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Not for the faint of heart

February 25, 2013 by

Photo by Jenni at Avodah Images.com

I walked in the door after a beautiful weekend away and kissed their sweet, sweaty faces. They’d been outside running, playing, relishing in all that is childhood. They looked like children who were having a grand old time.

In short, they were filthy. So I suggested a shower. Crazy, right? I know!!

Here’s the thing – generally we do not make our children shower every night. It’s a pain, they don’t like it and I can handle a little bit of dirt and slightly crusty hair for a few days in a row. However, when they play outside for hours without shoes on (yes, I am raising those kids) I generally think it entirely reasonable to have them jump under the running water long enough to bring their feet back to a normal peachy color and less…blackened by mud.

But I was unaware of the fact that showers were taken the night before and the night before that and oh you’d think I’d come home with a whip in hand and walked through the door cracking it. There was weeping, gnashing of teeth, glares that could easily turn one into a pillar of salt. The horror of suggesting a shower for a third night in a row.

BOOOOOO MOMMY!

Welcome to parenthood, right? You attend a conference established to encourage and refresh you in the journey, you come home armed with loved and gratefulness for the small ones lent to you for this lifetime and you prepare yourself for a sweet reunion complete with kisses, snuggles and giggles. It will be a beautiful time as they gather around you, sitting quietly with hands folded sweetly in their laps, their hair clean and slicked to the side.

“Tell us about your weekend, Mother,” they will say, all sugary and precious. “Tell us more about how truly wonderful you are going to be from here on out. Tell us how magical life will be now that you have been blessed with so much knowledge and wisdom.”

(Side note: You should read the above dialogue in a British accent because it sounds a lot cooler and gives a better dramatic punch. Just give a try…)

(See what I mean?)

You imagine that surely your job will be easier now, because you’ve just learned how to be a better mom. You’ve just learned how to love them more graciously. You have new tools in your arsenal to build them up and point them toward their full potential.

Unfortunately, the kids don’t get the memo about all of that. They go on acting like…kids. They haven’t become the perfect little robots that will make your job a walk in the proverbial park. It’s like a cruel, cruel joke.

Does this happen to anyone else? Is it just me? I hope not, because within fifteen minutes of being with my children last night I was already completely fed up.  It was all I had in me not to point my finger, grit my teeth and mutter, “Look, kid. I just learned how to be the best mom I can be and you’re in here making it difficult. Be nice so I can be AWESOME.”

I didn’t say that, of course.

Out loud.

We finally got them in bed (with only two actually showered and one with clean feet after we comprimised and wiped them down with a wet rag) and I collapsed on the couch and looked wide-eyed at Lee, my eyes conveying every emotion and frustration I felt. I’m home fifteen minutes and I already want to cuss? Hellooooo real life! Thanks for smacking me in the face.

Lee smiled, winked and patted me softly on the shoulder. “Welcome home,” he said with a grin and I could hear the chuckle in his voice.

Parenting. Not for the faint of heart. At all.

At. Freaking. All.

Can I get an amen?!

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

I’m all out of awesome

February 6, 2013 by

I had two great posts rolling through my head today. Seriously, they were so good. They were sure to have you rolling on the floor in laughter (ROFL?)

(NO!)

You would definately laugh out loud. (LOL?)

(*groan* PLEASE NO!)

It’s just too bad I can’t remember what they were. No kidding. I had two entire posts almost completely composed in my head. All I had to do was get them from my brain to the computer, but something sucked them out into the void of nothingness before I could make that happen.

I blame the kids.

And the song Gangnum Style, which Sloan sings 24/7 right now. And the dog because she stares at me all day long with her ears pinned back and her eyes all big and cartooney, which she knows leaves me in a heap of guilt until I finally walk her.

I can literally walk from one room to the next these days and forget why I was headed there. Should I be worried?

Don’t answer that…

You know what’s awesome when you have fried mom brain? Third grade math home work. FRACTIONS! That’s what I need, folks. I need fractions to cure my inability to function in life.

NO I DO NOT NEED FRACTIONS! I DO NOT!

Sloan brought home his homework today and was all, “Mom I don’t get it and I’m going to get a bad grade so heeelllllppppp meeeeee…”

I took one look at the paper and then my head exploded. Fractions?! I didn’t cover those until sixth grade and even then, I never really learned them. We moved from Wisconsin to St. Louis toward the end of sixth grade. The school I left was just starting fractions. The school I started had already covered them.

Guess who never quite got it?

Did you know that 5/8 is a fraction greater than 1? Well its not. I thought it was, but I’ve been informed in the comments that it isn’t, which was originally what I thought but then Sloan convinced me it WAS.

I am in math purgatory…I had to text a photo of the problem to Lee (who is out of town) and my dad with an SOS because Sloan was all “OMG (NONONO!!!) I’m going to get a bad grade.” And the math paper was all “Write a mixed number AND a fraction greater than one for the part shaded.”

And I was all “Where’s the liquor?”

Just kidding. I didn’t say that out loud…

It would be super duper if they would send home the books in cases like this. If I just had an explanation of all of this written down so I could see what exactly they mean when they say “mixed number” it would help immensely. When I homeschooled last year, I slept with the teacher’s math manual. We spooned at night. It was all that got me through the year.

Well that and wine.

I’m kidding!

(sort of…)

But now? Now they just send home obscure pieces of paper with problems meant to twist and turn this mom brain all to pieces and make me want to write in large red letters across the bottom of the page:

YOU KNOW THAT STEREOTYPE OF GIRLS NOT EXCELLING IN MATH SIMPLY BECAUSE THEY ARE FEMALE?! THAT’S ME. I AM THE STEREOTYPE! 

But I don’t write that. I simply write the teacher an email asking her to go over this a little more with Sloan at school and oh by the way, can you explain it to me? LOL…

(Just kidding. I didn’t write LOL. I just can’t bring myself to do it…)

And now I’m sitting here on the couch telling you a story about how I almost had an awesome post for you to read tonight. But I lost it because the truth is, I’m all out of awesome. There are only a few brain cells firing and they aren’t operating on all cylinders.

I think I need Lee to come back to town. 4COL

(For Crying Out Loud)

(I looked up texting acronymns for the purpose of writing this post.)

(You know what I learned? Text language is stupid.)

(Says the girl who can’t remember what she ate for lunch today.)

I think it’s time for bed, yo? AAK (Asleep At The Keyboard)

Okay seriously, I need to stop.

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Kids, Motherhood, Random, School Tagged With: , , ,

Hide Yo Kidz. Hide Yo Wife.

January 21, 2013 by

Let’s lighten things up around here a bit and discuss roaches, shall we? Let’s dicuss roaches and HOW I FIND THEM ALL THE FREAK AROUND MY BEDROOM AND BATHROOM!

That’s sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

Join me in my horror. It’s super duper over here.

Remember when we lived in St. Louis and we had a problem with Cave Crickets, or as I like to affectionately call them – Satan’s minions? Well, I’ve officially decided that if Cave Crickets are the devil’s minions, then roaches are the verman that crawl about his feet and fetch his slippers at night.

That’s right. You read that correctly.

(Incidentally, I believe he keeps yellow flies as his pets. He feeds them and pets them and gives them pithy names like Betty and George.)

(On a related note: We clearly have issues with bugs.)

(On another related note: I’m fairly certain that I am raising neurotic children when it comes to multi-legged, scurrying creatures. You should see them run and scream at the sight of an insect. It would be funny if I wasn’t leading the pack of psychotic freak outs…)

What was I saying?

Ah yes. Roaches. They have become my nemesis. And don’t try to make them sound romantic and pretty by labeling them Palmetto Bugs. I Googled roaches to see if they provide any benefit to the ecosystem and do you know what I came up with?

DO YOU KNOW?!

This:

Actually roaches provide a huge source of food for predator insects such as scorpions, spiders, crickets (some species are very carnivorous), centipedes, praying mantises, and other carnivorous insects. In additon, some animals prey on roaches such as lizards, birds, and birds. So, they fill a gap in providing a ready food source for a variety of animals and insects. As far as a helpful role in the ecosystem (other than being prey). They do not provide any helpful benefits. Roaches are scavengers and scavenge on rotting and filthy sources of vegetation and decaying meat. Because of this, they can also be plague carriers of various diseases. Which goes to show you how helpful they are to society.

To translate the above statement – roaches serve no real purpose other than to feed the other insects that bring me horror.

Now before you roll your eyes and tell me to stop being so dramatic, I would like you to look at this picture:

So that’s a roach.

IN.

MY.

BED!

 

Freaking roach in my freaking bed. I’ve killed two of them there – little perverts. Shortly after seeing this picture, my friend Carol felt it necessary to inform me of one of her nursing friends who had to dig a roach out of a woman’s ear in the ER once.

“But don’t worry,” she said. “That lady was sleeping on the floor. That’s how the roach got in there.”

THIS ROACH WAS IN MY BED!!!

I now sleep in ear muffs. Lee thinks it’s hot.

(Kidding. I don’t sleep in ear muffs. I just curl up in the fetal position with my hands pressed firmly over my ears. I haven’t slept well in a month…)

Not long after that, I opened the medicine cabinet in search of…well, medicine. As soon as I pulled the door open, the roach was standing there pointing a gun at my head. He was all “Tell me about it, punk.” I slammed the door shut and ran. He was found belly up a few days later.

(While the cave crickets always took on the personality of a Japanese warrior, roaches are more like tough Italian mob bosses. No, I haven’t been drinking. This is how my mind works. Roll with it.)

Last week we saw a rather large roach high up on our bathroom wall. I think it was the Godfather of them all. He kept opening and closing his wings like he was going to parachute down on my head while I showered. We just left him there because sometimes I feel like denial is better.

If you ignore a problem, it goes away, right?

That was a week ago and there had been no sight of the Godfather since. Until last night. I made the mistake of letting Lee order me a chai tea latte at 5:30 yesterday, which means I was still wide awake at 12:30 last night. I stumbled into the dark bathroom and just as I rounded the corner, he was there.

The mob boss.

He scattered around in an effort to throw me off his trail. I think he was trying to make me dizzy so I’d stumble and fall and he could attack more easily. But what he didn’t know was I wasn’t alone this time. I ran shrieking to Lee that I’d found the leader of the pack and with shoe in hand, Lee ended the life of the roach who has been watching me sleep at night just waiting for an opportune moment to burrow into my brain.

In an effort to shake off the horror, I’m going to the beach today.

See how I did that? I turned and rolled and sifted it all around until a trip to the beach was both justified and warranted.

BOOM!

 

Happy Monday to you all. *wink, wink*

Filed Under: Florida, funny stuff that happens, Gross, Life, Random Tagged With: , , ,

Because sometimes you just need something to make you smile

January 4, 2013 by

Happy Friday, everyone. We are at the tail end of our break and I am relishing the laid back days. Next week life starts back in full swing. Until then, I hope that these images will bring a smile to your face, because they honestly make me laugh out loud.

Of course, I am only slightly partial to these tiny people, but whatever. Laugh with me, won’t you?

I puffy heart love this photo

Super Spy...

I have no idea...

I don't know why this one makes me laugh. I think it's Landon's too small coat and trucker hat. And Tia's toothless grin...

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

Blonde jokes totally appropriate

December 4, 2012 by

Landon gives the angel her final flight.

Despite temps in the ’80’s, Christmas has fully made its way to our house. We topped off Project Initiate Christmas this past weekend with a trip to the local Tree Lot to purchase our Christmas tree. You can go to actual tree farms here in Florida to cut your own tree, but a Christmas tree grown in Florida does not have the  same appeal as one brought in from Oregon.

You understand.

Lee and I have celebrated twelve Christmases together and we’ve never had a tree fall over thanks to our amazing tree stand, so imagine our horror when we got home Saturday and realized our tree didn’t fit into the stand. I’ll make a long story very short:

Awesome neighbors lent us another stand.

We decorated our tree.

It fell over at 10:30 Saturday night.

Ornaments shattered.

Our angel broke.

I cried.

Apparently it was too heavy for our borrowed stand as well.

We tied it to the piano and the chair with twine where it stayed propped through our big party on Sunday.

So Sunday night, I headed to Home Depot to look for a sturdier stand to hold our wily tree. As I walked out of the house, I grabbed Lee’s keys thinking I’d take his car. Did I mention Lee got a new job? His new job necessitated the purchase of a new car and…well, his new car is pretty. I like driving it.

It doesn’t smell like french fries and make strange knocking noises when I hit 40 mph.

Alas, my car was parked behind his, so I grabbed my keys, jumped in the car and took off. I purchased the largest tree stand known to mankind made of solid steel. You’ll be pleased to know that should we ever want to get a 12 foot tree we have the stand to hold it up.

Merry Christmas!

After I paid for my tree stand, I walked back out to the parking lot and began looking for the car. The problem? I thought I was looking for Lee’s car. Somehow I totally and completely forgot I had driven my car to the store. Lee’s new car is so fancy that you just push a button to start and stop it – you just need to have the keys in the car with you.

As I wandered the parking lot, I couldn’t remember taking his keys out of the car with me so the obvious conclusion that I could come to was someone had stolen his car.

Obviously…

I stood in the parking lot and began to panic. My foolishness and forgetfulness had resulted in Lee’s car being stolen right out from under my nose. I wondered how on earth someone had figured out that I left the keys in the car. I wondered at what point I should call the police.

Just then, a Home Depot employee came up to me. “Can I help you?” he asked. I must have looked a little crazy, what with my heavy breathing and wide, panicked eyes and all.

“I…I can’t find my car,” I said. “I parked it right here and I don’t see it.”

The young man looked concerned himself and both of us turned in a circle, scanning the parking lot.

“What kind of car do you drive?” he asked.

That’s when I realized my mistake. How did I realize my mistake? You ask.

 

PEOPLE, I WAS STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO MY MINIVAN!

 

I saw the van and cleared my throat, trying to figure out how to not look completely crazy but I realized pretty quickly that there was very little I could do to mask the truth.

“Oh…ahem…um,” I turned to the concerned helper. “So, funny story…I was looking for the wrong car. This car right here is mine.” I point to the car that is literally within arm’s reach.  “So, I’m all good.” I flashed him my best I-am-totally-normal-and-not-crazy-at-all-and-am-actually-a-fairly-intelligent-chick-who-happens-to-suffer-from-a-rare-bout-of-ditziness-now-and-then smile.

He smiled back. It was more of an I’m-totally-going-to-laugh-my-head-off-and-tell-the-entire-store-about-how-dumb-you-are-when-you-drive-away sort of smile.

So there you have it. The blonde strikes again. It doesn’t happen often but when it does, I make sure it’s good…

 

Am I the only one who’s ever done this?

 

You know what…don’t answer that.

Filed Under: Christmas, funny stuff that happens, Holidays, Life, Minivans Tagged With: , , , ,

The Terrible, Awful, No-Good, Very Bad Day

November 27, 2012 by

You know those days when nothing seems to go right and you think, “Golly Gee. I sure wish this icky day would skeedaddle.”

Or, you know…something along those lines.

Well, folks. THAT was our Monday. Totally and completely icky. Like, not swell, man.

The day started alright. Christmas decorations were up, the house was fairly clean despite half of Orlando having visited over the weekend and I got ten pages of my novel written. It seemed like one of those sunshiney days that musicals are made of. I think, actually, that’s what made everything go awry. The day was too perfect. There’s nowhere to go but down from perfection.

The kids came home from school in great moods. They were jazzed and revived after a week off and immediately set into their homework in a way that was almost freaky in a Stepford kinda way. Tia even took her homework outside because it was freaking 74 degrees out. Even Mother Nature felt pretty good about herself.

Apparently, however, the devil wanted to ruin this idyllic day. It started when Tia came in to play. Everyone was cheery and happy for about thirty minutes. Sloan sat on the couch playing the iPad and Tia leaned over his shoulder to watch.

Then she shrieked.

“Something’s poking me!” she cried, yanking on her pants leg. I assumed she had some kind of sticker from outside and tried to pull her hands away from her leg, but she began trembling and crying and she dashed to her room, yanked the pants off and threw them at me. I picked them up and shook them and Hark! A massive bee fell out. Tia came out moments later with four large welts on her knee.

Strike one to the perfect day.

An hour later, half the neighborhood was over playing kickball in our backyard. Lee came home and, ever the awesome Daddy, he joined in on the game. Because I’d already started dinner, had laundry going, had the house cleaned and in general had nothing else to do, I decided to not be a fuddy duddy and join in on the neighborhood kickball game.

Truth be told, I succombed to Mom-Guilt. I felt bad for not playing with my kids and decided the nice mommy thing to do would be join in. I had on my Ugg boots and briefly considered changing the, but then decided, “Nah. I’ll just kick a couple of times then bow out.”

On my second kick, as I ran the bases, my left boot slipped a little, curling my toes underneath and sending all my weight onto the top of my foot.

Friends, the only pain I’ve ever felt worse than that was natural childbirth. It was as though someone lit my foot on fire and to make matters worse all the neighborhood kids were gathered around so I could neither cry or curse, both of which I wanted to do in abundance.

So four bee stings and a broken foot. Day’s not shaping up well. (And yes, the foot’s broken. I got an X-Ray just to be sure. It’s just a hairline fracture and should heal quickly. I also learned that I have two bones in my foot that are not connected and likely have never been. It’s a rare something or other people have from birth. So…there’s something you didn’t know about me, eh?)

As I sat on the couch nursing my swollen foot a neighbor boy came in looking for an iPad to play. He grabbed Lee’s. He dropped Lee’s. It shattered.

And that’s when we sent everyone away and hunkered down for the night hoping to avoid any more lightening strikes.

There’s a moral to this story, you know. No…”Don’t Play Kickball in Uggs” is NOT the moral. “Don’t let neighbor kids touch expensive electronics” isn’t the moral, either, though is has been added to our house rules. No, those are not the morals to be taken from this story. CLEARLY the moral is “Mom-Guilt Clouds Your Judgement Making You Think That Playing Ball with Your Kids is Better Than Sitting Down in a Quiet House with a Book for Fifteen Minutes.”

 

The End.

 

 

So…how’s your week going so far, hmmmm?

PS: At the end of the day, I’m more than aware that we are so blessed. I am beyond grateful for all that we have and I don’t share our horrible awful day to complain so much as to laugh a bit, because seriously?! How can all that go on in the span of just a couple of hours?!

So don’t cry for me, Argentina…

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

Because we ARE the Griswolds

November 22, 2012 by

HEEEEEYYYYY!!!! Welcome to the Griswold Family Thanksgiving!

The turkey is stuffed and in the oven. Lemon cakes are prepped and waiting to be iced. Green Bean Casserole is in the crock pot and there is a dessert in the fridge that involves cut up Granny Smith Apples, frozen snickers chopped in pieces and two tubs of whipped cream.

We’re eating at 1:30 if you’d like to join us.

The house is clean and ready for 31 people to come destroy it, all in the name of family and love, of course. And I? I’m on my seccond cup of coffee.

I fell into bed just before midnight last night only to be awoken at 1:30 by the shrillest, loudest brain melting screech you’ve ever heard. I leapt out of bed with a shriek and all sorts of havoc and confusion ensued.

Me: WHAT DO WE DO?!

Lee: BEAVERS AND DUCKS!

Me: AY YI YI YI YIIIIIIII!!!! (karate chopping the air)

Lee: WHAT IS IT?!

Then it stopped and we wandered the house trying to figure out what just happened. When I went back to our room, the smoke alarm was chirping. The battery needed to be replaced and apparently there was some sort of malfunction? But hey – good to know if there’s ever a fire in the house the smoke alarms give sufficient warning.

Lawdy.

We removed the smoke alarm from the wall and disconnected it.

It still chirped.

We took the dead battery out.

It still chirped.

This is the part where I went all Phoebe Buffey and yelled, “WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!”

I finally found a new battery and we got it taken care of. We crawled back in bed at 2:00, as did our terrified dog who had buried herself under our covers at the base of the bed.

At 3:00, a certain girl child came and crawled in bed with us.

At 6:30 I dragged myself out of bed.

Today what am I thankful for? I am thankful for coffee. And family because they won’t care if I have bags under my eyes or if I start mumbling incoherently around 3:00 this afternoon. They will love me no matter what…and will probably get a kick out of laughing at my jumbled brain.

Here is a video the kids and I made the other night. I wasn’t going to share it with you because I look a hot mess in it. But I decided to keep it real and show you anyway because while I look a bit frightening, the kids are cute and they make up for it.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Holidays, Thanksgiving Tagged With: , , ,

Are we having fun, yet?

November 19, 2012 by

This post has been spotlight featured on BlogHer. I’m so glad to know other people understand and can relate to this roller coaster called parenting. If you’re stopping by from Blogher, welcome! I’m so glad you came.

“He pushed me!”

“He called me a dumb head!”

“She started it!”

“I’m not her fwiend anymore.”

Somewhere right in the middle of all that joy, I told them to sit down and smile. “Act like you’re having fun,” I commanded. But, clearly, I was not having fun. SeaWorld wasn’t turning out how I thought it would.

It’s funny how we set up these scenario’s in our heads. I’m going to take them to an amusement park where they will skip merrily from one attraction to another, braids bouncing, hats turned just slightly to the side, contented smiles plastered firmly on their faces.

The sun will shine.

A rainbow will form in the background.

Birds will sing in harmony.

It will be money well spent.

But what actually happens? They fight. They pull each other’s braids and knock hats off of heads. They whine and beg for cotton candy. They complain about tired feet (never mind the fact that they can run in the backyard for hours on end, but ask them to walk 200 yards in an amusement park and suddenly their feet are broken).

It rains.

High winds shut down rides.

A bird poops on your head.

You wish you would have used that money to go get a facial.

I’ve come to the realization in the last few years that special events as a family demand a special amount of patience and a realistic expectation. Expect tears and fights. Expect whining and complaining. But be on the lookout for the joy filled moments, too. They will be there, though in reality there may be more tears than laughter.

We set our kids up for failure when we plan these major trips to the beach, to the amusement park, to the movies, to the zoo or to any place that is going to over exert, overstimulate and over tempt them. Disney World may be the most magical place on earth, but it’s also the most overstimulating and any child that makes it through that park without some sort of melt down is probably just a robot.

It's also best to know that you will NOT look your best at an amusement park. Keep the expectations low, folks...

 So what are the expectations?

 

First, expect some whining and be prepared to deal with it. Stomping your foot and calling your child ungrateful is likely not the best response. He probably isn’t ungrateful so much as he’s overwhelmed. A thousand things to look at in every direction is basically system overload for kids. Be patient while they try to take it all in.

Expect arguing. This one gets under my skin faster than anything else. As evidenced by the above picture, when everyone is fighting I can’t even force a smile because what I really want to do is Hulk Smash Shamoo and his permanent,perpetual grin. But if I prepare myself ahead of time and prep the kids, we can usually make it through the arguments with a tiny bit of sanity.

And we might even have fun in the process.

Expect crying. Don’t get angry when they cry about being tired. They’re kids. They’re going to cry. If they’re tired, find a ride where they can sit down for a bit. Find a cafe and get a drink. Go to a show. If you’re at the beach, sit under an umbrella with a juice box and take a minute to breath in deep.

Give everyone a chance to recover. Landon cried most of the morning while we were at SeaWorld. He was tired and cranky, which made me tired and cranky. Learn from me, friends.

Don’t let this make you tired and cranky!

And don’t Hulk Smash Shamoo. Apparently that is looked down upon by some folks…

Finally, look for the joy and snap those pictures. Wait for the moments when they aren’t really aware of your watching eye and they are full on enjoying a moment. It may be brief. You may only have one or two truly joy-filled moments in a day, but capture and remember them.

And when you get home, be sure to print out those pictures of everyone’s happy, smiling faces and put them in an album. Convince your kids that the greatest thing you ever did as a family was spend the day at SeaWorld or Disney or the beach or the zoo. With any luck, all the memories of the fighting and crying and whining will fade away and you’ll be left with nothing but dreams and rainbows and harmonizing birds.

Creating memories takes hard work. Just be prepared and try to enjoy the ride.

Find the Magic

What’s your favorite family memory?

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

It’s like he doesn’t know me at all

November 14, 2012 by

Update: Lee took me out to dinner on Saturday night, but before we went to the restaurant, we went to Target. He bought me the hat. He’s a fast learner, friends. A very fast learner. Let’s all give him a round of applause. *winky face!* 😉

Today, after dropping Landon off at preschool, I headed to the Promised Land. Target. The land of bright, happy colorful things that make the world a better, happier place.

While browsing, I came upon this hat:

I finished watching Season 2 of Downton Abbey last night and I have spent the better part of the last two weeks fawning over the fashions and styles of those days. This hat felt very Downton-esque to me and I quickly tossed it in my cart.

Then I stopped myself and put it back on the shelf, took this picture and texted my husband.

“Christmas gift idea. I love this hat from Target.” I included a winky face, of course, because every good wife should send her husband winky yellow ping pong heads when requesting a gift. It’s like wife-law in the new media age. 😉

I felt rather good about myself after sending this text for a couple of reasons, the main one being that I actually gave my husband an idea instead of shrugging my shoulders and asking the poor man (whose spiritual gift is decidedly not gift giving) to surprise me.

I went on my merry way, picking up on the items I needed and imagining wearing my new hat come Christmas day. Then I got a phone call that…well, frankly it took me very much by surprise.

Me: “Hello?”

Lee: “Alright, we need to get something straight here.”

Me: “Uh…okaaaayyyy.”

Lee: “Target is a store for buying kitchen items. You buy can openers and trash bags and maybe a brushed nickel picture frame from Target, but you do not buy hats from Target.”

Me: *silence*

Lee: “I’m not going to buy you a hat from Target.”

Me: “Why?”

Lee: “You don’t wear stuff from Target. That’s not fashion.”

Me: “You DO know that most of my clothes are from target, right?”

Lee: “That’s neither here nor there.”

Me: “Well, I mean, technically it’s here, because it’s true.”

Lee: “Go to Macy’s or some place like that and pick out a hat. I’ll buy you a hat. You look sexy in hats. But go to a place that makes quality hats.”

Me: “No, that doesn’t make sense. I could find a hat exactly like this one at Macy’s and it would cost $50. This one only costs $16 and I like it.”

Lee: “I just can’t buy you a hat from Target. It doesn’t feel right.”

Me: “Um, babe? You do know that Target is basically the Mothership for women, right? I mean, this is Mecca. It’s the Homeland.”

Lee: “No. It’s a place to buy kitchen utensils.”

Me: “It’s like I don’t even know you at all.”

Lee: “Women really like Target that much? I don’t get it.”

Me: “Clearly….so are you going to get me the hat?”

Lee: “I don’t think so.”

Me: “Huh. Can I buy it for myself for Christmas?”

Lee: “No because I’m going to get you a hat. I’ll get you the greatest hat you’ve ever seen.”

Me: “For sixteen dollars or less?”

Lee: “Go to Kohls. See if they have hats. Kohls is better than Target.”

Me: “I…I just…I don’t even know what to say.”

Lee: “Target is for kitchen supplies.”

I hung up the phone and couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. So I just laughed until I cried, which seemed like a happy comprimise.

First of all, I’m not sure I’ve ever bought kitchen supplies from Target so that alone is cause for a bit of confusion. Secondly, it is clear – CLEAR – he is seeing Target through blue glasses while I see it through pink. That can be the only explanation. Is it the male testosterone? Is that why he’s confused? Maybe he just doesn’t know…doesn’t understand. I think we should all pray for him, that his eyes would be opened to the truth, to the retail glory to which he is so tragically blinded.

I also think that this MORE than makes up for the shock and horror I caused during our conversation about The Natural.

Babe, we’re even. 😉

Now about that hat…

Filed Under: Christmas, funny stuff that happens, Holidays, Lee, Marriage, Target Tagged With: , , , , ,

My ears, they bleed

September 27, 2012 by

Alternately titled: Riding in cars with girls…

 

At least twice a week, Tia and I are in the car alone headed to gymnastics. I’d like to say this is a fun, relaxing girl time, but the truth is…it’s exhausting.

Girls talk a lot. I mean, I know that I am a girl and I’m quite certain I talked a lot as a kid (in fact, I distinctly remember my mom asking me to be quiet on occasion because her ears hurt. Hmph…), but I really wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the chatting. Half the time I don’t even understand what she is saying. Take, for example, this most recent conversation (which I can only remember pieces of because I’m not kidding she talks without breathing…)

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…(every new sentence begins with this phrase)”

Me: “What?”

Tia: “Riley has an older sister and she got her ears pierced and she said that it hurted really bad and her sister cried and her sister is eleven…and she cried.”

Me: *open mouth to respond but there isn’t time so I close it again*

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…”

Me: *open mouth the respond but there isn’t time so I close it again*

Tia: “There’s this boy who is in my group and I think he likes me, but I don’t like him. I mean I do like him, but I only like him like…you know…like a boy. But not like a boyfriend. I don’t like anybody like a boyfriend, right mom?”

I don’t even attempt a response.

Tia: “I don’t know if I want to get my ears pierced. I mean, I kind of do want to get my ears pierced but I’m a little nervous. Does it hurt weally bad to get your ears pierced, Mom? Can I get my ears pierced, Mom?”

Me: *open mouth to respond but there isn’t time so I close it again*

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…my friend in my class said she wears a bwa (bra). She’s six! Six year olds don’t wear bwas, right Mom? Can a six year old wear a bwa? Do I need to wear a bwa, Mom?”

I would really like to respond to this, but there simply isn’t time.

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…when I play soccer, I think I might be the star player, ’cause I think I’m pretty good at soccer. But I don’t know if I should be a professional soccer player when I grow up or a professional gymnastics girl. Maybe I should be both, right Mom? And a veteranian. I want to be a vet, ‘kay Mom?”

I manage to nod.

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…sometimes when I go to school I play with just the boys on the playground, but not usually. Only sometimes. Mostly I just play with the girls. Mom I smell centipedes. Do you smell centipedes?”

I…I just…I don’t…huh? Oh wait. She stopped talking. This is the question she wants me to answer?

Tia: “Mom. Mom!”

Me: “What?!”

Tia: “Did you hear me?”

Me: “I…uh…yes?”

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…”

And on and on it goes until we arrive. And I think she only manages to use an eighth of her daily allotted words because it starts all over again on the way home. So if you see me out in public and I look lost in a daze, just know I’m trying to process it all.

And I’m trying to figure out what the heck centipedes smell like…

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