Tuesday, November 29, 2016

For The Record: Three Years Old

Took The Tater for his three-year-old check up yesterday.  Here are his stats:

Height:  41 inches
Weight:  37 pounds (or at least roughly that. He freaked out when I made him take off his shoes and then refused to stand up on the scale, so I just sat him there instead)

The doctor wanted to know how many servings of vegetables he eats in any given day and I was all like, "He's had at least two servings of vegetables this year, so I'm calling that a win."

She also wanted to know why he hasn't gained any weight in the past six months.  Um...because he only eats one meal a day (and we never know which one it will be or how much he'll eat) and the rest of the time, he subsists on goldfish crackers and dirt.

He is in the 95th percentile in both height and weight, just as his sister is/was.

We raise them big.  Like prize winning steers.

I Think I'll Try This.

I'm one of those people who really likes to do a lot of stuff.

Or maybe I should say that I like to try a lot of stuff.

My biggest problem in this is that I'm not really sure there's anything I'm truly good at.  You know, a jack of all trades, but a king of none.

Like, I can kind of sew.  I can kind of crochet.  I can kind of rollerblade.  I can kind of ride a bike.  I was going to say that I can kind of run, but recently, that's become a lie.  Can I count reading as a talent?  Yeah, I didn't think so.

Another problem:  I kind of never think I'll be able to do stuff, so I don't dare try it.

For instance, I wanted to major in something more difficult in college, but decided not to because I didn't think I was smart enough.  And now, I see people who are in that same field and they're idiots and I think, "If they're smart enough, surely I'm smart enough, too."

Anyway, three months ago when I started going to my new gym, the owner asked if I'd ever done any power lifting. His whole family lifts heavy stuff.  And he trains other people to lift heavy stuff.  And they go to like meets and stuff.

Um, yeah, NO.

I thought that maybe I might try it one day and then about two weeks later, found out I was pregnant, and put it on the back burner.

Then today as I was squatting (and almost dying), the people-who-lift-heavy-stuff were dead lifting right behind me and I thought, "Surely I could do at least what they're doing."

So, I opened my big, fat mouth, and was all like, "Hey, do you mind if I watch you to kind of get the form down?"

Can opened.  Worms everywhere.

Because apparently you don't just watch to get the form down.

No, sir, they load up the bar and you try leg width and grip and toe placement and shin placement and weight maximums.  And then they tell people to come over and watch you to see what you can do.

And get this.  They gave me chalk for my hands and a weight belt.  Legit.

And you get down there and try to remember everything they've told you and just pray to God that you don't spontaneously urinate all over the mat (that's a real fear).

And then everyone is giving you pointers and you're all like, "Listen, I can only remember like two things at a time, so I'm going to have to incorporate your suggestion next time."

I mean, who knew there were that many things I'd have to remember?  Pick up the weight and stand up, right?

Easy.

Nope.

It's like this choreographed dance.  Now, we all know what an amazing dancer I am, but hot damn, it's harder than it looks.

Anyway, I figure I'll give it a try for a minute.

But only because I've recent found out that you have to be at least six feet tall to be on a rowing team.

Sunday, November 20, 2016

Child of God

The Tater is a very shy little booger.

He's not overly fond of anyone except his mother.  Not even his father.  Sometimes his sister if she has candy.

In public, he generally sticks pretty close to me and if anyone even dares to ask him how he's doing, he almost cries and if not that, certainly buries his head right in my crotch, which is kind of a feat in and of itself because he's taller than that now, so he really has to try.

And, unless you're me, don't try to touch him.  There are two ladies at church who always try to pet his head or get them to give them a high five and it is always a problem.

I mean, he does warm up to people eventually - and there are at least two people I can think of that he just digs unexplainably.  Like the old dude who works at the grocery store who only has one tooth.  Tater thinks he's a kindred spirit for some reason and seizes every opportunity to tell him everything he's been holding back.

Which is why what he does during sacrament meeting absolutely shocking.

The Tater knows exactly one song - I Am A Child of God.  And "know" is pretty generous considering he doesn't actually sing words,  just the sounds he hears.

I always ask him to sing it for me, and almost always, he declines.

But today.  Today, the opening song in sacrament meeting was I Am A Child of God.

And The Tater sat straight up on his seat and sang as much as he knew as loud as he could.

And I sat and cried and cried.

Because he may not know what it means or even the words he's singing, but it reminded me how amazing kids are.  And sweet.  And innocent.

And how God sees us all that way.  And loves us despite our faults.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Bunch Of Cheaters

Here's the thing:  people who are already thin and beautiful should be banned, by law, from owning or wearing Spanx.

Because that's just cheating.

It's like you're taking away chubby people's advantage.

How else are we supposed to get an edge unless we are able to appear as thin as chub-lump free as you already do?

It would be like me stuffing my bra.


Friday, November 11, 2016

That Costs Money, You Know

I despise spending money on adult-ish things.

Like toilet paper.  And tires for my car.  But most especially for electricity.

I guess it's because I can't really see it, so it's like it's not there, so why should I have to pay for it?

Unfortunately, I also live in a place where we literally run the air conditioner daily for nine to ten months out of the year.  You know what costs $900 million?  Running the air conditioning for nine to ten months out of the year.

When we moved into our house, Husband made me start keeping the controller on 74 where we'd been keeping our apartment at 70.  The awesomest thing is that we moved right at the beginning of the summer, so I literally felt like I was melting.  Because on top of living in a hot, humid climate, I also sweat like a man.  I might have mentioned it before.  Seventy-three times.  I am always hot.

However, even at 74 degrees, electricity costs $900 million.

On top of that, we also have children.

And do you know what having children means?

Doors left open.  Lovely, cold air escaping.  Hot, choke-you-to-death air entering.

Lights left on.  In every room.  All the time.

Do you know how much time I spend walking around my house turning off lights?  At least half my waking moments.

I talk myself silly daily reminding everyone (Husband included) that if we are not in a room, the light does not need to be on.  And the reply is always the same, "Ok, I'll be more careful."

But are they more careful?  Nope.

I came home from a rare evening spent at the church last night to find every light in the house on.  Every. Single. One.

No one was downstairs.  They were all upstairs.

That was about two hours after I'd informed Husband of how much our electric bill was last month and he said, "Oh, we gotta find a way to get that down!"

I almost lost it.  Like hysteria.

TURN OFF THE FREAKING LIGHTS.

And don't even get me started on them leaving flashlights that are left on on the floor and walking away.

I just...can't.

Monday, November 07, 2016

Pukeasaurus Rex

If The Kid were a dinosaur, she'd be a Pukasaurus Rex.

While other people's kids get things like ear infections, fevers, and strep throat, my kid hurls.

A lot.

She pukes when she's mad, sad, happy, scared, sick, tired, and just about any other occasion you can think of, too.

She doesn't have to be the least bit ill to throw up.

At least once every couple of weeks she wakes me up in the middle of the night to tell me she's thrown up in the bed.

And even better is the fact that on these nights, it seems like she's made herself a veritable nest of blankets, pillows, sleeping bags, extra clothes, and stuffed animals, so clean up is never a simple thing.  It is hours and hours of laundry, bed making, refolding, and resorting.

Sometimes, like last night, her little brother, who insists on sleeping in the same bed as someone (anyone, really, he's not picky), gets the royal treatment as well.  If throw up could ever be considered a skin restorative, he's the luckiest kid on earth.

So, at 1:30 am, here are two little vomit covered demons by the side of my bed, both crying like the world is going to end, wanting to be bathed with this soap, not that soap.

By the time I had everything stripped down, both kids washed and back in bed (there was a second incident, followed by required shushing and putting-back-to-bed-ness at least three times), it was almost 4.

And Husband?  Sleeps right through the entire thing.  When I come back in my next life, I want to sleep like a man.

But the real trick here is getting through the entire next day.  It is currently 11:40.  I've been up for good since before 6.  The only thing I've actually accomplished is staring blankly at the walls in between loads of laundry.  When husband left for work he tried to prepare me by reminding me that "if I act enthusiastic, I'll be enthusiastic".

I almost punched him in the throat and said, "Enthusiastic THIS."


Friday, November 04, 2016

Micro Greens

I super dig watching cooking shows.

Like Top Chef.  And Pioneer Woman.  And Trisha Yearwood.

But I'm sorry, not Ina Garten because she seems all uppity.  Mostly because she has to use proper measuring cups and none of the others do, they just throw stuff in and create deliciousness.  PS  You know who else has to cook with specific measuring devices?  Me.

However, there is one cooking trend that I just cannot get on board with.

Microgreens.  Micro greens.  Micro-greens.  See, I don't even know how to spell it properly because it shouldn't be a thing.

Every time I see a chef using micro greens, I can only think one thing, "Are you being serious right now?"

Do you know what micro greens are?  Dandelions and water cress.

Water cress and dandelions.

We used to have water cress growing in all of the creeks around our house (and if you know what's good for you, you'll pronounce that "crick", the way God intended) and we used to pick it so we could pluck the tiny snails out of the roots and put them in bottles until they died and stank and Mom made us throw them out.

To be clear, we didn't mean to have dead, stinky snails, we meant to have live, super fun snails that lived in glass bottles for our entertainment.

Clue:  snails are neither fun nor entertaining, even alive.

And dandelion greens are weeds.  Weeds, people.

My mom always had grand visions of having a lawn without dandelions and one year she even sprayed for dandelions and then ended up with dead patches of grass instead, so she decided she preferred the dandelions.

Plus, there really is nothing more charming than a small baby handing you a dandelion like it's the most precious, beautiful gift in the world.  Because then, it totally is.

Just don't make me pay $15 for a salad that includes the greens.

Because that's not food.


Thursday, November 03, 2016

Pruning

We bought a house that came with bushes.

Like seventy-five katrillion on them.  Spell check says "katrillion" is not a word, but I totally know it is.

And that's how many bushes we have.

They literally surround our entire property, two-deep.

I have a hate/hate relationship with them.  Because right now, they're in their eleven-year-old girl stage of growth.

And we all know how awkward that is.

Don't even get me started on how much I despise trying to mow in between all of them (and if you really want to start something, ask me about how desirous it is to weed eat in between them instead).  I come out covered in these giant red ants and sometimes, if I'm super lucky, I'll come out covered in their smaller cousins and be bitten to death.  It makes me so mad I could just spit.

I got it into my head today that I was going to prune those bushes into beauty.

Problem:  I don't actually know how to prune anything.  This is also why you should never ask me to cut your hair.  Or your beard.  But your back hair, now I can work wonders with that and you'll let me.

I stride confidently and majestically out to the bushes holding the largest pruning shears available at Wal-Mart, and proceed to hack the poor bushes to death.

If they looked like eleven-year-old girls before, they now look like a fifteen-year-old boy's beard - scraggly and patchy and not even remotely attractive.

And then naturally, I think, "I'm just going to go for it and cut them down!  All of them."

The only thing that saves me from acting on that impulse is the fact that I now have to go save The Kid from being poked to death by a stick The Tater procured from the burn pile.

Good call, The Tater.  Good call.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

When It's Gone

Yesterday I was pregnant.

Today I am not.

Monday we went in for the confirmation ultrasound - because for some reason, no one ever believes me when I tell them that I know stuff.  And despite the fact that I knew for an entire week there would be nothing there, I allowed myself just enough hope to not go absolutely crazy.

I may or may not have almost squeezed the ultrasound tech's arm right off before she started.  And then ten seconds later, I went slowly and thoroughly to pieces.  They allowed us to sit in the far part of the waiting room, in order for me not to upset all of the other lusciously pregnant women, I think.

All my crying and shaking scared the living daylights out of Tater.  He kept putting his hand on my heart and saying, "Mama, don't cry.  I fix it.  It be ok."

Yesterday was the D&C.  It was also what would have been my sister's 37th birthday.  And, in my weakened and dramatic state, I kept looking up at heaven and saying, "Happy birthday!  Please take care of my baby."

I mean, it's a baby, right?  Even if the sac was empty?  The first one to contradict me gets it right in the kisser.

D&Cs are really no big deal at all.  You head in, they hook you up, you wait for the doctor for 900 years, they give you some good meds to knock you out, and before you know it, you're in recovery telling everyone what a champion you are, demonstrating loudly on how beautiful your fingernails are, and having side effects from the anesthesia that includes whipping your head wildly from side to side and wondering why on earth no one is stopping it.

They keep telling you to open your eyes and you're all like, "I will open my eyes when I'm damn good and ready, thank you very much.  Maybe you should open YOUR eyes."

Then they roll you off the bed, make you get dressed, and you go home.

And you wonder over and over again why something that took you over 2.5 years to get takes less than 10 minutes to get rid of.  And then you think about those who have elective abortions to get rid of something you so desperately want and you want to throttle them.  Thankfully, I was safely in the car before I started talking loudly about that.

Here I am a day later.  No real physical pain to speak of beyond a somewhat sore back and lower belly ache.  And it might be the truly the only time in my life where I wish for pain of some kind.  Like to validate that there was something there.   I guess it really must be a blessing that no one can see broken hearts.

Husband has the day off and has his trusty tools of food and cleaning myself up to ward off any postpartum depression that might sneak up as the doctor warned it could.  Not on his watch, by God.

He took both kids with him to drop the one off at school and while he was gone, I finally cried just like I wanted to with no fear of upsetting anyone.  There was wailing and I might have thrown something if I didn't already know that if it broke, I'd be the one who'd have to clean it up.

And everyone keeps talking about "next time".  Next time when this happens, remember this.  Next time when this happens, remember that.  NEXT TIME?!  Good gosh, if this happens again, just put me in a straight jacket in a padded room.

And then the thought sneaks into my head....next time, I will hire a nice lady that I don't even know to rub my back, play with my hair, spoon me, and rock me to sleep.

God, that there will be a next time.  But you know, with a baby and stuff.

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Empty

I figure it's safe to write here since not very many people come here anymore.

And there's something I have to write.

Something I have to put down somewhere.

On August 29th, after more than 2.5 years of trying, I found out I was surprisingly and magically pregnant.  Without any kind of medical intervention.  Because see, I'd made a deal with God.  That if I was pregnant before my 38th birthday, we'd roll with it.  But thirty-eight was the absolute cut off.  My birthday is September 3rd.  A bleedin' miracle.

And I've felt absolutely, positively miserable in the weeks since then - upset stomach, extreme fatigue, dizziness, mood swings, food aversions, food cravings.  You name it, I've had it.

Maybe even more miraculous than the fact that I'm pregnant is the fact that I've actually managed to keep it a secret (except for those who absolutely have to know).  I've hidden all of that yuckiness under a smile in public and attempted to pretend that I'm fine, just fine.

I've been literally counting down the days until I could tell people.  I mean, I've already won The World's Worst Secret Keeper at least fourteen times, so this was kind of a big one. I've even already bought my Halloween shirt with the little baby skeleton on my belly and that was how I was going to tell everyone - maybe not original, but in my head, I was so, so clever!

Yesterday I went in for my second appointment with the doctor wherein I'd have an ultrasound to look at the fluid on the baby's spinal cord....that's the best thing about being pregnant at 38, you get to do all of these awesome tests because of your advanced fertility age.  At this point, all medical professionals are apparently just surprised your uterus doesn't fall out any time you move.

Well, you'll never guess what.

They couldn't find a baby.

Like at all.

My 38-year-old uterus contains an empty sac.

What should have been a 10.5 week old fetus is an eight week old sac.

The doctor asked if there's anyway I'd miscalculated my dates.

I'm so regular, you could set your clock by me.

I did not miscalculate.

So, what we have here is what the internet refers to as an "empty" pregnancy or a missed miscarriage (the medical term is "blighted ovum"...and that sounds ten times worse).

Who misses a miscarriage?  Apparently I do.

The doctor sent me home to either spontaneously abort or to come back in one week, do another ultrasound, and if there's still no baby, terminate.

Do you know what it's like to be sent home to wait for a miscarriage?

Do you know what it's like when, with every twinge, tweak, or pain, you run to the bathroom to see if this is it?

Do you know what it's like to literally wait to see if your last chance to have a baby will go down the toilet?

Do you know what it's like to have to explain to your small children that there might not be a baby after all?  And then have your six-year-old want to immediately say a prayer that in one week when you go back they'll be able to "find a body in mommy's belly"?

Do you know what it's like to break down every thirty-two seconds and have your two-year-old say, "Mama, you hurt?  Mama, you sad?  Mama, you stop crying, ok?"

Do you know what it's like to want to do something, anything, and have no control at all?

Do you know what it's like to not know what to do?  Not know how to act?

But most of all, do you know what it's like when the world around you continues to spin and people live their lives and you sit at home with a crushed spirit and a broken heart, wishing that you didn't feel so damned alone?

Tuesday, August 09, 2016

April on Facebook

The Kid was able to attend the zoo this week with her class (praise that she went and I didn't have to go too. I HATE crowds). Her assessment, "Mama, I made sure to see the llamas because I know how much you love them." 
‪#‎PrettySureIDontLoveLlamas‬ ‪#‎LlamaDoesRhymeWithMama‬


The Kid singing Called To Serve:
Me: No, dude, it's, "...as a triumph song we sing".
The Kid: No, it's, "...as we try out for our king". Because we have to try out for his team to make sure we're good enough for Jesus.


The Kid and her class are preparing for Kindergarten graduation, "There's a song about moving on to first grade, but I don't think I'll sing during that one. Because I don't agree with being kicked out of Kindergarten."


Story: The first time I met Husband was after a 16 hour flight from Japan (we'd talked on the phone for three months before that). When I got off the plane, the only thing I could think about was American food - pizza, hot wings, and Tex-Mex with REAL sour cream. Husband hooked me up and before I partook, I may or may not have rubbed my hands together and said, "Prepare to be impressed." We were reminiscing this morning and he said, "Baby, that's the minute you won my heart."  ‪#‎WhatEveryoneWantsInAWife‬‪#‎HeHadMeFromHello‬ ‪#‎NoReallyHeDid‬ ‪#‎MyNewCountrySong‬‪#‎SheWonMyHeartThroughChickenWingsAndOtherThings‬


The Tater was carrying around a basketball and a soccer ball this morning yelling, "I have two balls!" repeatedly. And, since my sense of humor is apparently that of a 12-year-old boy, I giggled a little. And then The Kid comes in with two giant super balls shoved down the front of her undies and proclaims, "Look! I have two balls, too!" ‪#‎TwoBalls‬ ‪#‎EverybodysGotEm‬


The one time when you're listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir at high volumes in your car and your kid is complaining about it and you realize you're officially as old as your parents were when they (and you...oh, my word, I used to haaaaaaate it) used to do the same thing.


The Kid: You know, zebras are compassionate. They never leave anyone behind.
Me: You know what's not compassionate? Guineas. Aunt Stephanie wants to get some.
The Kid: Maybe she should look into getting a zebra instead.


The Kid: That girl from school is cray-cray.
Me: Baby, don't say that word, it makes you sound like a Kardashian.
The Kid: Is that kind of like Satan?


The Kid: Mama, there's something wrong with this sour cream.
Me: That's not sour cream, it's cottage cheese.
The Kid: Well, you shouldn't buy that again because it's bad.


The good news: The Kid has made a command decision that she is going to be packing her lunch from here on out. The bad news: she will apparently be subsisting on Wheat Thins, Cheez-Its, and yogurt.


Tonight's family home evening lesson. It was followed by a screaming fight over a hunk of Silly Putty, so it I'm going to go ahead and say we totally nailed it. ‪#‎imtryingtobelikejesus‬ ‪#‎jesuswantedsillyputtytoo‬


The joy of water balloons. Except The Tater, who is apparently The Wicked Witch of the East would much prefer if there was only water in the ones he's throwing, not the ones being thrown at him.


Me: Hey, wanna get dressed and go to the gym?
The Tater: Nope, I'm good.


"Mama, if you want to do anything stupid enough that you'll be sent to jail, can you at least wait until I'm 12 and old enough to take care of myself?"
Uh....ok.


The Kid: When are we going to make a pie?
Me: Well, I'm not so good at pies. I've never made a good crust.
The Kid: Well, I bet it's not your fault. The recipe was probably bad.


The Kid helped The Tater trade in his kid's toy at Chick-Fil-A for ice cream, "See how I bought you that whole ice cream, Tate? That's called compassion."


The Kid is learning about continents in school, so I told her some of my travel stories:
The Kid: You've been to Africa AND climbed The Great Wall of China?
Me: Uh-huh.
The Kid: Man, that's a lot of stuff to do. How old are you exactly?


The Kid learned about baptism at church a couple of weeks ago:
The Kid: I can't wait to get baptized!
Me: Who do you want to baptize you?
The Kid: You.
Me: Well, I can't. I don't have the priesthood. Men have the priesthood and what do women get to do?
The Kid: Um.....cook?


Everyone knows my complete destain for snakes. I've just completed a search on how to keep snakes off of your property, with the best suggestion being to build a pig pen under your porch. Yeah. Because that's better. ‪#‎JustKeepTheSnakes‬


My kids don't always have a cough, but when they do, you can bet it'll include coughing so hard they throw up at 2am. Go away, allergy season.


My new favorite thing about CNN is that anyone who comes on the show and speaks for Donald Trump is labeled "Trump Surrogate". Where does one find a surrogate? And more importantly, can I have one? And then when I don't feel like going somewhere, I'll be all like, "I am unable to attend, but I shall send my surrogate." ‪#‎milliondollaridea‬ ‪#‎mynewcompany‬


The Kid: You served your mission in Japan and daddy served in Mississippi.
Me: If you could choose, where would you serve?
The Kid: Sea World!
Me: I don't think they have missionaries at Sea World.
The Kid: Ok, then Bethlehem. And I can get a pet camel.


The Kid hit her head on the car door after church, "DANG IT! If I had the Holy Ghost, he could have warned me that was there!"


The Kid: Mama, your teeth look like a beaver. I hope they don't grow any longer.
Me: Well, that's not very nice.
The Kid: Well, what's more important? Being nice or being honest?


As a Mormon, it seems to me that rather than marrying someone you like, you should endeavor to search for someone you're not so fond of. That way, when they have a super time consuming church responsibility, you can say, "Oh, that's alright. I didn't like having them around much anyway."


We have a cousin staying with us this weekend and let me tell you, The Kid DOES NOT appreciate the talking competition. She may or may not have told him that he needed to "rest his voice" or he'd wear it out. ‪#‎hellopot‬ ‪#‎imkettle‬‪#‎letsbothbeblack‬


The Kid crawled in bed with me this morning as I was watching a clip of Outlander where the women were fawning over the main male character, Jamie Fraser, "Mama, why do all the ladies like that man? It must be because he has that handsome chin." ‪#‎outlander‬ ‪#‎jamiefraser‬‪#‎yesitsdefinitelythechinthatdoesit‬


The Kid when I picked her up from school, "Today in school we talked about General George Washington and I told my teacher that I didn't think he was all that impressive because I already know two other generals: General Wok and Dollar General."


Me: Today is my last day of work.
The Kid: You should get a new job.
Me: But I don't want a new job. I want this one.
The Kid: Well, you don't always get what you want. You get what you get and you don't throw a fit.


When you and Husband have been eating the same diet and you go suit shopping with him and he's gone down two sizes while you're hanging over the top of every piece of clothing you own. ‪#‎youvegottobekiddingme‬‪#‎hedoesntevenexercise‬ ‪#‎fleshyissexy‬


Again this morning, The Kid organized an "exercise party" and wrangled The Tater into doing it with her, "We have to get some exercise so we can have beautiful bodies just like mama's when we grow up!"
PS I didn't have the heart to tell her that my "beautiful body" has not been considered beautiful by society since Peter Paul Rubens and the 1700's. And maybe not even then.


That one time when you hurt your back two months ago and finally get up the guts to try heavy squats again and your back is STILL pulling funny. Because you're apparently 80 years old.


Walked downstairs this morning to find The Kid doing her version of jumping jacks and burpees. When I asked her what she was doing, "Well, mama, I'm feeling pretty down, so I thought I'd get me some endorphins."
‪#‎endorphinsmakeyouhappy‬ ‪#‎burpeesmakemesad‬


The Kid is deathly afraid of cockroaches, but put her big girl panties on this morning and killed one. As she was flushing it down the toilet, she yelled, "Enjoy your time in hell, cockroach!"  ‪#‎wheredidshelearnthat‬ ‪#‎notfromme‬‪#‎okmaybefromme‬


The Kid was reading a book last night and she paused. Thinking she needed help with a word, I supplied the pronunciation, "Don't rush me, mama. There's a comma there, you know."


Came downstairs to find The Kid throwing Starbursts violently against the wall:
Me: What on earth are you doing?!
The Kid: Nothing. I just want to see what these babies can do.


I made The Tater put on actual clothes to go to church today. He is currently sitting in the corner clutching his jammies, rocking back and forth, screaming, "I NEED JAMMIES! I NEED JAMMIES!"  ‪#‎itotallygetit‬


Me: Dude, have you been playing with the pink hair dye again?
The Kid: No.
Me: What's this pink handprint on the carpet?
The Kid: Cave art from our ancestors?


Driving around the other day and Mark Chesnutt's "Blame it on Texas (Don't Blame it on Me)" came on the radio:
The Kid: Well, I'm blaming him.
Me: What are you blaming him for?
The Kid: I don't know, but I'd never blame anything on my country.
Me: Texas isn't a country.
The Kid: Well, it should be.


On the way to dinner, we were talking about visiting Japan and when we got where we were going there was a family speaking Spanish:
The Kid: HEY! THAT FAMILY IS JAPANESE, THEY'RE NOT SPEAKING ENGLISH!!
"Japanese" Boy: We're Mexican. And we all speak English.
The Kid: Well then, you weren't pronouncing those English words very well.


The Kid has been having trouble with another little girl at school teasing her:
The Kid: I'm going to have to ask for a different super power because when I get mad, I get really super strong and I want to hurt people.
Me: Kind of like The Hulk?
The Kid: No. The Hulk is green. I'm clearly pink.
Me: Well, dude, no beating people up, ok?
The Kid: Fine. I'll just give her a piece of my mind.


During the day, The Tater is 110% mama's baby. However, from 8-9pm, he is daddy's. Because daddy doesn't make him go back to/stay in his own bed. Party all the time with daddy.


In order to keep The Tater from messing with the fish-less fish bowl, I may or may not have told him there's a fish in there. And he may or may not have spent the last fifteen minutes talking to the non-existent fish.


A temple in Harare, Zimbabwe!! When I was there in 1999, I interviewed a couple who used their life savings (and therefore, the hopes of a car, so the father traveled by bus for two hours EACH WAY to work every day) and spent over 24 hours traveling to attend the temple in Johannesburg, South Africa. They were convinced it'd be the one and only time they'd be able to attend the temple. I am about to burst!


That one time when you're cleaning out storage and you find fifty wedding invitations you apparently never sent. Whoops. ‪#‎stillacceptinggifts‬‪#‎perhapsalawnmower‬


Food storage, in theory, is an amazing idea. Until you have to move it all to a new house. Then it's stupid.  ‪#‎Mormonproblems‬ ‪#‎followtheprophet‬‪#‎maybetheprophetcanhelpusmoveit‬


Me: Hey, your teacher said you're having a hard time using your inside voice.
The Kid: How am I supposed to use my inside voice when I don't even know what that is? And beside, I had to respond to my friend, it would be rude if I didn't. And I am not rude, mama.

March On Facebook

The Kid: I really want to visit Washington DC so I can see Mt. Rushmore.
Me: Naw, dude, that's in South Dakota
The Kid: Man! South Dakota has all the cool stuff!


Watching the morning news:
The Kid: I've decided not to vote for Donald Trump.
Me: Oh, really? Why's that?
The Kid: Well, he looks like the kind of guy who would make his own rules and tell us what to do.


"Mama, why are you always making dinner? Why can't we eat out like normal people?"  ‪#‎excellentquestion‬ ‪#‎iwonderthattoo‬  ‪#‎mypoorchildren‬‪#‎forcedtoeathomemadefood‬  ‪#‎inavandownbytheriver‬


Me: Baby, if we end up moving, you probably won't have uniforms at school.
The Kid: And what kind of ridiculous place might that be?


Someone to me today, "Girl, you don't look like someone who was built to run away, you look like someone who was built to stand her ground and fight."
Um...I'm not exactly sure if that's a compliment or an insult.


When you own a carpet cleaner but can't use it because the littlest precious has hidden one of the plugs. FOR. THE. LOVE.


Literally spent the last FIVE hours making Easter dinner of ham, funeral potatoes, and asparagus. Neither of my children will touch any part of it. ‪#‎shouldhavemadecorndogs‬ ‪#‎onlyfortysecondsinthemicrowave‬‪#‎pearlsbeforeswine‬

Eau de fair: cigarette smoke, sweat, sawdust, and animal dung. Oh, and pork-a-bobs. Delicious. PS We are never going to the fair on a Saturday again. NEVER.


This egg hunt is experiencing a temporary delay. So we can open every. single. egg. as we go. And when we do open the eggs, we gasp and scream, "CANDY! It's CANDY!" as if we've never seen candy in our entire lives.


The Kid, "Mama! Your hair is becoming white! It must be because I'm growing up. Or maybe it's becoming white because you're becoming an old lady."


When a house listing states that the house sits on a "huge" lot and when you get there, it's less than an acre. Um. Not huge. ‪#‎ranchgirlproblems‬‪#‎falseadvertising‬  ‪#‎whyisthissohard‬ ‪#‎theneighborscanstillseemeifimnaked‬


That one time when your patient has a tattoo on their shoulder and you catch it out of the corner of your eye and you think it's a spider, so you go ahead and smack it because who wants a spider on their shoulder? You. Are. Welcome.


Me: Did you brush your hair like I told you to?
The Kid: No, I have the hiccups.
Me: So you can't brush your hair?
The Kid: Well, every time my diaphragm moves, it makes the brush strokes uneven.


The Kid, when throwing a fit, bears an uncanny resemblance to a wounded elk.


The Tater at 6:15am as he's pulling the covers off of me, "Wake up! Get dressed! Put on shoes! I need bacon! I want donuts!"




When you have a MAJOR telephone phobia and have committed to make twenty telephone calls in one morning.


Me: Hey, go get a toothbrush and toothpaste and we'll brush your teeth.
The Tater: Can't. Watching the basketball.
‪#‎marchmadness‬ ‪#‎ncaa‬ ‪#‎twoyearoldfan‬ ‪#‎rootingforalltheredteams‬


When the two-year-old says he wants a grilled cheese so you make him a grilled cheese and then he screams at you because he doesn't want it. Obviously. ‪#‎reasonsmykidcries‬ ‪#‎terribletwos‬ ‪#‎whycantireadhismind‬


Chuck E. Cheese is pretty much parent hell. And also, it smells like urine.


We didn't catch the leprechaun, but he did leave us a treasure hunt (wherein The Tater found the treasure before we'd found all of the clues and stood in front of it yelling, "I NEED CANDY!") and we've seen Riverdance on the Today show (their legs flail about as if independent from their bodies!), so consider us all St. Patrick's-ed up!


I made this sign for The Kid's leprechaun trap and she said, "Oh, mama, I really like how you've used exclamation points! They indicate strong feeling."


It thrills me to my toes to see The Kid sounding out words and reading books. Reading is one of the great loves of my life and all I can think about is what the ability to read will open for her. PS I also hope she wants to travel. Maybe as a tennis pro so she can provide for us in our dotage (I was going to say as a professional singer, but if her genes stand strong, there's NO WAY. Bless our hearts.)


How The Kid enjoys the beach, "Mama, look at all of this water and sand! That means we can dig billions of holes and pee anywhere we want! What luck!" ‪#‎publicurination‬ ‪#‎weknowhowtohavefun‬ ‪#‎justlikehermother‬ ‪#‎springbreak2016‬


That one time when you have to wait for the ferry for a looooooong time and the five-year-old needs to potty and you suggest her sand bucket and she freaks out until she literally can't hold it anymore, uses the bucket, and then loudly proclaims that she can't wait to write a paper about it when she gets back to school. Because we know what fun/awesomeness/entertainment is.


Beware the Ides of March! Also, apparently the Ides of any month, but Shakespeare never mentioned those, so we'll just stick with the March ones.


That one time when you arrive home from house hunting to find your neighbors involved in a domestic dispute that involves the F bomb for ten straight minutes at an ever increasing volume and ends with the male urinating on the female all in front of both of your children. And you think, "ANY OF THOSE HOUSES WE LOOKED AT! ANY OF THEM! WE'LL EVEN LIVE NEXT TO THE METH LAB!"


When the dude at the gym jumps off the scale and yells, "I'm down 2.5! Two point FIVE!", you naturally run over and give him a high five. Because we believe in celebrating all success. PS My gym towel this morning smells like beef jerky. Delicious.


Husband was called as Young Men's president today at church and immediately The Kid started crying, "This is a really bad idea. Now he'll never be home and then who will be nice to me?" ‪#‎notme‬ ‪#‎meanmom‬ ‪#‎loveathome‬


The Kid climbed in bed with me proclaiming that she came to snuggle and when I moved over so we could:
The Kid: Why are you so close to me?
Me: Uh, you said you wanted to snuggle.
The Kid: Well maybe you could snuggle me from farther away.


Me: Didn't I tell you three times to brush your teeth?!
The Kid: I can't! I can't find a toothbrush!
‪#‎everynight‬ ‪#‎seventoothbrushes‬ ‪#‎onthebathroomcounter‬


Our church ward was split two weeks ago and this morning from The Kid, "Mama, it sure is lucky they put you and me in the same ward or else how would I get to church?!"  ‪#‎boundarylines‬ ‪#‎rightdownthemiddleofourhouse‬‪#‎goodluckgettingtochurchkids‬


Due to the copious amount of rain we've received, we've been inundated with cockroaches and slugs. The Kid believes it is her personal mission to joyfully guide these critters to "their next life". As for me, the only rejoicing comes in the fact that they're not snakes.

When you're one lunch-make away from Spring Break, your kid gets a bag of cereal, two pieces of cheese, and half an orange. ‪#‎overit‬ ‪#‎motheroftheyear‬‪#‎winning‬


The Kid, dressed in a Batman shirt, runs into the kitchen with a can of Wolf brand chili and says, "Mama, I know how you feel about The Wolf, but Batman needs this if she's going to continue to rescue people and do good in her community." ‪#‎herfatherschild‬ ‪#‎batmanpoweredbywolf‬‪#‎shamelessproductpromotion‬


One month away from the weights = eight months of progress down the drain. The good news: Today was my first official performance of karaoke How Will I Know by Whitney Houston. And I'm not even exaggerating when I say it was a resounding success.


The Tater's newest thing: brings me the church hymnal, throws it in my lap and screeches, "SING, MAMA, SING!"


The Kid walked in as Husband and I were discussing a third child:
The Kid: Mama, do you want another baby?
Me: Yes, but it's just not working out.
The Kid: Well, maybe if you started talking about it in your prayers...


Within the last three months, we've had five packages we've ordered delivered to the wrong address. Of course, the USPS has no idea what that address is and cannot retrieve said packages, leaving us to fight with the sellers to either request a refund or a resend on the package. All I know is that whomever is actually receiving them is getting some really nice, really FREE stuff.


When you buy your kid some books for her Easter basket and hide them in a super secret place she'd never look and she finds them in less than 24-hours. ‪#‎notsosecret‬ ‪#‎shessneaky‬ ‪#‎happyfreakineaster‬


"Mama, today at school we studied Dr. Seuss and I hate to have to tell you this, but Yertle the Turtle was a jerk."


The Kid: I wish Abraham Lincoln was still alive.
Me: Why's that?
The Kid: Because even with his beard he looked better than that guy who wants to be president now. That guy's hair almost blows away in the wind.


My mom says, "I only like people who are nice to my children." And I never understood why until I had my own. Bless my co-worker's heart, The Kid pulled her around and talked her ear off on Saturday and she acted like there was nothing else she'd rather be doing.


When you have to wait for over an hour to vote with your two-year-old, I believe your vote should count twice. In other news, try explaining a primary election to a five-year-old only to have her insist that her name be put on the ballot for president of the primary. ‪#‎firstworldproblems‬ ‪#‎americanproblems‬‪#‎mother problems‬