.  “It’s Mama would be sad.  And we really don’t know how to raise a baby bird.  It’s better if we leave it alone.”

“But I can take good care of it,” came the anticipated protest.

“Hey Buddy,” Lee said, glancing into the mirror.  “You don’t need to try and raise that baby bird.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Lee said, and he paused.  “It would be like a bear coming to our house and seeing you and saying ‘I want to take that little boy home and raise him.’  Bears don’t know how to raise little boys.  That bear wouldn’t know how to feed you – he’d probably just give you raw meat or raw fish, like he eats.  And if he tried to hug you or give you a kiss, he’d probably claw your face off or bite off your head with his sharp teeth.  Bears aren’t meant to take care of little boys just like little boys aren’t meant to take care of baby birds.”

This is the part where I begin clutching my sides, I’m laughing so hard.

“And bee’s should take care of bee’s, wight?”  Tia chimes in.

“Right,” Lee replies.  “Bears take care of bears, bee’s take care of bee’s, bird’s take care of bird’s–”

“And people take care of people!”  Sloan interrupts.

“That’s right!”  Lee pumps his fist in the air.  “Homosapiens take care of Homosapiens.”

“Yeah!” Sloan yelled, pumping his fist in the air victoriously. “Wait…what’s a Home-sapien?”

And THAT, folks, is what happens when Daddy decides to explain.

The End.

Filed Under: blast from the past, Blogging, Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Lee, Life, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: , , , , ,

Leggings Are Not Pants

June 24, 2013 by

photo-2

Friends, we need to have a serious heart to heart.

If you were sitting in front of me, I’d hand you a steaming cup of chai, the cinnamon and spice wafting through the room as gentle, peaceful music played softly in the corner. We’d sit down, you and I, and we’d smile peacefully at one another. Then I’d tell you I have something to say, and the atmosphere would be so serene that you would hear my encouragement without any need to put up defenses. You’d see that I am genuinely concerned for your well-being, and that I am only looking out for what’s best for you.

So imagine that scene. I’ll give you a minute to pull the image together in your mind.

Ready? Okay, here it is.

 

It’s time we all acknowledged that leggings as pants are a bad idea.

 

I spent most of my day yesterday hopping from one plane to another, and I sat for some time in the Atlanta airport, one of the busiest airports in the world, and friends I was flabbergasted. I’ve watched as this “leggings as pants” style has slowly infiltrated our culture and I’ve been bemused. Most of the time I witnessed said fashion horror on twiggy teens who technically could pull it off. I’ve smiled because I know that someday their future children will pull out photo albums and see pictures of their “Emo” parents all decked out in leggings, a t-shirt and converse, and they will roll laughing. (They just might LOL...)

But what I saw in the airport took this fashion oddity to a whole new level. Women, all ages and sizes, strolled through the airport with nothing but black cotton leggings painted on their legs. Some wore longer t-shirts over the leggings, but most did not. It was like they started getting dressed and half way through the process they just…gave up.

Ladies, leggings are super cute. I have a couple pairs of them. They are darling…underneath a kicky skirt or a sassy little dress. They are an accessory – they are not the main item of clothing. They’re an undergarment. Honestly, I saw only one person yesterday who really, truly rocked the leggings. She was 2. That is the only time in life that leggings as pants are acceptable (and really encouraged because diaper bottom through leggings? Adorable.)

Every era has a style they regret. You know it’s true. The ’80’s have an entire closet full of unfortunate fashions. I’m simply here to be a voice of reason for us all. I’m trying to spare you the unfortunate embarrassment of pictures that forever plague you. Pictures of you in leggings…worn as pants. You may disagree, but if you take my advice, even reluctantly, you will someday thank me….as will everyone else in the world.

Let’s unite together as one and fight this unfortunate trend. We will raise our fists together, a sign of solidarity, as we boldly proclaim LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS!

Who’s with me? Let’s spread the word – #LeggingsAreNotPants

For more on unfortunate airport wear, and for advice on how to avoid poor clothing choices, visit my friend Nicole’s recent post. I let out a hearty “Amen” or four when I read it.

 

 


Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Random, Travel Tagged With: , ,

From diapers to orthodontia to college

June 14, 2013 by

IMGP3957Yesterday I sat in a cheery room looking up at the long watercolor of a beach hanging on the wall. Elevator music played gently from the overhead speakers as I waited rather nervously for the orthodontist to walk in and tell me just how much it was going to cost to iron out the mouths of my babes – the children who, sadly, inherited their mom’s regular (slightly larger than normal?) teeth and their father’s much smaller than normal mouth.

It dawned on me as he explained what we were looking at (thankfully a little further down the road…like starting next year and beyond until forever) for their teeth that I have one more coming up behind them who’s going to need as much, if not more, orthodontia than they do.

I tried to calculate the cost in my mind, allowing for the overlap in treatments from one child to the next, and then smoke came out my ears and instead of finishing my sums, I envisioned swimming in a pool of Nutella because the math was too much and Nutella is my happy place.

Once I settled down a bit, I had a second revelation – I am going to go straight from pull ups to orthodontia without so much as a week off and I suddenly wondered why on Earth we didn’t space these kids out more so we could have a little breathing room?!

Then I remembered that we intended to space them out more, but God has a sense of humor and was all Oh you want to wait awhile? Here, have a third before the second can walk a straight line.

IMGP3955Then I thought about the day I found out I was pregnant with Landon and I thought for sure I’d forever ruined Sloan and Tia’s lives by forcing them to accept a new baby when neither could really speak in complete sentences. This, of course, led me to remember Lee’s reaction to finding out we were pregnant a third time. Shock, a small measure of horror and an accusatory stare that somehow placed all the blame on me for apparently thinking a child into my womb.

There followed a rather significant amount of time when I had one child in pull ups and two in diapers. We finally, mercifully, got it down to one in pull ups and one in diapers and then two in pull ups and we’ve finally chipped and whittled away to where we are only buying pull ups for one child.

IMGP3958Nighttime potty training is my nemesis.

 

My oldest will be 10 next month, which means I have been investing in Huggies and Pampers products for a decade and when I finally surrender the last pull up to the landfills (you’re welcome environment), I will walk straight to the orthodontist’s office and give him my right arm for straight teeth and with three so close together, treatments will overlap, I’ll have to surrender the other arm and six-seven years later we will pay off the orthodontia just in time to start paying for college.

I’m starting to wonder if there is some validity to choosing your favorite child and investing in only that kid for the duration of eighteen years.

All the books on raising children lead me to believe that would be a poor course of action to take in child rearing, but really how much can those crazy child psychologists know anyway, right?

Wrong?

I know, of course, that having children close together is, in the long run, really the way to go. They will be the best of friends (We hope. Judging by how many arguments I’ve broken up since school let out I’m not sure when exactly that friendship thing will kick in, but I have high hopes. High, high hopes. Hiiiiiiiigh hopes), they will experience much of life together and in relatively similar circles. They will be able to create so many memories together, which will hopefully make converstaions around the Thanksgiving table in twenty years a lot more fun and they will have the benefit of knowing that there’s always someone nearby who has your back.

Those are the pros and I’d say, for the most part, the pros outweigh the cons. 

And there’s always the hope that the final child will graduate pull ups at least a week before the expanders/braces begin. Seven whole days.

A girl can dream.

 

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: , , ,
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