Mommy, what does “asinine” mean?

I know, I know.  Look Jess, it’s been over a month.  It’s not like I have a bajillion things to do or anything.  But I do love writing.  It’s fun and it’s a stress reliever.  I’m a mother of 5 who just sent two back to school while the ever amazing Clark Kent is traveling.  I’m not stressed.  There’s another word in between stressed and crazy … not sure what it is, but that’s where I am. 

Asinine is becoming an increasingly frequent word in my vocabulary.  So much so that Peanut asked what it meant.  Well, Peanut, that’s what the internet is for.  That and Facebook and memes. 

Definition of ASININE

1: extremely or utterly foolish <an asinine excuse>

2: of, relating to, or resembling an ass

Today that sums up the Memphis Police Department.  Or at least the part that deals with “security” at Memphis City Schools.  I bet you want to know why?  I bet you are thinking that “gee, Jess, that’s kind of harsh.” No.  It’s not.  And here’s why:

MCS knows when school starts.  They set the date.  I don’t.  I think August 6th is ENTIRELY too early for school to start school.  They know.  They know that we need crossing guards.  No shocker.  We had to call everyday last year for almost 6 weeks to get some last year.  We have three.  Or should.  So here it is day 3 of school and of course, we don’t have crossing guards.  So I call.  I’m the PTA President, after all.  It’s kind of my job to advocate for our children.  And their safety.  You know, like safety from getting HIT BY CARS. 

So I called.  Talked to a not very nice officer.  Actually she was quite snarky.  But I was calm.  10 points for me for not going ape on her for her snarkiness.  Anyhoo … she told me that the reason we didn’t have crossing guards is because no one in our zip code had applied to be a crossing guard. 

Wait.  What?  The safety of our children comes down to where employees live?  The irony?  MPD does not even require their police officers to live IN MEMPHIS to be a police officer.  I happen to know one that lives OUTSIDE city limits altogether.  But a crossing guard – a part-time, no appreciation, crappy hours job – must live in the same zip code?  Say it with me – ASININE.  That’s right folks.  Even if there are 50 people in the next zip code over (which, oh by the way there are at least 5 zip codes within a 10 miles radius of our school) who want this job, they can’t have it.  Sorry jobless person who is willing to drive over here.  You can’t have a job.  Our zip code is not acceptable for your paycheck.  Keep on being jobless.  And sorry kids.  Watch out for those speeding idiots who are texting while driving.  No one in your zip code has applied, so it’s every child for himself out there.  We don’t really care that you are crossing a 4 lane road that is a considered a major road by the MPD.  Tough noogies.  Let’s all say it again together … ASININE.  But, no sir.  It’s not about money and politics.  Kriner Cash just wants what’s “best for our children”. 

Shrinking walls …

I think the cabin fever is getting to me.  I have left the house once in almost two weeks.  I think I may be going crazy.  Evidence?

I’ve started watching terrible Canadian DIY shows on purpose.  And these crazy ladies on PBS seem like they have amazing baking ideas.  What is the world coming to?  It’s a sad time in the world when Canadian television seems good.  God help me if I start liking that whiny bald kid.  His parents need to be taken with Dora’s parents and Max & Ruby’s parents (wherever they are) and publically flogged. 

Oh yeah.  I said it.  You were all thinking it. Where the heck are those bunnies?  And where is bunny child services?  Maybe they went off with Dora and the Grumpy Old Troll threw them into Alligator Lake (because they couldn’t just walk around it … I can SEE the other side from here DORA!)

Anyway … a few more days and we’re getting out again.  Just to the doctor, but hey … it’s out.  Woohoo for Dr. W being the awesome person I’m looking forward to seeing. Cue sad looks and “such a shame” from the peanut gallery.

The best laid plans of mice and men …

So Frog is here.  Though he is more aptly named Dolphin.  Why you may ask?  Oh because he’s FLIPPER, FLIPPER, FASTER THAN LIGHTENING!  The last month was filled with ultrasound after ultrasound after ultrasound.  Yeah, yeah, I’d like to see the insurance EOB on those too. NOT!  But seriously folks … he’d be head down one day and feet down three days later.  So Doc T decides to go ahead and schedule a c-section.  Four kids … four not c-sections.  Here’s kid number five, the surprise, and SURPRISE he’s got to come a different way.  Figures.  He was marked special 10 months ago, right?  So we pick a day.  At least we can do that.  June 12th.  Special day around here.  That’s Clark Kent’s dad’s birthday.  His dad passed away in ‘95 of colon cancer (at 39 … get your screenings people, they ain’t playin’ when they tell you to get your insides cleansed and camera ready for one day.  It’s important!)  So the day is a special day already, and then we get to welcome our last (and FINAL) child that day too.  Awesome.  I feel privileged to have that as Dolphin’s birthday. 

Fast forward to the last appointment before B-Day.  He’s head down.  And has been for a week.  BOOYAH!  Looks like we will have 5 not c-sections.  I mean, Doc K even says “cancel the c-section” and “95% of babies stay head down once they get like this” and “the chances of him flipping again are very slim”.  Well, lesson learned.  We went in to the hospital for a lovely induction (I’ve done this 4 times, I can say lovely all I want.  They are great).  Nurse goes to check and we learned quickly that you don’t give Dolphin a challenge.  He likes them.  Takes them on daily.  He was feet down.  AND to top it off, a once in a lifetime thing for me – water breaks.  Oh yeah.  So we go from the slow, methodical process of preparing for an all-day event of an induction to the 150mph get ready for a c-section that no one was planning on.  Oh my goodness how fast people move when that happens.  They decided at about 10:30am that we were going for c-section.  In what seemed like slo-mo to me, we prepped, went over everything, signed the “oh yeah, we’re doing this and you may die, is that okay?” paperwork, and got ready to go to the operating room.  We get there and a poor terrified, shaking, trembling, what-the-heck-just-happened-back-there me sits as still as possible as they get my body ready to be sliced and diced.  Seems like hours.  Really, it’s just minutes.  From the time they said “oh dear, Dolphin has flipped again.” until he was out and screaming was 45 minutes.  Total.  Craziness.  Clark Kent spared me most of the details.  Like the '”uh-oh, he’s choking on fluid” worried looks of the doctors and the “that took longer than expected for him to cry” moments.  He cried, he was great, and he passed his Apgar's.  That’s what I know.  Then the nice CRNA gave me drugs.  Really, really good drugs.

I can’t tell you how we got from the OR to the recovery area.  I don’t know when I held Dolphin for the first time, though I remember holding him.  I don’t remember getting all the dressings and bindings put on, but I remember them being there the first time I needed to move.  Then we were in a regular room where I am fairly certain that these 4 nurses were trying to rip me open.  Then 3 days of recovery.  We got to stay one whole extra day because Dolphin need some photo therapy to hone his super hero powers. 

And now we are home.  Getting used to the five kids thing.  Nana was here last week.  That was a saving grace.  And Clark Kent is off work this week too.  So I am not stranded in “don’t pick anything up land” by myself.  We are doing this family thing together.  And so far it’s doable.  Which is crazy.  Didn’t think it was possible and have been telling myself we were just silly to think we could do this.  But we can.  The kids are being awesome.  Peanut is helpful, and Bean loves to hold Dolphin.  Monkey Man thinks it’s cool he’s the “biggest brother” and Bug just wakes up every morning and points and Dolphin and laughs.  It’s fun.  Of course, we’ve had to teach Bug he doesn’t need to share his toys with Dolphin just yet.    But it’s great.  Ask me again in a month and the story may have changed.  All I know is I’m thankful for science, and doctors.  They got my Dolphin here safe and sound despite a last minute turn of events.  Thanks Doc T for being amazing.  Now, where’d I put that coffee??

Zoom Zoom …

So month to month is apparently the best I can do.  School is almost out.  Tomorrow is the last day, and then I get two full months to figure out what to do with the kids.  Oh yeah, and have another kid.  I’m such a breeder.  Meanwhile I’m trying to get as much rest as possible, which is really comical when you consider there is no way to sit, lay, stand, etc. that is comfortable.  Me & Frog get checked out twice a week.  He’s growing, I’m gaining, we’re working together to get to the end date when I get to meet him.  That’s exciting.  And a relief.  Surprises must come to an end and a new beginning. 

Other than that, our house doesn’t really look like a place that’s going to have a newborn in just 3 1/2 weeks.  Not even close.  The bassinet is still in the attic.  Nothing is washed.  The car seat is put away.  So, why?  Because there are a bajillion other things going on here.  Because there are four other kids doing stuff.  Because school isn’t out and I’m getting ready for next year already.  PTA President stuff, general PTA stuff, would-you-please-get-over-yourself-and-grow-up PTA stuff, and prepping for a 5th grader and 2nd grader stuff.  It’s busy.  You know how I know?  Because I blinked and it went from April 13th to May 17th.  Because it’s almost time for Frog to be born.  Because Monkey Man turned 4 and that snuck up on me.  Because Peanut will be 10 (what?!? TEN?!? Who let that happen? Double digits friends … next thing I know it’ll be college) in a few weeks.  Holy Moly.  Someone slow things down.  100mph got passed by our family about a million miles ago, I think. 

So, it’s time to get ready for five.  Yeah, five.  Take that in.  Five kids.  What was I thinking?  Well, I could share with you how that went down, but uh … there are preschool toys present.  Or something. Yeah.   It’s going to be a wild ride.  And I’ll do my best to keep you posted.  Surely there will be pictures.  I mean, with cameras, smart phones and video, someone should get something documented. It’s a team play here with everyone pitching in to get ready.  Grandparents coming, best friends helping out, and somehow getting everyone where they need to go. 

On the bright side, I have a really cute diaper bag.  Accessories make the woman, some say.  I say “ooh that was cute and it’s a great deal at half price and I must have it because it’s awesome.”  That’s the highlight.  That and the water slide.  The kids got a water slide.  Tiny happy moments, folks.  That’s what you have to find.  The tiny happy moments.  That way the big overwhelming frustrating ones don’t eat you up. 

What had happened was …

So I’m at the doctor’s office today.  It’s a check up for the baby (let’s call him Frog, okay?).  I’m in the waiting room, with some other people.  And let me introduce the lovely couple waiting with all of us.  Let’s call them Mr. & Mrs. O (for OBNXIOUS, and because the other good name is taken).  Mrs. O is quite far along in her pregnancy.  But that is not important to our story.  She has a cell phone.  One of those with the touch screen and slide out keyboard.  And apparently it also has no volume control and is only set to “annoying beep”.  Which beeps and beeps and beeps.  In the completely quiet waiting room.  Where the rest of us have silenced our phones (per the request of the cute little sign that they put up oh, EVERYWHERE).  So I text Clark Kent:

Me: No no no annoying person with an iPhone playing a game … Please don’t cut it to silent …. That beeping noise is so pleasant. (*I later figured out it wasn’t an evil fruit product*)

Clark Kent: Passive-aggressive much?

Me: Beeep beeeeeeep BBBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP … now she’s texting. Bip bip bip bip bip … The entire waiting room is silent except her phone.  I may seriously stab her.

CK: Just start some loud and annoying show on Netflix and set it in the chair next to you.

Me: No doubt! Oh wait … I’m not a rude a-hole.

Then to make things EVEN better she got out a piece of gum, which she starts smacking, grunting – GRUM GRUM GRUM (like that hippo in Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?), and blowing bubbles.  I relay this info to Clark Kent. 

Me: And now she’s added smacking gun AND grunting while she chews and blows (and pops) bubbles … This is the first circle of hell, isn’t it?

CK: LOL

“LOL”?  I am pretty sure he’s not really laughing out loud.  He’s quietly amused at my situation with the crazy lady who can’t possibly see her rudeness.  And of course I can’t say anything.  I mean she’s not my race, she’s way pregnant, and this is Memphis.  You don’t do that.  She’d likely shove that phone up my bum.  Really.  I’d have done it to her except I KNOW HOW TO SILENCE MY PHONE.

So … we move from that waiting room.  Mr. & Mrs. O go first, so I have a few minutes of quiet before they call me back.  This is the office of things-take-forever-and-you-wait-more, so after the initial stats check you get to go into another waiting room, this one says “lobby”.  And of course WHO should still be in this one but Mr. and Mrs. O.  They are there and a couple other people and then a nice lady and her mother.  The nice lady is an older mom.  I’d say 45+ish.  Honestly, I thought she and her mother (who was 65+ish) were waiting on someone else.  I didn’t realize she was the patient.  Of course, who am I to judge?  I mean, when I’m 45 Peanut will be 23, Bean will be 20, Monkey Man will be 17, Bug will be 15 and Frog will be 14.  I can’t imagine having a newborn then.  Heck, I could be a grandma then.  G-ma.  What what?  But anyway, the nice lady, who has left and come back in the room at least twice gets called to consultation (the last in the 100 step series in the doctors office that means you are almost done).  Mrs. O has the same problem I’ve noticed in Memphis since I moved here.  People of opposite races must think that the other race cannot hear what they say, or don’t care.  I’ve had people talk about me quite obviously and rudely even if I was right there.  “I’d just never have 4 kids.  Who would do that? That’s just too many kids.” “Some people can’t make up their mind up in this store.  What’s so hard, it’s all chips?” … you get the idea.  Mrs. O was no exception.  She starts in LOUDLY to Mr. O “That woman is too old to have a baby.  It might not be nice to say, but it is what it is.  She going to ruin her life and her kid’s life.” Mr. O comes back “Yeah, it is hard to say, but it’s true.  I don’t know what she was thinking getting pregnant so old.” Mrs. O says “Yeah, it is sad.  People like that.  I don’t know what she was thinking".”  Well … who knows what she was thinking.  No idea.  I mean, it could be all kinds of things.  Maybe she was trying to get pregnant and it took 10 years.  Maybe she wasn’t trying and it was a surprise.  But to speak loudly and rudely about someone like that when someone else you don’t know is in the room.  And what if that lady came back in while they were being all rude?  Good thing they didn’t know I was there with #5.  I mean, it would have probably made Mrs. O’s head spin. For a minute.  Then that amazing piece of technology would have probably stepped in to BEEEEEPPPPP BEEEEEPPPP BEEEEPPPP. 

 

OH MY WORD.  Really?  Really, people?  Because you are breeding.  Obviously.  And that means you’ll raise more like you.  Really?  Well, hurray for it all! BBBEEEEPPPP!

Yeah, about that …

I’m pretty thick skinned.  It’s the Southern Girl way.  Let it go, say “bless your heart” and move on.  That’s how we roll.  Cut me off in the line at the store?  Okay.  I’m fine.  Pull out in front of me in traffic?  Yup.  I’ll fuss and holler and say things, but it’s okay.  Obviously you have way more important things than I do. 

It’s a little like that Trace Adkins song. You know, you can mock me, you can make fun of how I talk, and you can tell me to go shove it.  But start in with the talk about my mama and my country and well, we have problems.  Start doing things that aren’t fair, on the up and up and sketchy, and you’ll see my redneck side. 

And when you don’t like me, I don’t care.  So what.   Who are you anyway?  Just someone.  No one.  But darned if being constantly rude is appropriate.  That’s drama, it’s high school and it irks me to no end.  We’re taught in “Southern  little girl school” to always say hey to everyone, don’t matter if they are a friend or foe.  And it’s bugging me.  And all I can think to scream is ….

(source)

Okay… enough ranting.  You may return to your other blogs, which aren’t crazy people. 

Mary, Mary, quite contrary …

How does my garden grow?  Planted our garden today.  So excited to get dirty and watch the kids get excited.  Clark Kent had this whole method thing.  Maps, instructions.  He can lay out a garden like those crazy women plan out Black Friday shopping at Wal Mart. 

Hoping the garden grows.  Last year we had success and the kids loved watching and harvesting and watering.  Mostly each other, but the garden too.  And this year we have the added bonus of purple carrots.  Wait, what?  What the HECK are purple carrots you ask?  Yeah … I don’t know.  These things are rainbow (source for my picture there) I guess.  We’ll see when they grow.  Why are we growing purple carrots?  To quote Clark Kent, “because we can.”  Do purple carrots taste like orange ones?  I don’t know.  These are things I ponder. 

 

And I’ll leave you with this pondering from Bill Engvall …

When there’s a dead vulture on the side of the road, what eats it?

Humbly taking it all in …

It’s been a while.  Things have been hectic, emotional and just plain ol’ crazy around here.  I can’t even excuse the time between the entries.  But I won’t try to catch up either.  Because that’s the Christmas Card Letter Guilt.  You all have it.  Either you write a letter every year, except that one year that grandma passed away and the baby was born, and dang it you were tired.  Or you never wrote one, and this year when the kids are old enough you’re not pulling your hair out and Christmas isn’t spent in the car 8 hours one way to celebrate Christmas (which by the time you get there the last thing you want to do is smile and awe at any baby, even Baby Jesus).  Or you’re like me.  I don’t want to write one, but I have this amazing friend who sends me one every year and I relish every bit of it.  She’s great.  I’m not.  I don’t want to start one.  Hence “Christmas Card Letter Guilt” … you all have it.  You might not know it, but you do.

For 4 weeks I’ve had CCLG for this blog.  I could sit down and write a tiny thing, which I think is great and you’d all like to know about.  Just a small note, like that awesome guy at Message With a Bottle.  He’s great at it.  And perhaps from here on out, when I’ve got just that one awesome tidbit I’ll jump in and post.   Like how there are too many little boys in the house as it is, and little boys are weird and stinky and crazy but loveable.  How my Peanut and her friends trip me out all the time.  How I have the absolute best friends on the planet, and couldn’t do life without them because I’d go insane.  How Clark Kent keeps reassuring me that life is great, and we are great and, well, who’s a rock star?  I am.  Because let’s face it.  Kid #5 isn’t too far off.  But more so I went and did something that was a dream, and succeeded.

What is that insanity?  PTA President.  Oh yeah.  All year I’ve had these great ideas about how our PTA could be more efficient, more creative, and cater more to *gasp* the parents and teachers.  Thought I could do that.  And so did just enough people.  And I’m humbled.  So very, very humbled.  People, even just a few, think I could to.  That all the creative juices I’ve got can be pumped into my kids’ school.  I couldn’t be more excited, and shocked, and well … just humbled.

So today I sit at my kitchen table, the windows are open, the sun is setting, and the kids are out in the yard playing.  Life is rolling along, and for just this moment, however teeny tiny, it’s rolling well.  The hammock is up for the season, the garden is ready to plant and our family is ready to focus on being us.  And I’m preparing for next year at the school.  It’s time to start the music … it’s time to light the lights.  Fasten in boys and girls, it’s going to be a fast, hard ride, and I can’t wait to share it!

Copy and Paste

Today a friend told me that she was reading over resumes and essentially they all said the same thing.  What, you ask?  Well, they said “Copy and paste” from Google, apparently.  I mean, they all said the same thing.  In the most generalized way possible.  At no point did any of them make relevant sense to the job to which they were apply.  Nor did they even try.   Here, I will give an example, just by Googling job objective:

“Obtain a position at ABC institute where I can maximize my training experience, program development skills and my teaching abilities.“

And here again:

“Obtain a position at XYZ Company where I can maximize my management skills, quality assurance, program development, and training experience.”

And here once more (from an actual resume):

"Looking to obtain a position with a reputed company which will require me to utilize my skils, abilities, and experience." (SIC)

So, kids, what have we learned here?  That the upcoming generation knows jack about resume writing?  That Google has made us lazy?  That “well, someone already did it so I don’t have to try” is acceptable?  That mediocrity is the standard? 

It gave me a great laugh.  But it saddened me too.  Because it reminded me that the general population is not so very bright.  Not that I’m Einstein.  Far from it.  I’m just me.  My job didn’t require a resume.  I utilize my skills every dang day.  And have tons of experience.  But seriously folks … when is it going to dawn on people that everyone else googled the same thing, ergo your answer looks as lame as theirs and at no point in your answer did you actually answer anything.  Kudos to you, oh Billy Madisons of the world.  Copy and Paste on!

Bumper Sticker #15263

I’m going to make a bumper sticker for my car.  It’s going to say:

“The deceleration of this vehicle is directly proportional to your proximity to the bumper.”

People don’t get it.  I will NOT go faster, but I can go a whole LOT slower.  Really.  Really.  You’re annoying me, I’m going slower, it annoys you, which makes you get closer to me, which annoys me. It’s a vicious cycle. 

And speaking of annoying me, don’t ask me if ALL the kids are mine.  Yes.  Yes they are all mine.  And I’m having more.  Another one.  Good thing too.  I’m making sure there are enough nice people in the world to replace the jerks like you around.

 

Grr … mama bear say what??

Painted Concrete Floors are beautiful!

What do you do when you are sick of crappy builder-grade beige carpet?  What about when said carpet is gross, stained, and uh … really gross?  And you have a few days to do a project?  Well, we rip it up around here!  Shut yo mouth!  We do!  Rip it straight out of the floor.  And boy is it gross!  The sheer amount of dirt and dust under the carpet was GRODY!  DIS-GUST-ING!  BLEH! So then what do you do?  Well Clark Kent and I find a solution that is inexpensive (i.e. not laying bamboo hardwood imported from India or something) and easy (i.e. not $20/sqft fancy tile from Italy that takes gluing, lining up, measuring, more lining up, cursing because it’s not lined up, and more gluing and tons of time).  So we browsed ideas and found a great one!

The cast of characters:

Krud Kutter floor cleaner – this cleans up the dirt, grime and spilt paint (see below).

Concrete Putty – to fill in the holes left by the tack strips.  Now, the blog we followed they skipped these two things because they didn’t intend on keeping the painted concrete as a final floor.  I’d not recommend that.  Especially if your builder laid the tack strips before the concrete dried and thus caused great chips to come up in the floor.

Valspar Porch/Patio Floor Paint made for painting concrete – base grey. If you want a lighter color, get lighter color floor paint.  The shade of paint you choose determines the darkness of the stain. (We got this at Lowe’s)

Behr Semi-Transparent Concrete Stain – Chicory was the color we chose.  It’s a reddish brown that goes well with our walls and décor. (This came from Home Depot.  If you don’t want to make two trips then pick some floor paint from Home Depot.)

Quikrete Wet Look High Gloss Sealer – this coats the floor and protects it from kids, dogs, toys, and everything else.  It also makes it nice and shiny, which is fancy.  I like fancy.

Woven Linen Rollers – this is for the stain.  It gives it texture.  Although Clark Kent says that next time he’d likely get a pump sprayer for the stain, to get a more even coating.  I like the texture the rollers gave it, so you decide there.

Step One … Moving out all the furniture and realizing how yuckaliscious your carpet is as denoted by the “clean” spots where the furniture that hasn’t moved in 6 years has been.  Eww.

See the "clean areas" where the furniture was? yeah.

Removing furniture easy.  Getting dogs out of pictures?  Not so easy.

Where did the furniture go?  To the foyer of course! 

Step Two … Rip up that carpet.  Cut it into 2-3ft strips and pull it up.  Cough a lot at the sheer dust that comes up as you are doing this and admire the yucky pet dander cloud hovering over your head.

It was really gross.  Why was carpet invented?

  Step Three … Look at the dirt and grossness and say “Oh my goodness, THIS is why our children always have stuffy noses and terrible allergies.  Why in the world was carpet invented anyway?  Dumbest idea ever.”

Yeah, that's the fine dust/dirt/yuck that was under the carpet padding.

Step Four ... Clean the floor.  We used the Krud Kutter first, then we mopped it.  I say "we" ... Clark Kent did that.  But you can see the difference between the before and after.  Our builders were kind enough to spill a 5 gallon bucket of primer all over the floor and then proceed to wipe it up with their fingers (what?!?) and walk all in it and around the floor and well, really, the guys were probably pretty ticked off they spilled an entire gallon of drywall primer anyway, right?  That stuff really removed the spilled paint.

Step Five … Remove tack strips. This is really hard and I admit I didn’t do a bit of it.  Clark Kent did all of it.  Hard work.  Tiring hard work.

It's hard to get those strips up!  Wear gloves! 

Step Five … Walk around and talk really loud.  Everything echoes.  And look at your concrete.  Here’s where the tip of the day comes in.  **If you can’t stand imperfections in the concrete or cracks and dips and all that where the builders didn’t wait enough time for the concrete to dry before they started other parts of the house, you probably want to not do this project, put a skim coat of fresh concrete down or at the least don’t use a high gloss sealer.**

Echo! Echo! Echo!

Step Six … Fill in the holes from the tack strips and any large chips in the concrete with the Concrete Putty.  And tape the walls.  We taped newspaper up with painters tape.  This is important because the stain is very watery and tends to splash.  Clark Kent just painted our walls a year ago, and I like them nice and un-stained-splattered.  So this step was important.

The hallway had more glue than the whole living room. 

Step Seven … Paint the floor.  The paint is thick, so one coat should do it. The idea is to get one uniform color before staining. Clark Kent went around the edges first then rolled out the main part of the floor.  This has to dry overnight before applying the stain. 

It's so ... grey. 

Step Eight … Stain the floor.  Be sure to have stuff covered and not wear nice shoes.  The stain splatters.  We did 1 ½ coats of stain.  Mostly one coat, but going back where there were obvious roller marks and giving it depth.  This also has to set overnight before applying the sealer coat.  So admire it.  It will look great and you will be so pleased!  But it is not for kids or dogs to be on.  They are destructive by nature, and thusly are banned from unsealed floors.

This is where you can adjust the color.  More coats will give you a darker color.

Step Nine … Seal the floors.  It takes two coats of the sealer to coat it well.  You have to wait at least two hours in between coats.  Then it has to set overnight to fully harden.  After a few hours you can walk on it, but don’t put the furniture back until the next morning.

Ooh, so shiny and protected!  

Step Ten … Put your furniture back.  Enjoy!  Look how fabulous this room looks now!  It’s a totally different space.  

Look how crisp and clean it looks! 

All our colors finally match and work together! 

Here's the final AFTER 

The most "BEFORE" I have.  This is one week after we moved in , October 2006

Watch out, here comes the next year!

Christmas is a magical time.  It was amazing here.  The kids were all so excited that we had to wake a couple of them up on Christmas morning.  Wait, what?  Yeah, you heard that.  Clark Kent was up at 4am, because one of the best things about Clark Kent is that he is a huge kid at heart!   He couldn’t sleep.  I was up at 6:30 because well, the dogs decided they wanted up.  The biggest one stood up, shook her tail, hit the littlest one’s cage and scared the Bejesus out of me.  And so Baby decided Mommy should get morning sickness.  (Side note:  That junk just never goes away.  It’s always there.  Forever.  10 months of “eww, I don’t feel so hot” … at least when I’m pregnant with girls.  So my best bet here is a girl).  So we were up.  Having coffee, enjoying the Christmas lights.  Then Bean got up.  Slowly they arose.  Monkey Man, then Peanut.  We actually had to wake Bug up.  Yeah, you read that stupidity right.  At 7:30 on Christmas morning we deliberately WOKE A SLEEPING BABY.  Oh yeah, we paid for that the REST of the DAY with whininess!  But the kids were amazed, and happy.  They examined their loot from the Big Guy with awe, and then opened their presents.  Everything they had asked for and more!  They were amazed that Pop and Grandma knew just what they wanted! (Those crazy psychics.)  They played, and we ate breakfast. 

We don’t cook a huge ol’ Christmas dinner around here.  We do Christmas breakfast.  Because my parents did.  We had Baked French Toast Casserole, Pigs in a Blanket (sausage style), bacon and cheese grits (no white instant junk out of a bag here).  We ate until we couldn’t eat anymore.  Then they played and played more.  Then they started fighting over a toy.  What toy you ask?  On Christmas, the day when everyone got what they wanted?  On the one day they could play with everything, the XBox time limits were lifted for the day, all video game and TV restraints were suspended, and there were new toys for everyone.  They fought over Bug’s new drum toy from my best friend H. Yeah, you got that.  A baby drum toy.  Bean and Monkey Man fought over it.  Because it was loud.  Because it wasn’t theirs.  Because they could.  Welcome Christmas Spirit. 

At the end of the day everyone was happy.  Peanut had started her massive Lego™ build.  Harry Potter’s Hogwarts Castle … 1200+ pieces.  It’s really neat.  I love that she spent time doing it, and it was just what she wanted.  Bean had successfully gotten to level 3 of her new Tinkerbell DS game.  Monkey Man had helped Han Solo and Chewbacca fly the Millennium Falcon all around the living room (what better can you do with your Geekiness than put it upon your kids?)  And not a single person ingested a Squinkie™, despite the sheer number of the things that Santa brought.  Bug was just happy being Bug.  Of course, the 4 hour nap that we forced upon him in the afternoon helped tremendously. 

Next year will be even more fun!  Next year Peanut will be 10, Bean will be 7, Monkey Man will be 4, Bug will be almost 2, and we’ll have another munchkin that’s just about 6 months old.  I doubt I’ll be up earlier than the kids.  Most likely I’ll be comatose from lack of sleep.  Thank goodness Santa is in charge of delivering gifts at night!  God Bless you all and happiest of New Years to you!  Better enjoy it while you can, if you believe the Aztecs.  If not, (I just think those poor people ran out of space on that big ol’ stone of theirs and didn’t want to go get another one), then you’re good and take your time.  My New Year’s Resolution?  Don’t have one.  Never have.  Those are just silly things that people do because they feel guilty for all the excess (food, technology, time in front of the couch) that they consumed in the previous months.  I’m happy the way I am, and life is pretty stinkin’ good.  I don’t need a resolution to make me better.  God’s working on that.  On to 2012 y’all! 

Curveball ...

So, I'm a slacker. Life has been super busy. I took Monkey Man to see Taylor Swift. It was phenomenal. He lit up when she appeared on stage. He sang every song. He smiled for two hours straight. At the end she was in a floating balcony that went right over our heads. He was ecstatic. She put on an amazing show, and seeing him so happy made it all worth it. Of course, he still thinks she is coming to play at our house. Shh ... I haven't figured that out yet. Someone tell Santa to hook me up, m'kay? Surely he can arrange that. She's off tour and only 3 hours away. 

Then we went trick-or-treating with friends. It was awesome for the kids. I am lucky to have such great friends! Then I blinked and it was Thanksgiving. We were with the same great friends. It is truly a blessing to have friends that are like family. Actually, I can't imagine life without my best friend. Thanks random happenstance 5 years ago that landed our girls in the same kindergarten class. Peanut found a best bud, and I found a sister-friend.
Some other highlights include Bean losing her first tooth and an early snow in Memphis. I did my Black Friday shopping in my pjs while Bug wouldn't sleep. I know more happened. I was there for all of it. But goodness if I can think of much else. It really was like we went to bed after Halloween and woke up in December. 

My grandfather passed away last week. I'm not sad, though. He's in heaven, not sick. He had two wives preceed him in death. He was a loving soul who had a hard life. The man was like 96 years old. I only hope that I live that long, and have so many people love me.

Two weeks before Thanksgiving I found out I am pregnant. Crazy lady with four kids say WHAT?!?!? Oh yeah. Totally not planned, at least by us. God knew. He probably looked over at Jesus and said "haha.... watch this, it's gonna be a good one." I know my Mimi was standing around telling God that He "done lost His mind". So, let the jokes begin. Believe me, in just three short weeks I have heard most of them. Yes, I know what causes it. Yes, I am aware there are ways to prevent this. I am apparently quite fertile, myrtle. And, no, for the love of all things holy, I am not trying to keep up with "that Duggar woman". I'm just ensuring the overpopulation of earth. I'm making sure there are enough nice people around for when all the a-holes die. And the term "breeder" is equivolent to the term "mudblood". If you don't know what I am speaking of there, there's probably a tea party you're late to or something.  

 *this post has been brought to you by the letter T for tablet ... a reason for the length between posts and the reason for my brevity ... and the number 5 ... for the number of kids I will have in June.*

Like My Mimi Always Said ...

Everybody’s grandma had a saying.  In the south it’s the way most anecdotes start … “Like my Grandma used to say …” It is like you have this person who validates what you mean.  A person that can relate what you say, and if you offend whoever you’re talking to, well … your Grandma used to say it.  Not you.  My grandma had a great phrase.  Whenever someone did something really stupid, or that just “didn’t make no sense at all,” she’d always say “Oh that just tears me out of my frame!”  I don’t know what it means.  I can’t tell you why she said it. But she said it a lot. And it’s one of my favorite things my Mimi used to say.  ‘Cause boy do I still use it today.  It’s just the best thing I know to say for some things. 

One of the top things that tears me out of my frame is the phrase “Well, that’s the way we’ve always done it.”  Ooh boy does that get me!  Frame gone, crazy redneck lady here.  I mean it’s one thing if the way we’ve always done it works.  Or if it does something positive.  Or if it gets anyone else to join in our cause.  But when the way we’ve always done it is a dead horse that we’re beating then it’s not okay.  It’s stupid to look at a fish, get all mad at it for climbing a tree to get something, yet every year get a fish to do the job.  If we only did things the way we always did them there’d be no wheel.  Or phone.  Or vaccine for polio.  If we don’t find innovative ways to do things, we sit in the same ol’ rut and make the same ol’ decisions and nothing gets better. 

New ideas are exactly what I live for.  I love to find new ways to do the same ol’ same ol’.  Creativity meets new ways to do things.  It makes what we were doing better.  It tweaks things.  It’s my thing.  I love to find new ideas.  I love hearing “hey, what if this time we …” followed by something that is amazing and great!  Or it isn’t and we don’t do it again.  Whatever.  But we tried it.  We moved on beyond the biddies in the hen yard that refuse to learn to fly because hens can’t fly.  Beyond the idea that it just can’t possibly work because we’ve never tried it.  We move into the realm of Edison, Einstein, and Newton, Pasteur.  Among those who said “good enough isn’t good enough anymore.” 

Tell me it’s the way we’ve always done it and it’ll get me riled up.  It will challenge me to find another way simply to show you that there is possibly a better way.  Moving on, and moving up is the way to make things better.  It’s a way to better an organization.  I love my kids’ school.  I love being able to put my two cents in as a PTA Board member.  That’s my passion.  Making a difference.  But you better doggone guarantee that when it comes to the way we’ve always done it, I won’t accept that.  There are so many new, inventive ideas out there.  Everyone has them, and we just have to embrace them.  That’s what I do.  I like new ways to accomplish the same old goals.  It’s easy to put on the comfy way we’ve always done it slippers and sit back and let it be what it’s always been.  But I’m getting my spiky boots and trying something new.  Because new may be the way to get more people involved.  Because new says “we want to grow and change”.  New says “we don’t want the same 10 people we’ve always had doing the same 10 things we’ve always done because change is scary.”  Change is scary.  But scary is fun.  I love scary.  I get on the rollercoaster that goes backwards because it’s scary fun.  I want to leave my mark.  I want people to do things in a new way because I tried something different today.  And I refuse to accept that because it’s “not the way we’ve always done it” as justification for not trying something.  I want to be the Edison of my organization. 

When my redneck side gets agitated ...

I’m not a slacker, I’m just lazy.  Really.  Last post I was contemplating my birthday.  Like almost a month ago.  Then life went into full gear mode with soccer, gymnastics and PTA.  Mostly PTA. Mostly this battle in PTA that doesn’t make any sense whatsoever.  That is stupid.   But it’s a battle.  And I’m stubborn.  But first my laziness. 

For my birthday Clark Kent got me a tablet thingy.  You know, those touch screen fancy doodads that everyone wants.  Not a iPad.  Even without Steve Jobs, I can’t commit to Apple stuff.  They are elitist.  They are ridiculously over priced.  They come with bugs that they know are there when they release them, but they release them anyway.  And the white ones are bigger. So you need a new case.  Elitist. So there.  But I got a tablet.  And honestly, I can’t blog from it because I have to have my Microsoft Word so I can spell check and idiot check my stuff.  I type too fast.  I type about a kajillion words a minute, and most of them aren’t right.  That’s what Word does.  That’s not what the tablet, with its lacking OS and minimal apps, can do.  So my lazy butt hasn’t wanted to get the laptop from over there.  Just over there.  Just 5 feet away from here.  Lazy Lazy Jess.  Peanut would have even gotten it for me.  But I wanted my new shiny play pretty.  Which doesn’t have a word processor program yet.  Nor does it have the picture download thing.  Which is why none of the kids’ lunches are getting posted.  Because I’m so stinkin’ lazy I can’t get up off my rear and download and edit some lunch pictures (I have several) and go on and on about the new bento box thingies and all the neat things they can do.  Lazy.

And busy.  I am so busy with the PTA thing.  Because someone told me it was impossible. Because someone said “well, we already did everything we could.” And I decided that wasn’t enough.  And because someone else said go for it.  And because parents are tired of this thing at school.  It’s traffic.  It’s left turning.  That’s all.  The school has been open for 21 years, and this year we can’t turn left out of school.  Why, you may ask?  What great safety reason is there for this?  Not one.  What great flow of traffic is being disrupted, you wonder? Not one.  Nothing.  Just one man who has decided to act like the adults in Matilda.  “I’m right, you’re wrong.  I’m big and you’re little.  I’m smart and you’re dumb and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Well, he’s mistaken.  This mama bear has a stubborn streak as long as a summer day.  One teacher asked me if I was from up north.  (Why are Yankees known for being fighters, anyway?  Rude, yes.  Inconsiderate, yes.  But fighters? Where’d that come from?) “No ma’am,” I told her.  “I’m from South Carolina.  We love to start fights!”  Okay, so I stole that from a Citadel Cadet with a bad pick up line, but still … it’s true.  Stubborn-got-to-have-it-our-way-come-hell-or-high-water is what South Carolinians are made of.  And I will.  I will fight this battle.  Then they’ll be the ones wondering “Why on EARTH didn’t we just let them turn left?  If we had done that, we wouldn’t have this bat-crap crazy lady up our butts about it!”  And I will be up their butts.  And I’ll go to the news too.  Don’t you think I won’t get all over the TV saying how stupid it is?  I love the Police.  I know an amazing Police Officer (they don’t like to be called Cops, BTW).  But this one Officer, well … he and I don’t agree and that doesn’t work for me. 

See?  I meant to talk about the awesomeness of technology.  I mean, 11 years ago if you had told me that there’d be this thing, a little teeny ½ inch wide computer thingy with a touch screen that you could move around all Minority Report style, I’d have laughed at you.  That technology seemed SO SO far away.  But here it is.  Sitting next to me.  My Precious.  But my big ol’ mama bear fur has gotten all ruffled.  And if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s stupid for stupid’s sake.  People are entitled to be stupid every now and again.  Heck, I’m stupid a lot of the time about stuff.  But deciding to dig your heels in on a point just because it’s YOUR point and YOU have to be right with no explanation … that is a special kind of stupid that annoys me.  At least I have reasons for mine.  And I have paperwork, and a map and graph.  I mean really.  If you are going to have a point to make and want to make it well, have a graph.  Graphs say “I’m smart and I know what I’m talking about.” And they say “Gee whiz … look at me!  I can use Excel, so obviously I know more than I think I do about this topic!”  Then I type up something all sunshine and rainbows.  That’s a gift from my daddy.  I can talk to anyone.  No one is a stranger.  And I can tell you about something I really have no idea about, or don’t have the answer to, and you can walk away feeling better because I put some sunshine on it and sprinkled it with word rainbows.  “I am doing everything I can to fix that problem” sounds so much better than “there’s a snowballs chance in you-know-where that will work”.  It’s the “bless your heart” at the end of a sentence that excuses you from whatever incredibly rude thing you just said.  Fighting battles for what I believe in and sprinkling the world with world rainbows.  Now, go have a cookie and by the time you’re done you’ll feel better about today. J

half a life ago ...

Gas was $0.89/gallon.  Life was easy.  My parents were amazing.  I was 16.  On my sixteenth birthday my parents rented the local neighborhood club house and bought about 20 pizzas from Customs Pizza (they were B1G1).  We set up a stereo, decorated, and just hung out.  Me and about 20 of my closest friends at the time.  There are moments of that night I will never forget.  Mimi (my grandma) was there.  Fussing at people for going outside, complaining about the noise, just being a grandma.  My friend S was there, and my friend L, who I think were trying to get back together after “breaking up” or something.  I can name almost everyone there.  And most I still at least talk to on Facebook ™.  That was the night I met someone who would be a dear friend for many years.  (Looking back I think it’s rather odd that someone I had never officially met showed up at my birthday party.  But there were actually 3 people that fit that description.  A little creepy, I suppose.  But I was a little odd.  I was building computers when other girls were shopping for new shoes.)  He introduced me to a new kind of music, a great author, and the idea that women were something special, to be treated with care and respected.  That stuck.  I held everyone else I ever considered dating to that.  It’s why I married Clark Kent.  But that’s another subject.

On my 16^th birthday my mom got me this massive cake.  It weighed 20lbs.  Seriously.  I’m not even making that up.  The sucker was HEAVY.  And there were presents.  And dancing, and a black light.  It was great.  Probably one of the best moments of my teen years.  Thanks mom and dad.  After it was all over I remember distinctly lying in bed and thinking about where I’d be in 16 years.  Yeah, that deep of a thought.  When your parents drop that much on a party for you, you think about what got you there, and where it was taking you.  I was pretty sure I’d be married to someone at that party.  Not really sure who, but someone.  I mean, that was my tightest circle of friends (at the time).  Life was that moment.  It was band, AFJROTC, Power Rangers (yeah, I watched it religiously), eating outside at lunch, getting yelled at by my band director, and tolerating my little sister.  Sometimes I loved it, sometimes I hated it.  But it was my life and I couldn’t imagine much beyond it.  I mean, what else is there besides friends, pizza, music, and high school?  Shallow isn’t something a teenager understands.  It isn’t self centered for them.  It’s just how the world moves.  I understand that now, even though I didn’t ever see it then.  And oh my goodness what would our life had been like with smart phones and facebook?  Lawdy lawdy we’d have gotten in trouble.  I watch the high school kids on my facebook lament over boyfriends, get angry at friends, and use facebook like the bathroom wall or the back of a yearbook.  Our fights would have been shorter, meaner, and well … involved more people.  Other than that fight that my on-again-off-again beau K and I had during a marching band day camp that seemed to involve the entire band.  Oh yeah.  I bet lots of people remember that.  It involved saying mean things under our breath while marching around during practice, and across the street to the football field for a run through, and during the run through.  Oh yeah.  Good times.  That’s being 16.  That’s being awesome (in your own mind) and having to have the. Last. Word.   

Anyway, I thought.  Laying in my bedroom, under the Power Rangers fleece blanket (that incidentally Monkey Man is currently sleeping under – true story), looking at my glow in the dark stars.  Listening to my dad watch John Wayne movies on TV at a volume reserved for rock concerts.  Sure I thought of practical stuff.  I’d have finished college.  I was going to be a trauma doctor (how’d that work out?).  Perhaps I’d be dating some guy and be thinking about marriage.  30, that’s when people do that sort of stuff.  I also figured I’d be living in a house on the beach in South Carolina (still on my to-do list).  My life is SO not that.  But I can’t imagine it any other way.  It’s amazing.  I love Clark Kent, and I can’t imagine life without my Peanut, Bean, Monkey Man and Bug.  As I sit and reflect over the last 16 years (I’ve been with Clark Kent for 12 of them) I can look forward to the next 16.  Where will I be in 16 years?  I’ll be 48.  Peanut will be 26.  My mom and dad could be great-grandparents.  I could be a grandma. *cough*  It will be 2027. Holy future Batman!   

Creepy Loyalty

Loyalty.  It’s such an interesting word.  The dictionary defines it as “faithful adherence to a sovereign, government, leader, cause, etc.  I’m loyal when it comes to the “cause, etc.” part.  I drink Pepsi ™.  I am not a fan of Coke ™.  Hands down.  If you offer me both, I’ll choose Pepsi.  Every day.  And all their products.  Sierra Mist ™ over Sprite ™.  I just like it better.  I prefer Target to Wal-Mart (for a kazillion reasons that I really won’t get into but suffice to say that one is the creepy people that shop there, and another is the way that they go and build 100 cash registers and only ever intend on opening two of them).  I prefer McDs over Burger King ™ if I’m going to ingest MSG-laden grease.  And I won’t go to a BP™ unless it’s the only gas station for 100 miles.  Call it what you will (psycho, sad, obsessed, impressive, astonishing), I call it loyal.  It’s who I am.  I find something I like and I stick with it.  All that to explain the following lament.

When Clark Kent and I first moved to Memphis we knew nothing about the place.  Even our small ‘burb.  Nothing.  And everything here is different.  All the stores we were so familiar with in the southeast are not here.  Everything is just different.  The only grocery stores here are Kroger (which we already weren’t fans of) and something called “Schnucks”.  So, when we moved here, we went to Schnucks.  Check it out, right?  See what it is, and whether we’d just be forced to shop at the other grocery store that I already didn’t like.  After all, if there’s no Bi-Lo (my favorite grocery store, which has stores all the way to Nashville.  Nashville.  300 miles to the right of us there are great grocery stores, BTW).  My first time in the Schnucks by our house, I was greeted, spoken to like an old friend, and invited to church. (There are two questions everyone asks you when they meet you in Memphis and find out you just moved here: What brought you to Memphis? and What church do you go to?)  Plus it was clean and had nice produce and meat.  These are important things to me.  And so I became loyal to Schnucks and those people.  I shop there for everything.  Peanut’s gym has a fundraiser through Kroger, but I don’t shop there.  I could.  It would help offset gymnastics.  But I don’t.  I don’t like Kroger.  It’s not further than Schnucks … it’s across the street, actually.  But the produce isn’t good, the meat is gross, and the people aren’t friendly.  In fact, they are the opposite of friendly. 

Now that you’ve been introduced with my weird love of grocery stores, you can understand a couple things.  One, I am obviously a bit off center.  No one should feel that way about a grocery store, right?  But if you haven’t figured out that I’m a few crayons short of a full 24 count by now, then you just wait … I haven’t told you my feelings about Dora yet, have I?  Two, you can understand why it devastated me a couple days ago when the news announced that Kroger had bought all the Memphis-area Schnucks.  Yup.  My favorite grocery store is going away. But it’s more than that.  It’s that all the people are likely going too.  They all have to reapply for jobs.  All the cashiers that know my kids, speak to them about school and dance and gymnastics, ask them how their day was … the nice guy who stocks the dairy area every weekday and knows I like the Gogurt instead of the Dannon for the kids.  The sweet ladies that are in the cook-demo place that understand that having four kids is a blessing, not a curse.  The one cashier who is “our” cashier in the morning when we go in and was excited with me when I found out we were going to have Bug.  The managers who will go back to the aisle you missed something on and get it for you at check out.  The nice bag boy who shares all the great fun things to do this weekend with you.  And the cute little high school guys who want to be smooth and “grown up” and try to impress me while they are checking out my groceries.  I will miss them all.  Even if they keep their job, which isn’t likely, I won’t see them.  I don’t like the other grocery store.  Not even if it has my favorite people working in it.  I might be crazy, but I will miss Schnucks.  So much that I took the time to whine about it here.  Maybe if I whine enough Bi-Lo will come save us from the not nice people and yuckiness.  Yeah, I’m whining about it.  It’s my take on loyalty.  And I can pout if I want to.  And enjoy my store.  For the rest of this week.  A few more days of the “way things are supposed to be” for me.  Then I guess I’ll move onto something else.  

Warm, Fuzzy Feelings

Bug has been sick.  Not “oh no let’s call the doctor and get medicine” sick, just “the weather changes too much” sick.  Allergies, snot, drainage, and coughing.  He decided a few days ago that being sick = not sleeping as well.  So we’ve been up at night while he plays instead of sleeping.  He’s been clingy.  He’s been whiney.  Oh my goodness he’s been whiney.  The kid never fusses.  But he has the last 3 days.  And on Sunday I couldn’t put him in the nursery at church.  I know he’s not sick sick.  He’s just yucky allergy sick.  But still, he’s green snot sick.  So I kept him in church with me. 

Where I sat there was a couple in front of me that I had spoken to before.  Funny story on a side track – the first time I met this couple they offered to take me to lunch.  I was alone, and Bug was teeny bitty.  I told them that, while I appreciate the offer, I had four kids and I’m sure they would be overwhelmed.  The lady was shocked, asked me how old I was (31, I told her), and then was even more shocked when I showed her the family picture (including a husband) on my smart phone.  I think she thought I was a teen mother (wow, I must look amazing!?!?).  They are such Sweetie Pies.

Anyhoo … they were sitting in front of me.  We’ve spoken a few more times since then, and darned if I can remember their names.  But we talked this past Sunday and I had Bug.  Mrs. Sweetie Pie asked if she could hold Bug.  Sure.  It’s not like they’d be going anywhere, and we’d talked several times and it’s church.  She cuddled Bug and he snuggled back, since he’s a sweet boy who loves everyone.  After a few minutes Mr. Sweetie Pie took him. And held him through two songs.  As I watched them coo and smile over Bug I realized something.

Sometimes people want to hold a baby not to help you, but because it helps them.  Babies (usually) love unabashedly.  They don’t care that you aren’t perfect.  They don’t see the baggage you’re carrying.  All they know is you’re pretty cool, fun to grab, and smile a lot.  The couple that held Bug on Sunday just kept loving on him and smiling.  He brought them a moment of joy that I couldn’t provide them as an adult.  For a moment they could dote on someone who wouldn’t get mad, irritated, or judge them at all.  Babies and puppies make us feel better.  We can look at the future in them.  We see the potential of kindness and acceptance.  Babies don’t see color of skin.  They don’t see age.   They just see someone who should protect them.  And that, sadly, is a fault too, sometimes.  But this time it wasn’t.  And as we sang praise songs and I watched Bug try to take Mr. Sweetie Pie’s glasses off and watched the man remove his glasses and laugh as his wife patted Bug’s back I realized two things.  It was okay that I didn’t know them too well.  I shared my love and my joy with them.  And I got a break.  Did I mention that he’s been a clingy, whiney, nonsleeping baby the last few days? Yeah, I was selfish and saw it as a break. J  

My train of thought is scary ...

I am known for my train of thought.  Or lack there of.  You mention mustard?  I've got something to say about s'mores.  Because mustard >> hot dogs >> camping >> camp fire >> s'mores. Sometimes I sit down at night and there are so many ideas in my head that I can’t even think.  They chase me all day long.  Like a wolf running through the forest.  Or a vampire?  A great big sparkly vampire?  No.  No sir.  Because vampires burn up into ash in the sun, everyone knows that.  Anyone who believes otherwise is a delusional teenager or a woman who wishes she was. So there.  I said that.  In MY post on MY blog.  I think sparkly vampires are dumb and the best acting Robert Pattinson did was at the very end of the fourth movie of Harry Potter.  He’s gross. And doesn’t fit the character in the book at all.  Incidentally, you know they were considering Henry Cavill for that part?  Yeah, that would have been better.  Because he doesn’t suck.  And now we get to see him as Superman.  A nice, not effeminate girly-girl Superman either.  Robert Pattinson goes right up there with Hayden Christiansen in my book of “well, we know people will pay bookoos of bucks to see this no matter what we do, so let’s just use this guy” actors.  The other two hobbits fall in that category for me too.  You know who I’m talking about.  Not Frodo and not Charlie (and if you don’t know why he’s Charlie, that’s just depressing and sad and you should be ashamed).  So does Abby Cadabby, but I’m fairly certain my obsession with the “rightness in the world of children’s television” is a certifiable one, and can be reserved for another post (Dora … why are you out ALONE in a jungle with a talking monkey, and why OH WHY do you trust that map that keeps sending you into the alligator infested waters?!?  YOU’RE FIVE!!)

But anyways …

This past week my dear friends had their first child.  A son.  I’m calling him Wookie Jr.  And he’s cute.  And not all babies are cute (sorry moms of ugly babies).  Some babies come out and even after that first swelling “what the hell happened to my head?” phase is over, they still look weird.  Bug looked like an old man forever.  Because he was born too soon.  He had no fat and just old man wrinkles.  But not Wookie Jr.  He looked awesome.  And still does.  Fortunately, I see a lot of his mom in him.  She’s beautiful.  Anyhoo … I’ve had a blast the last week helping her adjust to her “what the hell just happened to my life?” phase.  Not the “What to expect now that you have a newborn” frills and fluff stuff.  The “Oh yeah, this sucks and no one will tell you how bad it sucks” stuff.  Like how giving birth makes getting hit by a train seem like a pleasant idea.   How the very idea of ever wanting to procreate again seems like it ranks with sitting in a tub full of scissors.  How your body will redefine “amount of sleep needed” over night and all those mornings after parties you went to in college don’t even compare to the exhaustion level you now have.   How your insides feel like they might just fall out at any minute.  How your boobs no longer belong to you, and no longer belong to your husband.  And after awhile all you really want to do is scream and say “MOOOO!” because well, you’ve become nothing more than a machine that can produce milk and clean poop.  (Rosie the Robot couldn’t do THAT, I bet).  First kids are hard.  There’s no manual, no “how tos” (although my pediatrician gave us this clever “baby manual” when Monkey Man was born … for fevers and eating and when to call the doctors and the like.  So clever of them) Clark Kent and I had no idea what to do with Peanut when we brought her home.  We put her in the middle of the floor and stared at her, in her cute pink blanket in her car seat.  For almost an hour.  So, I’m glad I can be there for Wookie Jr. and his mom. And his dad.  Although, even with all the bottle feeding help he’s giving, there’s not much I can tell him.  Other than grab your butt and hold on tight, because this ride is fast, hard, and is gone in a blink of an eye.  (Or so those with older kids keep telling me.  Like that nice old man at the snack bar at Target who just patted me on the shoulder and said “You sure are a brave girl” and walked off laughing).  It’s a ride that I’ll take over and over though.  Despite the downward spirals it seems to take now and again.  I know I’m going to miss it when it’s gone.   Some nights I ponder that in a nice loving way.  Other nights I just repeat it 50 times like a good mommy.   But in the end, when I close out my day, check on sleeping angels (because they are angels when they sleep, right?) and remember how fast times flies, I know that the kids are my sanity, not just my sanity checkers.  They are my saving grace.  I may end the day covered in spit up, sweeping the kitchen for the fourth time because of some dog-food-bowl-kicking temper tantrum (that was tonight), sighing and wondering if I’m even cut out for this (I know, after 9 years, you’d think I’d know that), and wondering how I am still breathing.  I’ll take my cup of coffee (you’d be surprised how relaxing that is) and peruse my facebooks, and breathe the first breath of quiet air.  And remind myself that I can do it, and that being a mom rocks.  No other job on earth is as rewarding, though trying, as the one called “Mommy”.