Confessions of a Momzilla

Hair Clip Tine in the Ear Canal (and Other Bedtime Stories)

2012-01-23T10:46:00.000-08:00

By now, the story of Kate turning herself into a human piggy bank has been long enough past that we can laugh at it. Well, that is until last night, when we realized she may have a fetish for putting weird objects in body orifices.
Kate came downstairs to me at 10:00 last night, claiming that she thought she had something in her ear. I asked her if she PUT anything in her ear to which she shook her head slowly. I asked again, "Are you sure you didn't put anything in your ear?"

"No, Mama!" she vehemently denied. I also noticed she was chomping on gum. Mind you, at this point, she was supposed to have been asleep for an hour. I asked her where she got gum and she said, "From behind my pillow. The fancy one I don't use [that would be her pillow sham]."

After I scolded her chewing gum in bed, made her spit it out and re-brush her teeth, and had fished in the dark for the remaining pack of gum and confiscated it to an unreachable place, I told her I would briefly look in her ear.

And that's when I saw something pink and plastic wedged where the ear canal narrows. I called Husband down to hold the flashlight and retrieved my tweezers from my cosmetic bag. Kate is wailing huge crocodile tears by this point thinking she is going to be pierced by my tweezers, which is a real possibility because I am not sure if I can get this plastic thing out.

But alas, I was able to get a good enough grip on the piece to remove it from Kate's ear canal. Turns out it was the tine to a pink sparkly hair clip she wore in her hair last week. After further interrogation, turns out she DID remember putting it in her ear (intimidating glares from the Momzilla eventually crack even the most hardened criminals) but when asked why, she was blubbering, "I don't KNOW!"

Which is probably true. To assume the train of logic makes at the stops in her brain would be false. For now, we gave her strict instructions not to put ANYTHING into ANY hole in her body including her nose, mouth, or ears. I didn't mention her hoo-hah because I didn't want the idea to even enter her brain or next time....well, we won't even discuss that.

You know those weird product warning labels that don't seem to make any sense (like don't use your hair dryer in the shower) and you wonder who would even think to use the product in such a way? Now you know. They were written for my Squirrels.

The Human Piggy Bank and other Untold Stories of the E.R.

2012-01-09T11:22:00.000-08:00

During our recent family Christmas in Iowa, Katybird came up to me one evening and complained that her "chest hurt". I had my mom take her pulse and also called over cardiac cath lab superstar brother-out-law Nelson to review her symptoms to see if this was a cause for worry. I figured Katybird had been free-feeding on loads of sugary junk all day and this was probably heartburn caused by poor diet, lack of sleep, and two hours of intense swimming in the hotel pool.
Nelson said to keep an eye on her, have her lay down and rest for a while, and see if symptoms persisted. Mom dosed her up with Maalox and we tucked her in to watch the Disney channel.

About 11 PM, Katybird said she wanted to see a doctor but again, I told her that we would wait and see in the morning. Kate's in this stage where any minor cut or scratch makes her weep and wail and demand bandaids and ointment. I was not about to hit the ER, incur the cost of an out-of-state, non-insured visit, just to have the ER doc roll his eyes and tell me she had heartburn.

We had a long night. Kate would wake up every 30-45 minutes and whimper. I'd reposition her and it helped if I put my hand over her heart. She didn't want to eat anything but drank a few sips of water around 3 AM.

At 9:00 AM, I had a morning conference call I could not miss so I sent Kate to a local prompt care with Husband.

An hour later, I got the call that it appeared Kate had swallowed a lithium battery. I wracked my brain for where she could have gotten a lithium battery and told Darren I was 99% sure it was probably a coin from her sparkly pink wallet and not a lithium battery. He said the x-ray made the swallowed object appear beveled and that it definitely looked like a battery and would need to come out ASAP.

I had my sisters texting and online trying to find out what the protocol is for swallowed batteries. Turns out that there are 3500 cases a year of swallowed "button" batteries and that the lithium ones are particularly concerning because a chemical emits from the battery that can eat through surrounding tissues after two hours.

YIKES! I was so not getting my Mother-of-the-Year crown and sash this time around. Husband called to our home state to check with the state insurance (the girls are covered by the state medical plan until they reach the age of 18 - part of the adoption contract the state provides to all kids adopted out of foster care) and the state said they would authorize payment (not sure how much but I guess that fun is in front of us).

I loaded Kate's ladybug pillow pet into my purse, and my sister Erin drove me and my sister Renee (my consulting RN for the day's drama) to meet Husband at prompt care so we could head over to the emergency room.

An ER consult later, Katybird donned a hospital gown that could have wrapped around her three times and was tucked into a big bed on wheels. She was given an Etch-a-Sketch by the nurse and got to pick her flavor of gas mask.

Soon, she was wheeled back into surgery...which took all of two minutes...and zounds and tally ho...the doctor discovered this in her esophagus, right above the entrance to her stomach...
Two coins, a dime and nickel, sitting perfectly on top of each other...which would look like a lithium battery on an x-ray.

The doctor used a forceps to remove the money and Kate was right as rain after an hour in recovery. See evidence in pink below...

So ends the saga of Kate turning herself into a human piggy bank. For those doing the bookkeeping, here is how the accounting reads:

1) Deposit = $0.15
2) Withdrawal = $0.15 + several $$$$ more in hospital bills
3) Remaining coin collection = CONFISCATED BY THE MOMZILLA

A Plethora of Polyester & Appalling Prints

2012-01-05T10:55:00.000-08:00

The results are in for this year's "Ugly Thrift Store Outfit" contest. My apologies to anyone who has duplicates of any of these items in their closet. I will submit your name to TLC's "What Not to Wear".
The Runway Video:

Grand Prize goes to the Dynamic Duo of Matriarch and Patriarch K:

First Runner Up goes to nephew Brenton who managed to find an '80s girls workout outfit that exposed an alarming amount of hairy leg.

Second Runner up has to be brother-out-law Nelson in a frighteningly tight pair of polyester flood pants.

Third Runner up is Susan in a saccharine floral ensemble that would make any Southern Junior Leaguer proud:

And some of the rest surely deserve honorable mention:

I even managed to find my old Billy Bob teeth to complete the ensemble! This picture does not do justice to the XXL burnt orange/mustard/olive/brown sweater knit attached vest monstrosity I found with TAGS STILL ATTACHED at the local thrift store.

The whole crew:

Look for next year's contest: Ugly Formal Wear

Coming to a hotel near you!

Coming Soon! The Ugly Thrift Store Outfit Contest

2011-12-22T10:19:00.000-08:00

Last year's Ugly Christmas Sweater Runway Show was one of my "most read" blogs of all time.

This year, my crazy family has expanded the ugly and we are now preparing for our runway fashion showing displaying the best in thrift store clothing. Bring on the polyester and fire up your cameras, blog followers! There is about to be a showdown in one week!

Momzilla, Private Eye Researcher Extraordinaire!

2011-12-14T08:16:00.000-08:00

It's official! I have passed the grueling months-long boot camp, background checks, full body scans, Mensa exams, and dental record verifications to achieve my "Researcher" card from the National Archives.

Ok, so really all I had to do was show up, have my camera's serial number recorded, go through a metal detector, take a 10 minute tutorial at a computer, and have my dastardly picture taken by a very bored archivist in the dungeons of the National Archives building in Washington, D.C. No body cavity search required (unlike the TSA at the airport).

All this in pursuit of answers regarding the origins of my father-in-law (heretofore called FIL so I don't have to type as much), whose adoptive parents were told he came over on a boat that landed in Ellis Island, New York sometime around early September 1945. I originally visited Ellis Island but was told that all records past 1924 are kept on microfiche at the National Archives.

Since we were going to be passing D.C. en route from NC to MD the week before Thanksgiving, I thought it would be the perfect time to put my sleuthing skills to work. I fancy myself an amateur genealogist, having honed my skills looking for information regarding my Squirrel's birth families. It's amazing what you can find online! I have been able to get mug shots, police records, MySpace pictures, Facebook pictures, relative connections, and more all from digging around. I even found out that there is a website of Social Security Numbers of deceased people! SCARY!

But I digress...

I had very little to go on. My FIL does not know where he came from, exactly how old he was (he was assigned a guesstimated birthday of August 1st), what his birth name was, or his adoption agency. The only thing he has is a birth certificate that would have been reissued upon his adoption. For those of you unfamiliar, when a child is adopted, their birth certificate is reissued as if the adoptive parents gave birth to that child. So, in my kid's case, it looks like I gave birth to Elisabeth before I even married Husband (SCANDALOUS!)

Armed with my small pocket of knowledge, I entered the National Archives to search for infant boys landing in Ellis Island between September 1 and September 10, 1945. I scanned my Researcher card into the registry and was escorted back to the real dregs of the Archives...the microfiche records room. It's mind-boggling...and a bit disconcerting...to realize how much information our government has on all of us. And how readily accessible most of it is!

My guide led me to the microfiche drawer containing the dates I needed and then another guide helped me load up my microfiche machine in a darkened, eerie room. There were only four other researchers in the room at the time, all hushed and bent over their terminals (probably trying to find Obama's REAL birth certificate!).

I found amazing things on microfiche...boats of WWII soldiers returning home declaring their "war trophies" to Customs and Immigration (lots of German weaponry taken off dead soldiers, no doubt), a stowaway named Robert Hein from Bremahaven, Germany...19 years old, no family left, and he snuck aboard a cargo ship bound for the US.

There were only three big passenger boats arriving during the dates in question - one entirely of individuals with last names of Wong, Chang, Hui...so I ruled that one out. The most likely boat to search was the "Queen Mary" arriving from Southampton, England.

But alas, no child younger than 18 months was listed in passenger manifests and even then, that was a girl named Tabitha whose surname matched her parents traveling with her.

I came back home a bit discouraged that I didn't have more exciting news to share with my FIL. I had tracked down the son of the caretaker of the orphanage we think he lived at for a period of time and I did find that, although the orphanage shut down years ago, a grotto still remains on a steep, wooded trail at the end of a dead end road in P Town. And I found that the Archdiocese of Chicago may have records dating back to 1945 that may contain information he is looking for.

My FIL took it all in a stride. He says that he hasn't known for 60+ years where he came from and if he never finds out, then he will still sleep at night. I left messages on Ancestry.com forums for anything related to the orphanage and we'll see if anything surfaces.

Until then, I'll keep my magnifying glass, fingerprinting kit, and houndstooth trench coat out and ready to go at a moments notice!

The Battle of the Bucket Lists

2011-11-16T12:01:00.000-08:00

I read through my owner's manual for the Big Blue Bus the other week and figured out how to remove all the seats in the minivan. I alternated between suppressing my gag reflex at the amount of nasty goo and petrified candy found ground into the carpet and seat clamp thingies...and my marvel at how the van had become a time capsule of items lost from countless hours spent on the road (we can now play "Go Fish" with an almost complete deck of cards).

One item I unearthed was an old "Bucket List" compiled by Eli. Here goes:

go to disny world
fly in a arplane
be a soper star (I am guessing that's "super star")
go to disneyland (she's going bi-coastal, people!)
driveacar
be a prfesher (professor?)
see slena gomas in parson ("Selena Gomez in person"...kind of disturbing to see Selena Gomez "in parson")
be in a tv show
be in oterspase (outer space)
go to the beach
linn hot sire (or maybe "lirn hotsire?)
rid a Elfent (elephant)

Oh wait! There's more:

13. rid a dofen (dolphin)
14. go to evry stat in the usa

Hmmm...so much for her desire to cure cancer or find a solution to global conflict. She is going for MUCH more shallow pursuits like meeting Disney stars and getting on TV. She tells me that she can't decide if she wants to be a TV star, a pop star, or a gospel singer. The choices, people! I tell her all three will require that she be a role model and treat her sister well so she might as well start practicing now. To which, she rolls her eyes and groans (I'm all about letting her keep her delusional bubbles while seizing the opportunity to exploit the moment towards good behavior!)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here's my bucket list:

1. Teach my daughter how to spell and write legibly.

I do believe Eli will be crossing all the items off her bucket list before I can do the same!

I'll Love You When I Am Dead

2011-11-04T07:07:00.000-07:00

Relayed from my sister Mary in this morning's email:

"Bucky [Rebekah] saved her coins and bought a Barbie doll at Walmart last week. Yesterday, as I was sitting doing my Bible reading, I looked up to see that she had set up a wedding (in the absence of a male Barbie, she was using a wooden Indian chief that I had set out for Thanksgiving).

I asked her, "Who is that?" and she informed me it was Sarah and Brenton "Fartenburger."

I pretended to pay no attention, as she said the vows (she had to say both parts and it went like this...

"I'll love you when I am pregnant, I'll love you when I am pregnant. I'll love you when I am dead, I'll love you when I am dead. I'll love you when I am strong, I'll love you when I am strong."

Then she sat back and declared, "You two make a great couple!"

I agree; even if Brenton forgot to wear his Indian head dress to the wedding!!!"

The Curse of Money

2011-11-02T10:03:00.000-07:00

Last Friday night, I had an opportunity to share about our calling to missions and the mighty work of the Isaiah 55 Deaf Ministries team in Reynosa, Mexico. I am learning on this journey that so much of surrendering to the call of missions is realizing my secure feelings surrounding money...and my hesitance to give it up.

Growing up in a household where money was scarce (read: small time farming dad and mom raising 7, count 'em, 7 daughters and one not-so-motivated-to-farm son) and so from little on, I developed a hatred for debt and a strong desire to make sure I would always be financial comfortable.

15 years and a masters degree later, I had my wish. Our two income household was comfortable. Husband and I had just spent a small fortune building our dream house. We had the requisite two children, two dogs, and one cat.

Then why did I feel empty? As I wondered around my new home, and as God, through the work of His Holy Spirit, began whispering to my soul, I realized I had taken on triple the mortgage and triple the work, all in pursuit of what? Happiness? The image of success? To show off on Facebook and at class reunions that I had "arrived"?

God would bring a scene from a movie back to replay in my mind as if someone had set the DVD player to "repeat" and left the room. (Yes, God speaks even through movies...imagine that)

Let me set the stage:

Oskar Schindler was a German industrialist who set up munitions and enamalware factories in Poland and the Czech Republic during World War II. Self-serving and opportunistic by nature, he sought to profit from the war but was however, visibly uncomfortable by the treatment of Jews by Hitler's army. He soon found that by wining, dining, and flattering high-ranking SS officers, he could purchase Jews to work in his factory, thereby saving them from the death camp. His choice of whom to purchase was based more on the advice of his accountant Itzhak Stern (also a Jew) than by the Jewish person's actual ability to perform the given tasks. Nearly shut down after the SS finds that he has employed a one-armed factory worker, claiming him to be "essential", Schindler, nonetheless, manages to keep 1,100 Jews from perishing in the Holocaust.

Below is the scene at the end of the movie where the Nazis have been overcome and the hunters have now become the hunted. The Jews from Schindler's factory have gathered to say their goodbyes as Schindler plans to flee (since Oskar was officially a member of the Nazi party although his actions clearly said he did not support their platform). Oskar is presented with a ring from his accountant Stern that in Hebrew reads "He who saves a life saves the world entire"...and the magnitude of Schindler's past decisions hit him square in the chest. He realizes that he could have saved so many more...that he had wasted so much money.

He Who Saves One Life Saves the World Entire

Schindler's List
— MOVIECLIPS.com

(Facebook followers can click on this link...video clips don't stream over)
http://movieclips.com/mX2f-schindlers-list-movie-he-who-saves-one-life-saves-the-world-entire/

And so for the past six months, God has been enabling me to see money differently. He has proven that He can outgive me any day of the week. He has helped me to realize that, had I invested in Isaiah 55 instead of building a house, I could have paid teacher salaries for YEARS to come...which would have resulted in hundreds of students learning to communicate and ultimately learning that God did not make a mistake when creating them and that they had an important voice in this world and that through His Son Jesus Christ, these students, and their families, can be adopted into the family of God forever.

I can't change the past. But I'll be hanged before I waste any more time or money in the future.

I Now Pronounce You Darren & Mark!

2011-10-24T08:33:00.000-07:00

Last weekend was the first "next generation" wedding in my family as my nephew Brenton and his fiance Sarah were married.

We have been eagerly awaiting this wedding as the reception included something sadly missing from all the previous weddings in my family...a DANCE! Seriously, I could never become a full-fledged Baptist because I really love to dance.

Not that I have any rhythm or talent. After all, my dance experience ranged from junior high dances (stiff-armed embraces while shifting from foot-to-foot, rotating slowly in a circle) to our lackluster show choir choreography (we couldn't really call ourselves "Gleeks" back then...when our choreography was pretty much box steps and jazz hands)

But I do have next-to-no inhibitions about lookin' like a fool on the floor. Whenever the music starts, my feet start moving on their own. Maybe I was born a Pentecostal...who knows?

At any rate, Husband doesn't have the same level of freedom...which was why I was suitably impressed when he told me that if the DJ played a slow song, he would dance with me. My sister Renee's husband also told her the same thing so Renee and I decided it was time to dedicate a song to the two shy husbands and get them out on the dance floor.

Renee excitedly raced up to the DJ and asked him to play a slow song and send the dedication out to "Darren and Mark". The DJ looked a bit puzzled and asked which song and Renee dismissively said, "I don't care. Just pick one."

Clearly we didn't think this through...as we soon realized when the DJ put on a slow number, then called out "This song goes out to all your married couples...and Darren & Mark". YIKES! Looks like he was dedicating the song to a same sex couple named "Darren and Mark"!

Ah well, the husbands didn't seem to notice and dutifully ambled out to the floor to twirl their spastic wives around. Then retreated to their chairs to wonder what overcaffeinated drink we had consumed to be able to shake, rattle, and roll until 11 PM.

Some pix from the night:

Look for me in the background...hollah!

My nephew Abe (Aber Baber) was the (as he called it) "Ring Barrier":

My niece Megan (Maggie Sue) - who looked FABULOUS - and nephew Bennett (Benny) - who thankfully shaved his Amish-looking beard!

The Squirrels and I awaiting the wedding party to exit the church:

My niece Rebekah (Bucky) who decided that she would bring her own tiara and veil (unbeknownst to her mother...my sister Mary):

We felt it necessarily to provide Beth with some protective head gear, given her history of having objects fall on her head (like a bathroom door, a frying pan, a meteorite/satellite...ok, that one just hit her moon roof while she was driving)...and of course, since the helmet was for Beth, it had to be bejeweled!

The Mother/Son Dance

Katybird having the time of her life...

We are fond of Rachel's (Woo/Rudy/Duke) hair in the lower right of this photo...

Hattie (Hats), Grace, Rachel, and Eli captured center stage...

The Haerrs display some "Hairography" (or should I say "Haerr-ography"!)

Grace and Abigail (Sass) are "Stayin' Alive"!

The dance award for the night goes to my fantastic niece Lauren (Lorsban, Laursie Pie) in the purple dress. I can find her in practically every one of my dance photos...guess the "no inhibition" gene runs in families!

Back in Mint Green Again

2011-10-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

Last Friday night was the long-awaited premiere of "Courageous". I went online and bought tickets ahead of time as I remembered the opening night of "Fireproof" was pretty much sold out.

After the movie, Husband was taking the babysitter home when he felt his heart go out of rhythm. He came home and extended his wrist to me to double-check. Sure enough...his heart was in a-fib again. I remembered all too well the last time he went into a-fib and figured this time, I wouldn't send him to prompt care by himself!

Luckily, my sister Erin was out our house, having spent the day being honored as the 2011 Outstanding Alum from E College. We whispered to her that we were going to tuck the kids in bed and then head over to the Big O hospital ER.

30 minutes later, we pulled into the zoo, I mean, ER and had the privilege of encountering every belligerent drunk in P town. Several were milling around the ER while the male nurse at the triage desk looked like he could use a stiff cup of coffee and 18 hours of uninterrupted sleep. There was a lady in a wheel chair right inside the door who was hyperventilating and moaning while her friend fluttered around her asking questions. The triage desk paid her nary one iota of attention. She could be in there every Friday night, for all I know. After all, the hospital is a not-for-profit so they do not turn anyone away.

But I digress...

One quick pulse check later, Husband was being wheeled down to Room 211 for what looked to be a very long stay. The last time he went into a-fib, they tried shocking him twice to no avail. 36 hours later, his heart corrected itself. This time we were in the first 2 hours of a-fib so we hoped for different results.

After donning yet another fashion-forward mint green hospital gown, getting laden with lots of sticky pads, lines, IVs, monitor beeps, and much consultation by three doctors, the best course of action was determined to be shocking again. I was told that I would need to leave the room since it was unpleasant to watch and Husband was administered a heavy dose of what the doctors now call the "Michael Jackson" drug...a conscious sedation with amnesiac after-effects (I gotta get me some of that...for me or the Squirrels...either way, a clear winner!)

By this time, it was 1:30 in the morning and I had been playing several Solitaire games on my company iPad and trying to read to stay awake. A quick prayer of "Lord, please heal him completely. I'd sure like to go home tonight." later, the doctor poked his head out of the room and told me Husband had converted to normal rhythm after the first jolt. HALLELUJAH! Discharge took another 45 minutes and by 3:00 AM, we were both back home and in bed.

Which was a good thing...because I was about ready to do a flying leap and land an elbow thump to his rib cage if his heart was going to be stubborn. Evidently date nights with me are dangerous!

Painful Flattery for a Secret Keeper

2011-09-24T12:53:00.000-07:00

My sister Renee issued an invitation for the me and the two Squirrels to attend a Secret Keeper slumber party to use up a package Renee had bought at a recent Secret Keeper event with her daughter "Amazing" Grace. The Squirrels could barely contain their excitement since this particular slumber party involved staying overnight at a hotel with a pool AND would be attended by their red-headed cousins - Abigail, Rachel, and Rebekah (or, as our nickname-laden family calls them, "Sass", "Duke" and "Bucky"...yes, such flattering nicknames).

We had adjoining rooms at a local Holiday Inn Express and the girls no sooner stepped inside the door then they began devouring mass quantities of sugar and caffeine. Clothes and flip flops were flying through the air as they dug into their suitcases to unearth their swim suits, then down to the pool for some fun.

Later on, Renee had activities plan to teach the girls how to keep confidences and treat others with kindness and respect. The favorite activity involved the girls using fabric markers on white pillowcases to write kind words about each other. Each girl had a pillowcase with their name on it, then the girls cycled around the different pillowcases and were to write something and draw a picture of something that reminded them of the particular girl whose name was on the pillowcase.

All was going well until Eli came to Katybird's pillowcase. My kids are the best of friends and worst of enemies. Eli is the typical older sister that thinks her younger sister is boring and babyish. Kate thinks her older sister is bossy and mean. Eli was taking a while to think and then finally....PAINFULLY...wrote the following:

"Nice sometimes"

Meanwhile, Mary's daughter Abigail wrote this glowing review for her own sister:

Rachel, you are the best thing that ever happened.

I don't know what I'd do without you. You fill my day with love!!"

Perhaps my favorite, though, was what Rachel wrote on friend Audrey's pillowcase:

"Satan is mean, his followers are too but totally not you!"

Mmmm...what a warm and fuzzy endorsement to lay your head on at night, Duke!

"Taling" Care of the "Nose"

2011-09-20T09:11:00.000-07:00

A couple of Saturdays ago, I spent a marathon day cleaning out the garage and the storage room, the last two bastions of chaos that I had been dreading. We finally broke down and listed our house with a real estate agent (and chafe against the 6 1/2 % commission somewhat)...who so far has gotten less showings than I did but hey, our realtor knows Ted Nugent and was going to call him to see if he (or his hunting buddies) want a little house in a big woods with lots of deer you can shoot from your front porch before you even finish your morning coffee...

But I digress...

So anyway, I was so exhausted I fell into a chair just to unkink my back muscles. Little Katybird tiptoes up to me and hands me this note:

For those of you who can't read Katybirdese...it says:

"Dear mom
I noe (know) you are having a hard time taling (taking) care of the nose (house).
from Kate to mom"

Awww...perhaps I will stop ranting about how I work my fingers to the bone and feel like the household maid around here.

"Still"water in Turmoil Upon Exit of K Sisterhood

2011-09-12T12:45:00.000-07:00

In mid-August, the sleepy little town of Stillwater, MN was accosted out of a sound slumber by the arrival of 13 female members of the K sisterhood. Leading the charge was matriarch Ellie followed by 7 daughters and 5 nieces.

Aurora Staples Inn Bed & Breakfast owners reported that much noise and laughter shook the walls of their 100+ year old home while faint glimpses of heavily robed nieces could be seen stumbling to the breakfast table each morning.

The downtown area business owners also reported that shopping maven Beth was seen single-handedly reviving the area economy. "You know, we were heading for an economic bust, ja? But then this crazy lady came in bought one of everything in every color!" stated Margoot Helglerood, owner of the Fun Sisters Boutique.

The back of the trolley car was also weighted down by the presence of the Babbling Baker's Dozen (as the town had dubbed them) and their plethora of fudge purchases.

But perhaps most disturbing were these images captured by hidden camera of the 13 women seen trying valiantly to capture the funniest picture of their lips doing the "bbbbbb" sound. Or trying to capture a picture of their cheeks stretched to capacity doing a loose-jawed violent head shake.

Nonetheless, the K Sisterhood left behind a wake of destruction as they exited the town on Sunday morning. Residents and business owners alike unlocked their doors again and took long naps to recover. The Governor of Minnesota has officially declared Stillwater a disaster area and FEMA is on its way to spearhead recovery efforts.

Cannibalistic Goldfish & "Pichr Suls"

2011-08-30T17:38:00.000-07:00

School started with a bang this year! Eli and Katybird got to pick out their first day of school outfits by themselves with no direction from me. Turns out that they must like hot pink glittery retina-burning '80s throwback clothing. Ah well...

Eli came bursting through the door after school, delighted that she had been assigned to put up and take down the flag outside the school. Evidently this is a big honor in the 4th grade (aside from weaving the maypole at the end of the year and scraping plates at lunch). Eli was very worried that she couldn't fulfill her obligations. "Mom, can we practice with my blanket? I have to fold the flag in a triangle. And it can't touch the ground. And I can't reach the rope to untie it. And can you take me to school early because I want to make sure I have time to take care of the flag?" Ooo...the pressure builds.

And Katybird took the entrepreneurial route, painting watercolor blobs on paper the day before school started. "I'm going to sell these, Mom. I think I'll charge $50.". I told her 25 cents was more like it. "That's what I meant." she said. She printed a sign and everything!

Benny D from her class was her one and only customer. And either Katybird overcharged him or Benny can't count money any better than Kate can. We told her that she should have only collected 25 cents from him and she started whimpering, "Well, I didn't know how much he gave me because I...can't...(sob, hiccup)...count MONEY!" Given the choice of offering Benny a refund or more pictures, she felt certain he would choose more pictures. Who wouldn't want more pictures of blobs on paper?

And finally, Husband took the girls to ReggieFest this past weekend and came home with...goldfish. We have no bowl, no food, and no ability to keep sensitive plants and animals alive. I gave him a tired look and Big D muttered, "Well, that's what the prize was!" Whoever decided goldfish make good prizes must have spent too much time in the beer tent.

So alas, Husband turned my Tupperware bowl into a fish bowl and the Squirrels christened "Sunshine", "Goldie" and "Jane" (I'm deeply flattered.) They thought that the goldfish would want to eat crackers with their namesake but it sounded a bit cannibalistic to me! We didn't need a goldfish Donner party going on in the bowl. Instead, we opted for instant mashed potato flakes and crushed up saltines.

We found Goldie floating dead in the water when we returned from church the following day. After carefully removing him (or her...who can tell with goldfish) from his/her brief home, Husband carried Goldie gently to the local porcelain throne room. Eli had a touching eulogy and prayer. Katybird flushed the toilet while shouting "So long, Sucker!" (I'm not making this up).

And so life continues trying to keep Sunshine and Jane alive. I'm working to convince Squirrels that they need to release the fish back into nature. Truth be told, I have a hard enough time keeping everyone else healthy and alive around here.

Computer Advice from Mom: Live Screaming

2011-08-26T16:58:00.000-07:00

My mom and her computer are not always a compatible match but this latest email from her relaying technical advice given by a local radio station when she called in to find out how to listen to her grandson's football game online is...well...nothing short of hilarious:

If anyone is interested in listening to Bennett's game on-line tonight, here is what K101fm told me: Go to www.oursiouxland.com, click on Local radio (middle right of home page), then click on Luverne Cardinals, K101, Catch the Live Broadcast; then you click on you scream or live scream or something such.

Mom

I, for one, am all up for a live "screaming" broadcast about high school football! However, I think she meant "streaming".

Stuck in Between Two Worlds

2011-08-07T23:10:00.000-07:00

We've been stuck in a bit of a holding pattern here while we wait for our house to sell so we can head down to Reynosa, Mexico. This whole "waiting on the Lord to move" thing is a bit tough for the hyper-planner in me. I mean, I plan something and then plan a 2nd and 3rd contingency...so not knowing when God will remove this obstacle? KILLING ME!

Here's the deal. Our hearts? Already down in Mexico. Our thoughts and prayers - already sent those on ahead. Just my body is left back in the Midwest. When you know WHERE you are supposed to go and yet aren't there yet, it feels like you are stuck somewhere in the middle. I can't plan anything more than about 30 days out. Friends are already starting to disengage because that's how they prepare for the fact that you won't necessarily be around for much longer.

I registered the girls for school which was tough since I hoped we could transition before the school year started. Despite multiple showings on the house, plenty of random people driving up my lane to ogle, and some rather interesting phone calls (one lady called asking if we would consider a land contract since she was going to begin receiving oil royalties - from oil found on her land and drilled by another party - but that banks wouldn't lend money under a conventional mortgage until she could show two years' worth of royalties)...the house is still on the market.

The last two homes we sold took two days and nine days, respectively. So you can imagine that my patience for keeping a house in a show-ready state for three months now is wearing thin....

But in the meantime, we keep doing what we can do. We are officially accepted by our sending agency http://www.goyefellowship.org/ under Account #87 (for those who care to support our endeavor). We finally made the staff page on Isaiah 55's website . Our prayer magnets are at the printers and our prayer cards are being designed by my AWESOME sister-in-law Dena. Our sending church has been extremely generous in their pledge to our support while on the field. We have approximately $1,000 left to raise in monthly pledges to meet our first year fundraising goal.

My Spanish needs help but I am not sure I could finish a semester at college if I enrolled (I still plan on God doing BIG things to get us down there in His perfect timing). So we record the vision (Habakkuk 2: 2-3) and then we wait...and wait...and wait...and try to lower my control FREAK FLAG to at least half mast.

PS You can hear the testimony of our calling by visiting iTunes and downloading the 7/3/11 "Ordinary People, Extraordinary God" podcast. The first 20 minutes or so is the recap by those that went to Reynosa on the June mission trip. Then Husband and I both share the events that led up to our decision to make a run for the border.

Chocolate Stingrays Take on Water!

2011-07-18T21:56:00.000-07:00

Three years ago when the Squirrels first descended upon the big house in the little woods, they had nary a single swim experience to their credit. Beings that I knew the K Family Christmas (think Griswolds) would involve a three night stay at a Bear Lodge-looking motel complete with indoor-to-outdoor pool (swimming under some plastic flaps), I figured rather than be a nervous wreck the whole time, I would teach the Squirrels to swim.

My mom, who earlier in her life had a near-drowning experience when someone threw her in the water and told her to "Sink or Swim" (and she pretty much sunk) had secretly been taking swim lessons (as a surprise to her kids whose sightings of Mom in a swimsuit were as rare as Yeti-sightings) at a local health club. Mom sprung for a few weeks of passes so I could teach the girls to swim.

Lesson #1 involved both girls not keeping their mouth shut in the water so they would come up coughing and belching. Kate even threw up at one point and I didn't want the club to shut the pool down (darn health inspectors) so I quickly shoveled the pukey water over the edge into a nearby drain (what we don't do for our kids, right? I have a super resistance to my gag reflex after being puked on so many times). We persistently worked every week, all winter long, to reach a point where I felt that if the girls fell into water over their head, they could flail fast enough to reach the edge of the pool.

Katybird's progress was tested a few months later on a family vacation when she tried to step on a floatation device in the deep end of our vacation home pool and she wound up bobbing in the deep end. Aunt Dona quickly reached in and pulled her out. After that point, I determined a Barbie lifejacket was in order the rest of the vacation.

Cut to this summer where not only have the girls mostly learned to swim, they are even (drumroll please) on the local swim team, the Stingrays. My kids are easy to spot. They have scrawny brown bird legs and big puffy heads as they try to fit their 'fros under their latex swim caps.

Kate spent the first few meets swimming about four strokes before clutching the ropes and breathing hard. Eli, so adept at all other sports, just can't quite seem to coordinate her kicks with her arm strokes or to lengthen her arms during the freestyle. They also get nervous at swim meets and beings I took them off their magic blue pills for the summer (in the hopes they would put on weight and sleep better), they have taken to burning off their pent-up energy by chewing on their goggles and swim caps. Seriously. Eli managed to wreck three pairs of goggles and two swim caps. Kate has wrecked four pairs of goggles (including MY pair I lent her) and two swim caps. I hear rumor that there are such things as bungee cords for swim goggles. I need more like titanium swim goggles. It might make the Squirrels sink but at least I could stop forking over all this money to keep them outfitted in swim gear all summer!

The last meet of the year is coming up soon. Katybird has managed to be able to swim the length of the pool without drowning (we were pretty sure I was going to have to go in after her on her first 100 meter individual medley) or crying (which she did in abundance when her record-setting cousin Grace came in first for a rival team and poor Katybird came in last by several meters) and Eli can now do a flip turn during her freestyle AND swim mostly in a straight line on her backstroke.

Now that's what I call PROGRESS!

Pond Jumps & Bieber Fever

2011-07-11T22:00:00.000-07:00

Long overdue is a recap of the 9th birthday of Eli the Squirrel...from the land of Fruits and Nuts. We decided Eli could invite every girl in her class since we planned to stay on the reservation AND she may not be in Cougarville the next time her birthday rolls around. We didn't quite realize the havoc 8 giggling, frenetic little girls could create in less than 12 hours.

The girls came bounding off the bus and dropping backpacks and lunch bags everywhere. Eli obsesses about her birthday year 'round, so much so that we had to make a rule that she couldn't talk about her birthday until April 1st each year. You may think that is harsh but LITERALLY the girl would bring it up every day if she could - enlightening me on the latest activity, guest list, and cake flavor she currently planned to ask for. So when the actual birthday party happens, she is goes into a whole 'nother stratosphere of hyperactive and starts running from room to room, showing off her "treasures" while talking a mile a minute. We call this "company mode" as she starts acting like she can mouth off to her parents and break all the rules. A quick nip from Momzilla reminds her that she's getting a little big for her britches.

Supper with the girls went well and then Eli decided that she would show the girls how Lumpy and Spazzoid, our spastic black labs, like to swim in a nearby pond. This led to the girls all trying to throw dog treats in the water from the dock while Lumpy and Spazzoid swam in circles trying to gobble up the treats - only to get mouthfuls of pond water that would make them hack and gag.

Then one thing led to another and the girls decided they were going to jump into the pond...fully clothed...in mid-May. The water had to be less than 60 degrees but when they asked if they could do it, Husband and I just looked at each other. I could see his wheels turning. On the one hand, this could lead to a huge disastrous mob of wet girls with pond scum hair. On the other hand, the girls would remember this party forever. We decided to channel our childhood memories and said, "Sure. But watch out for the snapping turtles." We hoped to scare the girls into rethinking their decision. No such luck. One by one, they jumped into the pond except for the one girl who couldn't swim. The dock did not have a ladder so Husband and I took turns pulling the girls up out of the water.

We trudged back to the house where I shuttled all the girls to three different showers and dumped a load of stinky pond scum clothes into the washer. Freshly scrubbed, the girls had cake and ice cream while Eli opened presents. Then on to the basement for the viewing of the Justin Bieber movie "Never Say Never". Quite frankly, I am about tired of hearing about "Bieber Fever" but the girls were enamored. I came down the next morning to find lip and hand prints on the television. Oh dear...

But I guess we all had our crushes. I gazed adoringly at Kirk Cameron in "Teen Bop" magazine and my first poster to go up in my own room (when I finally didn't have to share with Erin) was Jason Priestly from "Beverly Hills 90210". My sister Susan hid posters behind the clothes in her closet...Jackson 5, Duran Duran, Kenny Loggins. She also had posters from "Dirty Dancing" (and the matching plethora of cut off jean shorts with rolled cuffs to match).

So after much dancing to Taylor Swift, Bieber Fevering, and late night snacks, the girls finally drifted off to sleep. And managed to sleep until dawn when they came bounding upstairs to make the most of their final hours together. While Husband and I blearily came downstairs and tracked down missing shoes, made breakfast, and otherwise were thankful we only do this once a year per kid.

Reynosa Part Uno: Scrapings at Dracula's House

2011-06-29T20:41:00.000-07:00

We've just recently returned from our church's first ever mission trip to Isaiah 55 in Reynosa, Mexico. In a fit of overconfidence, we decided to also take the two Squirrels along. Unmedicated. Ooo boy. We figured they needed to get a taste of their upcoming "transition" to the mission field.

Complete with pink polka dot suitcases and armed with sunglasses, Kate and Eli flew the friendly skies for the first time in their life. They were delighted to be accompanied by 11-year-olds Maddy and Sarah who are both on swim team with our girls. Beings that all the other people going from our church were guys, I had the distinct honor of playing Den Mother to all four girls for the week. Which mostly consisted of trying to keep them from falling out their 2nd story window as they sang Taylor Swift songs to anyone on the street who would listen. And identifying the congealed heaps of clothing found under beds, in the shower area, etc.and returning them to their rightful owners.

The main assignment for the week for the females on the team (other than the girl who was crushing on someone who will remain nameless but whom we will just call "Schmyatt") was to scrape the peeling paint off the soon-to-be-storage-and-migrant-worker-housing abode called (and we have yet to figure out why) "Dracula's House". Rumor has it this two-storied, stuccoed, marble-floored behemoth used to belong to a drug kingpin. Through a set of circumstances that I never quite distinguished, the property is now owned by an American who rents it to I55.

The Squirrels were thrilled to be working but thought scraping was boring. The day finally came when they could paint and I sent them upstairs with some other teenagers from the trip. I don't know how much paint made it onto the walls but I can verify that everything else was covered, especially the girls. At some point, Kate came down complaining that no one was painting with her. I didn't even know she was up there by herself. She told me she was on top of the ladder, then proceeded to try to move the ladder by herself. As it swung dangerously close to going through a window glass, I decided that NOW was the time for some Father-Daughter bonding. She was quickly scuttled across the street to assist Husband in framing up doorways at the new deaf school.

More on our week to follow...

So Much for the SHOW ME State

2011-06-06T19:35:00.000-07:00

I can say with absolute certainty that the definition of insanity is trying to keep a house in a "show ready" state while you have young children. Seriously. I may have a stroke.

Case in point is the last three weeks. In preparation for moving down to South Texas to join Isaiah 55 Deaf Ministries, our big house in the little woods has gone on the market. When I calculated what a 6% realtor commission would be, I made a decision that we would go the For Sale by Owner route. Hours of cleaning later, I staged the house and took photos and made a mental TO DO list of all the things we had meant to do but hadn't in the three years since we have built the house.

We had our first open house, complete with classical music playing in the background and the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The Squirrels and Hounds were carted off by Husband as a slow death by licking (from the dogs) is not exactly endearing to potential home buyers.

During the next showing, Husband was halfway through his two week stint in Australia for Mama Yellow so I was left to my own devices to get the house ready. I called in reinforcements (my mother) since I have not mowed a lawn in 15 years. Not that I am not able...growing up, I spent many moons on the riding lawnmower on our farm in Iowa. That's how I got my golden tan each summer. Mom somehow overlooked our indecent swimwear if we were mowing the yard. Or walking beans.

But I digress...

So my mom came up to mow, resplendent in 45 layers despite the record temperatures, and her infamous straw mowing hat the screams Maxine from the Hallmark greeting cards. Our riding mower was outside during a rather nasty windstorm that took the hood off the mower so now our mower is more of a Ghetto variety. Plus, the cat likes to curl up in the engine compartment so the mower is probably rife with cat hair. My mom was not done mowing by the time the potential homebuyers arrived so she told me not to tell them she was my mom. Like I am going to pretend some random lady is mowing my yard???

Again, I digress...

The lovely couple showed up with their two children to look at the house. Much gushing later, they began to load up into their SUV. Eli comes around the corner and shouts "DID THEY BUY IT?" to which I discretely tried to tell her a house is not something you plunk down cash on the spot for. "YYYYEEEESSS!" she shouts while making fist pumping motions (she is not exactly overjoyed to be moving away from friends and a chance to weave the Maypole at school...a big deal for 4th graders). The potential home buyers find this quite funny. I wanted to crawl under the porch.

A mere 6 days later is showing number 4. This time, it is a single guy who is more interested in roaming the acres of woods in search of lot lines (which we have a hard time finding). Typical guy. They want to "walk the property line" and know how deep the well is. The women want to know if the water is clear and if the trampoline is staying.

As this single guy and his friend prepare to enter the house, my homeless-looking children, double-fisting cheese curls after playing outside all day, are sitting beside me on the porch swing. May I mention here that it is a little weird to just turn your house over to others to wander through? Who knows if they are opening up all my drawers and closets (which could be dangerous...). The guys are almost in the house when Elisabeth shouts "CAN YOU KILL THAT SPIDER?". I nudge her and she shouts "WHAT?" (she has one decibel level...and it's called SONIC BOOM). I whisper that she does not need to mention spiders while people are looking at the house. She stomps off wailing.

Lovely. So much for creating a mood of peace and serenity. I could use some of that right now as I wait for our house to sell and try to undo the mass destruction caused in short order by two half-pint Squirrels with no school to distract them while trying to accommodate short notice for showings. It's going to be a long summer...

Groovy Shoes & Strikes to Spare

2011-05-19T19:42:00.000-07:00

Our local adoption support group had a free evening of bowling on a night that just happened to coincide with Eli's 9th birthday. Husband was tied up in one of his interminable meeting of the minds at Big Yellow so I loaded up two spastic squirrels and headed to the Christian Center in P-town.

Katybird decided she wanted to a green ball and wanted to bowl all by herself. She could barely lift the ball before managing to fling it with a loud THUD on the lane. The ball would roll ssssssllllllllooooooooooowwly down the lane (I think I saw a snail speeding past at one point) before barely knocking over a few pins. I tried to get her to add a little oomph to her throw but her bird arms just weren't strong enough.

Meanwhile, Eli thought this was like throwing a softball and would launch her bowling ball well into the air. The attendant came rushing over and pulled up our bumpers or alas, Eli would have scored an 8 on her entire game. She was very distraught that slow little Katybird managed to get a spare but Eli kept getting splits.

Much free pizza, pop, and ice cream later, we played outside for a while before heading home. (Note long hair on Eli...yep, my human hair extensions. Was up at O Dark Thirty pressing her hair and adding these in so she could feel pretty on her birthday. Sigh....)

Just a quick shout out...selected bowling alleys across the country are offering free passes for kids to bowl all summer long. Go to http://www.kidsbowlfree.com/ to sign up. Kids must be 15 years of age or younger. Adults can get a summer pass for $24.95 for two games a day. (Thanks, KF, for the heads up).

Katybird's New Ditty

2011-05-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

About every 3 months, Katybird crawls in my bed at O Dark Thirty and tells me she has a headache. The first time it happened, I gave her some Tylenol and sent her to school. She promptly threw up in her first grade classroom so now I know to tuck her back in bed and let her sleep it off...and to let her throw up at home. Whatever ails her usually clears up by noon and then, all caught up on sleep, she is in rare form (and sans her Magic Blue Pill AKA ADHD med).

This last Thursday was such a day. By the early evening, Katybird had donned her pink princess dress and made up a new song for me:

I am without words.

(Facebook followers will need to click on "View Original Post" to see the YouTube embedded video on my regular blog site).

92 Year Old Has First Piano Recital

2011-05-10T21:01:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, in the fair city of T town, in a small, chestnutty place on the south end of town, piano virtuoso Cleo K made his debut appearance as the oldest piano student of teaching phenom Meg K. Cleo, a twice widower, made most recently so by the loss of the lovely Nancy K (dubbed "Grandma Nancy" by my kids) late last year.

Cleo, in an effort to ease boredom, began taking piano lessons early this year. His goal? To play the "Starlight Waltz", the last song he ever practiced when taking lessons with his daughter 50 some years ago.

The recital hall was packed by the many parents of other students and half the T town AC church that Cleo had invited. After a dazzling display by the younger students, Cleo took the bench with a flourish, shuffled his piano music, and wowed us all. He even had an encore number prepared.

(Facebook reading my streaming notes will need to click on "View original post" to see embedded video)

Cleo declined to be filmed and interviewed by the local TV station. "Why would they want to interview me?" he asked. "Is what I am doing so unusual?" Ummmm...yep...and may we all be so bold should we make it to 92!

Cleo, 92, with granddaughter Abigail, age 9.

Making a Run for the Border

2011-05-02T19:45:00.000-07:00

In case you haven't heard...there is some BIG NEWS for my little family of Squirrels and Nuts. This is a copy of an email I sent:

This Sunday (May 1st), we will be announcing to our church that Darren and I are moving to McAllen, TX (right across the border from Reynosa, Mexico) to join the Isaiah 55 Deaf Ministries mission group http://www.isaiah55.org/ . We had also planned on missions as a “second career” (i.e. when we became empty nesters) but God has made it very clear that the time is NOW!

About Isaiah 55 Deaf Ministries

Isaiah 55 Deaf Ministries was started by Nolton (“NoNo”) and Kate Beale to build schools for the deaf in Mexico. Currently, Mexico has no deaf education system so the deaf are either ignored or “integrated” into regular classrooms but not taught sign language nor provided a sign language interpreter. Isaiah 55 trains teachers, finds deaf students, and integrates them into a K-12 classroom. The parents come in for sign language classes on Fridays and two national pastors also lead Bible studies for the students and families. http://vimeo.com/7948385 My sister Erin has been serving as a missionary with this group for the last 8 years. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jd4uvrJhA0w Construction has started on a second school in Reynosa and the plan is to build additional schools as funding and time allow.

We hope to come alongside the work that the I55 team is already doing and support them in communications, construction, medical work teams, and anything else they need us to do. We will live stateside for the time being so the girls can continue to go to school and cross the border as needed to work with I55. Erin lives in the city of Reynosa with another missionary from Morton, IL named Kim Kaiser who has been there as long as Erin.

To answer some of your questions:

Uh, like is your head going to end up in a duffle bag?

Sure hope not but YES, we know of the violence in Mexico. There are two major drug cartels with infighting in the cartels as well as fighting with each other. They are mostly targeting each other and not Americans but there is a risk that innocent bystanders will be caught in the crossfire. Reynosa has been relatively peaceful as the news you hear about mass graves and such is about 90 minutes away and Juarez, the murder capital of the world, is all the way over across the border from El Paso, TX. The needs of the deaf, however, do not cease to exist in the midst of this uncertainty. And if God has called us to serve here, we trust He will protect us until His purposes are accomplished.

How soon are you leaving?

As soon as the house sells, we plan to move to McAllen, TX. We will attend Mission Training International (MTI) in Colorado for an intensive 3 week course (our kids attend training as well). We will attend an intensive language school in McAllen to learn Spanish and will attend classes at I55 to learn Mexican sign language.

The economy stinks. Are you going to hit us up for money?

I will continue to work at least part-time for the company I currently work for until the arrangement no longer works for the company or for me. My current job allows quite a bit of flexibility to work during different hours and to work from home, which I have LOVED the past five years. This will account for approximately 50% of our income. In addition, since we adopted from the US foster care system, they continue to pay a “board rate” for the girls until they reach the age of 18. This will account for 13% of our income. The remaining 37% we will need to raise. The missionaries at Isaiah 55 are not supported by any of the monies donated to I55 but keep separate accounts with a sending organization called Go Ye Fellowship. That way, there is no opportunity for the abuse of I55 donated funds being siphoned towards “administrative” costs instead of directly benefiting the students, teachers, and school construction and maintenance.

Fundraising is something I used to completely dread as I felt like I would be begging for money but here is the deal...God is able to provide for us no matter what. When Darren was laid off in 2009, we learned how much “security” we had placed in his job. God took care of us then and He will take care of us now. If you feel called to support us, either by prayer or by funding, that’s awesome but if not, we know that God has not called us to this and then left us to flounder on our own.

So you’ll be like 74 miles from South Padre Island? Can we come crash your pad and visit Isaiah 55?

For sure. Consider this a standing invitation. I’ll even learn to cook a proper enchilada in your honor. We would love to show you and your family the students and the mission that has absolutely captured our hearts and to share the story of God’s call on our lives! Most major airlines fly into McAllen (just ask all the snow birds AKA “winter Texans”) and Southwest Airlines has a hub not far away in Harlingen, TX.

And YES, we do plan to become foster licensed again. You may find it interesting that the tagline for Isaiah 55 is "Esperanza para los sordos" which means "Hope for the Deaf". So my blog ID of "Adventures in Fostering Hope" still applies!

The Finishing Touch

2011-04-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

Overheard in the back of the Blue Bus while taking Squirrels to school this morning:

Kate (in a sing-songy voice): "Nobody will play with me. Nobody will play with me outside for recess."

Elisabeth (voice dripping with disdain): "Is that the song you are going to sing when you try out for 'American Idol'?"

Kate (arms crossed, emphatic): "Yes. But when I am older, I am going to put some touches on it."

It may be pitchy, Dawg, but I'll give it a 10. It has a good beat and you can dance to it.

Inmates Threaten to Take Over Asylum

2011-04-05T22:54:00.000-07:00

I'm done apologizing for my lack of postage on the blog. I once had a dream that I would be "discovered" by the Huffington Post as the newest MUST READ thirtysomething blogger but have since decided I may have been delusional. I am blaming it on my allergy medication. All the world is right when you are in a fog. Even my bone-crunching chiropractic back adjustments no longer make me shout aloud and have visions of my head popping off my neck and rolling down the street.

But I digress...

The truth is, we have spent the last few weeks in the trenches with the kids. I have made no secret of my frustration to parent ADHD children but things took a turn for the worse when I, having all the best intentions, set up in-home counseling for Eli. As a part of the therapy process, we began attending adoption support group to meet with other parents about adoption issues.

Believe me, my eyes were opened. You've all heard of the extreme cases of foster kids who just seem to have their wires crossed. Well, these parents have lived (and are living) through it. I give them props for seeking the resources to help their children but some of the symptoms they mentioned (wildly vacillating mood swings, defiance, outburst of anger at parental figures - namely Mom) were eerily familiar. I began to wonder what was going to manifest in the future for Eli.

Well, this is probably the reason why no one should take abnormal psych classes without their own personal psychologist. Self-diagnosis can be a dangerous thing. Turns out that after a few weeks of counseling - that brought up a whole host of memories and feelings for Eli - we have FINALLY turned a corner.

Add to that I finally found a parenting book that is realistic and fairly easy to follow - Dr Kevin Leman's "Have a New Kid by Friday". I learned that the problem was not Eli at all. It was ME! (most of you are not surprised at all by this revelation). I was so worried that Eli's and Kate's lack of discipline and structure in their formative years by previous family members would adversely affect them without me stepping in as Drill Sergeant Mom. I am the "authoritarian" parent Dr. Leman describes and it was not fun to hear myself described.

So I am committed to not overreacting to Eli needling me endlessly about the "Never Evers" ("You NEVER let me do this", "You mean I will NEVER EVER get to have a friend over again?") and to suppress the urge to try to sway her thinking. I am committed to saying something once, turning my back, and walking away so as not to let the "hedonistic ankle biters" (hey, that's what the good Dr. calls them) manipulate me into a corner where the inmates threaten to take over the asylum and in the fear for my sanity, I give in just to get them to QUIT WHINING!

I've tried other parenting books before, like Lisa Whelchel's "Creative Correction" and the foster care highly-touted "1-2-3 Magic" (nothing is magical when you have a daughter who continues to follow you needling or one who throws herself to the ground and sobs uncontrollable because she cannot have pop for breakfast or when both of them continue to shout from time out about how much they hate me and how life is unfair and they wish they could live somewhere else because their parents are mean).

We've had relative peace here on the Cougarville front so let's hope and pray I can stay focused and calm. Until the teenage years hit, at least. Then Clairol home hair dye and I are going to develop an intimate relationship so I can cover the signs of my stress. And there will be teeth puncture marks in my pillow.

Shopping for Sacrificial Human Hair

2011-03-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday was a new experience for me as I found myself at the Black Hair Supply Store standing among rows and rows of pre-packaged HUMAN hair.

Yep, apparently women in India, in an act of worship and thanksgiving to their Hindu god, take a pilgrimage to the temple and get their head shaved. They sacrifice the hair, which in turn is stacked high (makes me shudder and think of Nazi Germany) before being trundled off to the hair factory. There, factory workers sort the hair by length and color and comb it through wool-carding looking tools, then sew the ends together, package it in plastic, and ship it to the US.

(Facebook followers will need to click on "View Original Post" if viewing this in my notes...otherwise, you will miss the creepy video)

Where black women spend MUCHO DINERO having it sewn into their cornrows to create a weave.

I am going the less expensive route and buying the hair to be attached to clips (with hot glue) that can be clipped into relaxed and straightened hair. The human hair will add depth and length to Eli's locks and can be shampooed along with the rest of her hair. I have used synthetic hair up until this point to weave into braids for them to have "extensions" but fake hair is overly shiny and doesn't hold up to washing.

So why am I willing to buy idol-sacrificed human hair? Ah....it's all about the end result!

Huked on Foniks Werkd for Me

2011-03-22T21:33:00.000-07:00

The Squirrels have decided that they really need email accounts (and cell phones and jeans with rips in them, they have recently informed me). I am not quite ready for that but I do let them email their friends from my account. I bring up a new email message and let them type to their heart's content. It's quite hilarious!

Here is a sample of the fun:

Mya

I hop you can come over to my hose

love kate

olivia,

I want to say that’s an awesome email! I live and miss u with all my heart!

love

elisabeth

Dear Mikayla

Can you asks your mom if you can stay over at my house to if your mom says no it,s okay I don,t care mikayla becuase I have my big sister I like my sisteer elisadeth

kate

(I typed this for Eli)

Dear Grace -

Why haven't you emailed me? Did you get my four page letter in the mail? I know it is very long but it is really good.

Love,

Elisabeth

(Grace's reply)
I'm so sorry that I been emaing.We put our cristmas tree up to!No afence but I couldn't read some your writing on your note you sent me!
LOVE:GRACE

daer elisabeth did you now that you still o me three dolers and fiftey sens thats becase when we went to the osarks i bot you that pirit sord so i thingk when i come to your hows you shod give me three dolers fifty sens i can wate to come to your hows did you now that me and abigail have a speshel tothbrush to remember at the osarks when we went to the hi dive that was fun! it was so fun that its abowt the only thing i can remember! so hows it doing at your hows? I am fine to i ment to poot a qeshtinmark when i rote so how it doing at your hows love rachel

I don’t have to pay you since I gave the pirate sword back. The high dive was fun. I am doing fine. what are you doing?

elisabeth

i forgot abowt that and im doing fine i had a fun day today espeshaly the bietil swim i hope you get a amareakin girl doll that gives me a ida maybe i can have your bity baby twins for a wile and you can have my amareakin girl doll for a wile! rite now penny and rebeca are playing tag love rachel

Coon-a-Palooza (AKA The Hounds Strike Again!)

2011-03-07T07:36:00.000-08:00

In the midnight hour of March 7th, local Cougarville residents Momzilla and Husband were roused out of a sound sleep by the ferocious, incessant barking of their chew and slobber hounds Atticus and Sasha (AKA Lumpy and Spazzoid). Upon further investigation, with Momzilla wielding her weapon of choice (a broom) and Husband decked out in his HazMat gear (AKA his boxers), it was discovered that the two hounds had cornered a raccoon.

Not just any coon but the mother of all coons and roughly the size of a goat. Repeated attempts to shush the dogs were met with...well, nothing. The hounds kept on barking and managed to chase the coon underneath the porch. Much squealing, thumping, teeth chomping, and flailing later, silence ensued.

The next morning, the victim was discovered prostrate on the front lawn carefully guarded by Spazzoid. Cause of death appears to be multiple puncture wounds to the throat. Blood spatter indicates it was a vicious death.

FBI profilers are noting that the suspects seem to be escalating in their killing spree. "There seems to be no common denominator in these victims. We've seen everything from cats to groundhogs to mice and birds and now finally, raccoons - their 2nd coon in three days. The suspects seem to be killing at random and taking on larger and larger prey."

Neighbors were interviewed for comment. "This was a nice neighborhood until the Cougarville Hillbillies moved in." said Robert D, an undercover cop for the state. "Now, between the ghetto-looking lawnmower, the beat up Chevy truck out front, and the random dead wildlife in the front yard, the market value of homes in this neighborhood are seriously dropping!"

Momzilla and Husband, who own the property in question, replied, "We got the dogs from Missouri. If there is any question how "hillbilly" they are, that should clear up any doubt." Original dame owners Shannon and Susan H weighed in on the pedigree of Lumpy and Spazzoid, "Hey, coon is good eating down here in Missouri (pronounced "Misery"). We raise 'em up right down here, y'all! Pass the biscuits and coon gravy."

Stay tuned for further developments...

Shanghai'd & Scooby Snacks

2011-03-01T21:14:00.000-08:00

Another two weeks fly by and I realize I have not even looked at my blog, much less posted anything. To be honest, I have been in survival mode since Husband was "Shanghai'd" for a week...literally. His company sent him to Shanghai, China to do whatever it is he does for a living. After eight and a half years of marriage, I am still not entirely sure. When I tell him this, he laughs and tries to explain again. My eyes glaze over when he starts mentioning words like "hydraulic" and "Six Sigma". I guess I won't pursue an answer too adamantly and just enjoy the regular paychecks.

While he was gone, I had a hectic week as a single parent. Eli took that week to have the mother of all meltdowns, at 10:30 at night no less, when I was so tired I couldn't see straight. My basement Boy Wonder Wyatt was skiing somewhere and couldn't run interference for me. So I did what any good parent would do...I banished her, and her equally wailing sister Katybird, to separate rooms and told them that if they didn't stop crying by the time I counted to 10, I was going to shut their door ALL THE WAY (that's akin to waterboarding in their book) and not open them again until morning (they haven't figured out the their doors lock from their side of the door so my threat does not really carry much weight).

By morning, we had called a truce and by week's end, I was ready to pin a medal on the chest of every single mother I see. I don't know how they do it without a tag team partner.

We picked Husband up at the airport on Saturday where he proceeded to tell me, among his other stories, that he tried "dog" that week. Yes, I guess in China, dog is an acceptable form of meat for human consumption. Husband is not a huge fan of Chinese food to begin with and well, being in China, it means the real deal...not our sweetened, fried, MSG-laden version. His host ordered dog and it was served cold. I asked him if it tasted like chicken. He made a face and let me know that it has a very distinct flavor, all its own. One bite was enough to last a lifetime for him.

Needless to say, he's glad to be back in the US of A despite being completely mixed up on his sleep schedule and being down for the count all day today with flu-like symptoms. SIDENOTE: there is nothing quite so pathetic as seeing a 6'5" strapping man wobbling around sicker than a...

[dare I say it?]

DOG!

RUT ROH RAGGY!

I just HAD to go there, didn't I?

The Hounds of Cougarville Strike Again!

2011-02-14T21:25:00.000-08:00

In a late breaking news development, a local Momzilla was alerted by concerned next door neighbor Melissa K that two black hounds were spotted gallivanting around the small suburban city of Cougarville (name changed to protect Momzilla location) mid-morning last Thursday. The hounds appeared to have sly grins on their slobbery faces akin to Sylvester the Cat when he captures Tweety in his mouth. Neighbor Melissa's dad also owns two black hounds but further investigation determined his hounds were safely at home.

That key piece of evidence led local police, er, Momzilla, to realize that the two hounds in question were none other than Atticus (AKA Lumpy) - a notorious chew and slobber hound known to eat cell phones belonging to landscapers and to leap over two sets of minivan seats to secure an entire package of string cheese from Boy Wonder Wyatt's parents Denis and Jackie. [NOTE: the string cheese was later recovered by Momzilla after much slipping and sliding on a wet lawn and prying impaled string cheese - still in package - loose from a set of slobbery canines...and I mean the teeth, not just the dog] and Sasha (AKA Spazzoid) - aider and abetter to the notorious chew and slobber hound with a deep affinity for flip flops, superballs, paintbrushes and bungee cords.

Momzilla raced back to her little cabin in the big woods to find the two hounds had returned from the scene of their misdeeds and were proudly standing over the now-deceased body of a black cat. Witnesses report the hounds were protectively guarding the cold, stiff body of the cat who appeared to be missing a vital piece of its hind parts. Also in their possession was a deer head and one hoof.

Boy Wonder Wyatt was called up from his basement abode to dispose of the victims. Cheers and sounds of disgust could be heard from the two spastic Squirrels who reside with the Momzilla.

Further investigation revealed that the batteries supplying power to the PetSafe Stubborn Dog Fence collars had ceased to be of use and were promptly replaced by Husband. The two hounds have been remanded to custody and the smell of burnt dog hair indicates that the zapper collars are now in working order. The hounds responded by howling, racing back to the porch, and respecting the invisible fence surrounding their two acre prison. The hounds will be eligible for parole...well, never.

YOU, TOO, can prevent crimes like this from happening in the future. If you spot two black hounds heading for the Maine Ave Market (name changed to conceal Momzilla's location) or dragging dead cats along in their jaws, please call 1-800-MOMZILLA immediately. Or just offer them some string cheese. Or your flip flops.

For more merry misadventures of the Hounds of Cougarville, read here and here!

The Midnight Non-News

2011-02-13T22:13:00.000-08:00

I know I am long overdue to post. What started out as a catharsis for my own neurotic musings has turned into the pressure to post at least once a week. I think I'll call this blogger's block. Maybe I should have had a focus like cooking my way through Julia Child's cookbook or posting my school lunch experience daily. Instead, you get the random midnight thoughts of a Midwestern Momzilla.

So here goes...

In sports news, Eli is in volleyball now and getting a sound spanking weekly from her cousin Courtney's rival team (coached by her varsity volleyball head coach mother Tracy who can still put a dent in a gym floor with her serves). Courtney can serve overhand...in the 4th grade...with enough power to break a nose...so it's interesting to see most of Eli's team duck when Courtney serves.

In other sports news, in a moment of late night New Year's Eve weakness, I agreed to run a 10k with our good friends the "Lindyhops" (real name concealed so my whereabouts in the Momzilla Protection Program remain secretive). Actually, it was probably about in the 35th round of rousing Phase 10 game ('cause that's how us cool people roll on New Year's Eve) when I realized that I was never going to get two sets of four that I said "Run again? Why not!". I looked on the race website and found that EVERYONE who completes the race gets a medal.

Well, that was enough for me. The only medal I currently possess was the product of my 8th grade Math Counts "Mathletes" team. I may not win any athletic competitions but I will square root your butt right off if you mess with me. That's what me and my white and nerdy posse do.

In educational news, Eli's grades have been rather schizophrenic. After a lengthy school meeting with the teacher, the principal, the psychologist and the state's community resource advocate, we determined that Eli would benefit from counseling, weekly meetings with her teacher to review her work and she may need an occupational therapy evaluation. No testing accommodations...and she is still sitting in the back row. By the time anything of importance is completed, so will the third grade and she'll be home for the summer. And I'll probably face this battle again in two years when Katybird makes it to third grade.

In travel news, Husband leaves for China in one week. I offered to sneak along in his suitcase but he rolled his eyes at me and told me his company may not allow me to go. I told him I could randomly show up in China...they can't disapprove a SHEER COINCIDENCE, can they? He says wait until he gets to go to Australia...if he ever does. Meanwhile, my 223,000 frequent flyer miles with Delta are just itching to be used....

And in adoption news...well, not much. Our home study is being evaluated by a TX caseworker for a brother/sister combination (ages 4&5) who, if I am reading between the lines, are ADHD and love/hate each other. Sound familiar? Anyway, caseworkers are not fond of interstate adoptions (because it's a ton of paperwork and much hassle) which puts us behind in state home studies in the stack but nothing was moving in our home state so I've taken to trolling the web. Feels a bit like online shopping for children. We'll see what happens...

That's the news from the little cabin in the big woods this week....where the men are good-looking, the women are frazzled, and the children are all above average (in spastic-ness).

Lauren and the Bad Romance

2011-02-04T07:07:00.000-08:00

This has nothing to do with Momzilla-ness but had to share my niece Lauren's college video of Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance", in which she plays a part. Simply BRILLIANT!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Xozp8ROqPI

The Real (Frazzled) Housewife of W County

2011-01-28T18:32:00.000-08:00

I have been seeing previews all over Bravo for shows about "Real Housewives" from different areas of the country. I am fairly certain the only thing real in these housewives whole bodies are their internal organs. Seriously, since when do fake-baked, liposuctioned, botoxed, hair extensioned, breast augmented females who do nothing but back stab, cheat and drink all day qualify as "Real Housewives"?

I'll give Bravo a real show...it's called the Real (Frazzled) Housewife of W County!

The episodes may or may not contain footage of me in a large white bathrobe with hair that hasn't been shampooed in 48 hours tramping down the stairs in the wee hours of the morning to rouse two sleeping and very crabby/reluctant Squirrels.

Cut to the Squirrels doing everything BUT eating their breakfast and getting ready for school with me bellowing idle threats like "IF YOU DON'T HURRY, I'LL MAKE YOU WALK TO THE BUS" knowing full well that I won't because then they will MISS the bus and I will have to slink down in the driver's seat as I, still white bathrobed-swathed, drop the girls off at school.

Then a phone call comes that Kate is not feeling well at school and can I pick her up. She promptly harfs up her Eggo waffles in the car on the way home.

Eli, meanwhile, comes home with yet another flunked assignment, thanks to her many distractions and lack of ability to actual read any directions with an assignment, and I begin to wonder if my fight to advocate for her is doing any good whatsoever.

By 2:30 in the afternoon, all ADHD medication has worn off and the girls have decided that they are STARVING and want me to make s'mores (say what?) and drink pop - to which I say NO to both, which leads to much whining about how they NEVER get pop and can't WAIT until they are grown up because then they will drink pop every day all day long.

The day is not complete without at least one of the two threatening to run away because life is unfair and I must love one kid more than the other. Meanwhile, I realize I am now going on 72 hours without showering and Husband calls to say he has a two hour conference call when he gets home so he will need the kids to be quiet while he secludes himself to the bedroom to try to shut out any noise.

I open the refrigerator and stare inside hoping someone has done the grocery shopping for me only to realize I have five stalks of celery, some shriveled grapes, a 1/2 gallon of week old milk, and something I can't quite identify in a Tupperware. Probably some experimental recipe that Husband wasn't very fond of so he relegates it to the back of the fridge and opts to buy lunch at his work cafeteria.

Much squirrel wrangling and wailing over homework later (by both the Squirrels...and later me joining in in sheer frustration), I realize a few things:

1) Nobody seems to hear a word I say.
2) I used to like cooking until I had to do it every day, several times a day, in mass quantities.
3) Having an MBA has absolutely NO advantages when it comes to parenting.
4) Working from home sounds much more fun and easy than it is.

and finally

5) I am THE REAL HOUSEWIFE material...but my life hits too close to home for most of you so tuning in would only lead to a greater need for Prozac in your life. So escape to your glamorous plastic Botoxed fake baked housewives on television...but don't you DARE call them "real".

I Pledge My Head

2011-01-18T21:18:00.000-08:00

Lately, Eli has been pestering me to join 4-H. Not so much for what it teaches but because her BFF Olivia is in 4-H and heaven forbid Eli miss out on ANYTHING her friends are doing. Add to that, the 4-H leaders are requesting the honor of my presence as a co-leader.

I have a single-minded response to both of these: OVER MY DEAD AND BLEEDING BODY!

You see, I am a 4-H survivor, er, alum. Yes, once upon a time, I "pledged my head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to larger service and my health to better living for my club, my community, my country, and my world". Twenty years later, I am a half-crazed Momzilla so you can see how far pledging my head got me in life.

I suspect my mother enrolled me in the torture of 4-H because she wanted to see me, as well as her other six daughters, domesticated into the Stepford version of Proverbs 31.

Instead, her eight children turned out like this:

In our defense, we came from a church that did a lot of intermarrying so the gene pool may have had some cross-contamination.

But I digress...

Not that I didn't make a valiant effort in the domestic arts. By the time I came along (the 7th kid in), Mom had handed over sewing instruction to my oldest sister Beth. I was sent packing for two weeks up to the mosquito-infested state of Minnesota to gain instruction on how to operate the infernal sewing machine and serger.

This is me putting in the stitches (only sewing over my thumb a few times) under the glamorous country blue and dusty rose wall decorations that swathed my sister's house in the mid-80s.

This is me taking OUT the stitches (yet again). My sister would usually give up and tell me to go watch her kids while she efficiently whisked this number through her machine.

And to make matters more humiliating, Mom also entered me in the "clothing review" in which you had to model the outfit you made. And write fetching commentary to be read while you pranced in front of the sparse crowds of other moms who made their kids take 4-H projects to the fair.

I am sure that I wrote something along the lines in "Stepping out this fall in a lovely knee-length polka dot skirt is Jane." when I should have written "Behind those ginormous tortoise-shell-framed glasses is Jane who hasn't realized that Keds should never be the shoe of choice to accessorize any outfit, no matter how homemade."

Of course, my sister Mary took to sewing like a duck to water and had to show off her mad skills by making a prom dress:

She also had figured out the Big Bang theory and had her ears pierced. Life was so unfair back then.

Alas, despite all the baking, sewing, and craft-making elementary years, I am still domestically inept and have emotional scars from my time in 4-H. I think my Squirrels have enough reason to need therapy so we'll skip 4-H for them. Plus, ADHD and a sewing machine...now THERE'S a recipe for disaster.

Aboriginal Glow & Mascara Eye Jabs

2011-01-04T15:39:00.000-08:00

Move aside, ole Mary Kay, because the Squirrels have discovered a deep affinity for makeup!

It may have started with our K family summer vacation where Rachel and Kate tortured poor Erin with subtle colors like hot pink and purple:

Or perhaps it was Lena's rampant makeover binge at Christmas this year, after which she would cross her arms, step back thoughtfully, and say "My work here is done!":

But whatever (or whoever) the culprit, the Squirrels are vastly in love with makeup experimentation. Armed with new Caboodles (ah...fond memories of the '80s), no one is safe:

So what did the Squirrels want to spend their Walmart gift cards from Dale & Candy K on but MAKEUP! And not just any makeup but a multi-layered, retina-burning display of colored powders, blushes, eye shadows, and lip glosses:

I talked Kate out of the purple glitter mascara but she was definitely determined that WHATEVER makeup kit she bought at her favorite store (Claire's...motto: lots of overpriced crappola that is guaranteed to break upon usage), it HAD to include mascara. She is a bit of a disaster trying to apply the stuff. It winds up under her eyes, on her eyelids, and once on her chin (not sure what happened there) not to mention the more-often-than-not eye jab that leaves her whimpering. BEAUTY IS PAINFUL!

Eli, on the other hand, has a unique method of applying powder (pat, pat...rrruuuuubbbb all around with her hand). And the sad news is that most generic makeup kits are made for the vanilla crowd, not my beautiful chocolate Squirrels, so Eli ends up having a faint Aboriginal glow to her after multiple applications. Who am I to judge? I tried to accomplish a "smoky eye" on myself and wound up looking like I just stepped out of the boxing ring after three rounds.

Why do I allow such chaos? See for yourself:

That's right...at least a 30-second interval of absolute silence in my day and it all comes off with a good washing. PRICELESS...even if they bawl when I won't let them go out of the house looking like hookers who fell face-first into a Crayola vat. Mother of the Year, here I come! Where is my crown and sash?

"Mom" Jeans Steal Ugly Sweater Show

2010-12-30T09:44:00.000-08:00

By popular demand, the results of the Ugly Holiday Sweater Contest (AKA proof that my family is not quite right in the head) are hereby posted:

First, the Runway Show of all participants:
(Facebook followers will have to click on "View Original Post" if reading this in my imported Notes)

While it is hard to beat Tim closing down the show with a "shedding" of his holiday sweater, Susan BY FAR stole the show in a frightening pair of "Mom" jeans she had found at the Salvation Army. I mean, not that her holiday turtleneck and vest with holiday lights on the bottom wasn't devastating enough, she donned the most unflattering pair of jeans on Planet Earth. Susan still has a ridiculous bod after three kids, thanks to all her 1/2 marathons, 5ks, and triathlons so YOU KNOW if she looks like a dumpy butt in these jeans, what does that say for the rest of you?

First runner up has to be Mary in the Dual Goose sweater:

Second Place goes to Brenton - not only for his girly sweater, but for his fantastic runway swagger complete with nose-picking and butt-scratching:

And, of course, my favorite purchase from the local thrift shop, as modeled by Erin, is third prize:

Honorable Mention goes out to one that was not even in the contest...but I have to give a shout out to Jonathan & Lucas modeling my Christmas gift from Mom...that's right, I am now the proud owner of a dazzling blue SNUGGIE!

Is it a choir robe? Graduation gown? Monk outerwear? Oh, the possibilities are endless!

Best Runway Walk goes to Lauren...she is FIERCE!

I have a feeling this contest will grow and expand for next year. Stay tuned!

Ebony Tickles the Ivories

2010-12-20T19:30:00.000-08:00

Some of you may think the Grammies is the ultimate night of musical talent. And you would be right. But certainly right on its heels is the 2nd annual piano recital of Eli the Squirrel. We thought, since she uses the vacuum cleaner handle as a microphone stand and sings long ballads at her reflection in the french doors, that CERTAINLY she had a penchant for music. Evidently, she does if it does not involve daily practice.

Nonetheless, Eli has been enrolled in painful piano lessons for a little over a year now. You would think after my harrowing seven years with Mrs. Van Middendorp (whom we called Mrs. Van MiddenDORK behind her back) would have scarred me badly enough to avoid putting my daughter through the same agony. Seriously, the only reason I managed seven years of piano lessons as a kid was A) my mom forced all 8 of her children through the same agony and B) Mrs. Van MiddenDORK had a television...something my childhood woefully lacked.

Never mind that the television was one of those old console models that made a CHUNK CHUNK sound ever time you changed it between its three and a half channels (depending on the positioning of rabbit ears and the use of tin foil at random moments). We kids all suffered through piano lessons just so we could have the unequaled pleasure of watching "Laura Ingalls Wilder" or "The Cosby Show". If you were unlucky in the lesson lineup, you wound up watching Peter Jennings on the news or "Jeopardy" (although I am FILLED with useless knowledge, thanks to that show!).

Mrs. Van MiddenDORK didn't know about the LO KNO PLAY method, so we learned old school. Starting with "The Middle C Twins" and ending, if you are my sister Mary, with the "Hungarian Dance" for six months straight before you finally gave up and quit. There were no stickers or prizes...only a pyramid shaped metronome that she could wind up and set the pendulum ticking out the tempo for the song you mysteriously forgot to practice until exactly five minutes before you were supposed to leave for lessons.

So, in juxtaposition, cut to Eli, and her 15-year-old piano teacher. Eli gets prizes every week, she just had a "Piano Party" tonight, and she is already learning duets with me. She does stick out at recital time, though, as her counterparts are all vanilla white, and from very conservative A/C families. I didn't notice until Eli sat down to play her tune (with her braids sticking every direction and an armful of Silly Bands) that she had put several temporary tattoos all over herself. Lovely!

We'll suffer through a few years more until she fulfills the prerequisite to play the instrument she's REALLY dying to play...the drums.

Without further ado, I present Eli the Squirrel - the Ebony Tickling the Ivories (and other politically incorrect ethnic statements). [Facebook followers will need to click on "view original post" to see the video.]

JBR Part Deux - Eli's Medal

2010-12-08T19:45:00.000-08:00

As an addendum to the last post, Elisabeth deserves a post all to herself for the fact that she took first place in the Jingle Bell run Girls Age 8 division! Eli had stayed overnight the night before at a slumber party and was not the happiest camper when we had to pick her up early the morning of the race. She was also pouting a bit after the race because she was very tired.

But when she was awarded the shiny medal for first place, she beamed from ear to ear and said she'd do it all again next year. Amazing what a little bit of "hardware" and recognition can do!

Bucket List: Jiggle Belly Run (Check)

2010-12-08T15:13:00.000-08:00

For those of you following the sad misadventures of Momzilla, the Charter Member of the Exercise Haters' Club, you know I was slowly training for the local Jingle Bell Run (or, in my case, the "Jiggle Belly Run") to support arthritis. I had two people give me great advice about a free podcast on iTunes called "Couch to 5K" by Robert Ullrey which sets a 9-week training course to music (and Robert telling you when to warm up, walk, run, and cool down).

All was going well until I began to feel that, instead of supporting arthritis, I was developing it in both knees. My left knee would start to give out on an incline and I felt like my kneecap was threatening to come off my leg and roll down the road. My right knee would swell up like a balloon post run. My final run before Race Day was the Monday before Thanksgiving - two weeks before Race Day. So why I thought I could go two weeks without doing anything and be all right on Race Day just goes to show you I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer!

Nonetheless, Husband, Eli, Boy Wonder Wyatt (our photographer and "bag watcher"), Renee and I duly loaded into the Blue Bus last Saturday to join the rest of our Local Christian Radio Station Team for the run. Snow had fallen the night before and the grounds were covered in several inches of mostly undisturbed white fluffiness.

We took group pictures:

Stretched out:

And took off running!

I'd like to say I am blurry in this photo because I am running like the wind, Bullseye, but the truth is, I was too close to the photographer (sigh!).

A mere 30 minutes later, Husband and Eli crossed the finish line:

Three and a half minutes later, Renee (who slowed WAY down to keep me company) and I crossed the finish line:

I am not sure if my arms are raised in victory or surrender but I am fairly certain that my asthmatic breathing let Renee know I was behind her the whole race. Seriously, when you are used to your own training route (and drowning yourself out with blaring iPod music), and then have to run an unfamiliar route, it feels twice as long. Renee kept energetically telling me to lengthen my stride and to get as much as I could out of each stride. I tried lengthening once and nearly had my knee give out. Then Renee because a little obsessive about passing everyone so she was off the trail and running through the snow on the side with me trying to keep up, and dodge the snowflakes that were going straight into my eyeballs. Snow was seeping into my mesh-like shoes and causing frostbite. Renee should train Navy SEALS. I'm just sayin'...

The best part of the day? The team leaders made reservations at Texas Roadhouse and we all totally undid all our calorie burning workout by loading up on carbs and red meat. Now these are MY kind of teammates. We'll see you next year, Local Christian Radio Station Team!

PS The second best part of the day HAD to be the crazy costumes. Seriously, I am not sure how some people could run in these!

(Look closely at this one and you see two teenagers dressed in tweener long underwear, panties, and training bras).

From Sloth to Dribbletastic

2010-12-07T18:20:00.000-08:00

As if the chaos of the soccer season wasn't enough to make me feel like I lived in my Blue Bus, we enrolled both of the spastic Squirrels in basketball. We figured Eli would be fine with it, being that she was in a basketball clinic last year and has attended the local college clinic to shoot hoops with the men's basketball team.

Katybird, on the other hand, is quite possibly the world's laziest sloth. No, seriously, I love my kid but I tell her to empty the dishwasher and she throws herself to the ground and starts sobbing, "You mean ALL BY MYSELF? NO ONE is going to HELP me?". She doesn't want to return her craftastic supplies to the basement because there are spiders down there. Getting her to sort and gather laundry can take all evening with several redirections when she becomes distracted by floating dust particles and shiny objects.

However, Katybird has discovered she totally digs basketball. She is excited to go every Saturday and isn't half bad. Elisabeth is in an age bracket where there are only two teams so the same two teams play each other every week. She's fast but the shortest on the team and is assigned a super aggressive guard from the opposing team.

I'm trying to teach her how to box out - the only basketball skill I was halfway good at because I had the rear end to do some damage and elbows that were at everyone else's eyeball level...since I only played in 8th grade when I was far ahead of everyone on the growth chart. Luckily, Darren is helping coach Elisabeth's team and he has far more skills than me. Although I don't know if I care as much about skill development as I do having Elisabeth and Kate both burn off the excess ADHD energy that would otherwise lead to broken Christmas ornaments in the house.

Squirrel Dental Care

2010-11-28T21:12:00.000-08:00

Kate came marching into the house this past week with an intent expression on her face.

"Mom, I need to bring a hammer to school."

This was a new one on me. "Whatever for?" I asked.

"Mikayla has a wiggly tooth she can't get out."

Well, I guess Katybird thought she'd provide some free dental care to her best friend. Although, having first hand knowledge of Kate's lack of fine motor skills, I'd say Mikayla better wear a helmet to this "dental appointment".

Madison, Katybird, & Mikayla at "Fall Festival".

The Ugly Christmas Sweater Contest

2010-11-20T12:43:00.000-08:00

I apologize in advance to all teachers and anyone over the age of 50 because I know you have a deep affinity for "holiday sweaters".

My family, who is all not quite right in the head, is holding an Ugly Christmas Sweater contest this year. We have consistently had quirky white elephant grabs in the past, yielding such results as:

A set of petite bell bottoms resplendent in Grandma Moses-like drawings of flowers, tractors, and sheaves;

A tray with pressed samples of various rocks and trees

A grade school textbook from the mid-80s.

This year, however, the Ugly Christmas Sweater is the contender. Whoever is bedazzled the most wins. I went to the local thrift store and hit the MOTHER LODE!

I could totally star on the "Cosby Show" in these sweaters. My personal favorite? The red sweater with green Christmas bows and black and white spotted dogs. Why? It has shoulder pads. All I need are stirrup pants, jelly shoes, slap bracelets, and feathered hair and I could relive my 1988 Christmas.

I saw an acquaintance in store as I was checking out. She eyed my towering mound of Christmas deliciousness/ugliness and asked me if I was shopping for myself. I didn't want to tell her, in front of the clerk, that I was on the hunt for the ugliest Christmas sweaters around, so I just said I was buying gifts for my sisters. She looked liked she wanted to ask me if I was serious but that she didn't know me well enough and didn't want to offend me in case I thought these sweaters were the bees' knees.

I may not win Mother of the Year but I think I've got this Ugly Christmas Sweater Contest in the bag.

Jreses, Petecat and Squirrel Shipments

2010-11-18T20:14:00.000-08:00

The earnest longing for Christmas has began in spades this week since the girls recently came into possession of two American Girl dolls - Felicity (or, as Eli spelled it when she emailed her cousin - FLECATY) and Elizabeth. I may or may not have had a moment of weakness at a charity auction and in a frenzy of activity, bid on the two dolls. In my defense, I get a little confused at auctions and never know exactly what amount the auctioneer is calling out so sometimes I end up bidding against myself. Plus, my heart starts racing and my brain leaves the room. And in this particular instance, my sister Mary was beside me egging me on about how I should spend the money for such a good cause.

But I digress...

The girls have been delightedly toting the dolls everywhere. I came downstairs one afternoon to find Kate's doll with hair dripping wet. She took it upon herself to give the doll a shampoo and then try to comb out the hair with a fine tooth comb (those who are familiar with AG doll hair care are cringing right now).

A doll clothes catalog came in and Kate gleefully worked to submit her Christmas list:

Perhaps some interpretation is needed:

doktr stuf = doctor stuff
carer = carrier (as in baby carrier)
diapaus = diapers
crid = crib (she consistently mixes up her d's and b's)
hicar = high chair
sipecap = sippy cup
dipr stuf = diaper stuff
deb = bed (see note on crib)
rod = robe (see note on crib)
sliprs = slippers
sockr stuff = soccer stuff
clos = clothes
prs = purse
jreses = dresses
hat
soos = shoes
petecat = petticoat
sock

She's putting all her hopes on doll stuff. In fact, both girls have (as Stan and Jan Berenstein would say) a galloping greedy case of the GIMMIES! I told them that maybe this Christmas, we would focus on the true meaning of Christmas and not on all the toys they are waiting for. Eli took that opportunity to show what a well-behaved child she is:

And you all get to hear me having a night where I was pretty much fed up and felt like taking a sabbatical from motherhood. Luckily the UPS man didn't take that opportunity to stop by the house. I may have had a shipment for him that consisted of a box with holes in it marked "TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: DESTINATION = ZIMBABWE".

(This is the point where all my loyal readers realize that this blog serves as the antidote to all the saccharine sweet mother blogs out there that only comment on craft projects and delightful outings with their children. This is also the point where I am no longer even remotely a contender for Mother of the Year. Ah, the crown and sash have slipped through my fingers.)

Born out of Loss

2010-11-10T06:02:00.000-08:00

I was invited to be a guest blogger for Family Life's "Mom Life Today" website. Wasn't sure if my post was going to be far too honest to make it to the wall but I pray it speaks the truth in love about foster care and adoption. I read so many flowery blog entries from other moms gushing about everything that is motherhood I begin to wonder how honest they are.

So here is my unvarnished truth:

http://www.momlifetoday.com/2010/11/born-out-of-loss/

The Doctor Is In

2010-11-03T19:09:00.000-07:00

I received an email from my sister Renee today relating events involving her hilarious daughter Grace:

"Grace made an information sheet for me to fill out in order to be seen in her doctor's office.

I thought is was kind of personal but I filled it out anyway. Here were her questions:

1. Name:

2. Phone numer:

3. Adress:

4. Who you maried:

5. Did you wet the bed:

6. Who is your mail lady:

7. Hair corler:

8. Eye corler:

9. Fravorvite dotcer (doctor):

10. Fravite corler:

11. Fravite outfit:

12. Age:

13. Fravite animal that you have:

14. Fravite kind of apple:

PLEASE DO NOT WRITE IN CURSIVE"

"Dr. Grace" is nothing if not thorough...

A Series of Unfortunate Events

2010-10-27T19:48:00.000-07:00

I have never had any desire whatsoever to home school, partly because I work full-time from home but mostly because public school provides me with 6 1/2 hours of uninterrupted daycare for my two ADHD squirrels. However, based on recent events, I may reconsider my stance on homeschooling when it comes to Eli.

Eli has always struggled with talking to much in class and being distracted by her friends. Her grades, however, have been very good up until this school year. Enter her third grade teacher, who is more of a 3Rs, learn by rote, sit in your seat and be still than some of the younger, more tactile learning teachers. Eli is struggling...big time.

I didn't want to be the helicopter parent, hovering and smothering. After all, at some point, Eli needs to be responsible to get her own homework done and to make sure she has studied a sufficient amount for tests. I can't follow her to college and I think natural consequences can sometimes be more effective at instigating change than all the nagging in the world.

However, after Eli's latest social studies test (that I helped her study for) came home with this score:

I got ready to lay into Eli. Then I turned her test over and saw this handwritten note:

Not good. I can deal with her getting a bad grade. After all, she labeled the Atlantic Ocean as being in Colorado and said Canada was south of the USA. Not sure if her ADHD meds are not high enough, she is getting distracted, she is not taking her time or checking her work, or what but I know she can memorize quickly and is a smart girl. And if this note is an indication of how she feels about herself, I cannot stand by and watch.

I also saw this in her book bag:

This was a "Passport to the Universe" that she completed in class. When I got done snickering at the fact that she wrote she lived in the "northen-westrern" hemispheres on planet "Eartch", I noticed what she had crossed out and written over on the bottom.

Furthermore, she was to create a cartoon in class and this is what came home:

I am dumbfounded. I ended up going into class to observe the next day, calling her doctor, and talking to a friend who specializes in learning strategies for special needs kids. She feels Eli, in addition to ADHD, has a sensory need to be working something over with her hands and that that will actually calm her brain and help her concentrate. We are upping her dose of medication (to see if that helps) and I sent her to school with a squeezable stress ball and a note. The teacher does not appear to be thrilled (since the ball rolled across the floor at one point) but she is willing to make the accommodation. We'll see how it goes.

In other strange news, I came downstairs to see that Kate had tied her doll to a post in our house. Looks rather disturbing but she claims she put her doll in her "seat belt".

I am without words...

Ladies Who Lunch

2010-10-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

Last week, I volunteered to chauffeur my 70-year-old mother to see three of her sisters and two nieces. I do this because my mom got a Tom Tom a couple of years ago and she would follow that thing into a lake if it told her to. I sent her to B-town to get varnish one time and she wound up a 1/2 hour south of her destination on interstate. Hence, I felt it would be best for all if I took her up to meet up with her family.

My mom comes from a family of 11 kids. One sibling died very young and the remaining children could not be more different. Well, they are alike in some ways. They are all very smart and witty and pragmatic but some are about as left-wing, tree-hugging, Barack supporting as you can get while others are Rush Limbaugh, Christian Coalition, outraged conservative as you can get. They have collectively agreed that political discussions are off limits but they do like to needle each other from time to time.

My favorite part is when they start discussing people they grew up with. We used to look through my mom's yearbook and laugh at the funny names like "Charlie Sparrow" and "Crafton Meeker". On this particular lunch date, I distinctly remember the names "Bobby Snicker" and someone named "Catfish" surfacing in the conversation. I wanted to jump in and ask if he was named Catfish for how looked or how he smelled but didn't want to interrupt the entertainment that was fully in progress.

I love all my aunts...no matter how different they are from one another or from me. Sometimes I think I inherited more of their traits then I did my mom's. My mom takes worrying to an Olympic sport level whereas I figure God is bigger than anything so no reason to sweat. My mom is so careful to not say a cross word or offend anyone. I stomp on toes (some unintentionally) more often than I care to admit and am generally a rather sarcastic broad. But I am like my mom in that I will champion for the underdog and can type at the speed of light.

So, without further ado, I give you:

My Aunt Dot - Designer Dottie - always in the designer labels and with perfectly manicured hands. I used to pretend I had Aunt Dot nails and would rub my ring finger and thumb together like she used to do. We got her hand-me-downs when I was growing up and opening the package from her always caused a delicious scent of her perfume to waft through the air.

My Aunt Jan - Feisty Jan - she had to be feisty with that many older siblings! She's a writer and master gardener and likes to bait my mom...like any little sister should do.

My Mom - you can read about her above. If I ever take up stand-up comedy, I will owe a lot of stories to being raised with the mother I have. Much love, Mom, if you are reading this.

My Aunt Ada - the Motherly Ada. She was the oldest girl in family and no one has a cross word about Ada. She always has this regal bearing about her - may have something to do with the fact that she was the tallest of all her sisters.

I don't have a great ending for this blog post. So I will just sign off instead...

Lipsuckers, Looking Good, and Leggings

2010-10-16T12:27:00.000-07:00

Weird title, but that's what happens when you don't post for a while.

First off, my kids cashed in their "Fun 4 a Day" coupons with SuperAunt Dena and got to make Halloween cookies, play video games, and go out to eat at Steak 'n' Shake. The highlight, no doubt, was the fabulous "Fun Fang" lip-shaped suckers they got. Dena posted this picture to Facebook and I just want to note that Husband was responsible for hair duties. I was blissfully unaware several hours away at a corporate meeting. Dena probably needed several hours of downtime after squirrel wrangling for several hours.

Next came Elisabeth and Kate telling me the new way to show appreciation for someone (Facebook followers, you will need to click on "View Original Post" to see this video)

Finally, Kate was invited to her friend Mya's birthday party last night. The invitation said to dress-up so who should she pick to emulate? Hannah Montana (no surprises there) so we pieced together a t-shirt, hot pink miniskirt, lime green leggings, a Hannah Montana wig that we used last year when she was Tinkerbell for Halloween, sunglasses, and random jewelry. She came home with vampire fangs that have multi-colored strobe lights in them and slobbered them up so heavily that we can't shut the strobe lights off. So we had flashing "dentures" all night in bed with her.

And, as an added bonus, I give you Kate singing her song that she made up. I can't catch all the words but it is something like (again, Facebook followers will need to click on "View Original Post" to see video):

"Okay, Okay, I will obey" as the running theme...along with mention of doing her chores and doing what I say.

Music to my ears!

Turnips & Blowtorches

2010-10-05T20:46:00.000-07:00

I was trying to corral the wild Squirrels one afternoon after school when my email account dinged to let me know I had a new message. The school librarian wrote to tell me:

“I wanted to tell you about something that happened in computer lab today. The kids were using the search engine (ask.com) to ask questions about animals. It turned into something else since children get naturally curious about other things. Kids started asking questions about the tallest people, smallest people, richest people etc. I guess Elisabeth asked "who is the hottest person in the world?" One of the links that came up had the word "sex" in it. I overheard some girls whispering about it later. We talked again about the importance of being safe on the Internet and even if these websites are blocked at school, we always have to be careful about what we type etc.”

The librarian went on to tell me that she didn’t want the story blown out of proportion. My first thought, as I nearly swallowed my tongue, was “EVER HEARD OF FILTERING SOFTWARE, LOCAL SCHOOL DISTRICT?” Then I decided to ask Elisabeth…very nonchalantly…about the situation. The conversation went like this:

Me: “Soooo…did you find something interesting in your Internet search today?”

Eli (blank look…then, a guilty head dip with a scurrying glance right and left): “It wasn’t me…it was Haley.”

Me: “So an interesting word didn’t come up on your computer.”

Eli (realizing her mama is no fool, looks sheepishly down at her toes): “Oh yeah…a bad word came up.”

Me: “What does the word mean?”

Eli: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Then how did you know it was a bad word.”

Eli: “Olivia told me. But I already forgot what she said.”

Yeah, I am not so hip on this peer sex education thing. Granted, I’ve been remiss in my responsibilities to delve into the whole explanation. Mostly, I have been putting off because I feel highly unqualified to be addressing this subject. Seriously, I have the sexual I.Q. of a turnip.

(Note to dudes here…you may want to turn back now. After reading on, you would probably have the urge to gouge out an eyeball. Or both. Just giving you fair warning.)

Not that I don’t want creativity in sexual side of my life. It’s just that when I try, I end up nearly beheaded by a ceiling fan (that really happened). Or like the time when I decided to attend one of those parties that are supposed to talk about massage oil and lotions. Only this party turned out to have a lot of things I had never seen before. Turns out the “beaded necklaces” at this party were not meant to hang around your neck.

And then the party demonstrator asked for volunteers to try a new “stimulating lotion” for Ladytown. I thought I would be a sport and give it a whirl. She had me go to the bathroom to apply said product. I came back out…not feeling a whole lot…and then SWEET MOTHER OF ALL THINGS PURE I felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to my nether regions. The party demonstrator is all smiles, extolling the virtues of this wonderful product to the other participants as I am doubled over, sweat pouring down my face, gasping for my last breath, wondering how in the SAM HILL this was supposed to be stimulating. It was like a Brazilian bikini wax on STEROIDS.

Finally, when the demonstrator realized that everyone was chortling at my distress and not listening to her, she gasped, clutched a hand to her chest, and wheezed, “Please feel free to remove it if it is not pleasant.”

So much for trying to get my freak on and surprise Husband. Of course, he would have been surprised to find third degree burns “down there”.

Perhaps I will skip that story as Eli and I delve into the human sexuality lessons coming up. Some things just need to be kept between us turnips.

Not Another Head Case(worker)

2010-10-01T08:19:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, my Squirrels were beyond excited to go see their former foster care caseworker Kim. Now, I know, there are lots of horror stories about caseworkers out there - not giving correct information about a child or never returning phone calls or acting calloused about the needs of foster parents. And certainly, when I look at the caseworker case loads and the absolute junk they have to wade through, you can see where there would be an exceptionally high burn out factor.

But my kiddos won the foster care lottery when they got Kim for a caseworker. And that means I did to. She genuinely loves my little Squirrels and has kept tabs on them even after the adoption was finalized. She was great for getting me information and resources to be able to advocate for my kids. One time, I had forgotten to let her know we were going to be traveling out of state with the girls - which, while they are still wards of the state, requires written consent from the guardian ad litem (the attorney who represents the girls in court but who never ever really sees them). Kim rushed to have that approved the same day so we could take the girls to see my nephew play in the state football tournament.

Kim had not seen the girls since they were adopted in June of 2009 and was amazed by how big they had gotten. The girls were able to tell her about school and soccer and show her how they can both read now. After big hugs and updates on their baby sister (adopted by another family), we agreed to meet again each year. Kim was a part of their lives for three years - longer than I have been at this point - and I feel it it so important to continue their connection to her for as long as she's willing.

I guess all this is to say that who you have as a caseworker in foster care makes ALL the difference and we'd be delighted if Kim brought us our next kids as well. And my girls have much love for this wonderful woman who made their time in foster care a lot more bearable.

Jiggle Belly Sumo Run

2010-09-27T21:37:00.000-07:00

Well, wet your pencil tips and lean in for the earth-shattering scoop, my loyal followers. This Charter Member of the Exercise Haters Club has officially enrolled to run a 5k in the Jingle Bell Run in the local big town.

I don't know if it is the impending 15 year class reunion that has me finally motivated, my "Wattle" picture, the fact that I nearly died by skirt asphyxiation, or the sad truth that I snuck into an Eddie Bauer store to find out if I could rock a skinny aviator pant and found out that either they have shrunken their pant sizes or I have gone up YET ANOTHER SIZE but whatever the case is/was...I am now running.

Running is a more flattering term than what I am actually doing...which is slowly pounding along the highway, breathing like a heifer in labor, knees wrenching in pain, hearing going out in my left ear, iPod blaring loud enough to not hear myself breathing like a heifer, while my Buddha belly and bazerkers collide into each other like two over-eager sumo wrestlers. It's not pretty. Running was a lot more fun before I hit puberty. Scratch that. Running has never been fun but it was at least more tolerable before I had to haul a couple of sandbags along with me.

I printed out a 9-week training schedule online and emailed my sister Renee - my resident superstar sister who not only runs but bikes and swims and triathlons and generally has always been in fantastic shape since forever even though she finally hit the big 4-0 this year. Totally puts me to shame. She said I could join her Trooper team and might even get to run with Big Local Christian Radio Personality.

I borrow a phrase from my other triathlete sister Susan when I say I am a COMPLETER, not a COMPETER. In fact, Eli went running with me yesterday and completely smoked me. In my defense, she hasn't developed any "sandbags" yet. And she's African-American, which I am pretty sure means she had an advantage at birth whereas my Germanic background meant I inherited genes to be able to drink beer and dance the clog at Oktoberfest.

Even though my running is pathetic, I at least hope I've got the fitness fashion down...feeling very sleek in my UnderArmour and new running shoes that were custom selected after my feet and stride/gait were measured, scanned, analyzed, etc. The running shoes have words like "Titanium" and ""Maui Blue" and "Lightning" on the shoebox...as if I were an Iron Woman Triathlete competing in Hawaii.

I'll settle for making it through 3.2 miles in freezing weather wearing a Santa hat and hope I live to tell about it. So far, four weeks into training, I have lost a grand total of...zero pounds. With that kind of motivation, how can I not look forward to the Jingle Bell Run? Or in my case, the Jiggle Belly Run?

Recession Proof Doll Mania

2010-09-20T11:27:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, 8 little squirrels had the time of their lives on a one-day whirlwind trip up north. What started out as a plan for my girls to get to the go to the American Girl store to fix their poor little Bitty Twins' hair that they had completely ghetto-fied (evidently curly doll hair, lots of brushing, and various and sundry colored elastic bands throughout do not a great doll hair-do make!) compounded to add in sisters Renee and Susan plus my mom and six additional girls. That's right...if you are counting, eight girls under the age of 10 were awoken at O Dark Thirty to board the train.

They excitedly clutched their dolls and snacked on the 2 1/2 hour ride up there. It looked like a game of Musical Chairs on the Rails as they changed seats more often than I could blink. The conductors on the train were great, asking about the dolls and giving fake tickets to the dolls so they could ride back on the train. At one point, Kate asked the conductor if he was a police man, which caused him to smirk.

We arrived in the Big City and Susan proceeded to get us onto the right bus to get to the American Girl store.

And then all chaos broke loose. I thought perhaps going after school had started and on a rainy day would mean the store would be less crowded. I thought wrong. I thought since the country is in a recession, unemployment is up, and people are watching their spending, they would not be packed into a non-essential store like American Girl. I thought wrong. Every possible shape of mom (and a few dads) and girl were in there. Some were hauling several dolls plus matching outfits (and human sized outfits to match) up to the register with a determined look. These dolls run $95 - $114 apiece! And the matching girl/doll pajamas are $54. A single outfit for a doll costs $26 - $34. I love my kids but seriously! They wouldn't even have an American Girl doll if their aunts hadn't taken pity on them and bought them for them for Christmas. I held my girls to getting their dolls' hair fixed and one outfit. I admit, I was tempted to purchase more but I realized I would blink and my girls would be in junior high, convinced that their mom was SO uncool and that these expensive dolls (and their outfits) would be relegated to storage.

On to a brief stop at the Disney store and a 2 mile walk back to the train station. On the way home, the girls again played Musical Chairs combined with inadvertently dropping most of their snacks on the ground. If they had been Hansel and Gretel, I could have found them anywhere based on the train of smashed pretzels and chips left behind.

Other than a brief incident where Grace and Elisabeth accidentally opened the train bathroom door to reveal a Man in Green doing his "bidness" (and I just happened to be sitting in his direct line of sight so I got an eyeful) and another elderly gentlemen doing who knows what in the bathroom that caused a smell so bad, we ducked our heads inside our shirts like turtles and gasped for air (mental note to self: next time, don't sit next to the bathrooms), we arrived worn out and determined that next time, we'd do this trip with less kids and more caffeine!

The Giraffe Blob

2010-09-20T11:02:00.000-07:00

Kate had her first major school project to do for the first grade. She is to give a presentation in front of her class on the animal of her choice. She choose...(drum roll, please)...the GIRAFFE!

You can see the lovely poster board she created complete with her hand-drawn "giraffe blob" in the middle. I helped her find facts online and she had to select five to talk about.

I am not a creative genius when it comes to artistic or crafty things. I know some mothers relish doing craft projects with their children but I end up looking at the 5,000 bead box they get for their birthday and inwardly groaning. I am a great Momzilla for reading books (we are currently reading through the entire "Ramona" series by Beverly Clearly...and I am laughing more hysterically than the girls are) and for teaching life skills. But most my "crafty" days involved 4-H projects that still leave me scarred (don't get me started on my lack of sewing skills).

Back in my 4-H days, the crafts of choice where the wire hangers bent into a heart shape with rags knotted around the perimeter. And the lovely painted wooden heart-shaped wall hanger (three hearts with pegs coming out of the center of each heart) that held candles on a string. God bless the country blue and mauve era of the late 1980s!

Anyhoo, as I reel back from my digressions...I cringe whenever school projects are due but the results are sure fun to watch:

(Facebook followers will need to click on "View Original Post" to see this video)

Fashion Backward Hot Mess

2010-09-10T21:31:00.000-07:00

I've been salivating over my latest issue of the Eddie Bauer catalog, wondering if I could rock a skinny aviator pant. In fact, I keep looking at this photo wondering if I would look this hip and cool or more like a fashion backward bush pilot wannabe hot mess.

Never mind that the complete ensemble costs a mere $990.50 + tax and shipping. And I start getting heart clutches when I buy something over $30. I usually am one of the late bloomers to a fashion trend, often not finally coming around until the trend is passe.

I justify my lack of fashion sense by saying that I work from home and therefore no one really cares what I wear. The truth is I discovered yoga pants about 5 years back and the lovely soft, stretchy waistband has allowed me to expand in size without the abdomen slicing interference of a non-elastic waistband. I am the nightmare that Stacy and Clinton jump all over on "What Not to Wear" and tsk, tsk about one's desire to be comfortable.

Oh, I did the high heeled boot, pen-stripe trouser, suit coat thing for years when I worked for Big Local Insurance Company Headquarters. I uncomfortably clomped around with my feet pointed at a 45 degree angle and a robust pair of Spanx underneath it all so you wouldn't see a VPL (I'll let the fashion elite figure out those initials). And yes, I refuse to wear those miserable excuse for underwear called thongs. Friends, I don't care how much you claim that you don't notice the butt flossing after a while. I don't believe you. God did not intend for you to wear something that could split you in half with one good sneeze.

But I digress...

Anyway, I will probably continue to drool all over my Eddie Bauer catalogs and not order a thing. Until I reach the age where it becomes socially acceptable to wear velour pantsuits. Which I am pretty sure is about the same time I dye my hair purple/blue and wear orthopedic shoes and trifocals.

The Norwitching Hour

2010-09-10T20:55:00.000-07:00

I just spent $158 at a Norwex party, hosted by my friend Cass W. Husband may kill me when he finds out. I normally avoid parties led by people with stuffy titles like "consultant" (except for Pampered Chef, because the food is good and having all the cool kitchen gadgetry makes me feel like a "Top Chef"....when really I have just become a Pampered Chef addict).

You can't just go to this parties and not buy something. It's the unwritten rule. You feel like you need to buy something because you were fed Chex Party Mix and sipped on fruit punch. Sometimes you are tricked to attend by words like "Mom's Night Out" (you had envisioned a restaurant meal or spa pampering) or "free facial (and instead, you were told that buying this $189 face cream made from the foreskin of baby Aborigines would prevent wrinkles from ever forming). Whatever the case, you find yourself nodding along with whatever miracle product is being touted.

So now, I am $158 poorer but wowzer, do I have a Super Extender Micro Antibacterial Tree Hugging Nature Friendly mop, among other things. And a dusting mitt that is supposed to require no Pledging. And a window washing cloth that says it needs just water. I gave it a whirl but had to dodge so many moths and bugs outside I am not sure I will see a difference. Plus my licky dog Atticus decides to slurp on the window after I was done and Katybird was pressing her nose up to the inside of the glass watching me.

I would have signed up to host a party and maybe gotten the mop for free but then everyone who attended would expect me to attend (and buy) at whatever product party they hosted next. And the vicious cycle never would end. And you would find me broke but with luscious Arbonne/Mary Kay/Avon skin & makeup, a kitchen full of Southern Living/Pampered Chef/Tastefully Simple items, a cleaning closet full of Norwex/Amway/Shackley and a house full of Longerberger/PartyLite/Gold Canyon.

Testosterone Reinforcements

2010-09-01T18:41:00.000-07:00

Just when Husband was about to build himself a man cave in the woods to escape all the estrogen-charged drama around here, testosterone reinforcements have arrived in the form of teenage wonder boy Wyatt. Wyatt is an honorary nephew of mine (okay, not an actual blood nephew) based on the fact that I am fairly certain every time I have been back to my Iowa stomping grounds, he has somehow appeared in the vicinity of either of my sisters' homes (that being Lisa and Beth).

The Squirrels are delighted beyond words to have a "big brother" in the house. When they found out he was moving in with us to attend a nearby college (and we hoped to scam some free "mannying" services from him), they asked nearly daily when Wyatt would arrive. When they found out they are related to him (rather distantly but he does boast my maiden name as his surname), they were fascinated. The Squirrels are always fascinated with how many people they are related to, thanks to the fact that both Husband and I come from a long line of happily breeding rabbits.

(PS That's my "flower arrangement" thing on the dresser. Wouldn't want to get Wyatt disbarred from the He-Man Woman Haters Club)

Wyatt moved in without much fanfare. He is very low key, crazy smart, and rather quiet. He puts up with the Squirrels invading his personal space on a daily basis and doesn't mind when they type on his laptop, watch him play video games, swipe his gum, and mess with his cell phone and iPod. He also was non-plussed by the fact that he had to have a background check run and be fingerprinted since we are still a licensed foster care home. The other day found that Kate had crawled up on Wyatt's lap with her TAG reader and was merrily "reading" the "Ozzie and Mack" book while Wyatt was reading his book for Literature 110. Kate also likes to launch herself up in Wyatt's arms and hang on like she's a barnacle. Elisabeth just likes to jabber his head off.

We told Wyatt that living with us is like nuclear birth control. He will be VERY content to wait for marriage and kids after he sees this Momzilla in action! I probably should have had him sign a confidentiality agreement that he would never disclose my pathetic parenting skills to the outside world. Maybe I'll make that a condition of continued habitation as the troll in our basement.

Skunk in the Barnyard

2010-08-30T07:29:00.000-07:00

Forget quorums, majority votes, Robert's Rules of Order, parliamentary procedure, democracies and oligarchies...this is how we make major decisions around here:

(Facebook blog followers will have to "View Original Post" to see this video)

"Skunk in the Barnyard - PEE-YEW"
"Somebody ate it...that's you!"

Katy-bird will wear strawberry lip gloss to school. Case closed. No prisoners.

Shogun Hair and Manly Gowns

2010-08-24T09:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a lesson in extreme patience as Husband went into Big Hospital for a scheduled heart catheter ablation. After his last bout with heart atrial fibrillation, his EKGs were sent over to an cardiac electrophysiologist who determined that Big D has "atrial fibrillation Wolf Parkinson Waite (WPW) syndrome with antidromic/antegrade conduction through an accessory pathway". Which basically means the wiring in his heart is haywire and should he go into a-fib again, the electrical conduction paths have a higher likelihood of leading to ventricular fibrillation which means you collapse and die without immediate medical attention.

Sounded dire so we elected for him to get back into his manly mint green hospital gown and have the catheter ablation whereby the doctors go in through the femoral veins and the neck, try to induce arrhythmia, and find the accessory pathways and shut them down.

Only Big D's heart wouldn't go into a-fib. They tried for three hours and used lots of adrenaline with no luck. What do you know? White boy finally found his rhythm!

So they closed Husband up and he had to lie still for six hours. All told, we spent 12 hours at Big Hospital and still run the same risk of his heart freaking out on him like it did before. The good news is that if the doctors couldn't induce a-fib with everything they were pumping into him, then it should mean that his heart won't easily go into a-fib. The other good news is that Big Hospital got wireless internet so I was able to almost finish season one of "Arrested Development" on Hulu.com.

The video is Big D trying to see if he could hold his breath and get the machine to beep that his respirations were bottoming out. Can you tell he is bored? Oh yes, and also, when I asked him how I looked (wrong question to ask any guy but especially at 6 AM while he is lying in a bed awaiting surgery AND I didn't do a whole lot to my hair), he tells me "you look like a shogun". I think he means samurai but either way, he sure knows how to flatter a girl. Good thing my love language is acts of service and not verbal affirmation!

Squirrels Race with Haerr-balls

2010-08-17T12:45:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, we entered Eli and Kate in their first ever "Kids Triathlon" being held down by Aunt Susan's and Uncle Shannon's and Aunt Bethany's and Uncle Toffee's. Proceeds from the race (which also included the adult version) were to benefit Susan and Shannon's ranch for disadvantaged or disabled kids and adults.

We knew Eli would be fine with the 100 meter swim, 1 mile bike, and 1/2 mile run but were less sure how Kate would do. Kate acts like it will KILL her to have to pick up her toys or walk down the driveway to get the mail (granted, our driveway is a half mile long but still...). Kate has just learned how to ride with no training wheels and getting started is always a little precarious as she wobbles and careens for several feet before finally gathering enough leg strength to stay upright.

But alas, both girls jumped in with enthusiasm, no doubt aided by the fact that their cousins Hattie Rabbit, Aber Baber, and Lena Bean were all veterans to the event. Lena and Kate were the only ones in the same age group competing against each other and luckily Susan, who had run the triathlon just minutes before, was able to get into the pool with both girls and keep them from drowning as they completed the swim portion of the race. Then off to the bike ride! Husband worked them through the transition area (while I ran behind with the camera) and then he went running after Kate (literally...he ran the route) and escorted Eli back. Then ran back out to catch up with Kate and finished running with her in the 1/2 mile run portion. Perhaps Husband could just enter the race next year. At least he would get a medal for all the running he did that day!Eli came in first out of a group of...ahem...one...in the 8-year-old female division. Kate came in first out of two in the 6-year-old female division. Lena came in second. She may hit Kate in the knee before next year to even out the competition. Hattie came in first out of one in the 9-year-old female division and Abe came in first out of one in the 7-year-old boy division (are we seeing a pattern?). So the great news is that this race is small enough that all 19 kids who were in it got a medal. Now that's MY kind of triathlon!

(Props to Aunt Bethany whose team won FIRST in the team division - she was like greased lightning in the pool, Aunt Susan who won 2nd in her age division, and Uncle Shannon who won 2nd in his age division. I will spare them by not posting pictures of them racing without their permission).

Napoleon Dynamite - Juror Panel 2

2010-08-07T07:43:00.000-07:00

After years of moving around enough to successfully dodge it, the dreaded summons came...JURY DUTY! Now, if my only court experience had been watching endless reruns of "Law and Order", I would have been excited for the juicy fodder of being on a jury. But alas, after seeing adoption court, which is a bunch of people, all not looking at each other, mumbling things while staring at their laptops, I knew court is super boring.

I sent a request out for ideas on how to get out of jury duty to my Facebook friends. They didn't disappoint. I share their advice:

"Tell them the only justice you believe in is vigilante justice." - Susan H (my sister...she's not right in the head).

"You could try bringing a stuffed animal and suck your thumb and answer every question in a tweety bird voice...I tink I taw a waywer!!" - Camille K

"Tell them you think Perry Mason was the first Reality TV Show. I actually had a friend dismissed from jury duty when they asked if anyone thought it would be like Perry Mason, he raised his hand." - Steve and Sharon H

"Just tell them that your instructions from the federation leader on planet Lyborg Q-854 are to politely decline the invitation. Or you could just stuff a bunch of steak knives in your purse before you go through security, but I'd prefer not to visit you in county lock-up!" - Dena M (my SIL...she's not right in the head either)

"Tell them your dog said you can't come without him because he's your legal representation and bring the dog with you." - Camille K (her 2nd option)

"Another line you could try to get the boot: "The best jury is a hung jury." - Joe M (my BIL husband to Dena M...evidently warped minds attract warped minds)

In the end, I decided to go all "Napoleon Dynamite" for the day. I even debated wearing my "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt (yes, I have one thanks to my little sister Erin) but thought that would be too obvious. So I went fresh from the shower, hair not even remotely done, no makeup, ratty jeans, a old brown "RAGBRAI 1973" t-shirt, and flip flops. I tried to look as homeless and hungover as possible except when the question came up as to whether or not I was friends with, had relatives that were, or lived next to law enforcement officers. I dug up every connection I possible had and changed my outward demeanor to one of members of the Montana militia.

I looked around the rest of the room and realized that there were lots of kooks, though. I mean you had your regular Corporate people who furiously typed on their Blackberries, tromped around in heels, and otherwise looked like they were far above this lowly position of juror. Then there was the militant NRA members who just wanted somebody to hang. And your harried housewives who were trying to arrange additional days of childcare for their brood. And the ones who felt full disclosure was best when the question of "Have you ever been a party to a court case?" came up and they went into vast detail about how their husband had been accused of embezzling and was wrongly sentenced and blah de blah de blah.

In the end, my "Napoleon Dynamite" persona was dismissed from having to serve on Panel #2 and I was promptly thanked for my time. But I am saving my "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt in case I get summoned again.

Hairy Houdini & Muck Love

2010-07-26T20:06:00.000-07:00

It's been a week...

The Squirrels kept telling me that Sassy the Sinister Snobbish Cat of ours, was "missing fur". I figured she's an outside cat, big deal, right? Until I looked closer and saw that something had taken a rather large chunk out of her side. Like I could see shiny, viscous muscle tissue rolling around underneath her missing skin in a perfect circle with bite marks around it.

A quick call to my local vet to schedule an appointment and I went outside to find the cat. She was MIA. Looked and looked and could not find her. Called the vet back and said she was missing and I would call back when I found her.

Not 5 minutes later, she shows up. Determined not to let her escape again, I put her in the van, threw my purse in there as well, and went inside to round up the Squirrels.

I come back out to open the van up and put the girls in car seats when I find that the side door won't open. "That's funny," I think to myself...until with great dread, I look up to see the cat with hind legs on the drivers' seat and front legs poised on the door handle. Right where the lock button is.

Yep, Hairy Houdini (or should I saw "Reverse Houdini") had locked herself into our van. With my purse. And my cell phone. And the only set of van keys if you don't count the set dangling off of Husband's key chain AN HOUR AWAY. I don't have a land line and am now in panic mode. The girls are due at swimming lessons in an hour!

We try to dangle cat toys and food outside the window in the hopes that she can step on the "unlock" button but the cat eyes us with disdain and curls up on the dash. I march off to the neighbors house with two rapid-fire questioning girls in tow "Mom, why did you leave the cat in the van? Why can't you open it? What if we can never get in our van again? Will the cat die? [at which point I decide not to tell them that FELINE EUTHANASIA is MOST DEFINITELY ON MY MIND]"

The neighbors are not home. Or maybe they are just not answering their door since I am the same crazy lady that accidentally set fire to the prairie and smoked their baby goats out of their barn.

But I digress...

I download Skype on an upstairs computer and dial my father-in-law's house. No answer. I email Husband at work, praying he is at his computer and not in one of the 10,000 annual interminable meetings of the corporate minds. He emails back that he is in a phone meeting and can't I just go to the neighbors? I fire an email back that THIS IS AN EMERGENCY and to call our neighbor who is also our fabulous mechanic - he resurrects our junkers on a regular basis.

My neighbor (props to Jeff S of S Repair in G town) laughingly shows up 10 minutes later with son Max in tow. Jeff is no stranger to my mad life. Last time he saw me I was at his house finding out that the husband I had sent to Prompt Care by himself was now being taken by ambulance to the ER due to his heart being in a-fib.

Jeff unlocks the door in less than 2 minutes using some red plastic wedge and a long metal pole. I gotta get me some of them.

But alas, the week was not a total loss. Eli must have sensed my unraveling because she made a lovely card for me in Sunday school. In which she tells me"Thaks" me for "Evrything" I give her and she loves me very "muck". Well, muck love right back atcha, Squirrel #1!

Sik on Vekashin

2010-07-17T10:43:00.000-07:00

Poor Kate had too much vacation this past week. One early morning following yet another late night, she woke up and was not herself. Husband pushed her to finish her morning bowl of Chocolate Marshmallow Mateys (hey, Husband lets them buy all this crappy cereal, not Nutrition Nazi Mom!) when she just seemed lethargic.

Cut to the pool, about a half hour later. She is dressed in her new polka dot sun dress when she hurls regurgitated cereal all over herself. I cleaned her up and laid her down to sleep for a while.

The nieces decided to make get well cards for poor little Kate. The best was the card from Rachel - who we call Duke, Dukey, Rudy, Woo, Wooster, and a host of other names. In case the photo scan doesn't come through, this is what it says:

"GET well

I now what it

fells like to Be

sik on vekashin ones

some one in my

clas throw up its

cinduv grows isint

it Love Rachel"

Oh Woo...you are a blog onto itself!

The Latest in Jolly Green Giant Fashions

2010-07-06T20:19:00.001-07:00

I was hoping for a drama-free summer but last week's happenings made it quite the opposite.

We open with Scene One - which is Husband in his flashy red and black church softball outfit, running like mad to get to third base during a friendly Tuesday night game. He feels his heart go funny but, like mostly manly men, doesn't say anything until...

Scene Two - Husband comes home from work, plops down on the couch beside me, and asks me to check his pulse. I do so, and find that it has a funky rhythm and is anything but the consistent LUB-dub, LUB-dub it is supposed to be pounding out. Husband says, "It's been doing this all day. Not sure what to do."

I pull questions from my college First Aid class and ask if he is feeling dizzy, chest pressure, tingling in his left arm, shortness of breath. He tells me he feel "off" and more tired than usual. I tell him to call Brother-in-Law Nelson who is a RN on the cardiac floor of the local hospital.

I figure Nelson will not overreact, as would my mother (also a RN), who in her spare time, dreams of crazy ways for us to die. Like by getting struck in our hoo-hah with lightning while going pee during a thunderstorm (I guess technically if lightning struck our septic tank, the jolt could travel up the line of pee into our...um...hoo-hah... but that would definitely win a Darwin Award and that is worth something). Or being beheaded by a crop duster. Or in a house fire by a toaster left plugged in too long.

Nelson has me take Husband's pulse twice, then nonchalantly suggests Husband go into the local Prompt Care. I am in the midst of supper and getting the kids ready to go to the neighbor's house to see their new fawns, goats, and cow, so I don't go with Darren. I figure how bad can an irregular heartbeat be?

Scene Three - evidently, when Husband shows up at Prompt Care and says the words "Irregular Heartbeat", they throw him in a wheelchair, careen 20 feet to the EKG machine, read the print-out and promptly load him into an ambulance with oxygen pouring into his lungs. At this point he calls me and tells me he is heading to the Big Hospital by ambulance. I feel a slight pang that I will not be nominated for the Wife of the Year award beings that I sent him to Prompt Care BY HIMSELF (whoopsie!). Luckily his parents are free to meet him at the ER.

Scene Four - Husband has a team of 8 who lunge at him once he enters the ER and put him out, shock him twice, and poke him full of holes to get some good drugs in him. He has more lines attached to him than a landmine field and there is an abnormally loud machine that squawks every time his heart gets off sync...which is about every minute. He is told that he is in a-fib, which my sister Renee (another RN) tells me basically means that the top of his heart is quivering instead of beating and the risk is that he will throw a clot to his lungs or brain.

Scene Five - Husband is told he has to stay overnight at the hospital and will have an echo cardiogram in the morning. He is now sporting the latest in hospital wear - a mint-green, mid-thigh-length gown with gaping back and a sprinkling of mint leaves just to make the gown festive.

As it turns out, before he was facing yet another shock to the heart at 1 PM the following day, his heart corrected itself. Could be because of the IV meds. Could be because the heart just found its groove thing again. Certainly could be because loads of people were praying for my now-grass-green-grippy-slippered Jolly Green Giant. Whatever the case, he was finally released at around 9:30 PM the following evening (but not before the Squirrels tore apart his hospital room and begged every five minutes for snacks) and he has not had any recurring episode.

I look at his very sculpted 6'5", 210 lbs. frame with next to no body fat and next to no cholesterol level and come to this conclusion...if Mr. Fitness himself gets himself in heart trouble, there is no hope for the rest of us. I might as well enjoy life and eat bacon while I can. And then maybe I will get a chance to look fierce in some mint-green hospital fashions!

Death by Skirt Asphyxiation

2010-07-02T09:46:00.000-07:00

I may have missed my calling...that is, writing product reviews for people who really don't care.

Exhibit A:

I recently ordered this very lovely pencil skirt from Chadwicks (tagline: the company that sends you a gazillion catalogs if you order one thing). I picked out my size according to their sizing charts and eagerly awaited a skirt described as having a "built-in slimmer slip".
Here is the reality (and the review I posted):

"I got stuck in this skirt!"

I purchased my normal size in this skirt but the fit was WAY too tight (think obscene second skin) and as I went to unzip and get out of it, the zipper got stuck, the parted below the zipper rendering it incapable of being unzipped. I was STUCK IN THIS SKIRT! It was too tight to shimmy over my hips or up over my top. I finally got it bunched around my waist and slid it around and after much jimmying with the zipper, was able to coax one side of it down. A giant heave ho later, I was able to get it off the top of me but not without nearly squashing myself silly.

I like the fabric. I will try it in another size because it doesn't wrinkle and the length is right. However, if this zipper fails again, I will post another review.

No, I am not one of those people that can't face that I am in double digits size-wise so I order wrong. I really did order the size I normally wear and that matched the measurements listed in the sizing charts.

http://www.chadwicks.com/clothing/Shape-Benefits-Enhancement-Skirt.aspx?PfId=192587&DeptId=8207&producttypeid=1&PurchaseType=G&pref=ps

Too much information? Evidently. No one marked my review as "helpful" but when they are dying of skirt asphyxiation from not heeding my review, they may have second thoughts.

Stomping to the Death - Orange Shag Runway Style

2010-06-28T19:12:00.001-07:00

'Tis the season for my hometown paper to report of all the local queen contests in preparation for the county fair at the end of July. Much to the chagrin of my mortified mother, I was once a candidate myself.

Why did I submit myself to the wonder of the local beauty pageant? Two words...savings bond. That's right. All that humiliation for a savings bond for the winner. Well, that, plus I was afraid I would be pestered to death by the local Pork Producers group to become the County Pork Queen and that is a title you just don't live down. I'm sure many Ivy League colleges would be impressed if I listed "PORK QUEEN" as a high school accomplishment.

My first foray into beauty pageant...I mean, queen contest, was my hometown pageant. I was running against one other person and she had 99% of the support of the crowd. I counted only my sister Lisa and my friend Heather B. as my lone supporters. Nevertheless, I bellowed my way through my talent and somehow wound up winning. For such a small town (350 people), they gave me one GINORMOUS crown. I needed a whiplash neck brace to keep my head upright when I wore it.

On to the County Pageant ruled over by the long-standing pillar named Wava. Wava was the Saturday Night Live church lady with more lipstick and extra plumpness on top. On the big day, Wava stood behind her podium and staidly announced our entrance as we climbed out of the trailers (I know...redneck city) in which we were changing clothes and climbed up the rickety metal steps to the "stage" - which was half of a trailer sitting on the drag racing track. The roof was a green tarp and covering the floor was orange shag carpeting.

We stomped to the death (move over, Tyra Banks...this broad was FIERCE!) in our clothing selected from a local clothing store. Thankfully there wasn't a swim suit competition or I would have foregone the lure of the savings bond.

There was, however, the talent competition. I had written a song a year before after a guy I had a crush on really wanted nothing to do with me. He had used the dreaded F-word (let's just be FRIENDS) and I guess I was heartbroken enough to pound out some sad, sordid number called "Nothing Broken But My Heart". I don't remember much but the chorus was:

"Nothing broken but my heart

Nothing hurt but my pride

Nothing shattered but my faith

Since I can't have you by my side."

I know...dig out that sad violin music and pour me a bottle of bourbon. Nashville, here I COME! No seriously, I had to play on this old upright piano that had been painted mint green sometime during the late '70s. The microphone poised near my mouth kept weighing the stand down and the microphone began to slide down, down, down towards my lap. I'm sure by the end I was hunkered over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame as I tried to bellow out the last stanza.

I ended up getting first runner up...the only real dig was that I lost to my current-boyfriend-at-the-time's ex-girlfriend name Julie. My family consoled me with a little ditty called "Junky Julie from George" in which they assured me that the crowded "jeered and jived" that I hadn't won. And my only chance to practice my "wrist, wrist, elbow, elbow" queen wave in a parade was rained out.

But I do still have the savings bond. And in another hundred years, it just might have doubled in value. To $50. If I actually consider the rate of inflation, I actually lost money on this whole deal. As well as a great deal of dignity.

The Need for an Adult Bib

2010-06-21T18:40:00.000-07:00

This week I am away from home on business, training a new sales rep for my company. Now, I suppose I should feel enormous guilt for abandoning my Squirrels but they are spending the week at my sister Susan's house, and they had nary a minute to talk to me when I called. Which means they are having the time of their life, probably free feeding on TCBY frozen yogurt, riding horses, and turning Susan's house into shambles. So, if it's all right by you, I'll skip the Working Mom Guilt this week.

I indulged in something tonight that made me realize there is a market for adult bibs...a 45 minute pedicure. Why the bib? Let me 'splain...

I was in Old Navy feeling sorry for myself as I realized sometime between last year and this year, Old Navy had shrunk all their pants. I stood before the dressing room mirror in the "Sweetheart" jeans and turned and twisted trying to see if my backside looked like it needed backup beeping sounds in the pair of pants I had wedged myself into. I realized it would be some time before I would be in single-digit sizes again and resigned myself to fate (cue the violins playing sad music).

So I left the store planning to attend my Pity Party, Population One when I spotted a nail salon. The last time I had a pedicure was right before my wedding and I managed to leave the salon on my foam flip flops and promptly rear end somebody at the next stoplight as I was looking down admiring my newly-painted toes. The passenger of the vehicle I rear-ended got out and was smoking up a storm and cussing at me. She must have called the cops because soon an officer, an ambulance, and a fire truck pulled up. Suddenly she was in the car complaining of chest pains and neck/back injuries. My insurance company rewarded me with a fat increase in my premiums for the next three years. Happy Wedding to me.

So I felt it was time I climb back into the saddle again...or, in this case, the delectable vibrating, swirling warm water around my feet pedicure chair. I really think if we'd drop these pedicure chairs into the Middle East (instead of food packages and bombs), we'd have world peace in no time.

I was 15 minutes in before I figured out my pedicure chair was programmable. It started massaging my back and between that and having my feet pampered, I feared my eyes would roll back in my head, I'd start drooling like a nursing home resident, and fall out of my chair.

Alas, I made it through and must say, my feet look fabulous! At least 10 years younger (ha!) and in honor of my cute little Asian pedicurist, I indulged in some MSG-laden Chinese food for dinner. Who says business trips have to be a drag?

Slow Death & Black Hair Snobbery

2010-06-16T20:58:00.001-07:00

After recently visiting the town we used to live in in mid-North Carolina, I have realized that adopting African-American children as pasty white parents while living in the South would have been an entirely different experience.

It isn't just because the South has some weird traditions. Case in point...when I first moved to NC, I was driving along the road and I saw signs on either side of the driveway of a house that said, "Slow death in family". I thought that was very odd to broadcast to the world that a loved one was slowly dying until I realized a punctuation mark was missing, and it should have read "Slow. Death in Family". As in, slow down...there is a 3-day wake happening in this household where people are double-fisting fried chicken, fried okra, collard greens, black-eyed peas, and gallons of sweet tea all while prefacing anything they want to say with "Bless his heart..." followed by a thorough roasting.

And it isn't just that the grocery stores in the South carry weird items...like floating bits of what appear to be brain matter they call "chitlins" and shrink-wrapped packages of pigs' feet. And evidently what I call a grocery cart is labeled a "buggy" - no horse required to pull.

It's that there is a clear racial division in the South and the blacks really don't care to mingle anymore than the whites do. There could be two grocery stores belonging to the same chain in the same town and one was where all the whites went, and one was where all the blacks went. You had your black funeral parlors, churches, dry cleaners, and schools and your white versions of the same.

Well, I show up with two African-American girls and get the look of Black Hair Snobbery from every black woman I see. I went into a African Braiding salon to see if someone could give my nearly arthritic hands a break and cornrow the girls' hair. I got the aghast looks from the two ladies braiding and was told they didn't have time for me. I asked if there were other salons in town that could help me (the town is 50% black) and was told "not really". Really? One salon for all the black women? I know how many hair relaxers, weaves, extensions, corn rows, and wigs go into making a black woman's hair look nice. I know that a black woman will pay for their hair to be done before paying their rent even if it means eviction. And they are telling me one salon caters to all the black women in a town of 23,000? Seriously...

And then the older black women think they can tell me how to raise my child. I was carrying Kate back from the breakfast nook at the hotel when the maid told me "Put her down. She's old enough to walk." I was so shocked that someone would tell me how to parent that I'm sure I looked like a guppy standing there with my mouth hanging open.

So alas, (and no disrespect to my dear friends in the South) I am glad we waited until back in the Midwest to become an interracial family. And I'm glad no black woman saw my squirrels while we were at OBX. FYI...chlorine, sea water, tons of sun, and black hair is a deadly mixture. I didn't even bother to tame the beasts until mid-week.

Olympic Gold Medal Eyeballs

2010-06-14T20:03:00.000-07:00

The other week Squirrel #1 (Eli) came home from school and in the midst of her rambling, she told me she ran a mile in 6 minutes and 35 seconds. This, coming from the same girl who thinks she will grow up to win "American Idol" and who tears up the pages of her journal and sprinkles them in fake plants as "seeds", didn't have me batting even one eyeball. There is not even a track at her elementary school so I figured she was confused with the shuttle run or something.

On the last day of school, however, the P.E. teacher sent home the results from the Presidential Physical Fitness testing. In addition to the particular student stats, the students are given a percentile rating that indicates where they rank on a national scale of students at the same grade level (1 being that pretty much everyone can beat the pants off them - i.e. the ratings I'm sure I got and 100 being that they can pretty much beat the pants off everyone else).

There it was...mile run 6:35, 100th precentile. I wondered if the P.E. teacher had hung a shiny object on the end of a string in front of her to get her to do anything longer than 1.5 seconds. But then, well, I gotta tell you...I started to dream big dreams for my little spastic squirrel.

I mean, up until now, we were hoping that her being black and formerly in foster care was enough of a sob story to get some level of scholarship. She does all right with grades when she is not getting marked down for constantly talking during class or not staying seated (thank God for the little blue pill she takes each morning...). But now, I had visions of her blazing around the high school track, college scouts madly dialing their Blackberries shouting "Recruit! Recruit!" (okay, this may not be how it happens...). Then some reknowned Olympic coach spots her and takes her on as his special protege.

In reality, I could never afford that level of coaching and look how well athletes/entertainers have turned out that have had parents who tried to live vicariously through their children (Michael Jackson, anyone? Tiger Woods?). So in the end, I just took her aside and told her that God had given her a very special talent...and it was up to her how she was going to honor Him with it.

Sweet "Crunchy" Music

2010-05-28T14:49:00.000-07:00

It seems my penchant for getting song lyrics wrong has somehow infused into the genetics of Squirrel #1. Who says you need biology to pass on craziness?

Case in point was Eli singing along to Husband's Atlanta CD.

The song is supposed to go:

"Singing sweet country music
Breathing clean mountain air."

Eli's version? "Singing SWEEEEET crunchy music..."

I've had some doozies myself. I though Guns N Roses' "Take me down to a Paradise City" was "Take me down to a very nice city" and Go West's "King of Wishful Thinking" was "King I've Wished For, Baby". Or even Elvis Presley's "Memories" was "Mammaries...pressed between the pages of my mind" I didn't quite get how breasts could be pressed in your mind but who was I to question the King of Rock and Roll?

But perhaps the cake topper was thinking the Spin Doctor's "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong" was "Cinnamon Carefree Gum". Go ahead..."Cinnamon, Cinnamon, Cinnamon Carefree Gum"...you can see where I could think that.

No?

Oh well. Perhaps it's time for some ear wax removal.

Advice to a New Father of What NOT to Do

2010-05-21T20:53:00.000-07:00

I come by funny honestly. It runs all through my family and outlaws are no exception. Take Exhibit 1, which was in an email that one of my brother-in-laws (who shall remain nameless since I didn't ask his permission to reprint this) gave to my only brother Jeff as Jeff anticipated the soon-to-be-happening delivery of his first child.

"Some advice to Jeff on what not to do when your wife is in labor. I may have a friend of a friend of a relative who may have done these things:

1) Watch professional wrestling (early labor is boring).

2) Eat cheeseburgers in front of your wife who can only have ice chips (early labor is boring and a man gets hungry).

3) Complain that the recliner you are in is uncomfortable (not a good idea).

4) Buy a morning paper, eat breakfast, sit on the can, and chit chat with co-workers while they overhead page you in your deaf ear and wait for your wife to push until you get back to the room (that last stage went so fast).

Anyway, you have my prayers, God is in control, birth is truly a miracle, and fatherhood is awesome!"

By the way, William Jefferson (named after my dad and Jeff, not Bill Clinton, as some would think) arrived at 11:48 today, weighing in at 9 lbs. 4 oz. and measuring 22 inches. He already has lots of chubbers so we know for sure he belongs to our lineage. Only hope the neurosis that plagues us all skips a generation. If not, he'll be added to the rest of us who are heavily medicated for your safety.

You Might Belong to Farmer Bill If...

2010-05-18T11:40:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: This post will probably only be funny to my six zany sisters and my equally nutty brother but alas, after reading through a forwarded email my sister Beth received entitled "You May Be a Farmer's Wife If...", I figured I'd do my own adaptation as an ode to my Pops - The One and Only "Farmer Bill"

You Might Belong to Farmer Bill If:

1. You walked thousands of miles of soybeans all while trying to wear the least amount of clothes possible so you could work on your tan...and wound up with a doozy of a summer sock tan nonetheless.

2. You watched Farmer Bill fall asleep in his chair in the evening with his "Hog Farmer Today" magazine. When you would wake him up and tell him he ought to go to bed, he'd snort awake, turn a page in his magazine, vow he wasn't sleeping, he was just "resting his eyes" and promptly fall back asleep.

3. You swallowed a bug at max velocity while you were riding in the bed of the pickup truck pretending you were Kate Winslet in "Titanic".

4. Your date nights ended with a goodnight kiss accompanied by the smell of hog manure if the westerly winds were just right.

5. Your make out sessions with boyfriends were interrupted by the "tink" of pitchfork tines on the car window and your dad lowering his voice six octaves to let your date know it was time to "call it a night".

6. Your dad's wardrobe consists of items all labeled with seed corn company logos.

7. You hurriedly whispered to your dad at the side of the 4-H Hog Show ring to point out your show hog since you hadn't bothered to work with the hog all summer long. And you should have known which one was yours because, as a former confinement hog, it went bucking into the ring, circled several times, and promptly pooped on the judge's shoe.

8. You learned to drive stick shift by barreling down field waterways in the black Ford pickup truck.

9. Anyone seeing you in your designer suit and high heels at the company board meeting would be shocked to learn you can double fist vaccination syringes and "process" (code word for remove the manhood from the boy piglets) hogs. And how you are tempted to repeat the procedure on the horses patoot in the meeting who keeps using words like "synergy" and "win-win situation".

10. You know the difference between a gilt, a sow, a boar, and a barrow.

11. The maddest you ever saw your dad was when he was sorting hogs. But somehow, the worse thing he called the infernal creatures was "shyster".

12. You tried to pressure wash your sibling at close range to see if the epidermis could really be removed, and were rewarded with a howl and a lingering red mark on your sibling's appendage.

13. You know that a "honey wagon" does not really haul honey.

14. You joined FFA because the guy-to-girl odds were CLEARLY in your favor...and you faked your way through lots of "Supervised Agriculture Experience (SAE)" projects to keep from having your cover blown.

15. You watched your dad's steely determination to outbid everyone in the room for you at an FFA Labor Auction as your mom was wildly flapping her arms and making throat cutting motions (evidently because of the fear that dad would end up bankrupt against the Powerful Neighboring Farmer if he didn't stop bidding). PS Dad - I would have worked for you for free.

16. You put on your "feety pajamas" after your bath, then went cross country skiing on carpet and tried to build up enough static electricity to shock your dad by touching his arm.

17. Your dad still has permanent divots in his shoulder from where your chin rested as he sat on the floor by your bed and read from "The Picture Bible" every night.

18. You know how to make "hospital corners" on your top bed sheets because of Dad's military experience.

19. The jingling of pliers still reminds you of the only forewarning we got that Dad was heading up the stairs to lift us out of bed by one ankle and swat us for snickering and playing around when we should have been going to sleep.

20. You still remember the stories he told about "Middie and Shaddie" and the hapless bear that was repeatedly bitten in the rump.

Happy Father's Day, Farmer Bill!

Google Search Saves Me From Hiring a R.S.O.

2010-05-07T16:47:00.000-07:00

Here is the lastest from my endless hunt to find a good candidate for an opening in the company I co-own...

I posted an ad on a local help wanted website. I get an applicant with a very good resume...had been a vice president of a company doing work in a similar field. I set up an initial phone conversation which goes really well. I am slightly surprised to find that he had been laid off from his previous company but alas, it's the economy, right?

I get ready to schedule a phone interview with the two other business owners and, out of curiousity, Google the candidate's name. I started this practice after I Googled a previous candidate and a hit came up referencing a rape/murder by someone of the same name. Turns out it was a distant cousin with the same first and last name but a different middle name. Sometimes I find out about previous bankruptcies or Facebook pages.

Well, this particular candidate, whom I will call "Matthew Small" so he can't find that I blogged about this, had a hit on his name referencing an arrest on suspicion of child solicitation. Evidently a Matthew Small had yelled very crude comments out the window of his minivan to a 14-year-old girl. I won't repeat the comments but suffice it to say, it involved him wanting to do something with a part of her female anatomy that is named after a cat.

He has a fairly common last name so I look up the size of the town he is in to find out if it's possible that there are multiple people of that same name. The town size is 596 people. This is not looking good. I do another Google search using additional search terms and find that he was indeed convicted of child solicitation and lost the appeal.

I do an inmate search in the state prison records (this is all free to search online) and find he spent 5 months, 27 days in prison. I use Switchboard.com to confirm there are only two Matthew Smalls in the town...a Matthew C. Small and a Matthew J. Small. And the C. one is 96.

This is not looking good. I am not sure of our candidate's middle name so I now do a search on the registered sex offender website. And there is a mug shot of a 40-year-old man in a business suit with a very morose expression.

Finally, I look up his professional licensing and lo and behold, it has his middle name of J. and the same email address as the one he used to email me.

I shudder to think I nearly interviewed and hired a registered sex offender. Naturally he was not forthcoming in his interview. I train the new reps all by myself. Can we all give a "hallelujah" for God? And Google.

Racing for Hooter "Cancel"

2010-05-07T16:37:00.000-07:00

I had a surreal conversation with the Squirrels tonight on the eve of the local Susan G. Komen "Race for the Cure" event to raise awareness and support for breast cancer research. The women on the outlaw side of my family all run or walk each year and normally Mama F takes everyone out for breakfast afterwards (a major incentive). This year, Mama F took a tumble and is recovering from a hip replacement so we are sans a matriarch this year.

Before all this transpired, I decided, since I was finally back in the area, I would join the family team and bring along the Squirrels (walking, of course. I don't run unless I am being chased by a knife-wielding man). About three weeks ago our racing tags and t-shirts came in the mail.

Tonight, I set everything out in preparation for tomorrow. The girls asked what "Breast Cancel" was. I explained that it was when you get lumps in your breasts and the lumps need to be cut out and sometimes the whole breast has to be cut off. This led to Kate's eyes widening and asking, "How do they cut them off?"

Rather than go into the whole scalpel issue, I very tenderly (ha!) told her, "They lop them off with a knife."

Eli looks at me skeptically and says, "I sure hope they put you to sleep for that."

I assure her they do to which Kate asks what being "put to sleep means". I tell her it's when the doctor gives you some really good drugs so you don't have to feel the hurt.

Kate then asks how you get a new breast back. I realize this conversation is probably going to be repeated verbatim at an inopportune time, like at Kindergarten story hour, so I have a brief moment where I think it's probably time to stop talking but alas...I delve into explaining silicone implants to a five-year-old. I tell her that they are kind of like squishy balls that get put behind the skin.

She brightens, "I have a squishy ball! I keep it at school to squeeze so I don't fiddle with things at my desk." (a teacher-inspired aid to curb the ADHD).

I assure her that "stress balls" probably aren't what doctors use. Although I am sure there are plenty of men who would place hooters in that same category.

Declaring War on the Wattle

2010-05-05T16:42:00.001-07:00

Nothing inspires weight loss like seeing a really bad photo of yourself. The latest was a picture from the church picnic taken of my profile when I was busy trying to get two Squirrels to eat more than just their cookies before running off to play (and coming back five minutes later declaring they were STARVING and needing a SNACK).

I discovered that I had developed a WATTLE! YIKES! What is a wattle? The clinical definition is "a fleshy growth hanging from the neck of certain animals". Well, this "certain animal" is mortified to have what amounts to a double chin (I am the one in the aqua long-sleeved shirt...it doesn't help that I am sitting by Mister Buff Man of the Universe named Josh and his delightfully cute Down-to-Her-Pre-Pregnancy-Weight wife named Jill).

Granted, I knew I was no longer my high school size 6 self. I finally gave up that illusion when I moved down south (to the land of fried foods and sweet tea) and the pair of Levi 501 jeans I had kept from high school no longer made it up past my thighs (despite my efforts to unhinge my hips and wiggle in...much to the amusement of Husband). I slowly crept up into double digit dress sizes and told myself that I would begin exercising tomorrow...

But truth be told, I absolutely hate all forms of exercise. I lose hearing in one ear and start feeling asthmatic when I run, I biked across Iowa and only lost three pounds (See "Post Traumatic Butt Disorder" post), and yoga and belly dancing, while fun, aren't real calorie burners.

But seeing the wattle in the picture has put me on the war path! Between that and knowing that there will be vacation pictures posted of me with the F family out at the Outer Banks (think brain scarring pictures of me in swim wear), I am motivated to at least walk a few miles each day.

And maybe...just maybe...someday I may even be motivated to actually change the weight on my driver's license to match somewhere closer than the 30 lbs off my current weight (which is what is currently recorded on my driver's license). Unless I have soaring success and get down to that weight again. FAT CHANCE!

From Super Aunt JoJo to Momzilla

2010-04-23T15:43:00.000-07:00

So many of you get dreamy looks on your face and ask me how parenting is going. I feel slightly inclined to lie to you because I know you expect, since we went through the whole infertility experience and have since adopted, that I should shout with glee that it completes me and it's the best job in the world.

But truth wins out in the end...because I could never be one of those 12 page Christmas letter of nauseating bragging kind of mom.

So in the spirit of truth, let me just say...I really thought I would be a better mom. No, really. I had motherhood all pictured in my head. And since I am the Consummate Aunt Jo Jo (i.e. every nieces' and nephews' favorite slumber partying, snack bribing, back scratching, non-sloppy kissing aunt), I really thought I had a leg up.

Instead, despite my fervent prayers in the morning before I go down to greet the Squirrels, my day unravels and the ugly monster MOMZILLA emerges. Momzilla tends to yell. She'd like to say it's because that is the only volume at which two ADHD spazzoids will even blink and show a shred of hearing but in the spirit of truth, it's probably because she has lost ALL CONTROL.

I was not going to ask them if their brains fell out when my kids did stupid stuff.

I was not going to tell them to do something just because I said so.

I was not going to spank out of anger.

I was not going to issue a silence order because all the toe tapping, finger drumming, humming, whining chaos had reached epic decibels.

I was not going to issue "mandatory recess" outside and feel a strong urge to lock all the doors and drink a quart of tequila (before you chastise me, notice I said "urge"...not actually doing it...at least that is the story I am sticking to).

Nobody warned me about the "mom guilt" of knowing you said and did the wrong things and your kids will carry on your bad habits...and how you just know someday they will be reclining on a couch at their therapist's office blaming YOU for how their life has unraveled. I will be labeled the "baggage" they are carrying (sigh).

But, in the spirit of truth, I now realize why God referred to the His chosen people as "the children of Israel". Because that is how they behaved when they disobeyed and God said He'd rather have obedience than sacrifice. And how God loved them even when they broke His stuff. And why He continues to love them even when they have all the world in their hands but yet want more.

And this Momzilla hopes God can create spotty amnesia in the Squirrels when they reach adulthood so that the only thing they remember are the movie nights with popcorn, tramping in the woods, and snuggling around a good book. Because otherwise, I'll never earn Mother of the Year (still waiting on my crown and sash).

Rejected by Locks of Love

2010-04-23T09:37:00.000-07:00

My hair is going to drive me insane, if my kids don't beat me to it.

I am chronically lazy about regularly scheduled haircuts so I end up with a shaggy, mousy blah hairstyle every year. It gets to a length where I start to consider doing something noble like donating it to locks of love. Only you need 10 inches of hair...and my hair grows at a snails pace.

Undeterred, when my sister Renee decided she was going to donate her hair in honor of her daughter Grace, who suffers from alopecia areata (hair falling out in places from time to time), I decided I would be charitable and donate as well. It seemed to take forever to barely get to 10 inches but one September morning, I was there...at least the longest few hairs were. I printed off the donation instructions, grabbed my ziploc bag, and headed to a nearby beauty salon. When my stylist found out I was donating, she had this haughty, sniffy look like "THIS hair?" but she took a look at the picture of the cute Meg Ryan post-donation cut I was going for and adamantly vowed she could pull it off.

One ponytail shorn off, and many clippings later, she started in to the layering, then mega amounts of product, then blow drying. All the while, she is murmuring how cute this is going to be and how she loves this cut, yada yada. She finally pronounced that she was finished and spun my chair around and asked those dreaded words, "How do you like it?"

There, staring back at me, was the largest Bump-It space helmet hair bouffant seen since the beehive met its demise. I mean to tell you she had backcombed the crown of my hair to within an inch of its useful life and I could have had a career on Trinity Broadcasting Network (if I added in copious amounts of costume jewelry and eye makeup...and an unnatural shade of pink lipstick).

I lied...like I always do to hair stylist when the cut doesn't match the photo and I figure I can go home, re-wash, and bring my hair down from the heavens...and said, "It's quite something!" Then I remembered I had driver's license photos later that day and scurried home so that this horrible haircut would not be recorded for the next 10 years (picture below was after getting home and "fixing" the damage).

I already had that "lingering bad hair" experience in first grade when my oldest sister Beth gave me a home perm. Well, actually, it was two home perms. She thought the first one didn't take but really it was like priming the pump because the second perm took enough for both home applications. And since I thought the curl would come out if I combed it, I ended up with hair that looked like the clown wig sans the rainbow coloring.

But I digress....

I did send my paltry ponytail in to Locks of Love with a delivery confirmation attached. I was chatting with my sister Renee several weeks later and she mentioned that she had gotten a thank you note from Locks of Love for her hair donation.

Yeeeaaahhh...they never sent me a thank you. And the delivery confirmation came back complete so I know they received it. I realized my mousy thin, pathetic hair was REJECTED by kids that don't even HAVE hair.

How do you like them apples?

The Evolution of the "Mom Purse"

2010-04-13T18:39:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I mentioned the purchase of a mini-van being the irrefutable sign that I was no longer cool. In today's hearing, we review evidence that I have also sunk to a new low...

The "Mom Purse"

Let me 'splain...

For years, I refused to carry a purse at all. I thought it was so nerdy. But alas, sometime in my early '20s, I finally relented and adopted a small little dainty girl purse. The dainty girl purse was only big enough for my car keys, a tube of lip gloss, and a check book (barely). I could carry it three out of the four weeks in the month (girls, you get my reference) and it looked so feminine and young. Ah, but alas, sometime in my mid-twenties, I became married...and moved on to...The married woman's purse. This one had to hold a bigger checkbook (now, I had a mortgage to pay) as well as multiple cell phones (no longer had the briefcased-size "mobile phone" in my car, though...so guess that was a plus), business cards, and a bigger lot of make-up...couldn't count on my fresh youthful skin holding out past, oh, say, 9 AM, without multiple touch-ups. I still felt fairly chic in my Liz Claibourne model of red until I had kids...and then...Alas, the Mom Purse has arrived (or, as Husband calls it, my SUITCASE!). I call it the "black hole" because it carries everything but I can never find anything in it. My cell phone rings and goes to "missed call" status as I frantically dive headfirst into the Mom Purse to try to uncover it. I can carry 14 library books, a spare pair of socks, Band-Aids, sunscreen, lotion (black skin always needs more), a wallet roughly the size of Kentucky (hey, I have to afford to keep black hair looking nice...which is about the same as a second mortgage), and an even bigger make-up bag (forget dewy youthfulness...I mean, I still have the acne of a teenager but now it is mixed with the beginnings of laugh lines and crows' feet..."Why, God, why?").

This purse is large enough to carry a newborn. I could tack it on top of the van to become a luggage carrier. If I held onto the straps and turned it upside down, I am fairly certain it would be a trusty parachute. So there you have it...big, bigger, biggest...good, better, best. Laugh all you want, but if you get pushed out of an airplane, you are going to wish I was in the air beside you!

The One-Armed Blue Bus Bandit

2010-04-13T14:27:00.000-07:00

A rather familiar sight was beheld barreling down the interstate en route between the Cabin of the Squirrels and Iowa Hometown of Mama last week. Mama was seen navigating the blue minivan otherwise affectionately (and most likely, embarrassingly) known as "The Blue Bus".

What is this wonder, you ask? The Blue Bus is the irrefutable sign that the last shred of coolness has fled from Mama. She never thought she'd sink to this level but found herself exclaiming, "Oh, wireless headsets to the DVD player...and 12 cupholders...so we can have 12 times the number of bathroom stops. Sign me up!" While Husband got a welcome break to stay home (and indulge in some Final Four action) over Easter weekend, Mama bravely packed up the two squirrels - complete with pink polka dot suitcases, and headed to Iowa.

The squirrels seem to believe that Mama can both navigate the car and attend to all things they ask. I mean, why shouldn't I be able to change out the batteries in their Leapsters, put straws in their drinking cups, find the flip flop that fell on the floor, and figure out why the el crappo plastic watch that came in their kid's meal is still blinking "4 10" instead of the correct time. They seem to think the Blue Bus has an autopilot I can switch on, and then turn around and be at their beck and call.

I think my right arm has come loose from it's socket. I finally had to bellow that "Mama is off limits until we arrive at our destination!" to which they then asked every 30 minutes how many more hours it was. That's 16 hours of pure torture I don't plan to repeat without Husband's help again.

But alas, I am not the first One-Armed Blue Bandit Bus Driver. That title belongs to my papa...and an ode to the 1978 Blue Ford Econoline full-sized van that turned over more times than your distant relatives in their graves. This was from the era before seatbelts took all the excitement out of sudden stops. We fit 8 kids in that van and were mesmerized that it had a back "couch" that could turn into a "bed".

This was also before Leapsters, DVD players, and satellite radio. We thought we were IT when we got a tape player and could play Louis L'Amour tapes for all to hear. Mom also would pick up new Archie comics for vacation (which we had read before the van left the driveway). Dad would dutifully mount our luggage carrier (and all our "hardside" luggage) into the van. We always joked he could fit a queen bed in a music box. He would have made a killing working for UPS!

The treasured seats were the two middle buckets seats...which had close proximity to the air conditioning. The rest of us piled in back unless you wanted to try to sleep on the floor - which ultimately led to third degree burns on your stomach due to the heat from the engine (or whatever was underneath the car).

For fun, we'd play the "House" game where we'd pick out houses along the highway and assign them to different people in the car. Or, one time Mary and I made "Honk" sign and would hang it out the back window. If the car behind us would honk, we'd stick our hands out the back window and wave. I think we ingested too many exhaust fumes to think that was fun, but Dad never caught on to why everyone was honking at him.

We'd invariably stop and eat at Perkins (although we desperately wanted McDonald's) and would stay at a Holiday Inn. Not sure if the Priority Club was in operation then but my parent's would have reached Multi-Platinum level if it was. We'd all race into the hotel and turn on the one thing we always wanted at home - THE TELEVISION - while Dad would sigh and bring in load after load of suitcases.

I have many fond memories of family vacations...and most of the pictures Mom took have Dad's hairy arm resting on the steering wheel in the foreground. His hairy arm made it to the East Coast, Michigan, the West Coast at least three or four times, and various and sundry points in between.

The original Blue Bus died sometime while I was in high school. By then, the horn had the sound of a cow in labor, the buckets seats had been removed to accommodate Doug and Lisa's return to the Midwest from California, and the bed in back could no longer fold up into a couch. The cooler and cabinet had been removed, and the carpet was worn through in most places...even one spot where I could see the road whirring by underneath the van.

Give me a few years, and we'll be at that point again with Blue Bus #2.

Meatloaf and the Puking Flies

2010-03-22T09:44:00.000-07:00

Sorry for my absence from posting. My previous computer has an dead hard drive that passed away on 3-11-2010 from the Blue Screen of Death syndrome. Not to get technical but evidently I had massive data corruption and my whole hard drive was thrown into a read only mode. I was semi-vigilant about backing up my picture/video/music/work files but there are still large quantities of data that were not backed up. Suffice to say, I will be the Backup Queen of the Universe (sounds septic, eh?) when I get my computer back. A shout out to my pal Tom H. for performing CPR on my computer.

Anyhoo, just a couple of random happenings to share...both which provide evidence that my kids are weird.

The first is a paper that Eli brought home. The school has been going overboard on Black History month and they must have reviewed the story of Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on the bus. Eli had to write what she would have done. You'd think she's be all "Hey, I'm black, too and power to the people...we gotta stick together" but no, this is what she writes:

"If I was Rosa Parks I would give up my sit. I don't want to be eressted. I would ask someone eles if I could sit with them. I would want to cook the meatloaf for my husband. I would want to make them happy."

So much for the revolution for equal rights. She wants to cook meatloaf. Where did that random thought surface? Ah, there I go again...assuming my squirrels process thoughts in a logical manner.

When instead, we get random utterings like this one...Kate very matter-of-factly announced at dinner the other night that "Flies can puke". Husband looks over at me with a very weary look and says, "Man, it starts early."

"To what do you refer," I respond.

"The random thoughts that women have that have nothing to do with anything we were just talking about."

And as usual, Husband is right.

Feet First and Back Pedaling

2010-03-10T10:57:00.000-08:00

This week, the local area swim clinic commenced and giddy with excitement, so did Eli. I marvel at the long distance we have come in her swimming ability, considering when she first came to our house, she was TERRIFIED of the water. She told me she had not been swimming before and would not even put her face in the water in the bathtub. Pictures of our first attempt at swimming lessons below:

I knew not only did we have a family vacation coming up to the beach which would mean daily access to a private pool, but I also consider swimming an absolutely necessary life skill. In fact, if I had not gone through swimming lessons, including what was called "Junior Lifesaving" at the time, (and then on to Water Safety Instructor training), I may not be here today.

In 1993, I was on a band trip to Colorado Springs with my high school. One of the activities was white water rafting (man, those chaperones must have either been gluttons for punishment or incredibly brave to try to wrangle 100+ wiggly, hormonal, brainless teenagers at one time). If you remember, 1993 was the year of the floods and the Arkansas River in Colorado was no exception.

I was in a raft with my good friends Shauna, Jennifer, Amy, Gina, and Becky. Our river guide was from Iowa (should have been our first clue he wasn't used to white water) and had been on the river only two or three months (should have been our second warning). Plus, as we navigated our raft down the river, two of us had to bail water constantly as it was taking on more water than we could have and still make it around several rocky bends in the river.

Well, long story short, we became too water logged, our guide couldn't wrestle back control of the boat, and we smashed into a rock, capsizing the boat. A couple of girls were caught underneath, one swam for shore for all she was worth, and lucky me got swept down the river at warped speed. I was sucked under from time to time but luckily had the presence of mind to remember my training (which was all theory and no practical application until now) which was to keep my feet forward to hit the rocks first, knees bent to absorb the shock, and recline back in the water and backpedal with my arms to slow myself down.

The rafting company had an assistant posted along the bank of the river and he tried to toss me the tow rope. I missed and got sucked under the water. The river guide that had been in our boat came swirling up behind me and latched onto my life vest. He caught the next toss of the tow rope and I was pulled into the river bank. I scrambled up on a rock, dripping wet, and heart pounding with adrenaline.

It was one of those moments when I realized I was not ten feet tall and bullet proof...but could very well have spun out of control in the water, dashed my head against a rock, and would have been nearly impossible to retrieve.

And so now, several years later, I am passing on the knowledge to my squirrels. And, after several months of giving Eli lessons in Grandma Ellie's fitness center pool, I am pleased to report little ole Eli can swim like fish. A blue swim capped large mouth snaggle-toothed bass, that is;-)

Spit Bombs and the Fear of Peas

2010-03-05T07:00:00.000-08:00

I don't know what kind of chuckleheads I am raising but the latest head scratcher was Eli's "Bio Poem" that she completed at school. In case it is hard to read, let me decipher:

She describes herself as cute, nice, smart, and creative (and if by creative, she means creative ways to try to make up stories to get out of trouble or to tell half truths, she is right on the money)

Says she is a lover of cats, dogs, candy and her parents (all together now... "Awwwww....!")

Who feels happy when she eats pizza, good when she gets what she wants, and cool when she has her sunglasses (which the dogs chewed to bits when she left the van door open).

Now here comes the weirdness...she says, she fears (and I quote): "peas, tests and twisters".

PEAS? Seriously? Is there even a clinical definition of the fear of peas? Peasophobia?

And then, I have had several incidents of the squirrels spitting at each other, spitting into each other's food, spitting on each other's floors. I had HAD it! Who spits? What do they think they are...Major League baseball players? I mean, if it were boys, it wouldn't make me shake my head. Boys also make farting noises with their arm pits and walk around scratching themselves...and neither of those two behaviors stop in adulthood. But girls spitting? I had seen enough of that at the first college I attended in the Dakotas (where the women also have to shave...and not just their legs, ifyaknowwhatimean).

I had them wailing and accusing each other of spitting yesterday and up to this point, no punishment seemed to fit the crime until a LIGHTBULB went on in my head. I marched them downstairs, had them get into coats and boots, and stood them on the bottom step of the porch steps. Then, I set the timer and told them if they got caught spitting at ANYTHING, they would have to repeat today's punishment...which was to spit continuously until the timer rang.

I'll admit, it was hard to keep a straight face to see two little brown squirrels, out front, hocking loogies for all they were worth. They ran out of saliva about halfway through and were pretty much just barely spraying at that point. Five minutes later, they had to face each other and vow never to spit at each other or into each other's food or on the floor again.

You all thought I lived in the country for the breathing room, fresh air, and wildlife...but really it is so no one can see what kind of weird parent I am and wonder who makes their kids spit until a timer rings. I can only imagine the stories they tell at school.

UPromise and the Sex Pistols

2010-02-24T06:58:00.001-08:00

As we anticipate a rather large adoption tax credit this year, my thoughts have turned to some long term investing...namely partially funding college for two squirrels. I don't plan to pay the whole thing as that would be a disincentive for the Squirrels to get jobs and try their best. Plus I'm hoping the whole sob story of being black and formerly in foster care means lots of scholarships will come their way. At least more than came my way for being the 4.0 GPA valedictorian , FFA President, Drama Club President, Senior Class VP, overachieving white Iowa farm girl.

I had heard about a website called UPromise (http://www.upromise.com) where you can funnel your online shopping and grocery/pharmacy store points through the website and you earn money towards college. I signed up and registered every card I could but so far, not much has happened. I even downloaded the "Turbosaver" program that is supposed to alert me if I come to a website that I can earn points through. For all I know, it could just be tracking my web presence and downloading my financial information to Nigerians who are getting ready to steal my identity.

And what an identity it would be! After all, let's review my perilous journey through higher learning...

My first university attended was in the Land of Frozen Tundra, an hour north of home (which I thought was close enough to come home and do laundry occasionally but far enough away that my parents would not just "drop by" for a visit). Little did I know that I had stumbled into what should have been called Hillbilly University. Instead of exercise rooms or computer labs in the dorms, what did we have? Wild game cleaning rooms. You could shoot a buffalo or deer off campus and bring it to the dorm to butcher, package, and store in the many deep freezes. If you were smart, you labeled your packages "Calf Brains" or "Deer Hooves" so that no one would steal your neatly wrapped carcasses. I also had a calculus teacher that was vastly fond of wearing homemade stonewash items (the kind you make with a dryer, tennis shoe, a regular pair of jeans, and a bleach-soaked washcloth) and Cosby show sweaters.

When I attended a football game and saw as many women chewing tobacco as men, I decided this was not the place for me (not to mention the howling wind and snow that had nothing to stop it for an hour on any side of campus).

So I dropped out of that university and headed east. Well, truth be told, I thought I was following after a guy I was "promised" to at the time...(what is the point of getting promised??? But that's another blog post) but two days after my arrival and subsequent move in to my sister's basement, he decided he wouldn't keep his promise. I think mostly my pride was hurt instead of my heart because I can look back now and thank God for unanswered prayers.

Nevertheless, I enrolled at a local community college to embark on a vastly different major. This community college was home to the Rod Stewart impersonator. He would arrive at school every day with his bleached out shag cut and denim cut off shorts. Other than that, I don't remember much.

Then to transfer over to State University for my last two years. It was there that I had some of my strangest professors. I mean, the subculture breed that gets weirder as the years go by because they completely lose touch with the outside world. I had Ms. Feminazi - a flat-chested, hair scraped back man hater who bullied me through "Masterpieces of World Literature". She hated my theology but loved my writing so I became a complete consternation for her. Then, perhaps weirdest of all, was my Modern Philosophy teacher.

If ever there was a subject that I just did not "get", philosophy is IT. Who wants to sit around debating whether we are only really awake when we are asleep and vice versa? I am horrendous at pointless arguments and to this day have no idea what the word "empirical" means. But not that the teacher actually taught much philosophy. He rather shoved his scrawny hands into the pockets of his rumpled magenta dinner jacket and paced back and forth in front of class. His long curly hair bobbed up and down in front of his squinted eyes as he pontificated on the wonders of his favorite band - the Sex Pistols.

The one good thing that came out of the class is that during that time and generated by some of the class discussions, I became determined that in my own conversion to Christianity, I was not going to believe what I was told but what was found in Scripture. My faith and beliefs were taken back down to the bare minimum and I began to question everything...and then, by the grace and understanding through the Word, build it back to where I stand today and know that I know that I know what I believe in and stand for.

And the Sex Pistols certainly aren't counted among that.

Guilty by Reason of Insanity

2010-02-12T09:08:00.000-08:00

In response to the charges that I am the meanest mom ever filed in the case of Mean Mom v. Squirrels, I submit the following testimony:

I believe neurons have ceased to fire in the brains of Squirrel #1 and Squirrel #2. I submit the following examples:

Exhibit A:

I went to go discipline Eli and thought her face looked exceptionally dirty. When I saw Kate and she looked the same, I asked her what she had on her face. "Elisabeth rubbed ashes from the fireplace on my face and her face." When I asked Eli why she did that, she responded, "I don't know!"

Exhibit B:

I went to use the pencil sharpener and found that one of the squirrels had tried to sharpen one of those plastic pencil that have several pencil tips in them...you know, the ones where you can take the pencil nub out and shove it in the back of the pencil, forcing a new nub forward. When I asked them why they tried to sharpen a plastic pencil, they responded, "I don't know!"

Exhibit C:

I heard wailing coming from the breakfast bar as the two squirrels were supposed to be eating cereal. Kate wailed that Eli spit in her breakfast cereal. When pressed for a response as to why she did that, Eli responded, "I don't know!"

Exhibit D:

Eli came home with a giant red blob colored on her off-white corduroy pants. Seems she had decided she was going to do a redneck dye job on the pants using a crayon. When asked what possessed her to try to color her pants a different color, she responded, (you guessed it) "I don't know!'

Exhibit E:

I went to give Eli a goodnight kiss and found her face was all gummy/waxy feeling. Turns out that instead of just using her lip balm on her lips, as the good Lord intended, she had smeared it all over her face. When I asked her why she did that, she responded (are you seeing a pattern here?), "I don't know!"

Exhibit F:

Kate came home with several holes in the color of her shirt where little rhinestone bedazzles used to be. When asked what happened, she responded that she told her friend Madison she could have the sparkles off her shirt. When I asked her why, she said, "I don't know!"

So several lost mittens, scarves, socks, Barbie shoes, silly putty globs, and etc. later, I feel the need to enter my plea of GUILTY BY REASON OF INSANITY to the charges of "Mean Mom". As to whether or not I will ever reform or respond to rehabilitation efforts, I respond, "I don't know!"

Community Pledges and Noses That Stick Out

2010-02-12T08:59:00.000-08:00

Eli came home with a "Community Pledge" she had written and signed in her class:

I pledge to help my community by doing this:

"I will never ever liter.
I will always recyle.
I will help people work.
When somthing is on fire I stop, Drop, and roll."

So if you see a convulsing 7-year-old on the ground in front of a burning building, that would be my Squirrel #1. She's just fulfilling her community pledge.
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In other hilarious 2nd grade news, my niece Grace thoughtfully eyed my sister Renee at breakfast one morning this week and said:

"I can see why dad wanted to marry you. You have nice brown eyes, shiny hair, and a nose that sticks out. You are pretty!"

I should mention that Grace is Chinese American (hence, we think, the reference to the nose that "sticks out") but whatever wheels were turning in her head, she gave Renee the best Valentine compliment ever!

Addicted to the "Creamy Crack"

2010-02-02T07:57:00.000-08:00

This week, I gave up on my intent to let the girls' hair grow out all natural and nappy to the max (but healthier and safer for sure) and decided to tame the woolly mammoth. Lest you think I jest about the true nature of their hair, let me show you some pictures of them after I take out their hair for the week and get ready to wash and re-set.

I found a new kid's hair relaxer called "Pretty and Silky" at my local black hair beauty supply store - which can be found among the Giant Wall of Beads, the Glittery, Rhinestone belt and shoe collection, aisles and aisles of fake hair in every color, and jars of pomades and creams like beeswax, hair cholesterol, and hair honey (of which I own all three).

Hair relaxer is a potent chemical that takes nappy hair from "can't get through it with a bulldozer" to soft and manageable...but it takes me an hour of processing time and lots of "scalp bonding" (code word for smearing petroleum jelly around the perimeter of the hairline and on the ears and on the hair parts to protect them from burning) to get through. Once the scalp is bonded, I have twenty minutes to part and smear on relaxer, while trying not to get the "creamy crack" as it's called (because of the black woman's addiction to it) on the scalp skin itself. Then you comb, comb, comb it through, wash it out, add in a sheen product for 10 minutes, wash that out, shampoo twice with a shampoo that changes color to let you know whether or not you got all the chemical out, then on to conditioner.

After that, we blow dry and straighten by small rows at a time. The result? Beautiful! My nostrils? Burned by chemical smells! My back? Permanently bent from delicate work! My hands? Arthritic! Time saved by doing it myself versus going to the local hair school? Three hours per kid. Money saved? $30 per child.

All in the pursuit of "Good Hair" (see movie trailer from Chris Rock's documentary, lest you think I exaggerate).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1m-4qxz08So

Why Some People Remain Unemployed

2010-01-20T16:56:00.000-08:00

Recently, while reviewing mounds of applicants for an opening at the business that I partially own, I began to realize why some people will probably remain unemployed...let me share some examples:

One lady wrote that she completed school through the 11th grade and then under "Diploma", she lists "GED due to pregnancy". Thanks for sharing that information right up front...

Or the guy who says "I want a job that benefits me but also the company I work for. I have a ton of people skills." A ton? How do you like that measurement?

Or the lady who listed her previous employment and under job description, she writes "clean my area each night". I finally Googled the employer to find out it was a restaurant...whew! I was hoping she didn't work for a gynecologist!

Or the guy who said he worked at a "fast paced meat packing plant" and his job responsibility was "making sure there was nothing wrong with the product also that it was cut properly."

Or the lady who said "I have dne diffrent forms of volenteer work" but must not know how to use spell check on her computer.

Or the lady who addressed her application "Dear Sirs"...yeah...last time I (or my husband checked), I had yet to go through gender reassignment surgery.

My favorite was the enthusiastic guy who said "In response to your advertisement on Monster.com (which was not where it was posted) for the position of Regional Sales Associate (the position was "District Sales Representative), I am a young versatile salesman, ready and motivated to teach about your company's credit card program (good for you...only its not a credit card company). I can start training two weeks after hire (and what will you do for those two weeks prior? Hang out? Check your email?). My guess was he used a cut and paste form and forgot to change the variable data.

And of course, honorable mention goes to all those with crazy email handles...so here's a shout out to Indiana Janky, Biker Trash, Smooth Princess, Legs, Feathers, FeelnPurdy, and Racin' Rod. Best of luck in your job search. Might I suggest you pick a more staid email address to use next time.

Black Market Transactions

2010-01-13T07:10:00.000-08:00

Now that the basement is nearing completion, we are beginning the search again for more children to adopt. I told Husband this time, we get boys so when we are out in public, HE gets to be the one to take them to the bathroom. Plus, I'm developing early arthritis from all this corn-rowing, beading, twisting, and braiding of "ethnic" girl hair.

After watching "The Blind Side", I had a brief moment where I considered being noble and selfless and adopting an older child but decided for my bonding purposes, I needed them young enough to not yet realize they can get up out of their time-out spot. Of course, I also want them old enough where I don't have to have the anxiety that they are currently expiring in their crib due to SIDS. I don't know how new moms do it. Maybe new motherhood makes you so tired you can no longer stay awake wondering if your child is breathing or choking.

It feels a little funny to "pick out" your children...as if you are inspecting a horse by its teeth or reviewing slave labor up on an auction block. How in the world do we decide the future of this family and of one or more boys simply from a meeting or description? And trust me, being involved in foster care, you get REALLY good at reading between the lines on a description of a child.

Take for instance, my current adoption catalog has "Gregory", age 14...says that although he "sometimes needs to be pushed in the right direction, Gregory has the capacity to make good, mature choices". If you spend enough time as a foster mom, you can figure out that between the lines, this means he's probably not making a single, "good, mature choice" right now. Or when they say a kid "does best with one on one attention", it means he's HIGHLY ADHD...if it says, "Would do best in a home without other children", that probably means some history of acting out sexually against other children...or physically. When it says, "parent will need to be involved in child's education", it means you will be at the school daily trying to explain to your child that they have to sit in their seat and not try to set the classroom on fire.

I guess it's a bit like reviewing ads for new homes...when one says its a "great starter home" and what it is really saying is that its the Tom Hanks version of the "Money Pit". Or when they take up the limited advertising space to mention ceiling fans, you realize the home really does not have a single redeeming quality.

But then I think about the type of child I was and wondered what my profile would have read...hmmm...

"Bossy, attention seeking child, does best when she is the star, hides out in her room reading to avoid chores, will lie constantly as a teenager to keep from getting in trouble, has a mouth of a sailor when provoked, can wrestle like a boy but can't play sports to save her life, will vacillate between self-doubt and WAY overconfidence, will total two vehicles during her teenage years and will take all of 20 years to finally become a contributing member of society."

Yeah, pretty sure I would have been passed over selection by my parents had they known how much I would contribute to their hair turning gray! And so we trust God to see what we don't see and to realize that, unlike your natural born children, ours come with a return policy if everything explodes. We just hope we never have to use it.