A Hopping Saturday Night

Little Miss Azure came home from school one day last week very excited about the Power Team. There was an assembly at school and she was uber impressed with their demonstrations.

I was begged all week long to go see their show. It didn't cost a lot of money, but was a half hour drive. I decided to relent on Saturday evening.

My husband watched Sammy while Azure and I went to see the Power Team.

The Power Team is a Christian group. They break blocks of cement and ice to demonstrate bringing down the barriers between you and God.

I was not raised in the church at all. I am not comfortable in the church. I fear that a lightning bolt will come from somewhere and strike me in the buttocks when I enter.

I do believe in God but he's like that distant uncle in another state you never met and probably never will. You would certainly never dream of asking him for a favor or inviting him over for a barbeque. That would be way too awkward.

We parked in a parking lot near the church and waited for the shuttle.

The shuttle turned out to be a dark red Ford Econoline that had seen better days.

The driver asked us in a cheery Ned Flanders voice, "Do you know who this van belongs to?"

"Who?" we asked.

"JESUS," he replied.

Oh shit, my lips were quivering. I was trying so hard not to laugh and I so badly wanted to ask him if Jesus had to get a driver's license like everybody else.

Azure made it even worse. She asked, "Have you seen him?"

Yeah, Azure, sure he has, peeking in the damn window like that Burger King commercial!

Thank goodness the guy wasn't offended. He said while he hadn't seen Jesus in person, he had seen him in the face of his son.

We arrived at the church quickly and he helped us out of the van. We were half an hour early. I wanted the good seats. There were bibles in the seats and I moved them. Then I wondered if I had committed a breach of etiquette. Do Christians save their seats with bibles? A half hour of Azure's questions were the price for getting the seats in front.

"Mom, why does that sign on the wall say, Behold the lamb? Why does that sign say God is great?"

"Because, Azure we are in a church."

"We are?"

"Don't you see the pews? People come here to worship."

"What's worship mean?"

"GAAAAAHHHHH!"

A family came and sat next to us. The lady in the family smelled like she had smoked a pack of cigarettes on the way and tried to cover the smell with cheap perfume. Yay, two of my unfavorite smells in the whole wide world!

She hugged a lot of people while she was there. As bad as she smelled I wondered if she was marking her turf like a dog.

The world's longest half hour passed and then ten more minutes for good measure. Finally the show started. There was music and everyone had to stand up. Then we had to do this cheerleader type routine.

Say "J" - "J!"

Say "E" - "E!"

Say "S" - "S!"

Say "U" - "U!"

Say "S" - "S!"

"What does it spell?"

"JESUS!"

Then the guy on the stage started yelling more stuff.

"Who is the savior?"

"JESUS"

"Who died for your sins?"

"JESUS"

"Who has his own red van?"

(Okay, I threw that one in there.)

Then the show started. These men were huge weightlifters. They smashed blocks of ice, one of them with his head. They blasted through concrete. Lots of stuff was blasted.

Then they started blowing up hot water bottles. One guy exploded his pretty quickly but the other one kept blowing and blowing. His neck was purple. I feared he was going to meet his maker right there. Finally it exploded. I jumped about a foot as the noise sounded a bit like that lightning coming for me.

Then the preaching started. One of the men told a story that was cute. After that though, he started talking about how the only way to be saved was to accept God into your heart.

Azure gave me a stricken look as if she were about to cry. I wasn't sure if it was because the sermon was going on so long or because she realized that she was going straight to hell thanks to me.

At last, the show started up again. Iron rods were bent. Phone books were torn in half. One guy took frying pans and rolled them up like tacos.

There was a new guy that looked like a Bubba to me. His name was actually Tony, but he'll always be Bubba to me. He was having trouble bending the iron rod.

The lead man kept extolling the crowd to cheer for him.

I wondered if throwing my bra at him would help or if he would have a heart attack on the spot.

Basically the show consisted of demonstrations interspersed with preaching and fund raising.

It was a good show. The men were amazing.

When the show was over, Azure and I went back to the shuttle van and got a lift.

On the way home I was switching radio stations and heard the something I had NEVER heard. Johnny Cash was singing, "I'll make you a believer."

I was already switching to another station, and wondered if I'd heard correctly. I switched back in time to hear:

"Reach out and touch faith, reach out and touch faith, reach out and touch faith."

It was like God was saying, "You'd better watch it Missy."

Did I ever mention Faith is actually my middle name?

Man, the Saturday nights are wild around here, I tell ya.

Mixed With Sugar

I wanted to take the time to let everybody know that Paula from the Mixed With Sugar blog has a son who will soon be going to Iraq.

The part that stinks even more is that he was due to be discharged in a month. He has already done one tour but the military forcibly extended his enlistment.

I don't know how many of you read Paula, but she is a super nice lady and a great Mom.

For lack of a better word, this kind of crap sucks.

Drumroll Please

I put everybody's suggestions on paper, folded them and drew them from a bowl. I know I said I would draw them from a hat but it had the same effect.

A is now Azure

SJ is now Sammy

J is now Jasmine

and my husband is now

Big Spin

May I call him BS for short? Heh heh heh.

Disclaimer

The letter below this post was written by me.

It was a spoof on the things that my daughter complains about.

I should have been clear on that one.

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And tomorrow I'll be drawing the "name my family" names out of a hat.

It might not be posted till Sunday though.

The Geek Gene

Okay, let's see a show of hands. How many of you that read this blog were total dorks in school?

My hand would be raised if I weren't typing.

When I was in school, I so badly wanted to be one of the cool people. But I never was. The cool people never tried to be cool. They just were. They had a certain je ne sais quoi that couldn't be emulated.

So when I had children, I wondered if they would be "cool" in school. It's not that having cool kids was extremely important to me. I only hoped they wouldn't be the ones in school everybody picked on.

"J" has turned out to be one of those kids with a small circle of close friends. And she picked really nice friends. But she's not cool.

With "A" it was too soon to tell until recently.

Then she started telling me about the toilet paper at school and how scratchy it is. That didn't label her as a dork.

But the next day, when she asked if she could put some of our soft toilet paper in her backpack to take to school, the truth became glaringly obvious.

Yep, she's a dork. I think dork parents give birth to dork kids. It's just the way it is.

If you want your kids to be cool, then hope that you were cool in school or they are doomed.
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SJ's pre-school teacher had a story to tell me the other day.

He wanted to swing at school and he was waiting his turn patiently.

A little boy who hates to share was hogging the swing. SJ kept saying, "My turn now."

The kid kept swinging.

Finally SJ walked up behind the swing and grabbed it and said, "Get off the damn swing!"

My son is using adjectives appropriately. Hooray!

Another thing he did, fortunately not at school, was to wait until we were mid diaper change and then start dancing around saying, "I'm shaking my weinie."

Go SJ, it's your birthday. Hee hee.

Per Daysgoby's Request

Ten things about my son SJ:

He loves fans and things that spin.
He has perfect pitch, is very musical.
He is prone to temper tantrums.
He loves French Vanilla Soy Dream "ice cream."
He likes hanging out with Dad in the garage.
He loves motorcycles and convertible cars.
He loves cordless drills.
He insists on turning on the washer and dryer for me, also the coffee pot and the dishwasher.
He shrieks when he's mad.
He's kind of clingy.

Ten things about my daughter A:

She is stubborn.
She is competetive.
She likes to be in charge.
She loves television.
She loves dragons.
She is artistic.
She is tall.
Her hair is curly.
She is dramatic.
She is sensitive.

Ten things about my daughter J:

She is a social butterfly.
She is a wonderful singer.
She is stubborn.
She is self-centered.
She has beautiful blonde, curly hair.
She's loud, like me.
She will eat almost anything.
She's boy crazy.
She laughs a lot.
She's dramatic.

Ten things about my husband S:

He can fix almost anything. (This doesn't mean he always gets around to it.)
He is a computer genius.
He loves Italian sports cars.
He's stubborn.
He likes being in charge.
He can be very emotional.
He's tall.
He can play the guitar by ear.
He can be very grouchy.
He loves salty snacks like Chex mix and pretzels.

I just noticed I put stubborn on three out of four. Actually they are all stubborn. I hardly ever get my way. LOL

Contest Revision

Okay, I hate to do this to Mad Rabbit and Anonymous Mom, but I wanted the contest names to start with the same letters as my family's names.

Liz picked the first two qualified names with Astroturf and Jupiter.

So A, could be armpit, airbag, argyle or whatever comes to mind.

Even phonetic spelling is okay. For example jenitalia. No, that's not one I'm picking, just an example.

S could be done phonetically too. The word Secil would work, well except for the fact that's my dog's name.

And come on somebody needs to enter here. If I have to think up the names, my family will end up with unfortunate monikers indeed, even worse than the ones I gave them at birth.

I do love Astroturf and Jupiter but I still need two s words. Get on it. :)

Long Time No See

Circumstances have been conspiring lately to keep me from blogging. I had planned on blogging Tuesday but I had to take my son to see the pediatrician.

She is a wonderful pediatrician. She takes her time with every patient. What this means is that while you get to spend a lot of time with her, you will be there at least an hour for the privilege. It's worth it.

Ten minutes before pre-school he had developed a mysterious black eye. I knew he hadn't fallen. By the time we saw the doctor, it was red and swollen and spreading to his other eye. It was an allergic reaction. I had suspected that but it was still a bit scary.

The doctor prescribed adarax and eye drops. He promptly spit the adarax back at me and there was NO WAY he was letting us put eye drops in. Those two prescriptions were a waste of about thirty bucks.

So I went to the store and got Benadryl and that is what we have been using.

After we purchased the adarax, I found A's old bottle that I hadn't been able to find earlier. This means we have two bottles of this unpalatable crap. I'll wait until it expires to throw it away.

Cause you never know when you'll need to take medicine nobody will touch.
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Roxanne had a suggestion over on Liz's blog that I want to implement.

So I am having a contest. Nobody wins anything but it could be a fun contest anyway.

I need my family named. I am tired of calling them "A" and "J" and, well actually I kind of like "SJ", but that's okay.

So I need a name for "J", the almost seventeen-year old daughter.

I need a name for "A", the eight year old.

I need a name for "SJ" or "S", the four year old.

And I need a name for my hubby "S."

I am going to write all suggestions individually on paper and put them in a hat. So it may be that four different individuals each pick a name.

My only requirement is that it can't be x-rated. Otherwise, the sky's the limit. They don't even have to be real names.

I'll draw the names next Saturday.
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I was driving down the road, minding my own business yesterday, just listening to my alternative rock station when a COUNTRY song came on.

What! If I want to hear country, I'll program my radio to play it or I'll put it in my MP3 player. I certainly don't expect to hear it on a station that plays non-twangy music.

I thought it was a mistake but they played it again twice today. Aaaarrrgghhh!

It turns out it is a Carrie Underwood tune. It's a song about a woman being cheated on so she trashes the guy's car.

While I can appreciate the sentiment, QUIT PLAYING THAT CRAP ON MY ALTERNATIVE STATION!

And besides there's much better LEGAL ways to get back at the two-time cheating scum.

Post his profile on dontdatehimgirl.com. Don't forget to mention his herpes and erectile dysfunction.

Sleep with his brother or father or best friend, hell his grandpa if you have to. Do it as soon as you are broken up while he's still feeling a bit territorial.

If you have a key to his house, sneak in and pee on his toothbrush.

Mail that picture to his Mom that you took of him when he was passed out, the one where you smeared lipstick on his face and dressed him in your undies.

All of this is perfectly satisfying and if you can't resist touching his car, just let the air out of the tires and rub dog poop on the door handles.

Classy!
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The third bird in a year and a half decided to fly into my vehicle this weekend.

Again, I was driving along minding my own business and BAM, into the truck he flew.

There is a bird conspiracy. Depressed birds are deciding to end their lives under my wheels and there's nothing I can do about it.

And with apologies to Dave Barry, isn't Suicide by Caro a great name for a rock band?

I was in the pick-up when I killed it. I checked the grill when I was done running errands. No bird.

The next day it was discovered in the bed. It was mostly headless so it earned the nickname Nearly Headless Nick. (You'd have to read Harry Potter for this reference.)

Blasted birds.

Be Back Soon

Okay, if I don't mop these floors, scrub these bathrooms and finish some of this laundry, and maybe dust...Okay, you are all probably getting the picture!

I also need to spend some time with these poor, unloved children.

Be back around Tuesday.

Have wonderful weekends all!

Happy Birthday Miss A.

Today my youngest daughter turned eight. She is already showing signs of changing from a little girl to a young lady.

I had two different pairs of pants clean this morning. She tried on the first pair and they were too tight! They fit two weeks ago. It was the same with the second pair.

We finally got lucky and found a pair in the bottom drawer that fit with a belt. She found the belt.

I wanted to say some words about Miss A in honor of her birthday.

She has a keen sense of justice. (That's not fair!)

She is a huge help with her brother.

She kicks my ass when we play Memory.

She loves to win.

She cries like Lucy Ricardo.

She is dramatic.

She is very tall.

She tells me she never wants to move out, even when she grows up.

She already has her future husband picked out.

She got in trouble for having a fist fight with him at school on Tuesday.

She hates dresses and skirts.

She hates dolls.

She likes my gluten-free bread.

Yesterday she wrote me a note that said, "I love you as much as the whole world. Don't forget it."

I love her.

Pass More Coffee and I'll Think One Up

For anybody who read yesterday's post and has a daughter who will need to be told the facts, I can't recommend enough The Period Book. It covers things young girls need to know in a very matter of fact way. I do believe it also talks about the birds and the bees so any mother who buys it will want to look through it first to make sure it meets their standards.
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SJ wanted a push in his swing yesterday. I couldn't help but notice the back yard was dotted with dog droppings.

So I grabbed a shovel for me, and one for SJ, and went in the yard to clean it up. I didn't really expect him to pick dog poop up. I was avoiding the tug of war that ensues when one person has a shovel and the other person wants it.

The last time my husband raked leaves, he bagged them and left them in the yard.

The dogs ate the bags and scattered the leaves in big piles near the bag carcasses. Then they decided the leaf piles would be the perfect place to crap in.

I'm tired of unwitting children not seeing the hidden doggie grenades in the leaf piles. Then I get stuck scrubbing the treads of their shoes with a toothbrush while cursing furiously under my breath.

It's unbelievable that dogs averaging 20 to 25 pounds can leave elephant-sized stogies all over the back yard, but they can.

I picked up much poop and it took a while. I still have to do the other side of the yard but the most played in side is good for now.
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SJ is gaining a lot of language and trying out new words. One of his favorite and most fascinating is "hole."

He'll look at a knothole in the fence and say, "That's a hole."

Ditto for wrought iron furniture, torn pieces of paper and the slider door to our kitchen with the empty spot where the hardware should be.

Today he tried to poke his finger in Boot's "hole."

And my very favorite thing is that every time I'm cleaning a stinky diaper, and his butt is in the air, he tells me, "That's a hole."

Thanks for the info kid.

I've often wondered why anyone would want to be a proctologist. I'm beginning to think I may find out.

On Being a Woman

I believe womanhood starts earlier than most of us are ready for.

One of the first signs is the beginning of breasts. Maybe you get them early, too early, or maybe you fervently pray for them.

But they do show up and the first thing you are instructed to do is to cram them in a bra. And it's uncomfortable. And you really don't want to wear one but if you don't, you'll jiggle. That is something to be ashamed of.

You grow hair under your arms, another thing to be ashamed of. You must shave your underarms and your legs too.

The ultimate betrayal is the period. As if things couldn't get any worse, that comes along. And maybe your mother tells you, "Make sure to keep very clean down there, because boys can smell that and they know what it is."

Then you have something to be super ashamed of.

The obsessing begins. Your hair is too straight or curly or frizzy or the wrong color.

You're too short, too tall or too fat. You're embarrassed to eat at a restaurant because surely everyone is waiting to see what the fat girl will order.

The messages begin. Maybe they are unsaid or said out loud. But you receive them.

You can't say what you think because you might hurt someone's feelings.

You need a man to be happy.

You have to be thin to be desirable.

It's unfeminine to laugh too loud or act too smart.

Don't compliment yourself. That's bragging.

And maybe you buy into this and try to mold yourself into what society thinks you should be but you always feel inadequate.

You go on with life and meet that man, maybe.

You are so happy and you get married.

You buy the house. You have the kids.

How could life get much better? How could you love these children and this husband any more than you already do? You are truly happy.

You devote your life to taking care of them and meeting their needs until you wake up one day and realize you're not even good at that.

The house isn't clean enough. You don't put out enough. Not everybody likes what you cooked for dinner. Where's the clean laundry? How could you have forgotten open house? Why aren't you thin and pretty like so and so's Mom?

You keep running in your hamster wheel thinking if you run just a little bit faster you'll catch up. Life is blurring by while you run in that wheel.

But then you get resentful. You love the kids, you really do. You love your husband too. But you feel at times that they are vampires sucking the very life blood out of you.

And you realize it's your own fault, for buying into the myths of what a true woman is. It's your fault for devoting yourselves to them and forgetting who you were. And who were you really? You don't know. You were too busy obsessing over who you weren't.

You can't remember that last time you let out a belly laugh, the last time you found anything funny enough to laugh so hard about.

"Is this it?", you wonder. "Isn't there more?"

How do you rediscover yourself or find yourself or whatever the hell it is you need to do?

And how do you avoid that voice in the back of your mind that says you're selfish for even thinking about it?

Happy Easter

Positive Stuff

Yesterday I did manage to take SJ for a stroller ride. It wasn't a brisk walk but we had a good time.

He has been extremely good this week and I told him that's why he was getting a stroller ride. I'm trying to reward my kids for good behavior not just notice the bad. At the risk of sounding like a total simpleton, that's harder than it sounds.

On the ride, he asked to go in various houses. I told him it wasn't Halloween, he wasn't selling anything and he wasn't spreading the word of God. So sorry but no!

Last night and many teaspoons of cough syrup with codeine later, I slept.

Today was exercise indoor day! I put in my tape and began.

SJ watched at first and didn't bug me much when I was lifting weights. But when I laid on the floor to do crunches, he insisted on an "airplane ride" on my legs.

If anybody wants to do crunches with a lot of resistance, I have a thirty-five pound weight you can borrow!

In fact maybe I need to make an infomercial, but there's those pesky laws about selling toddlers. Oh well.

Any ladies out there reading this who want to get into shape, I can't reccomend weight-lifting enough. My pesky triceps are still fighting me, but my biceps are getting firm. And the results are fast, six weeks minimum. Anybody wanna arm wrestle? :)

The kids will be hunting eggs on Easter Sunday. There's actually some candy left I didn't annihilate. I might have to make a store run for more peanut butter cups but that's it. Hey, you're supposed to eat extra protein to gain muscle so that's what I did. It was a sacrifice too.

My middle daughter has her eighth birthday coming up. She has matured so much in the last five months, it has been amazing.

She is finally keeping her bedroom clean and fighting less with her brother. She is a great help with him and I'm so grateful.

There is a new drop-in childcare center that they can go to while I run errands. SJ didn't want to stay but she eased him into it. When I came back, he didn't want to leave. Things like that would be impossible without her help or at least a lot more difficult.

So what are everyone else's plans for this weekend? Care to share?

What to Do

It's another worthless morning brought to you by oak pollen.

SJ is on spring break this week. I can't call it Easter vacation because that is politically incorrect. It also seems like some of the schools purposely schedule the break as far from Easter as possible. Trying to be PC is a lot of work.

Yesterday I blew the diet completely. Why is it that some days I can ignore hunger pains but on others the ability isn't there to not stuff my GAPING MAW with everything in sight?

I try not to keep junk in the house but I remembered the spring break candy hidden in the closet. The kid's baskets may be a little short on chocolate this Sunday. It's fortuitous that I purchased things I don't like such as Starburst and Sweet Tarts.

Maybe today will be better for me. I've been up for almost two hours and I haven't pigged out yet.

I need to exercise too. I was going to put in my exercise video but SJ wanted to watch There Goes A Bulldozer.

Another exercise option is jogging on my treadmill but then I have to make sure he isn't sneaking up behind me trying to stick his fingers in it.

The next option is to pop him in his stroller and take him for a walk. But then I would feel obligated to put on sunglasses and a mask over my nose and mouth a la Michael Jackson. That's attractive.

Oops, I may have talked myself out of exercising. What a pity.

Yesterday afternoon I finally had some prescriptions filled. I picked up some generic Allegra and some Optivar eyedrops. WITH INSURANCE, the eyedrops were thirty-two dollars! What's in them - rhinocerous horn? It must be, because even when I use them, I still feel like one is poking me in the eye.

Ack, how did I manage another crabby post? Really things aren't that bad.

Let me get another few cups of coffee in me and I'll be right as rain.

And what does right as rain mean anyway?

Gone For A While

On Vacation.

Be back soon.

Take care all. :)