Time to puullll ovah

You know you have reached the heights of road-trip-punchiness when you can weave an absurd scenario after seeing a road sign.

The sign said Appleseed Drama {as in Johnny Appleseed...who knew?}::

{edited, for JN...and whoever else didn't understand my hilarity: imagine, if you will, two apples on a Jerry Springer-esque set}

"Oh no you di'int! You didn't just touch my man's core." 

OR

 "That is not my blossom. 
Go ahead, I'll take your stupid pollen test."

C'mon, it's fun! Leave your drama in the comments.

Giggle, snort....

Tucking the babes in tonight and recalling the evening at another VBS, we had this convo::



Bug: There was a new kid in my class, named Austin*. On his nametag under his name it said Nuts.


Me: Why do you think it said that?




Bug: 'Cuz I think he's gone nuts.




{*Of course, sillies, I changed the allergy-prone whack-a-doo's name to protect the innocent.}

Soft him

Since ya asked


 (no, not really...no one asked...)


and because it's been about 2 weeks

since the last utterly embarrassing post, here's another:

Bug had a friend sleep over recently.

This 6yo friend is a riot...keeps us all in stitches

...and awake...grrrr.

Sweet Man recalls waking up the morning after...

...surrounded by little voices in conversation. 

Eyes closed, he felt a little person

climb into bed with him.

Bean: You can touch him if you want to. He's real soft.

Bug: Yeah, yeah...he's real soft right here (touching his bear-y chest hair-i-ness.)

Bean: You really can, you wanna?

Riot boy:  He's not my dad. I only touch my dad. I'm not gonna touch him.

With one eye open, Sweet Man pointed at our guest and said, "That's a real good answer."

No pics of the moment...maybe next time. Sweet Man would love that...a chest hair pic floating around in perpetuity.


P.S. We don't have a kid-directed household, but they have changed our vocabulary. When Bean was little(r) she would offer up a snuggly stuffed animal and say, "You can soft (pet) him, if you want to." Hence the phrase.

Don't come a-knockin'

This post is PG: parental guidance...proceed with caution, you parents:

This means you, Dad, parents-in-law, friends of my Momma's, mommas of my friends, friends of Daddy-O's, friends of friends...basically anyone who might be uncomfortable with the fact that my husband and I may have had the sex....

I'm not saying we have...but you know, maybe..we have...

well, you may want to stop reading. right. now. 

The following has to do with what our children may have thought they saw.

Sweet Man and I were in our room with the door locked. Mind you, we were not. doing. anything. Justwannamakethatclear. 

Knock, knock, knock.

SM: Who is it?
Bug: It's Bug. What are you doing in there?
Me: We're talking. We need some privacy.
Bug: Why? What are you doing in there?
SM: What do you need, Bug?
Bug: What are you doing?
SM: Why did you come up? What do you need?
Bug: Can I have a licorice?
Both of us: Yes!

Pitter patter, pitter patter...fading footsteps.

Smaller footsteps growing louder...pitter patter, pitter patter.

Knock, knock.

Bean: Mom, are you in there?
Me: Yes, what do you need?
Bean: Are you naked?

SM: What do you want?

Bean: Can I have a lish-o-rick?

Both of us: Yes!

Bean: What are you doing in there?
SM: We're talking. We need some privacy.

yelling downstairs to Bug, she hollers: They told me the same thing...but they're naked and under the covers.

Editor's note: Now, who're you gonna believe? 
A four year old or me? 

Don't answer that...we must never speak of it again. I know...I am sooo seventh grade....

nobody's perfect

bean has an issue...

with, ahem...halitosis

bug just asked her to put her breath somewhere else....

most mornings, sweet daddy calls her kitten breath...

as in, how many kittens have you eaten?

Nightmare before Christmas

Playing in the snow, pot of soup on the stove and cookies in the oven, reading Little House Christmas stories, talking about our Lord and Savior as a precious baby, decorating a gingerbread house....

...sounds idyllic...

...except for the 42 times I yelled....

Somehow, all requests of mine were unheard, ignored, or inspired the antithesis. Today we were a case study in mutiny and exasperation...and codependency.  A current rant in my repertoire is "You have no idea how good your life is...get. a. grip." I need to try a different tack 'cause it ain't working.

I am wrapping presents whilst the hoodlums sleep. Bring on the cafe au Bailey's...it's been a long day. Ho, ho, ho.

Can you think of a good caption for this picture? Those snowpeople are downright de-ranged....
Fitting, really.

Foxy

The following is Bug's CD playing/amateur DJ protocol:

Step 1: Open fresh CD...no, don't ask a parent...it just complicates things.

Step 2: Open player...yes, been told not to...but...see step 1.

Step 3: Sit right next to the CD player, remote in hand (even though he is close enough to have his curls caught in the spinny thingy,) and listen to it in its entirety....exactly once.

Step 4: Push buttons...randomly.

Step 5: Choose 2 or 3 favorite tracks.

Step 6: Repeat...over and over, partial song or the whole thing...and over...No,don't ask anyone if they like what is playing...just keep playing it...until bleary-eyed-and-out-of-her-gourd momma squawks and snatches remote out of hand.

Step 7: Snicker as frazzled momma walks away.

Step 8: Wait a courteous 15 minutes...return to the player and begin again.

The boy loves music. So, today, it's Track 19 from the Fantastic Mr. Fox soundtrack. (Click on Preview.) (Bug's got a look in his eye and he's challenging each of us to an underwear wrestle.)

Forgot to tell you in my recent fog...we saw this movie as a family last week. It is PG...so go here and get the particulars. It is indeed fantastic, as is the music...so now we listen. Repeatedly.

Seriously  ~ over Christmas break, scrape enough together for matinee tickets, bundle everyone up and go see it. Then enjoy a delicious chicken dinner.

Colors in front of our eyes

Check another first off the list...write it in the baby book...another milestone for my babes. And get your phone handy...you're gonna want to contact that elusive group who chooses Mother of the Year.

My children fainted today. What??

Because of me....

I owe you a little backstory.

I feel like my body and my mind are both falling apart. I have strange symptoms flaring up in both. Some old and some brand new. I am so tired, but can't seem to get a good night's sleep. I ache inside and out. I am tender all over. I've gained 10 pounds since the end of August...always a tender area for me and truly I can't figure out why. Well, maybe I can figure it out, but I'm hoping my doctor can give me an answer to get me quickly to the other side of this.

So, I had an appointment yesterday and she ordered some blood work at the hospital lab. We went this morning before I had broken my night fast, actually the kids hadn't eaten much either...and so begins the adventure.

I've always been a little squeamish about the act of drawing blood. In high school, we made microscope slides to type our own blood...I almost fainted. And then there was the story I've shared before about listening to story about a girl stepping on a needle. It was Lent, I was fasting....and down I went. (Hey, that rhymes.)

Cleaning a wound (other than on the foot,) watching a surgery on TV, or supporting a birthing momma do not trigger any physical reaction in me. I'm cool there. Not even the prick of the needle bothers me.

It's the swirling of the blood cells...gulp.

Flash-forward to today: I explained to the kids what was going to happen once I sat in that chair with cool swingy arms and told them that it wasn't going to hurt me, but I wasn't going to watch. They could watch if they wanted, because it is actually a cool thing that God designed our hearts to pump and move the blood around...yada, yada. Okay, all was well....

She pricked me and I started to say something about..."See, guys, that didn't even hurt much. I don't know why I get queasy when I give blood."

Phlebotomist: "Oh, you get queasy....maybe next time we'll put you room #1 where you are reclined and your feet are up. Are you doing okay? Honey, just keep talking...." Circling the drain...tornado in my ears, narrowing vision, power down, oh no....

Someone must have helped me to the floor...I woke up and I heard, "We've got three down. Mom and 2 kids."

Yup....all three...I wish I could share the details, but I wasn't there...really. Apparently, before I got to the floor, someone took the kids out into the hall and had them sit. Bug thought he might throw up but swallowed it down. Then he thought he was "blond" (blind.) Bean said she saw colors in front of her eyes and wanted to go to sleep.

They wouldn't let me up to see the kids for a few minutes, but I could hear them talking. They knew where they were and that I was inside the room. Someone asked me if the kids were always that pale. Uhhh, yeah, I think. And the sweet phlebotomist, said, "Wow, your kids are really connected to you." Yikes, is that a good thing?

The response to the "Code" was impressive...about 8 people were hovering around with apple juice and cold compresses. And incident reports.

Yeah, so that event has been experienced...didn't have my camera with me, though...no scrapbook page.

A good catch

We were at dinner tonight with long friends, the Baileys. (I don't refer to anyone as "old," duh...

and I'm pretty sure I'm older than at least one of them.)

 So good to see them.

Bug was not his charming self at all and fell asleep at the table. Bring on the Airborne.

But here is a snippet snapshot of conversation:

Mrs. Bailey, asking about the fishing trip this morning, remarking how cold and rainy it was:

"Did you catch p-monia?"

Bean: "I catched 2 fish."

An exercise in futility

You may be about to know more about me than you want to...

transparency, right?

I exercise.

Shocker.

Imagine how volumptuous I'd be if I didn't.

Well, I imagine it; you don't have to.

I'm fairly dedicated to the pursuit of fitness.

And to the pursuit of varying amuse-bouches.

The latter to reward the former.

My mind is twisted, I tell ya.

The amuse-bouche du jour is good bread, feta cheese, and pesto.

Or Jenni's candy corn "trail mix."

Or a Honeycrisp apple.

Or the oatmeal raisin cookies from the W-mart bakery...

I know! That was a surprise.

It's that day-old rack...it gets me almost every time.

Oh, right...exercise.

But I do enjoy walking, aerobics, biking, even running (albeit slowly,) etc.

 I really like the Wii Fit.

It don't lie.

Since my body has accommodated two beautiful, rascally, considerably-sized babes

and delivered them into the world...

I have noticed some changes in my anatomy.

And its capacities.

I must choose my mode of exercise wisely.

And how vigorously I propel myself,

or laugh....

(So if you think I don't find you raucously funny...

I may be holding back, refraining from expressing it

 on your upholstered furniture.


Or maybe you aren't terribly funny. That is a possiblity.)

Perhaps you know what I'm talking about.

Perhaps not.

Sweet Man suggests I take up swimming for fitness...
and stop fighting it.

Rest stop

I'm writing from a hotel room on the edge of Louisville, Kentucky. We are a mere four hours from Central Ohio - piece of cake drive tomorrow. Last night's stay at a Knights Inn was rough to say the least. Several lights didn't work, the fridge didn't work, the neighbors were rowdy, and I swear someone knocked on my door at 5:39am. Bean wanted to take a bath, but I determined that she was already much cleaner than the tub, so nope. This night, I will sleep. Well.

But I digress. 

I could probably start a new blog dedicated to the searching out and use of the public bathroom. Life on the road in unknown territory has developed this new keen gypsymomma sense.  I like to imagine myself, standing astride a bathroom entrance, feet firm and fists on hips as I scan (like the Terminator) for sink, soap/sanitizer, good lighting, and toilet paper (y'all know - one oversight is all it takes.) And I can quickly determine if Bean will be able to reach the sink by herself, have to be lifted on a knee, or need a hoist up onto the counter to wash her hands.

My growing-up Bug presents a new challenge. He has become annoyed by having to go into the women's room: partly because Bean sees the women's symbol and declares "this one is for the princesses!" and partly because older women still declare "look at the hair!" and tousle him. Yea, he's pretty much over going into the women's room. Which begs the question: when do I let him go into the men's room by himself? Not yet, I hope.

The worst is when we have found a fantastic playground, but alas, the restrooms are locked up for the season -b.u.m.m.e.r.

The best is discovering the "family" restrooms - aaaahhhhh - privacy....well, at least from strangers. 

So, we have found some rotten bathrooms and been pleasantly surprised by others. The following are the best from our recent travels:

 

Joe's Crab Shack, Kemah, TX: Clean with colorful, handmade wall mosaics of various sea creatures - the three of us had to peek into each stall to discover all the different ones

McDonald's Playland, Grenada, MS : restroom located in the playland area - so we don't have to scurry and get 2 pairs of shoes on to dash through the restaurant to restrooms when Bean shouts "Mo-om, I gotta go potty!"

Any SuperTarget, TX: They each have a shorter sink, lower soap dispenser, and towel roll for shorter people - no hoisting! They're usually very clean, too.

Space Center Houston, TX: small white tile, very clean, great lighting, very cool entry with oval shaped vestibule with flat wall in middle to shield ladies from outside eyes, plenty of stalls and the handiest stainless steel stepstools that fold out from under the sink for short ones. Leave it to NASA.

Memorial City Mall: Large, newly renovated, "family" restroom, all tile - the best part - one big potty and one cute little short potty

Sidenote: I have also discovered a new phenomenon in the south - charming rest area/visitor centers. Very different from the cement and stainless steel rest areas of the north - you know, the ones that make you gasp when you sit on the cold potty seat. 

The first one is in Beaumont, TX on I-10 East - brand new building, immaculate bathroom, volunteer staff who made up "goody bags" with water bottles, stickers and mints for Bug and Bean while we used the facilities, cup of coffee for me 

Another one we found is just inside Mississippi on the Louisiana state line on I-45. Think Cracker Barrel: rough-hewn log construction and fireplaces flanked with leather furniture, rocking chairs and too many tapestry throws and pillows. The staff again charmed my kids and offered them Sprites and chatted with me. 

Of course, the best potty trips are the ones escorted by Sweet Daddy or a grandparent.

Traumatized?

Before this new traveling adventure, we sold or gave away most of our worldly possessions - do you think it affected my babes? At this very moment, Bean is writing on post-it notes and sticking them to things around the hotel room. 

"This one says, 'No chairs selled away.'"

"This one say, 'This table not selled away.'"

Other phrases uttered by her today:

"Can I give this Shortcake nightgown dress away?" and "Momma, is this pony gonna be selled away?"

On motherhood

I feel like I may be catching something and have been trying to head it off at the pass, 'cuz who has time to be sick? I mixed up a little immunity drink,took a gulp, and put it on the coffee table. About 20 minutes later, I saw the cherry red mustaches on my babes. We'll either all be sick or all just fine, I guess.

Conversations in the Car

We’re in the car a lot these days . And we have some memorable conversations. Today, Bean asked about birthdays which caused me to sigh because I anticipated some of the following conversation. God’s funny – He timed it all just right – Christmas/Jesus’ birthday, then 3 weeks later, Bean’s day, then 3 weeks later, Bug’s birthday. Those last three weeks become a bit unbearable with all the focus on presents and parties. Bug gets up each morning alert and looking for the sure sign that it is someone’s birthday – balloons. And he describes ad nauseum which cake and balloons he expects – ugh. Is God teaching Bug or me to be patient?

So the consummate big brother explains it to Bean often this time of year. “Now first (insert tongue cluck)....it’s Jesus’ birthday and then it’s your birthday and then….it’s my birthday.”

Well, she asked one god to “do” her birthday and a different god to "do" his birthday. And an explanation of the Trinity ensued – there is one God. He is so big and so great that we can call Him many different names. But yes, Jesus is Lord and he was the God who was a baby and grew up and died on the cross and now He’s everywhere, in believers’ hearts, and in heaven. Clear, right? To any preschool or fully-developed mind? To that she insisted, “God wants Ariel balloons for my birthday.”