A Note To My Early Morning Readers

Forgive me.

Blogger.com is experiencing difficulties and I cannot upload photos from today. This makes me angry.

And bitter.

And cross.

Never fear. I will try again tomorrow morning.

Although, it will be MID morning. As I am at the lake. And everyone knows that when you're at the lake with Dave, you MUST rise before the sparrows to be sure and get The Good Water.

Nothing Says Happy Birthday Like Clothespins

Twelve years ago I was a teeny tiny itty bitty newborn baby. Well, I was. Just look at me:


I was twenty three. TWENTY THREE. Like I said. A baby.

My nephew was also a tiny baby back then. An actual tiny baby. He was 6 weeks old. His grandmother came to the wedding to hold him while his mother and father (Dave's brother and sister-in-law) served in the wedding party.

Today, this tiny baby turned TWELVE.

How can this be? It's not possible.

I was all ready to buy him some booties and a baby rattle. But, he wanted things like this:

OU football tickets. He also received cash, a duffel bag, and some sort of athletic gear. This is not the kind of thing you'd expect at a birthday party for a tiny baby.

Oh wait. He's twelve.

We all celebrated Jeffrey's birthday today at the lake. And since my sister-in-law and her family are camping, they didn't have things like birthday candles.

Hey, I was impressed she pulled off a cake.

No. They didn't have candles. But my MacGyver-like brother-in-law just lit some wooden clothespins on fire instead.

Doesn't Jeffrey look a thrilled. "Uh, thanks a whole lot there, mom and dad".

I still can't believe this child is twelve. TWELVE, people!

And it's so hard to believe because his mother and I haven't aged a single day. I swear.

Ding Ding Ding

We have a winner!

Congratulations Theresa!

You were the randomly selected winner from yesterday's quiz.

Oh alright, not really THAT randomly selected.

Yesterday, I had lunch with Theresa. She said "How can I score a mention on your blog?"

Well, here ya go, sister!

Now, all of you better start sucking up and taking me to eat Mexican food like Theresa did. If you're very nice, I might make you famous too. Think of the exposure! Why, Theresa is going to be an overnight star.

Oh, alright. Not really.

Our Next Dog Will Be Named Dyson

This is our dog. Parker.
Just look at him. He's smiling. I swear he is.

Now, Parker is old. And he's stone deaf. He's also a teeny tiny bit stinky. Oh, and he sheds. A. Lot.

I'm talking tumble-weeds of hair blowing across the floor, people.

Some would say he's good-for-nothin'. **ahem, David**

And, really, he's not good for much. At least, that's what we thought until we had children. Now, we realize he's serving a purpose.

Here's a news flash: Children are messy eaters. Yes! They are.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

And this is where the dog comes in. No crumb goes unnoticed around here. Not one.

Last time Parker had a checkup, the veterinarian was astonished by his weight. He asked what we were feeding him.

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Ummm. That would be: EVERYTHING. Everything my children drop. And that's a LOT of food.

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Sweet Parker. He's fat, but he's happy.

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I know just how he feels.

NEW! A Mid-Day Quiz

Here's a quiz for all my readers. Yes! Both of you!

1. My house is clean.
2. My laundry is clean, folded, and put away.
3. My car is clean.
4. My purse is completely organized. No stray receipts. No hairy mints floating around. Clean!
5. The lawn is freshly mowed and the weeds have been eaten. Or eater'ed?
6. And my face looks like this:

Given these facts, what MUST be happening soon?

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Contest rules: All answers must be submitted via the comment section of this page. Winner will be chosen randomly from all the correct answers posted. Prizes include 1 hug and 3 kisses. Plus, recognition on this Very Famous Website. This Website has no responsibility for subsequent fame, fortune, and paparazzi pestering due to the fame brought by being recognized on this site. **This is a recording.**

Scenes From My Front Porch

Today started off like most days.

The kids played.

Here they are playing in what we affectionately call The Paige Cage.
Why would we cage a wee little human being? Well, this baby is busy, people! She has to be contained! If the Adult In Charge is required elsewhere, this is what we must do.

"Elsewhere" being the shower. Or the potty. Or the liquor store.

Just kidding about the liquor store. I swear.

Then, William exclaimed the time. Every minute! All day! Have I mentioned how much I love my dear sweet husband for purchasing the watch? Well I do. I love him. So much.

Oh, but then things got interesting. Lookie here:

Yes. That's the mailman. "What's the big deal?" you may be asking. Well, folks, that mail truck dun broke down. Yep. Sure did. Right there in front of my house.

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William was agog. WHY? Why momma? Why is the truck broken down? How will he deliver the mail? What will he do? What momma? What? TELL ME!

Now, I know this may surprise some of you, but I do not always have all the answers. I know. Shocking.

So, we did the only thing we knew to do. We took the mailman a rice crispy treat and begged him for answers. Yes we did.

The poor man was as kind as he could be under the circumstances. What with the broken down truck and the hot hot hot day and the whole "neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night.." motto that they're supposed to uphold.

And if that wasn't enough excitement, then THIS happened:

The most impressive hail storm I've seen. It sounded like we were being bombed.

And I thought today was going to be a Regular Tuesday. Shows you what I know.

As I type, I hear more thunder. I suppose I should be worried about another colossal hail storm.

But really, I'm just wondering if I'll get my mail tomorrow.

Because, we all know how much I love mail.

I Hate Exercise and I Have the Thighs to Prove It

So, a week ago, Neighbor Susan says she's ordered a new exercise video. This video, she claims, transformed a fellow blogger from Flab to Fab in mere weeks. Neighbor Susan even emailed before and after pictures. I must admit, the results were impressive.

Susan said "join me". I wanted to say "hell no!", but I looked down at my thighs and said "yes".

So, I ordered the damn video. It was $9 on Amazon. The way I see it, that's $9 I cannot spend on pizza or nachos. So even if the video doesn't work, I've still come out ahead, no?

My friends at Amazon delivered Jillian Michaels today. Just look at her.


Don't you want to punch her right in the gut? Oh wait, that might hurt your hand. Never mind.

I emailed Susan telling her Jillian was here. She said "Next week! We're going to get all hott and shredded."

Then she said "God help us."

Indeed.

I might have told her the only thing I want shredded is cheese. I might have also uttered a few expletives. Maybe.
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Then, I gave myself a big lecture about Getting Older and Needing to Exercise.

Then I went and ate a cookie. Or six.

By the time Dave walked in from work, I was spiraling down from a MegaSugar High. And I might have been a touch cranky about the whole exercising thing. I wanted skinny thighs and all, but shredding? Sounds sort of hard. And painful. And hard.

Fortunately, my wee little family pulled me right out of my Pre-Shred Pout.

First, William expelled the most impressive-sounding gas at the dinner table.

He said, repeatedly, "that sounded like I did it with my mouth!"

I was overcome with pride and emotion.

Then I spied David doing the dishes. Let me say it again, girls, he was doing the dishes.

It was such a romantic scene. My heart was all aflutter.

Then, as if I needed another reason to smile, the baby decided to dance.


If you can watch this video without smiling, check your temperature, you might be coming down with something:

Now THIS is the kind of video I wanted to see today.

Take that Jillian Michaels.

Mommy's Sunday Job Description

Job Requirement #1. Must be able to get two children and self completely ready for church in less than 45 minutes.

Today, at exactly 8:37am my husband suggested we try going to the 9:30am service at church. His suggestion was made in an effort to avoid the baby having her Nuclear Nursery Meltdown that almost always accompanies our church visits. Mainly because church inconveniently happens right during baby girl's morning nap.

And I agreed. I agreed to get myself, and two children completely ready for church in less than 45 minutes.

And guess what? I did it. In fact, we arrived with time to spare. All children AND adults were wearing matching shoes. And get this - not one of us was crying. Not even ME!

Job Requirement #2 - Must be willing to plant flower (given to mommy by child) immediately upon returning from church.

William was given a flower in Sunday School. He believed it was imperative that the flower 'be in the sun' and 'get a drink'. And I mean NOW, momma!


Job Requirement #3: Must have incredible patience as child 'fills birdbath', but doesn't bother to look at hose while performing task. Instead, child simply waters grass below.

Job Requirement #4: Must try not to weep when baby girl child wobbles around sporting her first pseudo-ponytail.

Job Requirement #5: Must try not to kill husband, who returns home from shopping with a new watch for his boy. Even if boy announces the time every minute for the rest of the day.

And I mean every minute, people. "Momma, it's 2:19. WOW! Momma! It's 2:20!"

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Repeat for next 6 hours.
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Job Requirement #6: Must recognize the distinct smell of baby diarrhea while driving down the road.

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Job Requirement #7: Must be able to clean up diarrhea. Outside. On side of road. In the grass. While cars of gawkers drive by.

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Job Requirement #8: Must channel MacGyver and construct make-shift "shield" to prevent now-clean (naked) baby from putting hands in pools of diarrhea contained in car seat.

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Shield was constructed with plastic, disposable place mats and a "go green" re-usable shopping bag. This particular shopping bag will not be re-used. Sorry, Mother Earth.

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Job Requirement #9: Must try not to vomit while driving home with pools of diarrhea in backseat.

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Job Requirement #10: Must kiss husband for disassembling and disinfecting car seat.

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God Bless this man.

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It almost makes me forgive him for the watch. Almost.

We Were LULLED People!

You heard me! LULLED. Lulled into a False Sense of Security.

Let this be a warning to all you Lull-able parents. Learn from me. Learn from my mistakes!

Here's what happened: We went swimming. Swimming. Just like we'd done all summer.

William was swimming with his favorite buddy, Everett.
And William has become a great little swimmer. However, he's only been swimming without floaties since his Birthday. That was only 4 weeks ago.

The boys were having fun. Mommy and Daddy were having fun. All was right with the world.

Oh, but then we heard crying. It was William. He was in the deep water and didn't have the strength left to swim himself to the edge. His little head was bobbing under the water.

And he was all the way across the pool, people.

And that's when my friend Lisa Shinn dove into the pool and literally rescued him. She drug him to the side of the pool and held him in a Big Mommy Bear Hug until I could get there.

Go Lisa! Supermom to the rescue!

Sheesh. And I thought that "S" on her chest stood for "Shinn".

Partially Hydrogenated Oil & Sugar Makes Everything Better

Today started off great. Both kids were miraculously All Better today. Yay!

And mommy was a teeny tiny bit anxious to Get Out of The House.

Now, I'd like to take this opportunity to give a tip to all you New Mommies out there. And here's the tip:

When you need to get yourself ready to leave the house, just put the babies in the bathtub. The empty bathtub. It's an instant baby corral! Oh, don't judge. I was desperate.

Then, I took my wee children to Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.

This is exactly what the pediatrician told me to feed my one-year-old baby. Yes it is!

And sprinkles? Well, in our house, sprinkles = vitamins! Remember people, Elmo says "Eat Your Colors". I'm sure he was speaking about sprinkles when he said that. Mmmm Hmmm.

Oh but friends, the fun ended this afternoon when we took William to his 5-Year-Old check-up.

Doesn't he look like he's being tortured? He CRIED when she listened to his lungs. Mean, mean doctor! How dare she? He also cried when the nurse tested his hearing. Oh man, you should have heard him when they gave him his shots. Oh right, you probably DID hear him. Sheesh. Drama.

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At the end of the appointment, he was asked to give a urine sample. He didn't mind peeing in the cup, but was very disappointed when they took the Very Cool Cup away.

So they gave him his very own specimen cup to take home. Eeew!

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In the end, I took him to McDonalds and bought him a sprite and a chocolate chip cookie and a pony.

Ok, not really on the pony. But folks, if you had heard the crying and wailing you would've bought him a cookie too. Oh, you know you would've.

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Come back tomorrow for photos of William drinking his breakfast orange juice from a urine specimen cup. Good times.

We Called in Sick Today

Today had all the makings for a boring day. Both kids were running a fever at breakfast. Which meant that, after letting out an audible sigh, I took my lengthy to-do list and chucked it in the trash. Then I let out another sigh. Then I asked God why he hated me so.

Ok, not really on that last one.

Then I set about sending emails cancelling plans. I was bummed.

Oh, but then the baby wanted a nap. At 8:15am!

Then William wanted to snuggle. So we did that. For an hour. In the quiet house. No interruptions. It was heaven. How much longer will he want to lay in my lap? Do I have years, or just months before he believes he's 'too big'. Wait. Don't tell me, I don't want to know.

Then we played in Paige's room. We practiced all the words she knows.

Um, HELLO? Can anyone say GENIUS? Also, is she not too cute for color tv? Ugh, this baby. She is the cat's pajamas.

Then, she and I had a long talk about her pacifier.

Since she doesn't technically speak English, she didn't follow exactly what I was saying. But she at least had the decency to look interested.

Then, I demonstrated what life might be like without a paci.

This did not sit well with her. Not at all.

And since she's sick. And since she's the Cutest Baby in the History of the World, I gave her that paci right back.

I am a fine example of strength and fortitude. Yes I am. Don't argue with me. Don't do it.

Moving right along.

I also re-arranged all the furniture in my living room. This is what happens when I'm stuck in the house all day. People, I moved a armoire and a piano all by myself. Heh. See there? It turns out I am, indeed, a fine example of strength and fortitude.

Since the piano was in a new place, Paige discovered it.

Playing the piano makes her very happy. And, let's be honest, that's all that really matters around here. Never mind that it was a wee bit annoying. And never mind that it might not be very good for the instrument itself. No. She was happy, so I let her play.

And play. And play.

Oh, you would too if she was your baby. You know you would.

Stop looking at me like that. You would!

Dolphin or Dead Person - You Pick

Today was a much-anticipated day for me.

Today, I got a new driver's license. I was so excited about this. You see, I've been living with a very bad driver's license picture for years.

I know, you're saying, 'oh Rita, how bad can it be?'. Heh. Lookie here:

This is my old DL picture. Do you see my forehead? Do you see that it resembles that of a dolphin? A dolphin with a receding hairline.

How does the DMV do this? I did NOT look like a porpoise when I entered the tag agency that day. I swear I didn't. I don't even LIKE fish. Why would I want to impersonate one?

Also, take a look at my weight. It says I weigh 120 lbs. And I DO... I swear I do. ON THE MOON. But here on earth, I weigh just a teeny tiny bit more. Yes, I've put on a few pounds since 1990. Which is the last time I updated my weight.

So today, while the kids were in Mother's Day Out, I decided to get my license renewed. I was having a good hair day. And, honestly, isn't that really what matters?

Yeah folks, I don't wanna brag, but I was lookin' goooooood.

Yet, THIS is what the devils at the DMV did to me today:
Wha?!? It is SO BAD. I am crushed! Another bad picture? Nooooooooo! My makeup looks like a mortician applied it. And what's with the white circles under my eyes? And I swear to you my face is not nearly as round as it looks in this picture.

I had such high hopes. I believed in my heart that this time it would be different. Ah, DMV. Why do you hurt me so?

I would, however, like to point out my weight on the new ID. Yes! I increased it by 15 lbs. AND IT'S STILL A LIE.

But not as big of a lie, so that's better, right?

Melancholy Mommy Moment

I come from a long line of worriers. I worry about everything. Dave says he never has to worry about anything because I worry enough for the both of us. I hate to admit it, but he's right.

I worry about the finances. So, I keep a meticulous budget.
I worry about sickness, so I keep a clean home.
I worry about getting fat, so I watch my weight.

But mostly, I worry about my children.

I heard Maria Shriver interviewed once. She told a story about the time just prior to the birth of her first child. Her own mother - an accomplished business woman and philanthroper -sat her down and said something like "do well with motherhood, if you fail at this, nothing else you do in life will matter". Well sheesh, thank you Mrs. Kennedy. No pressure, there, Maria!

I think we as mothers know this in our souls. We know this is the biggest job we'll ever do. And we feel totally unprepared. I know I do. Will I ever do right by these children?

This is my boy. William.
He is just fantastic. And I'm not just saying that because I made him my ownself. He really is.

He was diagnosed at the age of 2 with something called SID (Sensory Integration Dysfunction). It's a fancy term that really just means he takes in information from his 5 senses in a different way than most people. Thank God, he has what appears to be a mild case. In some instances, SID can be debilitating. For William, he just sees and experiences the world differently than your average kid. And sometimes everyday situations are hard for him to handle. Loud restaurants make him nervous. Bright lights stress him out. Tickly clothing tags really irritate him. Things like that.

This is all ok with me, I can totally relate. I have my own issues with bright lights and loud noises. I get it. I get him. I really do.

No, what I worry about is the other kids. Will he be teased because he's quirky sometimes? Probably. And that just makes my heart ache. I want him to grow up in a little squishy-soft world where everyone is kind. And everyone loves him like I do.

In other words, I'm just like every other mom.

Sorry about this melancholy post. No witty stories today.

Oh dear, now I'm worried that you'll be disappointed. See what I mean? A worrier through and through.

Vacation Amnesia

Vacations are hard. Hard for me, anyway.

First, there's all the work that goes into getting ready to leave. There's the laundry. Then packing. Oh lordy the packing. It was hard enough to pack for myself. Now there's the added stress of packing for the children. And children require more than just clothes and shoes. They need things like books, and hand-held video games, and DVD players.

Oh, and don't forget the snacks. Dang, and then don't forget to go by the bank and get cash for the trip. OH OH and don't forget to update the wills in case we die. Oh dear, and THEN pay all the Bills so that nothing is past due when I return.

After all that, there's the cleaning. Yes, I clean my entire house AND car before I leave on vacation. All of this is done in case I die while I'm on vacation. You heard me. That way, in the event that I expire whilst on vacation and my mother must come to my home to Get My Affairs in Order, she'll believe she raised me right. She'll believe my house is always this clean. When in reality, you could write your name in the dust on my coffee table most days.

Still, I do all this work in hopes of going away and making some lovely memories for myself.

Memories like these:


This is William and his Papa Ron. They are inseparable. Mom and I truly believe this is due to the fact that they are roughly the same age on the inside. I hope no one tells this man he's really sixty-seven.

And then there's this:
My baby brother playing with my baby girl. Oh, hold on a second...

*weeping*

Ok, sorry, *sniff* I'm back.
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Here's my mother and baby Aiden. The cutest nephew on the planet. Period.

And finally, this one is for the record books:

That's Aiden's momma, Mihn. She's deathly afraid of the water. She can't swim. Period. Yet, she worked up the courage to go tubing with my mom. Talk about a trouper.

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Yes, these are such sweet memories. And I'll be thinking about these scenes as I begin the Twenty-Four-Hour-Unpack-&-Re-settle Campaign.

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And I'll try not to focus on this part of the trip:

The part where everyone else is busy enjoying themselves while I am changing a diaper. On the ground. In public. WHILE WEARING A WHITE SKIRT.

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Oh how I love to travel.

I Would Not Make This Up

Today was an excellent day.

Much time was spent at the lake. And I was such a good sport about it. No I was. I really was. Ask Dave. I WAS! Stop looking at me like that!

Sheesh. Moving right along. Let's talk about dinner, shall we?

We went to dinner at this restaurant here in Branson where they THROW DINNER ROLLS. Wooo hoooo. What could be better? Nothing. That's what. Especially if you're five years old. Well, it's also pretty darn exciting when you're sixty-seven (ahem, Papa).

Papa Ron had been talking up this place all day. We were all pretty excited.

Oh, but this is what awaited us when we entered:

This, my friends, is the women's restroom. The men's room had a sign that read "Bulls". Not nearly as offensive, eh?

There was quite a wait for a table, so William decided to watch a few boys playing a video game in the lobby. No problem, right? It's probably PacMan, or Centipede or something.

Heh. Not in Branson.

This is what the kids are playing here:

Nice. Very nice.
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Here are some young Missouri lads with the pretend rifle.

Warms your heart doesn't it? Ah, a slice of Americana.
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I wandered over and watched for a bit.

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Then I FREAKED SMOOTH OUT.

There were realistic looking deer on the screen with BLOODY HOLES in them. Sweet baby Jesus! Who thought this up? Wait. Don't answer that. I don't want to know.
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I put my arm around Will and led him away. In a soothing mommy-type voice, I said 'honey, those poor animals, do you think they were hurt?'

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William's reply: "Oh momma, those were just reindeer. Everyone knows those are Bad Guys. It's OK to shoot Bad Guys."

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Um. Ok, son.

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Someone call Santa and tell him he needs to order some kevlar suits for his herd.

If This Ain't Love, I Don't Know What Is

Let me start by apologizing for using the word "ain't" in two blog posts this week. Please forgive me. I have no excuse, except that I'm from Oklahoma. Also, I'm writing to you from Branson - this doubles the "ain't" quotient. It's Ain'ts Law of Duplicates. I swear it is. Check your college grammar textbook. It's in there. It is! Oh, it isn't? Well, it should be.

Ok, now that we have that out of the way.

Let me tell you what love is.

Love is rising at 6:15am after 3 hours of sleep with two tiny children in order to Get The Good Water.

For those of you who do not know, The Good Water is the glassy-smooth lake water that skiing snobs like my husband prefer.

The Good Water only exists early in the morning. Really early, people. Like, before Jesus and sparrows and chickens rise to start their day.


Please notice the STEAM rising off the water. Why? Because the water was a balmy 85 degrees. The AIR, however, was a chilly 56 degrees. It was cold. And did I mention it was early? Oh I did? Well it was.

And love is making sure to pack bottles for the wee baby who was also asked to rise before all of humanity this morning.


And love is two sweet little children waiting patiently while mommy and daddy prep the boat for skiing.

These kids sat there patiently all morning in their bundles trying to stay warm.

And here's why:

Because they love this man. And this man loves his water ski. On The Good Water. This is true love, people. Dave and his water ski? Well, they're a match made in heaven, that's all.

And finally, love is Dave saying he's skied enough. He wants us to sleep in tomorrow.And miss The Good Water?

Well, if that ain't love, I don't know what is.