Making eyes across a crowded room...

Am I the only one that giggles when someone calls them a woman?  That word just seems so grown up to me, and I certainly don't feel grown up.   I am closer to 40 than I am 30 and I am still a bit immature.  I snicker when I hear the word "tea bag", or "money shot".  My husband is not much better he got me a 6 pack of Boner Beer for Valentines Day.  We made jokes the whole day about it.  "How is your Boner?"  "Do you like your Boner cold or warm?"  "Are you a fan of the Boner?"    You get the picture.

Baby A attends Little Gym.  She loves it.  I have found that I am not the only one who needs to grow up.  Every class we join in for a lively little jingle,"It's time to play with balls today."  I can't help but giggle. I know, I know... I have always felt a bit guilty about it and then (cue romantic music) I see it.  There in the gaggle of Mommas attempting to secure a ball for their baby is another snickering Mom.  We make eye contact, ( the music swells)  and we have found each other.  Now, I am never alone when we "play with balls" or sing "where is tall man".  Sigh...

What is Enough?

What is enough?  I am struggling with this question today.   Eleven years ago, I was teaching second grade.  I finally had my dream class after a few years of very challenging classes.  One day a few weeks into the school year, I saw a child walking the track with the Vice Principal. The little boy was screaming curse words at him and sobbing.  That same day the VP came up to me and asked me to take the cursing child into my class.  I had mixed feelings about it.  The little boy was brought to my classroom so I could meet him.   I looked at him, his beautiful blue eyes peeking out under a mop of tangled, dirty hair, and knew that he needed me.   I never saw that angry boy that walked the track.  M was smart, kind, and had a huge heart.  I asked the man that I was dating at the time to be his mentor.  He said “Sure!”  I ended up marrying that man and we continued to be a part of M’s life.  We took him on trips, advocated for him in the foster care system, and had him spend a holiday with us.  It wasn’t enough… M is now 18. He has survived his mother getting killed, his father dying in prison, being abandoned by other family members more than once, the foster care system, getting adopted at14, and then getting kicked out soon as he turned 18.  Two days ago, I received a message from the county jail saying that M had called.  I have missed the phone call three times now.  He must feel like we abandoned him.  Could I have done more to save him from this childhood?  I feel sick to my stomach that the answer could be, yes.  I contacted the Sheriff and am trying to communicate with M. This is what I want him to know:

M,

  I don’t know why you are in jail and I don’t really care.  It does not change the fact that we love you and care about you.  We always will, no matter the good or bad choices you make.  We care about you unconditionally.  We have always tried to make sure that you knew that your past does not define you.  You have faced more tragedy and pain in your short 18 years than most people have in their lifetime.  There is nothing I can do to make that better.  You are smart and you have an amazing heart despite your experiences.  My hope for you is that you find freedom from your pain and anger.  I hope you embrace your future and find happiness.  We love you M.

A Little Bit Kinky

I was a guest blogger for Scary Mommy (http://www.scarymommy.com/category/scary-mommy-society/) the other day.  I know those of you that know me want to vomit because I have mentioned it so much.  I am sorry, but this is the first time in years that I have been acknowledged publicly for something other than being a mommy.  OK, granted  my post was about an epic mommy fail, but it was a huge boost for my frail little self esteem.   I have really been thinking, I have a voice, I am awesome.  Why oh why, must I get a bit overly confident?  Nothing good can come from my chest pumping and fist pumps.  Case in point...

Hubby is out of town, the girls were all asleep, so I thought I would embark on a full out war on my hair.  I pulled out the box of keratin treatment that I had received to try and review.  I was a bit intimidated when I opened up the box and saw a pamphlet with numerous directions, gloves, and three tubes of stuff.  This treatment was suppose give me smooth shiny hair for 30 days.    Step one, wash hair, towel dry and apply the cream with with gloves on.  I was to leave the cream on for 20 minutes.  I thought I would multitask and bring on the Nair too, why not?  Just before applying the treatment, I lathered up the unwanted hair with Nair, and set the timer.  I then put on the rubber gloves, and began applying the cream.  I gagged at the scent, it smelled like a perm gone bad.  I was determine to finish the process since half of my head now smelled like a salon from the late 80's.  While covered in both Nair and stink cream I thought it would be a great time to do some laundry, and some dishes, and wipe down the kitchen counters.  If my neighbors had peered though the window they may have thought I was the stay puff marshmallow man.  I glanced at the time, crap I was suppose to wash this stuff off a long time ago.  I waddled to the bathroom leaving a trail of cream and stink behind me.  I rinsed off and admired my work.  My Nair skills are far from great, I am a bit patchy and somewhat pinkish.  My hair,well multi step directions have never been my strong suit.  Apparently, I missed the part in the pamphlet that said that you need to section off the hair, so you get cream on every part.  Now have nice straight hair and a few sections of random kinky.  What is worse, is the aroma of perm seems to follow me around like Pig Pen's cloud of filth.  I actually attempted to fabreeze it after two of my children made gagging sounds after hugging me.  Awesome...
 

Revelation

Revelation

Today Little A discovered where doggie poop comes from.  Perhaps she may not attempt to pick it up or squash it with her toes anymore. One can only hope.  That is all I have to say for today.

Ambushed!

Ambushed

It was a wonderful evening spent with my parents and an old friend at a vineyard watching the sun set.  I was feeling that nice warm glow after a good meal and a few glasses of wine.  My parents were driving and paying, so I poured the wine a bit more liberally than I usually would. 

I pushed open the door and immediately my ears were accosted by high pitched squeals, giggles, and screams.  I peered into the living room and what to my wandering eyes did appear?  Two Dad’s lounging on the couch with glasses if bourbon is their hands.  I looked into the kitchen it was a disaster.  I could feel my heart pounding, but I tried to keep my cool.  Then I heard one of the girls scream, “Slumber Party!!!”.  I turned to look at my husband.  “Really?”  He grinned, “Yep, in impromptu slumber party, I tried to call you to see if was OK.”  Truth is, I never answer my phone and I can imagine him giving a high five to his friend when I did not pick up.  I glanced up the stairs in the direction of the playroom.  Toys were strewn everywhere, and five little girls are twirling around.  I marched down the stairs and closed my bedroom door.  I called my mom in tears.  One of my many flaws is that I do not do spontaneous, especially for our daughter’s first slumber party.   My mom calmed me down and then I drank a glass or two of wine and fell asleep, ignoring the loud thumps and giggles from above. 

My husband surprised me.  He got up early, got breakfast for the girls, cleaned the house, and had the girls clean the playroom.  When I got back from church, everything was as it should be.  Maybe I need to take a lesson from him and be more spontaneous.  I was thinking that until we got a call from the other family the following day…the kiddos have lice and may have left a few at our house.  On the bright side, little C was able to come up with a great word for the letter “N” at her preschool, nit.  She then proceeded to give the class a lesson on the life cycle of a louse.