So here's the thing about our family - we live in Mississippi.  And we don't get out much.  So the fact that golf has sort of become our family's favorite sport of choice (to play that is.  we're from the SEC.  of course we are die hard footballers) is a little bit laughable - considering the fact that golf is such a refined and highly mannerous thing.  You know, all the dress codes and etiquette and the fact that you have to watch where you drive and step and you have to be quiet.  None of that sounds like us at all, does it?

    But I think golf has become our thing because it's really all Aaron has left.  The time for football has past.  The occasional pick-up basketball game makes him feel old and beat down.  No one will play tennis with him.  And the last time he played church-league softball he ripped his shoulder into pieces - which he then re-injured when the attic door completely ripped loose from the ceiling and he fell out of the attic and caught himself on beams with his elbows.  All in the name of Christmas decorations.  It was ugly my friend.  He ripped things.  He had a temporary man boob. Yikes.  So I guess the point of all this is to say - golf is his kind of game now.  And because he likes it (and also because our last house was on a really nice golf course so we had unlimited access), our boys have now really taken to it.  At least Aaron, and usually Aaron and the boys, go once a week minimum. 

    Sometimes we even get brave enough to go as a family.  Its usually late - like right before dark - when we go because we are trying to sneak in a few holes before it's too late but after other people have finished so we don't disturb them.  And the only way to describe us when we're there - The Clampets Come to the Country Club.  Seriously.  There are three full golf bags and five people (two of which are quite large) on one golf cart.  We look ridiculous, we are loud, and we sit our baby in the wire basket on the back.  The boys stand hanging off the side and when we drive up to retrieve wayward golf balls, they jump off and roll commando style to get them.  We are the Clampets.  We don't belong at the country club.  But we go anyway.

    Just this past Friday we went, in fact.  And on this particular Friday, we were even more "Clampety" than usual.

    Picture it........................

    There we were, at the first hole, dividing into teams for a three hole scramble.  Aaron and Turnanator (bc he is the weaker playing child at this point), and Super-G and myself (bc I am the weaker playing human amongst the entire population of earthlings at this point.  seriously.  golf is not for the large chested.  it is impossible for me to keep my arms together and near my body.  it's just not happening sports fans) were facing off at the first tee.  Of course Aaron hit from the white tees, or is it the blue tees?  I'm not sure, just whichever set is farthest away. Then we drove the cart down the hill a bit (please remember the "downhill" component of this story.  it's critical) to the red tees where the boys and I would hit.  Turnanator hit first and promptly knocked one into the pond right in front of us. (just like Aaron did on his first attempt.  also, please remember the "pond".  also critical)  Then it was Super-G's turn.  His daddy was giving him some instructions and I was standing there watching because I was next.

    I know what y'all are thinking at this point......."where's Destruct-o-girl?".  Well that is a fantastic question because at the very second we were focused on our drives, she became focused on driving.  The golf cart.  Down the hill.  Straight towards the pond.  As many of you know, the parking break on a golf cart is on the top corner of the brake pedal itself and is released when the gas pedal is pushed.  Well she waited until no one was looking to push that gas and take off.  Fortunately Turnanator was there at the cart putting up his club so he saw it all happen and screamed for our attention.  Unfortunately he decided to try and stop her himself by getting in front of the golf cart and pushing.  He weights 50ish pounds.  It did not work. 

    So one second we're all casually whacking golf balls around, and the next second Turnanator is screaming "NO D, NO D!!!".  We turn to see her barreling down the hill on the golf cart straight towards the pond while her brother is sprinting as fast as he can backwards to keep from getting squashed flat.  I scream at Aaron because I know there is not a chance under the sun that I will catch them, then I start screaming at my precious little son to get out of the way.  Of course that was easier for me to say than for him to do!  So Aaron takes off running and literally dives into the cart, basically pushing the brake with his hand until he can get it stopped.  Luckily he got it stopped before anyone got pancaked or drowned.  Then I burst out into gut-bustin' laughter because that is apparently the reaction my body goes into when I get freaked out that family members are going to get seriously injured and then they don't.  It's the same thing I did when homeboy fell out of the attic.  He was dangling by his elbows and I couldn't stand up from laughing long enough to help him get down.  It's a problem.  I'm addressing it with professionals soon.  Then we proceeded to knock four more golf balls into the pond, load back up on the cart and head to the next hole like nothing ever happened. 

    I'm still not sure we ever figured out who won the scramble..............................

*cue banjo music

1.  My kids are goofy.

2.  Your's probably are too.

3.  But this is my blog so if you are here then you are probably going to see a bunch of stuff about mine.  Sorry. 

4.  I have mentioned before on here that my daughter just cannot talk very clearly.  Like - at all.  Bless her little heart.  But as her mother I am able to decipher more of what she says than most people.  As her mother, I also know that there are several words that she just will not attempt for some reason - her name being one of them.  I have no idea why, but she refuses to say it.  It's a perfectly regular type name (well sort of) that other little kids are capable of saying, but she REFUSES to even try.  So it has become sort of an amusing thing for us lately to see what she answers when we ask her what her name is.  She changes the answer every so often, but for the past month her name has been...........wait for it............................

           Doctor Cassie Tiger

Yep, you heard that right folks.  I am the proud mother of one Doctor Cassie Tiger.  Of course, it's pronounced more like "Dodder Sassy Shiger"  but I speak Destruct-o-girl so I know what she's saying.  You have no idea just how fun it is to try and explain that to strangers who are trying to be polite and talk to the cute girl with the crazy hair in the checkout line at the Walmart store.

"What's your name cute girl/hon/little sweety/other cute baby girl colloquialism?".  "Dodder Sassy Shiger" (proud grin). 
(strange look)
(then I tell them what her real name is and get an even stranger look a lot of times)

Then it really gets interesting when they ask her how old she is and her reply is always "two five seven five".

I promise, one day I'll send her to preschool where maybe she can work all of this out. 

5.  Every week my son has to write a sentence for each of his 10 spelling words in his spelling notebook.  Every week my son forgets to bring his spelling notebook home and I want to beat him with a large stick.  Today when he finished up and checked over his work, I couldn't help but notice the sentence for number 6 "serve". 

          "My mom won't serve me."

Funny.  Because now I'm completely unsure of what I've been doing with myself for the past seven and a half years. 

6.  Sunni is not actually a child, but might as well be because I feed her, clean up after her, and yell at her too.  So I am soliciting advice from all of you dog lovers out there for my other baby.  She is an australian shepherd and is smart and cute and not very big yet, but boy does she wear a family out.  She has tons of energy (which we thought we were prepared for) and chews to oblivion things that I didn't even know we owned (which I can live with).  But the worst of all offenses is that she attacks our kids with love.  She's so sweet to them and lets my girl pull on her ears and sit on her and whack her in the nose for no reason, but she just jumps all over the kids.  Especially the baby.  Aaron and I have broken her from jumping on us, but I can't seem to figure out how to stop her from jumping on them if I'm not standing right beside them.  It makes playing in the back yard torture.  What do I do?!  Help!  Advice?!  New home?! (ok, kidding.    .........I think)

7.  It's hard to believe during this cool spell (that's not a thing you can say a lot in April in Mississippi), but earlier in March it was warm enough outside to play in the sprinklers.  I even saw pics on facebook of people swimming.  Apparently their pools are heated because mine will still be freezing on Memorial Day, if the past three years have been any prediction.  Fat people in skirted swimsuits and blue lips.  It's a holiday tradition. 
     Anyhow, I still have a completely blank mantle over my fireplace ever since Christmas and I've been waiting on something to inspire me, so the other day I decided to snap some pics of my kids in the sprinkler.  I thought they turned out so well that I printed them out in the small poster size, mounted them on some canvass I had and sat them on my mantle waiting to have a decorative vision.  They are no professional shots are anything, but they are natural.  Just the way I want to remember them today.
    So this is one of those serious type posts that I hesitate to even write, because serious type posts get awfully personal.  I know, you think it's awfully personal already when I tell you about my aversion to personal hygiene and the occasional filth level of my home.  But that kind of stuff doesn't bother me.  That's just stuff.  But private, feelings type of stuff, especially about my babies, that's what's real.  And so I'm sitting here typing, ready at any minute to just delete the whole post, because I'm not even sure where to begin.  But here goes...........

    Aaron is a fantastic athlete.  (Ha!  That's not what you expected the issue to be, was it?)  The thing is, I am not.  At. All.  I mean even a little.  I played lots of sports in my youth but only because I went to a tiny little private school and everyone had to play to have enough to make a team.  That plus all the sports kids got out of school all the time to go to games while the other jokers spent hours wasting away in study hall.  No way I was doing that! But I was so bad that just last year my grandmother was reminiscing about going to my softball games and her exact description of me as a baller was something like, "pitiful".  However, when Aaron and I got married and decided to have babies, I just assumed that "athletic genes" would be dominant so I didn't even think to worry.  Wow.  They are not. 

    I mean, our kids have some decent skills and some decent hand/eye coordination, but they are not star athletes.   And bless his heart, SuperG runs just like me.  Which means he can't run.  Even a little.  And right now is baseball season.  (by the way, I know you are already saying "seriously, THIS is this crazy woman's issue?".  Just bear with me)  The thing about baseball season starting in our new, older league, is that we are getting to the hardcore, travel ball level now.  I mean our coaches are great and all the kids are sweet, but there is beginning to be a distinct difference in the ones with skill and the ones without.  And practices get longer, and later.  Which really is fine.  Except that Aaron is not there a lot because he's at work a lot, so the three kids and I have been spending a lot of late hours at the park alone lately.  And let me tell you, it is so hard to get excited about that when you watch your kid out there struggling to keep up. 

    Just for any clarification needed at this point, I don't love my son one iota less because he isn't great at baseball or soccer.  In fact, I think he is smart and cute and funny and wonderful.  Plus he's a pretty good little golfer to only be 7 and he is playing chords with both hands at the same time on the piano already.  He's really a talented guy.  But in the past while, his dad and I have noticed that he isn't trying as hard as he should at things. And that's what has been upsetting us.  His level of talent does not upset us.  The fact that he can practice in the yard all afternoon and show improvement by leaps and bounds, and then go to the ball park and be standing backwards in the outfield because no balls are coming to him or pout when he gets out on a base.  Whew, that's just been a hard thing for us to swallow lately - especially at 8:30 on a school night while his sister is stomping in a ditch full of mud and we're all freezing. 

    Then last night it all blew up.  His attitude was not a great one, and when practice was over and most kids had already left, we realized that his brother's brand new, literally purchased one day before, ball glove had been in his ball bag and now it was gone.  Yikes.  Then when he didn't really seem upset about the fact that he wasn't even supposed to have it and he didn't keep up with it and it wasn't his to loose........Double yikes.  Needless to say, the night didn't go really well because lots of parental emotions were just exploding out of both of us (poor Aaron felt like no one appreciates anything that he works very hard to provide because everyone gets more than they could ever need. And he felt like SuperG was not doing his best when that's all we really ask for.  Not perfection.  Just his best and to care about someone other than himself.  Then I felt like I overwhelmingly can't keep up with everyone's activities and stuff and practices and AR books and homework and laundry and bedtimes and dinners and orange baseball socks without having a meltdown.  Plus I felt like I was going to suffocate with guilt because I have passed on these traits that will make life harder for him because there are things he is just not going to be great at and he will always have a hard time controlling him emotions.  Then we went to bed and just stared up at the ceiling feeling like the worst parents in the world.  It was not a great night.

    I woke up this morning with a heavy heart about the whole thing, and I woke my baby up with hugs and kind words.  But I still couldn't shake all the feelings from last night.  Then you know what?  I spent the morning with a lady who has recently become very dear to me, and she and I discussed some of the things going on in her life.   She has some hard stuff going on right now, and honestly, she's had hard stuff her whole life.  Parents with substance abuse problems.  Homes without much love.  Fending for herself at a very young age.  Then we started discussing a child we know of right now who doesn't have a father in the picture.  Whose mother has a problem with drugs, and men.  Who lives through situations that I cannot even bring myself to think about, and oh what a little trooper he is.  Then I later began telling of the amazing adoption story of a friend.  Last Thursday night, this friend got in the bed praying for a baby, as she had fervently and painfully done for the past four years now.  And she was woken up by a call about a baby.  A tiny 2 pound 4 oz. baby that needed a family to love her.  Within the next 12 hours this friend and her husband were chosen to be the sweet baby's mommy and daddy, and in 72 hours everything was final.  They went from a place of great sadness and longing, to the happiest, most blessed couple you could ever imagine, all in what seemed like a fleeting second.  The proud parents of a thriving little angel.

    Then Aaron sent me a text. "I love you.  Last night was not great.  You ok?".  And all of a sudden that's all I could think was......I had spent the whole night consumed with emotions about the fact that my child is not exactly the person that I had planned for him to be.  That some things are not as important to him as I wish they would be, and he has some things about his personality that he will have to learn to control.  He will have to work harder than other kids if he wants to succeed in some areas.  And he lost his brother's brand new baseball glove.

    And I felt ridiculous.  What in the world do I have to be upset about?  Because he won't be just like his daddy?  Because he can't catch pop flies?  Because he lost a glove that we will probably end up getting back?  Because he has turned out to be just the person we have molded him to be, whether we intended to or not? 

    Oh thank you God for that beautiful healthy child who can make me cry when he genuinely prays.  Who can feel pain for others and not know how to control it.  Who loves to hit a golf balls and gives hugs freely and looks past disabilities and talks your head off.  And who you trusted to me to guide through life to teach what is important.  Please keep help me remember what's important.  And thank you for a little perspective.
    This is me. (with really flowy hair that particular day)
This is a soapbox
    Now could you please in your mind put the two images together and imagine me standing on a soapbox (except put an incredulous look on my face)?  That is possibly what this post is going to sound a little bit like.  I might come off sounding like a hater - a jealous hater at that. (because we all know that haters always hate because they jealous.  And you know - haters gone' hate)  Excuse me, I just lapsed into my ghetto alter image for a split second.  If you've never heard the phrase "haters gone' hate", then may the Lord bless you and keep you in his palm and may you never have to hear that in real life. 

    Anyway, what I'm trying to get at here before I got all off topic with my ghetto self, is that I love Pinterest. (Ha!  That's not what you were expecting was it?!)  And I love finding cute ideas, good recipes, and adorable clothes on Pinterest.  I even really enjoy it when I find an article or a "how to" piece that is of some relevance to me.  However, there needs to be some sort of "stupid" filter.  (I know this is impractical and people just shouldn't pin stupid stuff, but people on soapboxes don't always take time to think things like that through.)

    And to be honest, this little emotional outcry I'm having is really not about what's on Pinterest at all, but the other night I saw where someone had pinned an article about potty training.  Well, the time has come that I have to quit putting off my girl who begs to wear panties and actually get down to business with the potty training.  She's been ready - I have just been lazy.  So I clicked on the article to see if there were any helpful tips since it's been a while for me.  Do you know what I found?  I found a blog post by a person who has spent the last two months potty training her first child (who is 19 months old) because the babysitter gave them tips on how to do it and she wanted to share with the world.  Now don't get me wrong, it's perfectly acceptable to pretend like you're an expert even though it's your first time and you're following tips from your babysitter and it's taking more than two months.  But really?  What is going on it your life that you have to act like an expert?  Who, per say, are you trying to impress?  I've noticed a lot of that lately, now that I've joined the blog world and pay attention to a few more than I ever did before (which consisted of my sister-in-law's and no one else's by the way).  There are tons of sites that teach you how to be a "play at home mom" with post after post about homemade science projects and art projects and imagination projects and healthy eating projects and over-the-top birthday parties.  Who is doing this stuff?  And who is doing their laundry?  And do they ever take five seconds for themselves?  Or are they all just lying about their lives on the internet because it's the internet and everybody lies? (p.s. - I never lie on the internet.  Feel free to decide if that was a lie or not)

    So with all of this recent deep thought and disgruntledness due to guilt that I have yet to set up a new imaginary play scenario every morning before my children get up and right after I prepare fresh, organic fruit and oatmeal on the stove, I decided to evaluate just why I myself am taking the time to blog.  What am I doing here?  What kind of outlet is this for me?  And I decided that it is a completely selfish way to feel "not alone" in this thing we call mothering.  Our moms mothered, our grandmothers mothered, our great grandmothers mothered, Eve mothered, but I think now more than ever we are so connected to the world around us (ex.- me facebook stalking you in the carpool line.  and I do)  that we see what everyone with a wifi connection is doing.  And it's so easy to compare ourselves to them.  Sometimes we come out feeling better about ourselves, sometimes worse, and sometimes we just need a reality check. 

    So that's what I'm doing today.  I'm reminding myself that all the people with the cute little articles and the professionally installed car seats and the amazing coupon savings and the unrealistically beautiful family portraits and the organic dinners aren't me.  They don't live my life.  And that's ok, because they probably wouldn't be any better at it than I am.  And I would probably stink at theirs.

    But you know what I do know?  Today my daughter poured a whole entire, brand new bottle of Johnson's baby soap all over her and her bathroom.  When I walked in tonight, our new puppy was chewing on the carcass of a dead mouse, right at our back door.  Yesterday, in the very back of the garage fridge full of drinks, behinds stack of other stuff, I discovered a crock pot full of left over rotel dip from Turnanator's school Christmas party.  It was looking rurnt.  Sometimes I resent my children for taking time away from Aaron and me.  Because we live in the same house and occasionally I miss his attention desperately.  I forgot to send book fair money this morning.  And at my house, Little Debbie cakes are a sufficient breakfast.

    Guess what else I know.  My mother didn't spend every second of her waking life stimulating our imaginations and challenging our brains, and we all turned out fine.  Better than fine, even.  Cold doesn't make people sick, germs do.  Getting the flu because you didn't germ-x your hands at Walmart is not the very worst thing that can ever happen to you.  Kids are mean.  I hope my kids never act that way but learn to deal well with the ones that do.  Captain Crunch has vitamins and minerals in it, so it can pass for dinner occasionally.  My house will be clean eventually.  It won't kill my rotten children to help get it that way.  Vaccines are scary.  So is Polio and Smallpox - it's tricky.  There are five people in this house that love each other and do their best every day.  There is a God watching over this house that loves us more than we can know, and He knows what is best for us always.  And there are lots of you mamas out there tonight, just like me.  Doing the best we can with what we know and praying that God takes it and makes up the difference.  And thank Him so much for that.  And you.




Fact:  Fat girls like Reeses Peanut Butter Cups

Fact.:  If your deadbolt on your backdoor was previously broken, and if during that time your small daughter figured out how to unlock the doorknob and let herself outside, and if you installed a chain at the top of the door to keep your daughter in, and if said chain was screwed into relatively new door casing trim that you installed onto sheetrock, and if said chain was on the door without your husband's knowledge when he was coming in with an armload of McDonalds after a long night of trick-or-treating, the results could be disasterous (including but not limited to ripping the trim right out of the wall, face nearly slamming into door, and food and drinks being at high risk for going everywhere)

Fact: If your husband rips the door facing out of the wall after a long night of Trick-or-treating and standing in an enormous line at McDonalds on halloween night, his mood will be foul.

Fact: I love my mechanic, pool guy, and HVAC man.  We've had to drop a lot of dough this week, and I must say, it helps if you like the people you're forking all the money over to.  Mine are seriously the best.  Ever.  Ever.  I told my mechanic this morning that I was going to kiss him on the face.  I would have too except it would have been akward to crawl over the parts counter.

Fact:  Satan invented laundry.  Think about it.

Fact:  All the teachers at my son's school think we are abusive parents because Super-G got in a little trouble today and had the come-apart of the century that included a lot of hysterical screaming.  "Don't call my mama!  My daddy is gonna kill me! My daddy is gonna kill me!"  Nice to know we've got our bluff in on him up to this point at least, I guess. 

Fact:  We are not abusive parents.

Fact: Black bears are better than brown bears.  (who am I quoting here?  hint - my favorite show ever)

Fact:  The entire Kardashian family could fall off the face of the planet and I'm pretty sure society would actually take a step forward.

Fact:  Mitchell Muso got a DUI yesterday.  Justin Beiber may or may not have knocked up some 19 year old, nasty looking fan at a concert.  Seriously though...........  What are we doing people?  Why do we love these folks?

Fact:  I am cooking 24 pounds of Italian beef for dinner.  My house is smellin' right.

Fact:   Turnanator has just learned all the books of the Old Testament and is totally obsessed with reciting them.  It's a touch annoying but awesome at the same time.  I still get twisted up on the minor prophets some times.  Plus there's a lot worse things to be obsessed with than the books of the Bible, and for that I am super proud of him!

Fact:  I've got to go get busy.  These kids aren't going to dress themselves. (or clean this house or finish this food or change that diaper either)

Love you like 24 pounds of beef,
.......Whew!  I wish I had a dollar for every time I've heard that line in the past four days.  I would definately have enough money to go get mexican, order a real drink and not just water, and even get a large cheese dip.  ('cause that's just the level of cool that I am).  My boys have been pumped - pumped I tell ya' - about halloween.  Not so much the costume part, but hard core the candy-gettin' part.  Hard-core.  Well, I take that back.  My little OCD Turnanator has been unexcited about the costume.  Super G, on the other hand, who for some reason is high drama (I still have no idea where he gets it) is big much in love with the costume of it all.  And he definitely went all the way this year - costume, hair, hat, face paint - the whole schmere.  

    So because everyone else is doing it, and because there are now four of you that might actually care about my kids and their level of cutieness, here are some pics from this weekend and tonight.
This is my supercute bumblebee, Bumblebee, and a totally kickin' clown tonight. All out for the goods. (and some reeses for their mama that they didn't know they were giving to her)
Again with my same cast of characters, except this was last night at trunk or treat at church and Aaron and I were dressed as bee keepers for obvious reasons. 1. We're dorky and like to dress up 2. D was a bee. Mostly #1.
and speaking of dorky.............I actually thought these were pretty good costumes considering we threw them together in an hour or so. But right as we were getting ready to leave for a party I realized my dessert I was supposed to take was not ready. So guess who got to go into the grocery store dressed like a pirate. I'll give you a hint. It wasn't the tall one. It's a good thing I'm good at being awesome or that would have been embarrassing.
You're going to need a little info on this next picture.  Super G was invited to a birthday party for a boy in his class, and it was to be a "scary" good time.  The instructions said to wear your scariest costume and my boy was upset that he had a clown suit and it wasn't scary at all.  Luckily for him, his mother is bad to the bone (and youtube exists) because it didn't take long to convince him that there is nothing scarier in the world than a seven year old, serial killer clown.  And to prove it...........................
But seriously, I gave birth to him, got him dressed, and did his make-up and he still freaked me out just a tad. Disturbing.
Hope your Halloween was great, and you had a large time either getting or giving the candy!  (and I hope you snuck enough of it that you can remember why Halloween is awesome)

Experiencing Stomach Pains Involved With Excessive Amounts Of Reeses Peanutbutter Cup Intake,
    I'm not going to lie to you - today was fantastically stanky for me.  Note that I did not say stinky, I said stanky.  It was that not good.  The whole day wasn't bad per-say, just the middle of it, but OH MAMA was it bad.  For starters, I woke up this morning at 5:45 when Aaron was leaving for work (because that is a thing I am trying to do these days even though I'm not being very consistent) and I weighed myself first thing.  The next thing I did was desperately try to induce vomitting just to feel better about myself.  It did not work (dang you, you stupid non functioning gag reflex).  So I worked out and died a little bit (dang you stupid Jillian Michaels) then showered (holla!!  yeah, you heard me.  I showered and shaved and acted like a regular person that tries and everything.)  
    Next I did the "get ready for school, feed the kids poptarts in the car, shove them out the door with the car rolling so they don't get a tardy", mom thing, and ran a few errands.  (sidebar - if you run 3 errands and 3 different people are surprised by "how nice you look", you should wash your hair and put on makeup more often).  Then I picked up a friend and we went to the big city (aka - town with more stores than walmart and dollar tree) to buy stuff for our kids' joint birthday party this weekend.  Destruct-o-girl was obviously with us because it was the nanny's day off (and the maid's and the butler's and the cook's), and even thought the first few stores went fine, Sam's was a bad, bad, bad, oh so bad experience.  

    It all started....... a few weeks ago when Aaron took the kids in Walmart and let Destruct-o-girl ride in the back of the buggy, and now she thinks that is the only place she can ride.  The problem is that she cannot quite remember to sit down and I forsee her flipping out, falling on her head, cracking her skull, and having permanent brain damage if this behavior continues.  So, because the buggies at Sam's are wide and shallow, and because I love her, and because I am the boss and she has to mind me - I tried to make my daughter sit in the baby seat all buckled in and polite.  Fail.  Epic, fantastic, cataclismic fail.  Lets just say that there was screaming and wailing and gnashing of teeth and potato chip throwing, and climbing, and more screaming, and hair pulling, and drooling, and panic, and strangers staring and passing judgements, and trips to the bathroom, and balloons, and hiding behind displays so others couldn't see the discipline, and coke icees, and even more screaming the.entire.time we were in the store.  After a good 30 minutes and comments from more than 10 strangers, it was all I could take and I found myself crying in the frozen foods section.

    Did you hear what I said?  I literally cried in the frozen foods section of Sam's Club.

    I cried because my daughter's determination to stand up almost beat my determination to make her sit her tiny hiney down and mind, and it was embarrassing, and awful, and loud, and horrible.  Plus I'm pretty sure someone took my picture on their camera phone and called social services.  I don't blame them.  And I cried because I have some migrane issues and was already feeling not so great, and that whole episode put me into full blown migrane pain, spots, and nausea.  Does it sound like I am whining here?  Because I totally, totally am.  But luckily I have wonderful friends who got me good medicine fast, picked up my kids, and rescheduled my boys' haircuts so I could nap and feel better.  I just love their faces off.  And finally, I cried because what kind of mother can't make their about-to-be two-year-old just shut up for pete's sake?!  This kind apparently.

    After some meds and some dry heaving in the parking lot of my pharmacy (too much?  sorry.  I told you my day stanked it up) and some sleep I felt a lot better and carried on with my day like a semi normal person (as normal as I can be anyway).  But the middle of my day was rough.  The kind of day that makes you rethink what your doing with your life and where it all went wrong.  However, there is always the chance that tomorrow will be better.  Maybe I won't have to leave my house at all, or get dressed, or take my daughter out in public.  Maybe migrane medicine increases metabolism.  Maybe I will come into a windfall of large sums of money.  Maybe I will put away the laundry on the end of my bed.  There's always hope I guess.

    So to all of you that just read this post and wonder what it has to do with anything - I guess the answer is - welp - nothing.  Just be glad you weren't in Sam's today with a demon posessed toddler and a headache.  The end.

Love you like drinking a giant coke icee and buying in bulk in peace,

P.S. - thanks a ton for all the recipes!  I appreciate them and are writing them down in my "good ideas for a crowd" files!  Y'all are great to me!

P.P.S - I just accidentally found an email accout that I didn't really realized I had (don't ask me how - just believe me when I say it happened), so if you have ever sent me a message in the history of this blog and I haven't responded - then I am so so sorry.  I am a technological dufus.  That is my only excuse.  I still love you though.  Keep reading and commenting and I will respond as soon as I become smart enough to figure the whole thing out. 

1. .......and I like to make lists.  Even ones that make no sense and have no theme.

2. So I had to call poison control today.  For the fourth time.  I'm just saying, this is no indication of my parenting, just my children's level of curiosity and apparent hunger.

3. Destruct-o-girl painted her feet, her hands, her arms, her clothes, my bathroom, my closet carpet, and her tongue with Sally Hanson Clear Hard-As-Nails Topcoat Polish today.  (please see status above)

4. Super G once ate deoderant.  And wallpaper stripper.  And roach spray.

5. Bless his precious little heart, Turnanator has never eaten any poison.  He is currently, at this second, my favorite child.

6. Over the past seven days there has been quite a large amount of fever and snot pass through this house.  I'm not sure why you need to know that but you do.

7. I decided tonight while fixing my kids' dinner plates, that peaches are one of the most revolting smells on this planet.  Seriously, I would rather smell the inside of Aaron's work shoes than smell a peach.  Gag-a-maggot.

8.  Do you remember the whole, "I bought a composter" phase of my life I went through?  Speaking of gag-a-maggot, apparently I am doing lots of stuff wrong.

9. Why will my hair not do all the cute, messy-bun things that are so popular right now?  Why am I hair inept?  Why won't it poof on top?  Why can't my bangs look like Carrie Underwoods?  Why do I seem to be the only person on earth who can't even properly install a bumpit to my crown?  Why do I own a bumpit?  And where exactly is my crown?

10.  Do any of you other stay-at-home mothers notice that on the rare occasions you get out without your kids, you cannot shut up?  It's like you need every word to make it to your next conversation with adults.  Let me just apologize in advance to any of you poor suckers that run into me on a Saturday in the Wal-mart.

11. Can I just say that I love my husband more than anything, but I find it amazing that he can run whole departments of a major vehicle manufacturing facility, dealing with budgets of millions and millions of dollars, and yet he cannot pick out matching clothes for our children.  It blows my mind every time.  However, I must confess that secretely down-deep, I kind-of like it that it's one more thing that only I can do. 

12.  When redoing your children's rooms, turns out, the best type of bunk bed is almost always a free one.  Shout out to D.K. for being awesome and paying it forward.  The budget nazi thanks you.  Big time.

13. If you are not watching The Sing-Off, there is something fundamentally wrong with you ability to judge what is awesome.  

14. Take two graham cracker crusts.  Put a shallow layer of caramel in both of them (dip, topping, whatever).  Mix a tub of whipped cream cheese and a can of sweetend condensed milk until blended.  Stir in a tub of cool whip.  Pour the mix evenly into the two crusts.  Drizzle with more caramel.  Freeze.  Eat.  The whole pie.  In one sitting out of the pan with a fork with your husband.  Moan about how your pants don't fit.  Eat more pie tomorrow.  Thank me. 

1. is seriously cute
2. has crazy hair
3. dumped potatoe soup all over herself, my counter, and my upholstered chair while we got ready for a party
4. has started spitting every time she gets angry
5. is testing my patience in ways I never thought possible
6. spent the boys' entire soccer practice either standing in the middle of the team or screaming in my arms
7. dumped almost an entire, large, 32 oz. bag of cheese on the counter yesterday
8. pretends to be asleep any time she doesn't feel like talking to somebody
9. ate slimy carrots out of the basket of rotten produce going to the compost bin
10. apparently has no taste buds
11. grabs my face with both hands and gives me kisses
12. does and says absolutely nothing on command
13. loves her brothers
14. pitched a huge screaming fit while eating lunch with her brother today at school.  Like - we had to leave...
15. loves to wear her twinkle toes and stomp her feet to show people how they light up
16. makes me pine for bedtime by 4:00 in the afternoon every day
17. steals my heart again every.single.morning
18. got herself ready for church this Sunday while I was helping the boys
Yep, that's my lipstick. Needless to say, she and I were late for Sunday school and my kitchen needed a little janitorial work.
    What I am about to tell you is the most NOT groundbreaking piece of information ever.  It's amazing how obvious it's going to be.  Like...duh.  Duh haruh even.  (do you remember that?  did anyone else say that in the '80's or was it just me and my weirdo friends?  I digress)  I am about to tell you the very reason why my children and I had such a completely lovely and pretty-much stress free afternoon.  

    I just chilled out - remained calm - didn't let stuff get to me - drank whiskey.  

    (Ha!  I totally kid about that last one, but Aaron totally did acuse me of becoming an afternoon nipper when he heard about how relaxed I was all day.)

    Today was basically a typical day with Destruct-o-girl.  I woke her up this morning so we could take her brothers to school, she destroyed everything she touched until her nap time, she napped and my heart sang out praises for the blessed time of peace, she woke up earlier than I hoped and I cried a little, then she destroyed everything she touched until we went to pick up her brothers from art lessons.  Then we played outside and had a marvelous, lovely time (while I took a zillion pictures), I made her go in so brothers could do homework, she layed in the floor by the back door clawing and screaming "side! side!" for 47 minutes, she dumped half a box of cinnamon toast crunch in the floor, she spilled milk all in her hair, she got cheetos all over the iPad, she got a bath and 7 million kisses, and finally she and her pig went to bed.

    Same goes for the boys having a typical day.  I drug them out of bed for school, they complained the whole morning, I dropped them off, picked them up from their after school art lesson, Turnanator immediately started crying about having to do homework, Super-G disappeared the second we got home, we played outside and took photos a while, then we sat down for homework.  Neither wanted to do anything but they did it anyway, then Super-G had to practice for piano tomorrow.  He would rather have watched tv.  Turnanator didn't want to eat supper, no one wanted to bathe (wonder where they get that?), and even though they could barely hold their eyes open every time they got still, no one was tired.  All of this happened, btw, before Daddy got home tonight because he had to go out to eat with some Japanese visitors.

    And even thought all of that happened, and lots of people cried, and several fits were pitched - I remained calm.  And you know what?  It didn't take long and my offspring became calm too.  I'm sorry I'm even writing about this.  I know it seems so simple and dumb at the same time, but for me it feels like some kind of revelation.  I, as anyone who knows me knows, am not a calm person.  I'm not a germaphobe or a run-to-the-doctor-over-every-little-thing person, but I am a get stressed out and have a come-apart person.  I yell.  A lot actually.  And apparently I get some type of satisfaction from getting worked up over some of the most useless bits of life.  "Why do you have on tall socks with shorts son?!  How many times do I have to tell you to wear the ankle socks with shorts?!  Daughter!  Where is your hairbow?  Quit wiping your nose on your shirt kid!!  Husband!  How is it possible that you can dress yourself but are totally incapable of dressing our kids in things that match?!  Why are these shoes in my living room?!!!!!"  Do you see what I'm saying?  None of that matters one iota in real life, so you oughta' see me go when it's over stuff that matters.  Like my first grader's inability to read the word "does" over and over again in his take home reader.  I'm a psycho.  

    So today, for no particular reason at all, I decided I was going to work very extra super hard at controlling my emotions, not getting stressed out, and not raising my voice.  And guess what - homework went so much better than normal.  We had fun outside.  Everyone got to watch a few minutes of tv and was still in bed at a decent time.  And I didn't spend the rest of tonight feeling like I wanted to kill somone (and taking it out on poor Aaron who usually bears the brunt of my "crazy-lady").  Guess what else.  Super-G never did really master his piano this week, there are still dishes piled in my sink and laundry piled in my room, and I have yet to wipe the cheeto off the iPad.  Turns out, if all that doesn't happen tonight life will go on anyway.  

    While I'm sure that 98% of you make this a regular practice and aren't crazy nut-job mothers anyway, I just needed to put this on my blog tonight, even if it's boring.  I needed to have this written down so on the days that I am screaming about the fact that it's inappropriate to put food in your princess potty and shoes in your bed sheets, I can remember the day that I chilled out and it had such a profound affect.  So to the 2% of you that are wing-dings like me, let's hold each other accountable to be better moms that yell less and eat less junk food out of frustration and have less pounding headaches.  Let's be calm, and chilled, and hopefully not secretly drinking all afternoon.

Love you almost as much as my afternoon with my babies,