Let's Not Call It That, M'kay?

When we first got pregnant with Maddie, Justin and I decided that we would do everything in our power to not use day care. Not that there is anything wrong with it, or that it shouldn't be used, it just wasn't for us.

I stayed at home with her for the first year. When she was 13 months, I went back to work at nights, that way Justin could stay with her. Again, no day care. And, it has worked for us. We've done everything that we could to make it work.

We decided that she needed more social interaction when she was 3, so we placed her in a preschool mother's day out. Twice a week seemed plenty.

Well, I'm starting a new job tomorrow. Luckily, it's on the days that she is in school. The only problem is the fact that the office is about 40 minutes away and picking her up on time will be impossible.

So, I decided to check into extended care, through her school. I asked her teacher about it, and she said the words that I had been dreading.

"Just go to the day care office." Why, oh why, did she have to call it day care? After 4 years, it's pretty much a pride thing.

The kicker is that Maddie heard her call it day care. And, for some reason, she thinks that day care is the one thing that has been missing in her life.

First thing this morning: "Mommy, can I go to day care, today? It's going to be so much fun."
Lunch time: "Mommy, you can stay at work a really looooong time, if you want to. I can just stay in day care."
Quiet time: "In day care, they don't make you have a quiet time."
Afternoon before work: "Hey, Mommy, guess what- you really didn't need to sacrifice all of the time you've put into raising me. I didn't need you. I could have just gone to day care. Like I am tomorrow."

Okay, so the last example wasn't true, but that's pretty much what I heard her say, every time I heard "day care".

Just for the record, tomorrow I'm picking her up from Extended Care.

Where I hope she misses me, just a little.

But, I know that probably not going to be the case. Oh, well- what's a working mom to do?

Special

Recently, my cousin had to go through something that most of us could never imagine. I wasn't sure how to write about it, or even if I should. I tried, but the words just wouldn't translate. My sister put it into the words that I wasn't able to. She wrote it on her MySpace blog, and I wanted to share it with all of you. I hope she doesn't mind.

Taking life for granted

One week ago today, a new family member was born in Texas. Dharma Lucille Drude. 4 lbs, 8 oz, 18 in. long. She was born crying, wiggling, and ready for life. Dharma was a special baby. The first baby for Jennie and Jason, the first grandchild for my Aunt Marilyn, another great grandchild for my grandparents, special. Special. Special because she got to see Jesus before any of us did, special because Heaven is her home now, special because she can crawl up on God’s lap for a hug.

God showed us how special she is when he allowed her to cry, something she was not supposed to be able to do. Special when he helped her squeeze her Mommy’s hand often that day, because she was not supposed to be able to do that, according to modern medicine. But God is greater than any medical book ever written. She was special because her Daddy got to give her a bath and change her diapers, he was not guaranteed that he would even be able to hold her.

Dharma was a gift from Heaven. My cousin and her husband were told during a routine ultrasound that Dharma would be born with Anancephaly, a nonformation of her brain. It was suggested that they have an abortion. Thankfully, they relied on their faith in a God that loved Dharma as she was. No matter that she may have just a few minutes of life after birth, no matter that she might not be perfect.

Dharma is perfect now. Special. Loved by her Mommy and Daddy. Loved by her grandmother Marilyn, loved by Nanny and Daddy Bob. Loved by her cousin Kimmie. Loved by God.

Special.

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

We have been trying to get Maddie in the habit of praying before bed, every night. Some nights it goes well, and she comes up with a sweet personal prayer- thanking God for family, friends, weather, etc. Most nights, she just repeats whatever we say. Some nights, she simply refuses to do it at all.

One night a few weeks ago, I was trying to explain why it is important to pray and that she can talk to God about anything she wants to. She told me that she wanted to just listen to my prayer. I thought I would use it as a teaching moment.

"Dear God, Thank you for today. Thank you for our friends and our family. Please help Maddie understand that you want to hear from her and would love to listen to her prayers. . . "

She let me finish my passive aggressive ploy, I mean, prayer and said that she wanted to pray.

"Dear God, Thank you for today. Thank you for my friends and family. Please help my mommy understand that sometimes, I just don't wanna talk to you. . . Amen."

I have no idea where she gets this passive aggressive attitude.

Please Stick Around, Spring!!

After almost a week of non stop rain, we had a beautiful day. Unfortunately, I was stuck in class all day, and Justin and Maddie were stuck in the car, but we were able to make the most of it when we got home.

We have some gorgeous tulips at the entrance to our apartment, and Maddie actually let me take some pictures of her. Then, she perfected her tree climbing skills. Well, actually, it was more like her "I'll just stand where Daddy puts me" skills. Regardless, we had a great time.

Please take the picture, so I can get this fake smile off of my face!

Look at me!! Just don't let me fall!! Now. Get. Me. Down.

Hhhmmm, I wonder what would happen if I swing from this branch. . .

They don't smell nearly as pretty as they look, do they?

I hope the pretty weather continues. We usually have a really short Spring, before it turns to crazy hot, sweltering, crank up the a.c., and only go outside if it involves a pool Summer.

This week is especially important that it stays nice and dry. If everything goes well, we break ground on our house.

That's right. Our. House.

The Truth Hurts

Yesterday, we dropped Maddie off with Justin's mom. I have school, and Justin has a work convention.

As we were leaving, I gave her a hug, and told her that I was going to miss her. Her response,

"I won't."

Dang, throw me a bone. Lie to me. Tell me you will miss me too.

At least, she's independant. . . but still. . .

Who's Who?

When I was in fourth grade, I heard from my sister that a classmate's dad had been in prison when he was younger.

One day, I got mad at my friend and said something to the effect of, "Well, at least, my dad has never been in prison." She had no idea. I'm sure her parents really appreciated our friendship at the time.

I think that may have been one of the meanest things I did as a child. I mean, besides the usual snotty, mean things that girls just do. But, that is the first thing that I can remember doing that was totally uncalled for, and I did it just to hurt her and get a reaction.

I feel a lot worse about it now, than I did at the time. Especially, now that I have a daughter of my own and I saw her feelings get hurt by one of her best friends.

No- her friend didn't spill the beans that we've been in prison . . . She told Maddie that she didn't want to be her friend anymore.

Coming from a friend that she has had for most of her life, that's a big deal. Particularly to a four year old.

We had decided to have a play date at my apartment. So, my friend brought her twin granddaughters to play. This is one of the first times we've had friends over to play. Mainly because we live far away from most of our friends.

They were in her room playing, we were catching up with each other's lives. Maddie came into the room and started to cry. Lips quivering, voice breaking, heart broken.

"Sh-she doens't w-w-want to be my f-friend."

"Who, darling?"

"That girl."

"Which one? Was is Mary or Kate?"

"I. Don't. Know!"

The twins are identical. She couldn't tell them apart.

I know that what I did, back in fourth grade, was really mean. But, at that moment, I thought that what Maddie was going through was worse than being told her daddy had been in prison.

There was only one of me. Maddie had no idea which girl she should be upset with. Or, tattle on.

I think that's what bothered her the most. Because, while I may have been the mean girl, Maddie is definitely the tattletale.

Will This Make Me Bikini Ready?

I LOVE infomercials. It drives Justin crazy, but I could spend every Saturday morning watching them. The people in the commercials don't look like they are paid, they look so happy because they discovered some off the wall product.

I could watch this one all day long. Not because I believe in the product, but because I want someone to accidentally fall off.




Thanks, Christie, for alerting me to this awesomeness!

What You Get When You Eavesdrop

I was walking along, minding my own business, when I overheard a conversation. I, being me and super nosy, paused to listen- promising myself that I could only listen for a minute, because I didn't want to get caught.

"Just get out! I don't love you anymore!" Dang! She's mad. He must've done something pretty bad.

"I'm not leaving. You leave. But you leave the babies here. With me. I love them, even though I don't love you." Aw- that's sweet. Kinda. At least, he'll take care of his kids.

"I'm not leaving them with you. You. Are. Not. The. Daddy. I love someone else. He can be the daddy now. Ha!" Wow- didn't see that one coming. This opens a whole new can of worms.

I decide that I've heard quite enough. I start to tip toe away, but I guess I made some sort of noise. Please don't look up, please don't look up. . .

She looks up. We make eye contact.

"Hi, Mommy! You wanna play dollhouse with me? You can be the daddy."

Of course, I can be the daddy. He's the one that has been raising kids that aren't his, and his so- called baby momma don't love him no more.

Comic Relief

I survived my first weekend of real estate school. In this course, they try to cram as much information they can in back to back days. There's a lot to learn and, basically, at the end of the second day my brain was tired.

The class was made up of mostly women, several know it all's, and a couple of men. There were a few of us, that pretty much knew nothing. At all. I was just glad that I wasn't the only one that was clueless.

There is a particularly funny man in the class. He is hispanic and speaks with a heavy accent. He has a way of asking questions that takes 3 times and 3 different ways of asking them, to actually ask them. Usually, his wife would jump in and ask it in a way everyone would understand. His name is Rene. Remember this. It will come in handy in a minute.

It was during the second day, that the instructor had been going on and on about what an agent should and shouldn't do. What is morally and ethically wrong. There is not much room for humor, in this chapter, and everyone was getting antsy and ready for a break. He gave this example on the need for actual facts, and not opinions:

"Let's say Rene is my agent and I ask him if the house is in a safe neighborhood. He tells me that it is safe and I buy the house. Two weeks later, my house is broken into and vandalized. I call Rene and ask him why he told me that it is a safe neighborhood."

Rene interrupts him and says,

"Hey, I'm from Mexico. Of course, I thought it was safe."

Everyone loves a comedian. Especially one that can make fun of himself.

The Power Of A Cute Outfit

It was the day I had been putting off for way too long. Maddie's first trip to the dentist. I know, I should have taken her a year ago, but I wanted to, um, find one that she would like. No, I mean, I wanted to give her a chance to mature. Wait- I wanted to find one that our insurance covered.

Who am I kidding? I procrastinated. An entire year.

So, to make up for it, I dressed her in her cutest outfit, sparkly princess shoes, and hoped that I would be forgiven for being a year late in scheduling her appointment.

The hygienist was great. She let Maddie play with all of the tools, so that it wouldn't scare her. She was hip to what the cool 4 year olds are into, and could talk princess with the best of 'em.

Maddie handled it like a champ. She followed instructions and both the hygienist and dentist ooh'ed and ahh'ed over how well behaved she was. I have to admit, I felt a little smug when they told me that she did better than a 10 year old did, the day before.

I answered the questions they had. For the most part, pretty honestly. I mean, really, did they expect me to tell them that I sometimes forget to brush her teeth? Especially in the morning, if we have nothing planned for the day? And, that it took forever to teach her how to spit, and she has probably swallowed more toothpaste than is safe? And, that she doesn't know how to use dental floss ?

I'm hoping, no.

When we were done, the dentist told me that her teeth were spaced pretty well, and she probably won't need braces. Then, she told me something that had me doubting myself as a mother. I felt myself shrinking into the chair. Oh, God, she knows I'm a great big fake. Who am I trying to kid? I'm no good at this "being responsible for another being" thing.

"We'll need to see her in a week or so. She has a cavity."

Didn't she see her cute outfit? She CAN'T have a cavity. Ugh.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I'm going to do something that I haven't done in over 8 years. And, to be honest, I'm a little nervous.

I'm going back to school.

It is a real estate school that holds a course every Saturday and Sunday for five weeks. And, one really good part about it is that I didn't have to pay for it.

Justin's best friend is a builder. He needs someone to write out the contracts for the houses that he sells. So, he asked me if I would be interested in it. Ummmm, yeah.

I had been worried about what I would do, job-wise, when Maddie starts school full time. This would be perfect if I can make it work. And, I really pray that I can.

There are some main differences in my going to school this time, as opposed to when I went to college.

I don't think I'll be boozing it up before class. I won't be worried about what I'll wear to the next party. I won't be more concerned about guys than grades.

I will study. I will make this work.

I do have a few concerns, though. Math is my definite weak point. I tend to stop listening if something doesn't interest me. Will this interest me?

My biggest concern right now, though, is the time of day that the class is scheduled.

It cuts right into my nap time. And, that could mean trouble.

For everyone.

The Least Favorite Part

It was a beautiful day that just screamed for the zoo. So, my best friend, Christie, and I packed up the kids and went.


We let Maddie and Ethan run ahead of us, only calling out if they got too far ahead of us, while we leisurely strolled behind. They had a blast. Life was good.

As we were getting close to finishing the loop, I started praying. Please don't let them see it. Please send a squirrel or something for them to chase, so they run right past it. Just LOCK the gates.


There is a part of the zoo, that every parent dreads. I always try to avoid it, but Maddie smells it, and I have no choice. No- it's not the concession stand. It's the petting zoo.




Home of the best groomed goats in Nashville.

Christie muttered under her breath, "This is my least favorite part of the zoo." "Mine, too."

And I felt a little bad about lying to her. Sure, the petting zoo is bad. And gross. And full of stinky goat pellets. But, it's not nearly as bad as what we were about to do.

Take two four year olds to the ginormous (yes, that's a word) playground. 66,000 feet of playground. I've been to this playground before, with both kids. And, something bad happened.

But, that was last year, and I had another adult with me. Surely, the kids will stay together, and we can keep an eye on both of them.


You guessed it.


Hearts pounding, eyes searching, mouths screaming ETHAN!!


Bless his heart, he was just as scared as we were when his mommy found him. Crying and walking alone.


But, not so scared, that he didn't do it again.


I think the second time really got to him, though.


As we were leaving, Christie told me that Ethan is banned from the zoo playground, until he is eight.


I think she may have a new least favorite part of the zoo.

If She Could Read And Write (And We Communicated Through Letters)

Dear Mommy,

I'm really hungry. I want a snack, okay? Umm, some cheese cubes and crackers, please.

Love, Maddie



Dear Maddie,

No. When I asked you what you wanted for lunch today, you told me a peanut butter sandwich. That's what I fixed you. You didn't eat it. Our new rules are if you don't eat a meal, you don't get a snack an hour later. You will wait until the next meal to eat. I hope you remember this tomorrow, at lunch.

Love, Mommy



Mommy,

I'm so, so, so, so hungry. Please feed me. I learned my lesson. I promise.

Your starving child, Maddie



Maddie,

I'm glad you learned your lesson. No food until dinner. That's after I leave to go to work in an hour. Daddy will fix you what you want.

Your guilt ridden Mommy




Mom,

I think you should go to work early today.

M




M,

I'm outta here. Tell Daddy what you want.

M

I hate enforcing new rules. Especially when they involve withholding food. But, dang, I don't really know what else to do. She will tell us what she wants, doesn't eat, then wants a snack. The cycle starts again because, then, she doesn't eat dinner.

I'm so open to suggestions.

When I Get Old

I wanna be her. . .





Who wouldn't?

What They Mean To Me

Two of the most important people in my life have birthdays tomorrow. Justin and Mom. Over the years, they have given me so much more than I could ever give them.

My mom gave me, well, life. She taught me how to enjoy it. She gave me some of the best friends a girl could ever want- sisters. My mother laid the foundations in my life. I think I am a better wife, mother, sister and friend because of her. Sometimes I do exactly what she would do. Others, I do the complete opposite. Either way, I know that she will respect my decision. I hope.

As wonderful as a mother she is, it is even more fun to watch her be a grandmother. She has 6 granddaughters and 1 grandson that love to call her "Gram". Or "Gray-um", I should say. There is no place that the kids would rather be. The cabinets are stocked with their favorite snacks, the newest kiddie dvd is already in the player, and a craft is just waiting for them.




Justin has given me everything.* He is the one person whose opinion I respect the most. There is no one with whom I would rather speak. Which is why we talk about 5 times a day, I guess. When I think of my future- 5, 10, 20, 50 years from now- he is always right there with me. He makes me laugh, he makes me mad (not often), he makes me- a better ME.

Justin also gave me Maddie. I have watched this small little girl transform my husband. He knows every Disney princess. He plays "tea party" with the best of them. When I tell her that she has done a good job, she automatically wants to see what her daddy has to say. His opinion means so much more than mine. I love that. I love that she loves her dad and wants to spend time with him. Even if that means counting baseball cards.




I don't think I tell either of them how much they mean to me, often enough. I can't imagine my life without them. And, I hope I never have to.

*Here it is, Justin- your birthday present. The post where I don't talk about how you are a snoop, your need for more friends, or how you made me mad. I know you think that I only write about the bad things, but it's just because I don't want everyone to get jealous. Dang!- that sounded good. Go get some cookies that Maddie and I made specially for your birthday. They are on the table. Love ya.

Happy Easter

I'll be away, doing the family thing this weekend. I hope everyone has a great Easter.

Maddie's Version Of Easter

Maddie's Easter egg hunt was today. If, by hunt, you mean throwing a ton of plastic eggs in the gym, and letting 20 three and four year olds run around like maniacs, trying to fill their baskets.

When I first got to the classroom, all of the children were sitting on the rug, listening to the teacher. She had the resurrection eggs, and was calmly going over the Easter story.

And, in my opinion, getting 20 kids to sit and listen to a story is a miracle, in and of itself.

I was not sure how much of the Easter story Maddie actually comprehended. I have been somewhat hesitant to go into full detail about it, but recently, she has asked a lot of questions about Jesus, God, Heaven, and what happens when you die. So, I asked her what Easter is all about.

Instead of hearing about the Easter Bunny and chocolate, she told me her version of the real Easter.

"Well, some people were mad at Jesus and hurt him. They put a cactus thing on his head and made blood come out. Then, they hurt his back. Bad. He died on a cross and they put him in a cave. Some ladies tried to find him, but he was gone. Angels came and told them that he wasn't there. He must have become a light, and flew to heaven, I don't know. Can I have some cheese?"

I think for a four year old, she's got it pretty well covered.

I just hope she remembers it on Easter morning, while she is hunting for eggs, and stuffing her face with chocolate.

What's The Point?

Justin and his friend were looking at something on the computer, when Justin said, "This is Chelsea's blog. Have you seen it, yet?"

I smiled a little, because it makes me happy that he looks for the comments, almost as often as I do.

Then, I hear something from his friend, akin to fingernails on a chalkboard, "What's the point of a blog?"

Sccccrrrreeeeecccchhhhhh

How could I explain it? I racked my brain.

Umm- entertainment? That's a start, but it is so much more.

Do I tell him about the friendships that I've developed with people across the country? What about how it sometimes just feels good to write it all down? And, when you do, the knowledge that someone else has probably gone through something similar, and is there to offer support or advice. How about the need to brag or complain about your child?

I read blogs because I like to- whether it is a parenting blog, cooking blog, or whatever blog. I write because it makes me think. I try to write about things that other people can relate to, and if they laugh at my expense, all the better.

And, that thing called "comment crack"? Totally addictive.

There was no way that I could explain all of this to Justin's friend. He was too busy getting his fantasy baseball team ready.

Wait.

Fantasy. Baseball?

What's the point in that?!?!

And The Winners Are. . .

Just My Type and Amy at Memories and Musings of a Mommy . Congrats! You know who Jeff Galloway is and proved my husband wrong. Woohoo to you!!

For those of you who don't know who he is, I'll tell you- although you probably either a.)don't care or b.)already googled his name and now know.

Jeff Galloway wrote the book that convinced me that I could train for a half-marathon and eventually a full marathon. When I first started to get interested in training for long distance running, I read his book Running religiously. His books give easy to follow training programs, and covers every aspect of running. If you are even slightly interested in beginning a running program, I highly recommend his books.

And now for something completely different. . . kinda.

When Maddie and I go to the gym, she always asks me what kind of exercises I'm going to do. One day, a couple of months ago, I told her that I was going to run. She told me that she really wished that she could run with me and asked why she couldn't.

There is an indoor track at my gym that very few people use. I checked with the staff and they said that it was fine if she went up there, as long as I stayed with her and kept her out of everyone's way.

So, that has become our ritual. We make sure there aren't many people on it, and go run/jog. I use that time as my warm-up. She usually runs 1/2 mile without slowing down. We have fun. And, it's something that I hope she continues to like, because it would be so cool to have her for a real running buddy.

Today, she led us in our stretches. There were a few older people on the track, but not too many. She started running. If someone was in her way, she would switch lanes without being told. If someone was coming up behind her, she would move out of their way. All was good. Some of the older people even told her how well she was doing. Some clapped their hands and said, "way to go!"

When we were done, this really old man approached us. I thought he was going to tell Maddie something sweet, cause that's what most 80 year old people do. I was mistaken-

"You know she's not supposed to be up here. It's 10 and up. Only." And, he was mean about it.

"Well, I asked the people at the desk and they said it was fine, as long as I kept her with me."

"NO. 10. And. Up." Then, he had the nerve to point to the rules sign. Yes, there it was. 10 and up.

I wanted to pinch him. But, he was wearing green, and I didn't think I could get away with it, otherwise.

He had just informed my very astute daughter that her mommy was breaking the rules.

And, that's just mean.

Famous To Me

Maddie spent the weekend with my mom, in Memphis. You know what that means, right?

PAR-TAY!!

We started our weekend on Friday night, with a date after work, to Waffle House. We decided that when the employees are as strung out as most of the customers, at 11:30 on a Friday night, it's not necessarily a good thing. But I'll save that for another post.

On Saturday, we went out to dinner. Just the two of us. It was awesome. No worrying about whether the restaurant will have anything for Maddie to eat. No worrying about disturbing other customers. No 4 year old. At a grown up restaurant.

Real food. Real conversation. I really am an adult.

The highlight of my night was while we were waiting for a table. I spotted him. Is that. . .? Oh, man, I can't believe it.

I turned to Justin, whispered to him, "Look- right over there. Do you see him? That's Jeff Galloway." Please don't google his name- it'll kinda ruin the point of the story.

"Who?"

"Oh, you know. That guy that. . . "

I kept looking over at him, trying to gather the courage to talk to him. He seemed really nice. But, living in Nashville, one thing that we pride ourselves on, is acting like we don't care if we see someone famous. We try to let all of the stars eat in peace. Unless, of course, it's George Strait. Then, I'm all over him. No question about it.

He stood 3 feet away from me. Alone. And I didn't even talk to him. Gah.

So, when I was talking to Justin about him, and all that he accomplished, I mentioned that I was going to put it on my blog. He claimed that no one would know who he is.

Prove him wrong- Do you know who Jeff Galloway is? No cheating. That means no googling. There is absolutely no prize to go to the winner.

We just had a date weekend. I'm broke. But, you will have the satisfaction of proving my husband wrong. And, that's priceless.

What If?

I have always considered Nashville a safe place to live. I have no problem going downtown by myself. I sometimes forget to lock my door. I read about some of the crime that goes on here, but compared to other cities, it seems far removed from my reality.

Today, Justin and I were on our way to pick up Maddie from school. The two cars in front of us stopped. We heard a loud *pop* and saw a hubcap roll into the street. Two cars were driving through the intersection without stopping. Justin said, "They're shooting at each other." What I naively thought was a car backfiring, was a gunshot.

Then- pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop

The drivers had their heads and arms out of their windows, shooting at each other. It seemed like it was happening in slow motion, but the gunfire was rapid. They kept driving, while every driver or passenger in nearby cars dialed 9-1-1.

This was in a decent neighborhood. This was in broad daylight. This was in total disregard for any innocent bystander, who happened to be in the line of fire. This was scary.

This was 1.5 miles from Maddie's school.

When we arrived at the school, I was still on the line with the 911 operator. Unfortunately, I didn't see the license plate, and the description of the cars was mediocre, at best.

Of course, once I had it through my head that everyone that I love and cherish, were safe, the questions began.

What if they had turned to the right, and drove past Maddie's school? Where all of the children were playing outside.

What if a stray bullet had hit Justin or me? What about the person in the car in front of us?

What if they had gotten out of their cars and randomly opened fire, on all of us?

What if we were on our way home, with Maddie in the car?

What if? What if? WHAT IF?

I know that "what ifs" rarely accomplish much. Today, they made me hug Maddie a few extra times. They made me appreciate Justin, even more. They made me grateful. For life.

As I was leaving for work tonight, I gave Justin a kiss, and in our "let's make everything a joke" way, I said:

"I'm glad you didn't, well- you know- get shot, today." To which he replied:

"Yeah- try not to get shot on your way to work."

Neither joke was very funny. Not today.

Go tell your family you love them. You never know when random crazy people will start shooting guns.

Nope- still not funny.

I Don't Even Like Donald Duck

Today was one of those perfect Spring days. It was warm out, no clouds, just a little breeze, and no one in my house was sick. It was the perfect day for a picnic.

We packed our basket- okay, it was a brown paper bag, b/c we didn't get the extravagant picnic basket we registered for, when we got engaged- and headed to the park. We found the perfect table, right beside the creek that, due to recent rain and snow, actually had moving water. I unloaded the food and we sat back to enjoy our lunch.

And then, I heard it. HONK! HONK! A stupid goose was invading our perfect picnic. I began having flashbacks to my childhood. . . It wasn't pretty. . . It was just plain scary. . .

For some insane reason, my sisters and I convinced our parents that we wanted a pet duck. We got one, named it Ducky Lucky, and lived in fear of it, every time we went outside. He was the absolute meanest animal ever put on Earth.

We had an above ground pool in our backyard. We would walk down the steps, and Ducky Lucky would wait until we were completely in the grass and would start chasing us. He would bite the backs of our legs and flap his wings. Then, he would circle the pool, over and over again, waiting for us to get out of the pool. He was a nightmare on two legs.

To this day, I can not stand ducks or anything that resembles them. Geese resemble them. A lot. And, this one decided to join our picnic.

It kept getting closer and closer. When it would get to close for my comfort, my heroes, Justin and Maddie, would chase it away. After chasing it 3 or 4 times, the goose finally jumped past the trees lining the creek and landed in the water.

I was relieved, to say the least. That is, until Justin opened his big mouth.

"Now, we have no idea on where it will land when it decides to come back. Or when."

Thanks, honey. Relaxing picnic is now over.

And, Maddie, wanting to join in the conversation said:

"Yeah, Mommy- you should write a blog about this."

She read my mind.

Half- Baked Idea

Most of my friends have more than one child. All of my sisters have 2. I have Maddie. And Grendal.

Most days, I'm fine with that.

But, there are some days, when I really, kinda, sorta think I might want another child. You know, someone that Maddie can share her secrets with. Maybe a little boy, so that Justin can talk sports and have someone actually listen. Even another girl would be fun.

Usually these thoughts are quelled when I hear a screaming toddler or smell a smelly diaper. I start thinking about sleepless nights, diapers, spit up, and mind-numbing screaming. Babies are great and all, but I'm pretty partial to 4 year olds right now. They can talk. They are potty trained. They can watch entire movies at a time, without interrupting my computer time.

My manager asked if we were planning on having any more children. I gave my standard answer, "Right now, we are having so much fun with Maddie, we are waiting to see if we want any more." And then, for some reason, I told her more about how I felt.

We discovered that we were pretty much complete opposites. I loved being pregnant, she hated it. She really likes the baby phase, I love the preschool age. I even told her that I would like to be pregnant and give birth to a fully functional 4 year old. I would settle for a 3 year old, though, if it was potty trained.

And, an idea was hatched.

We decided that I should get pregnant, give it to her for the first 3 or 4 years, then I would take over.

Then, I started thinking about how I would have to UPS my breastmilk to her. And, that I would miss the first time it rolled over, cooing, crawling, pulling up, the first steps, and well- everything fun that a baby does. Would she take pictures of the first time it eats solids? What if it called her "ma ma"? I couldn't handle that.

QUICK!! HELP!! MAKE IT STOP!!

Someone hand me a baby's butt to wipe- I'm getting that feeling again.

Just joking, Justin.

The Sleeper

Does your spouse read your blog? Mine does. And, most of the times, I don't mind. In fact, I love to hear him tell me what he thought about it. If he liked it, that is. . .

Saturday night, I really wished he didn't read my blog. At. All. Let's just say, I wasn't too happy with him, and I wanted- no- needed to vent. And, I couldn't because then he would know I was mad and I can't hold an effective grudge if he knows why I'm mad.

We haven't been able to spend a lot of time together. The one weekend that Maddie was with her Granny, we were sick. The next weekend, Maddie was sick. The next, Maddie and I went out of town. He's been super busy with work. And, our schedules just haven't meshed very well.

Saturday, we didn't have anything planned. He had to work during the day, but the night was wide open. We did have Maddie, but that's not a big deal. She goes to bed at 8, so I knew we would have the rest of the night, to just get reconnected. Maybe watch a movie, eat some popcorn, talk, plan the next 10 years, etc. Yeah, I was excited.

I put Maddie to bed. Walked into the den, and there he was- sleeping.

Okay, I thought, I'm sure he needs a little nap. He's been working hard, lately. It's early, yet. He'll wake up soon, I'm sure.

An hour passes. Nope Are you kidding me?! You are 31, not 71. It's 9 o'clock. Wake up!

Two hours pass. Opens his eyes for a second, then goes back to sleep.

By 11 o'clock, steam was coming out of my ears. If he dared to open his eyes, and even attempted to talk to me, he was given the death stare.

This was OUR night! And, he slept right through it.

At midnight, I gave up and went to bed. And, in my passive aggressive way, left on all of the lights, while he slept on the couch.

At some point, he made it to bed. The next morning, when we woke up, he had the nerve to tell me that he didn't sleep well. Then he asked me what we were going to do that day.

I told him that I was going to sleep. All. Day. Long. I had a good mad going, and I knew that if I wanted to keep being mad, I couldn't be around him very much. Less chance of him apologising if I was sleeping.

He apologised before we even got out of bed. Dang it! I was kinda looking forward to giving him the silent treatment, that I'm so good at. Once someone apologises to me, I can't be mad. I'm kinda a stickler for the whole forgive and somewhat forget thing.

We ended up having a good Sunday. No hard feelings, and only a few scathing comments, on my part.

But, I'm letting you know, here and now, Mr. Justin Lee-

I have high hopes for this Saturday night. Take a nap before dinner if you need to.

Got it?

One Lesson At A Time

If you park in the side parking lot of my gym, you will see a way that you can cut across and save, oh- I don't know, 30 whole seconds. You can just shave off one entire corner, and cut through the grass.

So many people have done it, it has caused the grass to turn brown and die. In one straight line. It looks terrible, so the gym administrators erected a small fence to prevent people from walking in the grass.

Maddie wants to cut through, every single time we go by it. I never let her, even though people still do it. All. The. Time. I'm getting tired of explaining why they can do it, but she can't.

On Friday, we were casually strolling on the sidewalk. A lady brushed past us, and almost knocked Maddie down. She was talking on her phone, and obviously, didn't have time to glance down to see the 3 1/2 foot person in front of her.

She decided to ignore the fence and take the shortcut- like I said, it does save a whole 30 seconds. It had been raining. You know where this is going, don't you?

Her 4 inch heels got stuck, and she twisted her ankle. She let out a squawk, and went flying. Landed right in a big mud puddle. Her once beautiful, green suede, knee-length coat was now brown. Mud brown, I would call it. Her Louis Vuitton bag was emptied into the puddle. Her perfectly styled hair, now had streaks of mud decorating it. Her dignity was spread all around her.

I stopped and asked her if I could help. She actually started screaming at me. "NOOO! THIS IS DISGUSTING! NO. DON'T. TOUCH. ME. WHY ME?!?!" Um, look, you crazy woman, this is not my fault. Stop yelling at me. I might have wanted to push you down, but I didn't. And, I haven't passed the course in moving objects with my mind, yet. . .

I didn't think it would help matters by telling her that it happened because she was in too big of a hurry and tried to walk through mud in 4 inch heels. I offered one last time to help. She got up and shook the mud off of her phone. Opened it up and strode away. Yelling into the phone, the whole time. Nice lady.

"Mommy- That was disgusting."

"Yep. That's what happens when you walk through the grass."

And, the light in her little head went off.

"You aren't supposed to break the rules. Right, Mommy?"

"That's right. Never break the rules. Bad things happen when you do. Remember that."

I'm going to keep brainwashing my sweet little girl, for as long as I possibly can. At least until she figures me out.

Hopefully, it'll be when she has kids of her own.

Scrolling Saturday

I've had lots of questions about Maddie wanting to play in Johnny Cash's band. Why does she like him so much? Because she recognizes good music, I guess. How does she know who he is? Because we have brainwashed her. Does she really know the words? Oh yes, Ring of Fire is even her dad's ringtone. And, she sings along with it.

So, in honor of these questions, I'm reposting this post. And, as soon as I can borrow a video camera of her singing Ring of Fire, I'll put it on here. I promise.

For more Scrolling Saturdays, click here. Thanks to Melissa and Manners and Moxie for this easy way to get a post done on Saturdays. . .

She Really Is A Nashville Girl

I think Maddie's love of music began when she was around 1. She couldn't get enough of The Wiggles. She would stop whatever she was doing to watch them sing "Fruit Salad" or "Hot Potato". And it was cute. For a while. Until I began fantasizing about how Dorothy the Dinosaur and Wags the Dog would get revenge on all of the camera- hungry, tummy rubbing, salad stirring men and their friend, the pirate, and take over the show.

So, Justin and I began the campaign for good music. We would let her listen to her kiddie songs, but only after she listened to Bruce Springsteen, or The Floating Men. We tried our hardest to listen to a wide variety of musicians, while subtly teaching her the lyrics to the songs. This ranged anywhere from The Clash, to George Strait, to James Taylor, to 311, to Gnarls Barkley.

It is music (literally) to my ears when I can listen to my favorite music and hear her singing along. I really have to watch myself and not laugh, when she butchers the lyrics. One day she came into the room and sang her version of "All Mixed Up" by 311. What was once "all mixed up, don't know what to do. . ." became "all dressed up, got my purse and shoes."

Yesterday, I knew all of the brainwashing had finally paid off. It may actually be my proudest parenting moment, yet. We were in the car, and she said to me:

"Mommy, can we listen to Johnny Cash?"

Rent Is Due

I'm sure most of you have seen this, but I laugh everytime I see it. Sure, I know a child shouldn't be saying these things, but to hear it come from a little girl that is so cute, just cracks me up.

Another Awkward Moment Featuring Me

I love going to the zoo. It's one of my favorite things to do with Maddie. It's also the perfect playgroup meeting place. We've had some scary moments at the zoo, but we always go back for more.

The last time we met at the zoo, I had an intensely awkward moment. I'm bringing it up because of Lindsay's recent posts about moms and dads having playgroups together. I have no problem with moms and dads having playgroups together. However, our playgroup started out with only moms, and we kept it that way. Mostly because we are good friends, and the group is as much for us, as it is for the kids.

There were several moms that couldn't make it to this particular playgroup at the zoo. The three of us that did go, made our rounds through the playground and to see some of the animals. We were on our way to the carousel when we saw the husband of one of the moms that we usually meet with. He told us that since his wife couldn't make it, he decided to bring their daughter.

This dad, in particular, is a super nice man. And, interesting in a slightly weird hippie way. Has long curly hair, wears beat up Birks, and has the smell of perpetual incense. Nothing against any of that, I'm just trying to give you a visual.

We all thought it was great that he would do that. We, as a group, made small talk, rode the carousel, and decided to walk to the elephant pavilion. Halfway there, the other two moms bailed. Decided they wanted to go eat.

Maddie and the other little girl were the only ones that really wanted to see the elephants. So, the dad and I started walking. Maddie and her friend were in the middle. Maddie grabbed my hand, then her friend's. Her friend then grabbed her daddy's hand.

We looked like a little family. But, we weren't.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that other people probably thought we were the parents. I tried to wiggle my hand from Maddie's, but she wasn't having it. I tried to get her to stop, so they could walk ahead of us. Nope.

We were walking along, the four of us still holding hands and, Is that. . . Oh crap, it is. Does it look like I'm on an illicit play date? Yep, I'm pretty sure it does. Great.

"Hey, guys! Funny seeing you here. . . Yeah, we're here with some friends. . . See ya later."

It was my husband's best friend and his family. They walked away, with his friend glancing back curiously at us. Yeah, good times at the zoo.

I did what any wife would do. Covered my tail. Quickly. I called Justin as soon as I could, and told him that no matter what Marc said, I WAS NOT having an affair with one of Maddie's friend's dad.

Especially not the hippie one.

Shattered Dreams

Growing up, I had lots of ideas about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I would have the ideal career lined up in my head, and the first time someone told me something negative about that particular job, I quit even thinking about it.

Here are some of the careers I had picked out, and the questions/comments that made me change my mind:

Veterinarian- "You know how they have to take cows' temperatures, don't you? In their butts." I was 10. Thanks Kim

Professional ballerina- "You really don't have the body to be a dancer." Thanks Ms. Curran, former dance teacher, for essentially telling a 17 year old that she is too fat. I still have a complex about my weight.

Elementary Teacher- "You are responsible for their education. You are responsible for teaching them how to read, add, and become normal human beings." Thank you, to my professor in college. No really- THANKS.

The list could go on and on. For some reason, I'm a quitter. If it seems like it might be difficult or too challenging, I quit without even trying. I turn tail at the thought of being a failure. I listen to others' negativity, without seeing the silver lining.

I don't like that about myself.

I'm afraid that I see it in Maddie. If she is playing a game and it becomes too hard, she gives up. But, then again, she is just about the most stubborn child I have ever seen. I'm hoping I can teach her the right way to use her stubborness and to go for her dreams. I want to encourage her to be whatever she wants to be.

If you were to ask her what she wants to be when she grows up, her answer is instantaneous. "I'm going to be a singer and play the piano. In Johnny Cash's band."

That's right. Not Hannah Montana's or the Cheetah Girls, but Johnny Cash's band. She's got big dreams, all right.

I'm all for encouraging her. She has a keyboad that she bangs on while singing "Ring of Fire" and "I Walk The Line."

When, exactly, do I tell her that Johnny Cash is well . . . dead?

Maddie's Nana

Saturday night, after a day of driving 200 miles, a birthday party with 22 kids, and dinner out with my family, I was trying to regain my sanity by taking a nice, hot, long bath. With lots of bubbles. And a nice glass of wine.

I hear Maddie talking to my mom, in her bedroom. She likes to sleep with her Gram when we go to visit. Then I hear my mom get out of bed.

"Chelsea," I hear through the bathroom door, "Where's Maddie's nana?"

Maddie has had this blanket since the first day she was born. She has slept with it every night. When she was a baby, she would rub it against her cheek and try to say "night, night". Hence, the name NaNa. It has been a super-hero's cape, flying carpet, and fishing pole. She goes to sleep with it, and when she wakes up, it is still in her arms.

I forgot to pack her nana. And, we were 200 miles away from it.

I took a deep breath, and prepared myself. I cuddled up next to Maddie and tried to explain that I forgot it. I tried to tell her that her daddy was taking great care of it. I told her that a Gram was better than a nana, any day.

She cried. Not the fake tears. But, then, she got over it. She didn't mention it again, the entire weekend.

On the way back home, I started thinking about how much she has grown and matured. It made me sad that she no longer needs her nana, to cling to. What will happen when she no longer needs to cling to me? Figuratively and literally. As fun as it may be, to watch her grow and change, I still need my baby. I probably always will.

When we got home, the first thing she looked for was her nana. There it was, in the spot I had placed it, so I would be sure I wouldn't forget to pack it.

She saw it, grabbed it, turned to me and said, "Mommy, will you hold me?"

Yep, she's still my baby. For today, anyway.

My Last Post About Work, For A While- Promise

Last night, the unthinkable happened. I cried at work. That's not me. I can handle myself under the most stressful of situations. I may get flustered, I may get angry, I may ask for help, but I. Don't. Cry.

I had several tables- no big deal. I screwed up a big tables check- nothing that couldn't be fixed. I ordered the wrong food- table never even knew it, again, no big deal.

I lost my server book- REALLY BIG DEAL.

My server book had all of the money I had made that night. It held all of the money I had made for the restaurant, and was expected to turn in at the end of the night. It held all of the credit card slips, proving how much money I had made through credit cards. It held my favorite picture of Maddie.

I first noticed it around 8ish. By 8:30, almost all of the servers knew about it. The entire restaurant staff was helping my look for it. People were digging through trash cans. Others were going through all of the menus, hoping that it had been accidentally mixed in with them. Like I said, it was a big deal.

By 9:30ish, everyone had pretty much given up hope. We were all still keeping our eyes open for it, but didn't hold out much hope of finding it. Conspiracy theories were floating around- Who took it? Probably the new chick. I bet a customer saw the cash and grabbed it. Did you notice the new busser?

In all honesty, I have no idea what happened to it. And, that's not like me. At all. I may randomly wash money in the washer. I may forget the $20 bill in my jacket and leave it there, until the next season. But, I don't lose my server book, with around $300 in it. Ever.

And, then, after I thought I was done crying about it, the manager had another server bring me to the front of the restaurant. Lots of the servers were there, and I thought it may have been one great big joke, and someone had been hiding my book the whole time.

Nope.

Something nicer. He handed me a wad of money. "Here. This is from the servers. They collected money and wanted you to have it. Consider this your tip money for the night. We'll worry about the other later."

Pretty awesome, huh? What is even crazier about the whole thing is that it came from some people that I can barely tolerate. Don't get me wrong, I have lots of friends that work there. But, some of the people, I don't have anything in common with, and well, quite frankly, they get on my freakin' nerves. And, they chipped in so I would have money at the end of the night.

It was totally unexpected and I'm extremely grateful to each one of them. If it were to ever happen to one of them, I'll be the first one to toss in money. The manager on shift, helped me out and I'll be paying back the money over the next week. Just a little at a time.

I had a hard time sleeping last night. Did someone I work with take my money, without any second thoughts? Was it a customer that knows how to steal identities, b/c it also held my check stubs with my social security number on it? Did I, gasp, throw it away? Oh, crap, I forgot to look through that one trash can. That's where it has to be. I know it.

If someone did steal my server book, I hope the money was well spent. I hope they enjoy the pictures of Maddie on the front cover. They were my only copies of them, and my favorites, so I hope they value them as much as I did.

I hope they have a conscience and return my server book, money intact. So I can give back all of the money that the servers worked their butts off to make.

Because, you see, I cried last night. And, I don't want them to tell anyone.

Help Me Spend Two Dollars

If you ask any server what the worst part of being a server is, the answer would be universal- bad tippers. No one can figure out 15% like a server.

Last night, I waited on a table of two young people. Their bill was around $76. Guess how much they left me. . . Are you ready for this? $2. That's right. Two freakin' dollars. And, trust me, I provided them with exemplary service.

So, I started asking around. What can you buy with two dollars, these days? Here is the list we (the other servers and I) came up with:

2/3 of a gallon of gas
1/2 latte from Starbucks (if they offered halves)
4 cans of Natural Light
2 Trojans from the machine in the gas station
1 donut with sprinkles from Krispy Kreme
1 20oz soda
1 pack of Hannah Montana playing cards (she has playing cards?!?!)
2 Double Cheeseburgers from McDonalds
4 stamps with a little change left over
1 king size candy bar

Can you add to this list? How should I spend my $2?

Since I'm headed to Memphis this weekend, I'm thinking of driving down to Tunica, MS.

After all, I could get 200 pulls on the penny slot machine.

Will You Be My Friend?

Last week, I was having a conversation with a friend of mine. It went something like this:

Her: I could not BELIEVE my mother-in-law did that. Is that not the meanest thing you've ever heard?

Me: That's crazy, all right. Listen to what happened to my friend, Melissa. . .

Her: Who?

Me: Melissa- another blogger.

Her: Oh- so, she's not a real friend.

Me: Ummmm, I kinda think she is. I would totally hang out with her. In fact, I consider lots of people my friends, even though we've never really met.

Her: No. Doesn't work like that.

And the debate continued.

What do you think? Am I a weirdo? Does anyone else do this? Am I out of line by considering you to be my friends, even though we've never met or even talked?

Cause, if you don't wanna be my friend- I want to know about it. But for now, I consider all of you my friends.

Like it or not.

Wordless Wednesday

Guess who is not used to the snow. . .

For more Wordless Wednesdays go here.

Losing My Mind

It's almost been 2 weeks, but it feels more like 2 years. I've been dealing with sick people for almost 2 weeks. First it was me, then Justin, and now, of course, Maddie.

I'm losing my mind.

At first, I didn't mind being cooped up. After all, I sure as heck didn't want to get out when I was sick. There was one day- yep, one whole day- when we all felt halfway normal. I even made it to the gym.

But, let me tell ya- one day is nothing, when you are accustomed to going four or five days out of the week. I feel like such a bum.

So far today, I've played V-Smile, colored, watched a princess movie, helped Maddie practice her letters, had a tea party, colored some more, played Candyland, catered to her every whim, and slowly, but surely LOST MY MIND.

Okay- now I feel guilty for even writing that. Usually, I don't mind doing any or all of the above. But, like I said, I've been forcibly cooped up for almost two weeks. My only outlet has been going to work. I never thought I'd say it, but I'm almost looking forward to it, tonight.

Maddie's not taking it very well, either. "Can we go to the Y?" No. "Can I go to school?" Not today. "Can we go to the mall? I won't touch anything." Sorry, hon. "Are you going to work tonight?" Absolutely.

Her moods have ranged from lovey-dovey, to needy, to bossy, to puny, to crazy hyper, to first- class whiney-butt.

I leave for work in an hour and a half. I can't wait. Did I just say that? Crap.

The Good Toys

Maddie woke up last night with a fever of 102.5, complained that her throat was hurting and vomited. Since she has had a fever off and on since Friday, I decided to take her to the doctor.

Which leads me to this. . . Why are all of the good toys in the sick child area? As I sat in the waiting room- after Maddie vomited all over the place- I noticed all of the other sick kids. One had suspiciously pink eyes. Another had a nasty, snotty nose and a crazy, scary cough.

And, they were all playing with the toys. The germ infested, virus contaminated toys. There was nothing I could do about it. How do you tell your sick baby not to touch the really cool rocking horse? Or that super big bead thing?

"Sorry, honey, I know you are sick, but that kid over there, with the green stuff coming from his nose, just touched it. Yes, darling, I realise you just threw up on the chair, but that's different. I understand that we don't have these toys at home, and they are lots of fun, but you absolutely can not play with them. In fact, don't even look at them."

Yeah- I see that going over well. When sitting in a waiting room, for God knows how long, it is absolutely imperative to not have a screaming 4 year old. Hell hath no fury like a sick preschooler, when faced with a room full of toys and instructed to leave them alone.

I looked longingly into the well child area. There was a little boy that kept looking out the window, at the sick area. And, he wanted out.

When the door opened, to call back a sicko, he made his escape. He ran right to the toy that Pink Eye Patty had been playing with. The mom tried, but she was too late, "Nooooooo!" she screamed.

As we were leaving, Maddie wanted to play with the toys again. I wouldn't let her. I assured that we would be back. Probably next week, and probably with pink eye.

And that the little boy that got in trouble would probably be there, too.

Queen Jeneequa

My sister, Jenica, is probably the most gullible person on the face of the Earth. Which resulted in many, many practical jokes, on my part.

When I was 17, she was 14 and pretty much believed everything I said. For some reason, my friend and I decided to convince her that she was an alien.

Her new name was Queen Jeneequa, from planet Zorco. She had been sent to Earth as an infant to spy on the earthlings, and report back when she turned 15. We told her this every day for a few months. At first, she didn't believe us. But, after hearing over and over, she began to have some questions. And, we just fed into it.

One of the funniest moments was completely accidental. Every night, my mom would set the dishwasher to come on at 2 in the morning. Apparently, there was a short and my sister's lights would flicker on and off, every night when the dishwasher started. We convinced her that it was a sign from her alien relatives that they needed her back sooner.

The whole thing ended one night, when my friend and I stood outside her window, with flashlights and started chanting her alien name. The next thing we knew, her feet hit the floor and we heard her running. A few minutes later, my dad came outside to check everything out.

And, that was the end of Queen Jeneequa.

I wrote this story because my dear little sister told me that she checked my blog this morning, and that the post I did yesterday wasn't a real post. How did this one do, Queenie?

There's a 24% Chance You've Been Abducted By Aliens

Even though you have a few alien abduction signs, you're almost certainly in the clear. However, if aliens ever do come to your neck of the woods... they'll probably be coming for you!

What Are the Chances that You've Been Abducted by Aliens?

Jenica- I did this one for you. I want you to take the test. Seriously. Take the test.

Literally Speaking

Cute, huh? Doesn't look like she has a fever, does she? Well. . . she does. But, you wouldn't know it from the way she has been acting.

Yesterday, she was running about a 101 fever. And, she would not calm down. She was running around, back and forth, through our apartment.

I asked her if she was feeling better. "I'm trying." I told her that by the way she was running around and acting, it seemed like she was feeling great.

"Mommy, I'm exercising. You told me that you feel better when you exercise. I'm TRYING to feel better."

How could I argue with that?

Dude, Help Me

I've developed a bad habit. I thought I only did it around Maddie and Justin. I was wrong.

And someone at work caught me. Then, he called me out on it.

"Um, Chelsea- did you, um, did you just say 'dude'?"

Crap. I'm a 30 year old valley girl. Righteous.

I don't know when it started, but I use that stupid word all day long. Maddie shows me something new- "Cool, dude." I can't convince Maddie that I'm right, and she's wrong- "Whatever, dude." Maddie yells at me, while sitting on the potty, that she is going poo poo- "Do your thang, dude."

Tonight, I said it to an adult. He asked for me to help him- "Sure thing, dude." I. Must. Be. Stopped.

Or, should I?

Maybe I should embrace my inner valley girl. It sounds, like, totally gnarly, dude. I could, like, you know, say whatever, sounds awesomely cool.

Cowabunga. Dude.

There's One In Every Class

There's a boy in Maddie's class named Jimmy. Jimmy is a cute kid, but, well. . . he's bad. He's the boy that has to go to the "sad bear chair" every day. One day, it might be for calling the teacher a stupid, potty-head. The next day, it's because he kicked a classmate during chapel. During the Valentine's Day party, he looked at the cards that the girls gave him, threw them on the ground and told them that he didn't want any card with a stupid princess on it. You just never know with Jimmy.

There's another boy in Maddie's class named Sam. Sam is just as cute and is the most well- behaved child I've ever seen. At their Valentine's Day party, he went up to a little girl, tapped on her shoulder and told her that she looked beautiful. When he opened his valentine's, he told each child that he loved the card they gave him. Every mom wants to hug this child when they leave the classroom.

Guess which boy the girls love? They want to sit with Jimmy at lunch. They want to have their pictures made with him. They want to help him with his crafts. I don't know if, subconsciously, they want to help him, or if they just like the "bad boy".

Meanwhile, Sam is standing on the sidelines, waiting patiently. Offering sweet words of love and friendship, as the girls rush to Jimmy's side.

I don't see this trend ending any time soon. We still have junior high and high school to get through. Leather jackets vs Varsity Letter jackets. Motorcycles vs Volvos. Tattoos vs nose rings- hey, it'll be 2022, we've got to think realistically, here.

I want to tell Sam to hang in there and to keep being sweet. That the girls usually outgrow the James Dean complex and end up with the good boys, anyway.

At least she better. And, if Justin and I have anything to do with it, she will.

She Looks Like Who??

When I'm out with Maddie, people always say, "She looks JUST like you." When she is with Justin, they always say, "Wow, she looks JUST like you."

For myself, I can't tell who she looks like. I think she has some of my facial expressions and definitely my attitude. I think she has Justin's nose (thank God) and his eyes.

So, I decided to let the professionals decide. And, the winner is. . .

MyHeritage: Look-alike Meter - Geneology - Ancestory

Just A Swingin'

Thanks everyone, for the well wishes. I'm feeling much better. Justin is sick, now, but hopefully, he'll be over it soon. Now- how my weekend really started.

While I was working on Friday night, my stomach started hurting and wasn't getting better. I needed to throw up, but I just couldn't do it. Not with automatic flushers on the toilets. Not with all kinds of strangers, using those toilets. Nope, I just couldn't. So, my stomach ache didn't get any better. In fact, it got worse and worse.

Around 8:30, I thought I was going to D.I.E. Every time I went to a table, I knew there was the chance that I was going to vomit on them. Not good. Another table was seated in my section. Since it was only 2 people, and they seemed like nice, normal people, I decided to take care of them, then ask to go home.

Everything went well. I hunched over in pain, one time, but they didn't seem to notice. They didn't need much, so I was able to go sit in the cooler, in a futile attempt to feel better.

After they paid, I was walking in his direction. He got super, uncomfortably close to me, touched my stomach, and told me that there was a note for me under the credit slip. Whatever, I thought, probably just another one telling me that I was a great server and to have a great weekend.

Not. Quite.



I scratched out the name and number, but it probably wouldn't have mattered. They probably would have appreciated a call, because I sure wasn't going to do it!

Which brings me to this. . . why me?!? Did I give off a swinger-type vibe? Was it my slightly green skin color? Was it my continuous swallowing, trying to keep the vomit down?

And, now that I think about it. . . they didn't really look like what I thought swingers looked like. He wasn't sporting a 70's porn star moustache and gold pinky ring. She wasn't wearing a scandalous top with fake boobs hanging out and super tight polyester pants. Illusions were shattered. Swingers could be everywhere, dressed like normal people, and I would never know it!!!

I wondered what the proper etiquette was. Should I text her and tell her that I wasn't interested? Should I call and let them know that I'm not down wit' dat? I considered letting Justin call, but then thought that they might invite him to come along. What to do. . . what to do.

By the time I made it home, I was way too sick to even think about what I should do about it. Other than show Justin and let him laugh.

I probably would have done the courtesy call, though, if they had actually tipped over 15%. You tip under 15%, I'm not calling, much less participating in a swingin' 3-way booty call.

Weekend News

When Justin told me that his mom was going to keep Maddie for the entire weekend, I had plans to spend a lot of time in bed. But, not like this. I've got the flu, I think. Must go back to sleep. Hope everyone has a great weekend.

My Sincere Gratitude

Since I work in a restaurant, Valentine's Day is one of the several holidays that I am required to work. And, since I think it is a made-up, stupid holiday, that forces couples to spend money on unnecessary things, I don't mind. Let them spend their money- tipping me.

And so, tonight, since I am too keyed up to go to bed, I am writing some thank-you notes to the people that made my night a success.

To the man who removed his screaming child from the table, thank you. The other patrons didn't want to hear him and this, in effect, made everyone happier. Thank you, also, for telling your wife as you were leaving, that you would be getting a babysitter next time.

To the lady who was giving a toast to her man, thank you. Thank you for not causing a scene when he, in the middle of your toast, asked for more ranch dressing. And, to the man, thank you for making me appreciate the allure of ranch.

Thank you to the 90ish couple that held hands. It made my night, seeing you still in love. And thank you for leaving waaaay before me, so I didn't have to be on the road while you were driving home.

I would also like to thank the Nashville Metro Transit Authority for putting a bus stop in front of the restaurant. It sure helps with our clientele. It also helps knowing that they are eating on a schedule, and we can hurry them out.

Thank you all of the customers who believe that nothing says romance like some Red Lobster garlic biscuits.

And, last, but definitely not least, to the little busser girl with bright blue eye shadow, thank you for stealing my last table's tip. I'm thankful because now, I know to keep an eye on you and I have told all of the other servers to do the same. I realize that you probably stole someone's social security card number, in order to get this job, but please, don't touch my money. We are on to you. Short translation: No robe mi dinero otra vez. Got it?

I Don't Get It

One day, set aside for love. The balloons, the candy, the stuffed animals- I. Don't. Get. It. Why take one day of the year to show someone that you love them? I doesn't make sense to me.

For me, it is more romantic for my husband to surprise me with a milkshake in the middle of summer, than to give me flowers on Valentine's Day. For me, I would rather cook Justin his favorite meal, just because he wants it- not because it is Valentine's Day. Do I cherish Maddie's pictures more on Valentine's Day, than I do on any other day? Of course not.

Thanks to Rachel, From the Land of Monkeys and Princesses for this awesome graphic.

Now, I off to Target. To buy gifts for Maddie's preschool teachers, because not everyone in her class feels the same way I do. I looked like the bad mommy again, because I didn't bake a loaf of home-made strawberry bread, shaped in a heart. I brought strawberry jell-o.

It's red. What more could they expect from me?

The Stalker

I'm being stalked. It started about a month ago. . .

I was on the treadmill, running and minding my own business. A little, old Asian lady got on the treadmill beside me and started walking. A few minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. In her broken English, she said, "You run faster, but I do more sit-ups." I look at her, Doesn't she know that I don't talk to people at the gym? I listen. When headphones are in, conversation is o-u-t. "Really, that's great." I respond and change the channels, so it is clear that I don't want to talk.

About an hour later, I see her in the ab room. I start doing my crunches and she plops down beside me. "You did 25, watch me- I do 30." I'm stuck. What could I do? So I watch her and hope that I never see her at the gym again.

But, I do. I see her almost every time I go. And she follows me. If I'm doing bicep curls, she meanders over and shows me how many she can do. She challenged me to see who could do more lunges. I tried to tell her that I have a set program, and I don't like to deviate from it. She didn't really care. So, I added more weight to my reps, hoping she would give up and find someone else to harrass. That didn't work.

As a result, my arms and legs are toned a little more, because I just can't let a woman that is 20 years my senior, and wears a leotard to work out in, beat me.

So, I'm trying a new strategy, to outwit my stalker. For the last week, I've kept track of when she likes to go to the gym. I've noticed what classes she likes to go to, and I try to get my workout done, while she is in a class. I know which cardio machines she likes, and doesn't like, and plan accordingly. I know she does her free weights and abs after cardio. I know that on Tuesdays she wears a really ugly red headband with purple tights and a t-shirt.

Who's the stalker, now?

123 Book Meme

I was tagged for by Amy for this 123 book meme. Sounded like fun because Justin and I are involved in a couples Bible study, and we are studying a really cool book.

Here are the instructions:
1. Pick up the nearest book ( of at least 123 pages).

2. Open the book to page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the next three sentences.

5. Tag five people

The book I'm reading is The Life You've Always Wanted by John Ortberg. I have to admit that I haven't made it that far in the book, and I'm not really sure what this is going to be about. Here goes:

Perhaps the least-practiced form of servanthood today is what Bonhoeffer called "the ministry of holding one's tongue."

Often we combat our evil thoughts most effectively if we absolutely refuse to allow them to be expressed in words. . . It must be a decisive rule of every Christian fellowship that each individual is prohibited from saying much that occurs to him.

Hhhhhmmmm. I think that is exactly what I needed to read today. Funny how that works, huh?

Now, for the tagging. . . I tag SarahO, Latte Mommy, My Sassy Pants, and whoever else wants to do it. I didn't tag 5- oops.

The Best Day

Yesterday, at church, our preacher told us to think about the best day we've ever had. Was it the day you were born? The day you started walking/talking? How about the day your child was born? The day you were married? The list went on and on. Then, he said to take a couple of seconds, turn to whoever is next to you (Justin), and tell them.

Simultaneously, we said the same thing. The day Maddie was born.

Then, the preacher said that he could tell everyone what their best day was. It's today. Today is the only day that we are living in right now, might as well make it the best one possible. I decided that it's worth a shot.

After fixing Maddie a breakfast of a banana and some cheese cubes ( I know, I know- but if it's going to be my best day, I'm not fighting with her over her breakfast choices), we headed to the gym. All of the ellipticals were taken, but it wasn't a big deal. Today is my best day. I just did some free weights, until one became available. Next, I decided to stretch and do abs. Every mat was taken. Today is my best day. I found a corner that wasn't taken, grabbed one of those cheapo mats, and tried to stretch without getting plastic rug burn. Today is my best day.

I decided to shower at the gym, since I had such a tight schedule this morning. I walked in, and there were no naked old ladies standing aroung, chit-chatting. Hooray- Today is my best day. I start washing my hair, lots of sweat equals lots of shampoo, in my book. A lady calls out, "Excuse me, lady in the shower?" How exactly do you respond to that? I hoped she didn't want me to share my shampoo. "Um, yeah- over here." In her cheery voice she informs me that a water main had burst and they were shutting off the water, immediately. Today is my best day?

Ug. My hair was full of suds. I started trying to rinse it out, and the water pressure was getting weaker and weaker. Best day? I still needed conditioner. I put some in, mixed it with the soap suds, and stood closer and closer to the shower head- sure that someone with a staph infection had done the same thing. It may be my best day, but it sure won't be my best hair day, I think to myself.

We left the gym and headed straight to Maddie's playgroup. The kids were on their best behavior, the coffee was hot, and I got to hang out with some of my favorite people.

Yep, today is my best day. But, I can't wait for tomorrow.

Because a day with a completed shower can only be better.

Highlight Of My Saturday Night At Work

Co-worker #1: You know, Jamie, you are really pretty. If you lost some weight, you could be a model.

Co- worker #2: Oh thanks, Ms. DeeDee. If you lost some weight, you could be a porn star.

I love the people I work with. Seriously. I do.

Scrolling Saturday

Today, since cleaning is on the agenda, I thought this post was appropriate for Scrolling Saturday. And, I think Maddie is on to my game.

Oh, The Games We Play

I really don't like to clean. Most specifically the bathroom. No, wait- dusting. No, folding laundry. No, I think I hate vaccuuming most of all. Oh, screw it. I hate it all. I don't get that warm, fuzzy feeling from a clean house. All I can think when I see it is that in about an hour it will be back dirty and I'll have to clean all over again.

One Saturday morning, I had half- heartedly cleaned some of the rooms. All I really had left was the kitchen. Scrubbing countertops, cleaning out the fridge, and the floor. Maddie came to the kitchen and wanted to watch a movie. She was on a Cinderella kick and loved anything to do with her. And I swear, my very own fairy godmother put a thought in my head.

"I have a better idea. Let's play Cinderella." "Okay," she said "I'll put on a princess gown and you can be the prince."

Well, that didn't work. Let's try something else.

"How about I'll be the evil stepmother and you can be Cinderella before she got bibbity-bobbity-boo'd? Now, Cinderella- GET TO WORK!!"

She ate it up. I fixed her a mop bucket with sudsy water, gave her a scrub brush and let her go. She even started singing the sing sweet mockingbird song that 'rella sings in the movie.
It took her a little while, but my floors looked great.

I have to admit, we play this game as often as I can convince her to. After all, practice makes perfect. It works for dusting, scrubbing the sink, sweeping (swiffering). I haven't found any tapestries for her to clean, but I have hopes.

I hate to think of what I would be cleaning today if my fairy godmother hadn't been on my side that day.

Snow White 3- Cross Dressers Unite

Maddie loves her new magnet Snow White and Prince set. She makes up elaborate stories, creates the scenes and changes their clothes appropriately.

Yesterday, she brought me her newest masterpiece. She called it "Snow White 3"





One more reason I should have watched a little more Little House on the Prairie and a lot less of Jerry Springer when I was pregnant.

Nothing Else Matters

Do you ever feel like you just don't stack up? As a mom? Or a wife? No? I guess I'm the only one, then.

Most of the time, I think that I don't have a clue about being a parent. I try, I really do, but mostly, I find myself coming up short on the "good mommy ladder".

Some days, Maddie doesn't change out of her pajamas. Neither do I. Most meals are eaten in front of the tv. And those meals are usually peanut butter and jelly stirred in a bowl. While she is watching a movie, I'm napping. One of my proudest parenting moments was when she learned how to make a pot of coffee.

I do have some redeeming parenting skills, but I'll save those for a short post, later.

Yesterday, while I was on the computer, Maddie was playing quietly with her princess dolls.

"Mommy?"

"Mommy?"

"MOMMY!?"

"What is it, Maddie?" I didn't even look up from the screen. Bad mommy.

"Nothing. I'm just really happy that you are my mommy." My head hangs in shame.

I turned off the computer, got in the floor and started playing with her and her dolls. How I feel about my parenting skills ceased to matter. If she likes the way I do it, I guess it's okay. Right? The way I see it, she has no clue about how inadequate I really am.

And, I want to keep it that way. For as long as I possibly can.

Why It Doesn't Matter

Yesterday was Super Tuesday. I think. I'm not really sure because I was too busy watching the weather channel. Yep, 70 degrees in February with a cold front coming through, means tornados and other fun stuff.

Due to incredible technology, we watched each part of our state get ravaged by these storms, while headed straight for us. Memphis was hit pretty bad. Jackson- right between Memphis and Nashville- had major problems, involving a college dorm collapsing and 16 students trapped. And, it was coming our way.

And, I was at work. Away from my family.

Storms usually don't bother me. But, for some reason, this one did. Maybe it was the hail. Maybe it was the fact that I had to wait it out in the men's restroom, with my co-workers. Maybe it was not being with Justin and Maddie.

I made it home safely. Justin was waiting up for me. We talked about the crazy weather and watched the news for a little while. I asked him about the election, because he is a political junkie. He said he didn't really know. He was too busy watching the weather.

You know what that tells me?

If God wants to take out your state, He will. No matter who may be running the country.

Miley Cyrus- President of the World

Walk into any preschool girl's room, and I bet you see princesses, princess dress- up clothes or any verseion of dolls/barbies/babies. Most conversations revolve around fairy godmothers, wicked witches, and prince charmings. Their pajamas are princess gowns. And, don't try to settle for a cheap imposter. Oh, no. They can spot a fake a mile away.

Walk into any pre-teen girl's room, and I bet you see posters of Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana. Oh wait, are they the same person? I still have a preschooler, not a pre- teen, yet. Thank God. They talk about Miley. They wear clothes with her face plastered on the front. They listen to Hannah's music. She's basically a pre-teen Oprah. They watch her show, and the lucky ones get to go to a concert. And, for those who can't go to a concert, they've made a movie.

And the phone calls began, in earnest. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, check out the link.) Almost 40 a day. Most of them wanting to know about the Hannah Montana movie.

Justin: Heaven's Best Carpet Cleaning

Lady: What time does the Hannah Montana movie start?

Justin: Oh, they canceled the show. I heard that she's pregnant. (She's not, he was just really tired of all of the phone calls.)

Lady: WHAT?! ANOTHER ONE? freaks out and hangs up the phone. Never calls back.

Another lady didn't take it so well. He told her that it wasn't showing. She went nuts and asked about refunds. He told her to talk to his manager. She hung up and called back. We let the voicemail get it. She called back.

Me: Hello?

Crazy Woman: Who. Is. This?

Me: This is Rosa.

Crazy Woman: WHAT?! Do I have the wrong number?

Me: Um, yeah. You do.

Crazy Woman: Well, who was the smart- a** who f*&^ing told me the f*&^ing Hannah Montana movie was f&^%ing cancelled.

Me: I hope you don't talk like that during the movie. I don't think Billy Ray would approve.

Okay, I didn't really say that last part, but it would have been so cool if I had. I thought of it right after I hung up on the crazy woman. You know, because she was cussing me out when she dialed the wrong number.

The paper said that because of the popularity, the movie was being extended beyond the original week-long showing. Possibly for a month. Great.

Miley Cyrus is going to take over the world, isn't she?

Mastercard Birthday Party

Balloons: not much

Ariel Cake: a little more

Pizza, drinks, and tokens at Chuck E. Cheese: a crapload

Not having 16 kids and 19 adults at my apartment for the birthday party: PRICELESS

All in all, the party was a lot of fun. We only had one major snafu. I told everyone it was time for cake, and couldn't find the candles. So, while Justin went to Target, there were 8 girls sitting around the cake, drooling. Each took a turn dipping their grubby, germ ridden fingers in the icing.

And, then came present time. At one point, the girls knocked me down, trying to help open the gifts. I would rather be trying to protect a dead zebra from a pack of hyenas, than be in the middle of preschoolers trying to get to presents.

It looks like we robbed a Disney store and focused on all of the princess stuff. Maddie has already asked about next year. Justin wants to rent a tarp, spray it with water, and let the kids ice skate, for her next party.

After Friday night, it doesn't sound like such a bad idea.