Four days; Four posts!

I really do think four days might be a record of in-a-row posts, and I'm so excited that I decided to celebrate by having cookies for breakfast. Yum!

Now, these are not your average cookies.

(For the record, I feel that I should've taken a picture of cookies -- plural -- since I'm writing about cookies -- plural -- but... I've already eaten all but this one. Sorry.)

Anyway, these cookies are honestly the best cookies I have ever put into my mouth... and this girl has had her share of chocolate chip cookies.

My friend Lindsay made these as part of a dinner that she brought for us in honor of Swimmer's arrival.

Now, Lindsay is known amongst our friends as the cook, which is something because we have quite a few chefs among us.

No one ever misses Bunco at Lindsay's house unless it's absolutely neccessary because Lindsay always makes the best food (and she's a fabulous hostess).

When we have events that require us to bring food, everyone always asks what Lindsay brought, and whatever the dish, it always disappears pretty quickly.

Anyway, when Lindsay brought these (packaged in a stack wrapped in clear cellophane and tied with a blue bow -- typical Lindsay presentation that looks like it came straight out of a magazine), I knew I'd have a hard time keeping K out of them.

I do love a good cookie, but K is, like, Cookie Monster compared to me. The man loves his cookies and milk more than any preschooler I've ever met...

Anyway, he got into them within minutes of getting home, and he said, "Wow! These are great!" but I kind of took that with a grain of salt because 1) Lindsay made them, so I didn't expect any less, and 2) K loves cookies but I don't trust his taste buds' discernment. He also loves Oreos, which make me want to vomit.

Anyway, I held off until yesterday. I noticed that K had broken a cookie in half for Ethan for a snack before dinner the night before (yes, I know -- Parents of the Year material for feeding our kid a cookie before dinner...), and I thought, "Hm. I think I'll finish that off."

Let me insert here that I fully intended to save the other cookies for dessert for dinner tonight.

Now, let's go back to the top of the entry where I stated that I'd eaten all but the one lone cookie pictured.

Obviously, I finished off more than just that half.

Once I took a bite, those cookies became a sort of obsession. I kept thinking about them yesterday until finally, I ate another... and then another last night... and then finished them off for breakfast.

Sidenote: This is the second food obsession I've had this week. Earlier, my cousin Paige and her mom brought a delicious dinner complete with cupcakes decorated with monogrammed flags inserted into each cake. Now, I love monogrammed things, and I love cupcakes, so you can imagine my sheer ecstasy at having monogrammed cupcakes!!!! So excited that I ate, um, most of them.

So, here I am, at 9:43 am on Friday morning, having polished off the rest of these incredibly fabulous cookies and a Diet Coke for breakfast, and now I have a dilemma:

What am I going to tell Keith?

I mean, honestly, the man won't be surprised. He's been married to me for almost 9 years; it's not like my appetite is really a secret. It's just that he says I always finish off the good stuff... chocolate chip pizza, pizza, good leftovers... before he has a chance.

He's not going to be pleased about the cookies.

In my defense, I tell him that if he wants something, he needs to let it be known. If you don't put your claim on something in the fridge, I feel like it's up for grabs... and I'll probably grab it.

Maybe I can get Lindsay to send me the recipe, and I can make some before he gets home....

Three Days in a Row

I'm pret-ty proud of myself. I'm going for a bigger goal, but I won't say what... don't want to jinx myself.

Anyway, you might've noticed that I've added some stuff to the layout... like a "Followers" section (feel free to jump on the bandwagon) and a "Blogs" section. FYI, Clemson Girls -- Whoorl is pretty much back to her normal self.

At any rate, I'm sure I had something in mind to write about when I started, but this football game on tv is doing a number on my concentration abilities.

I may, at any moment, go into cardiac arrest if somebody doesn't do something soon!!!

Will write more tomorrow when I can focus...

Ahhh Yeah....

Two days in a row! I'm going for a record....

First, I have to laugh because I snapped this picture of Laney this morning:

I fell asleep last night after dinner, and I didn't see what she picked out to wear to bed. (Have I mentioned that she's a little headstrong and that we go rounds over what she wears in public? I have relinquished the bedtime battle as long as she's not spending the night away.)

Anyway, sometime during the night, she came and climbed in bed with K & me, but it was dark. This morning, sometime way before I wanted to get up, the alarm went off, and I began my daily routine of trying to oust K from the bed.

(It goes something like this:

The alarm goes off at 5:30-ish.... Keep in mind, I just went to sleep after feeding Swimmer. -- (Me): Keith, get up.

(Keith): *muffled snarffle*

I hit the snooze.

This repeats every five minutes until around 6:30, when I finally lose patience.

"Keith! Get up right now! It's 6:30, and you're going to be late for work!"

I won't type what I really want to say... and I've tried all the alternatives... Putting the alarm clock on the floor across the room... putting the alarm on his side of the bed... not waking him up... setting the alarm later since he never gets up the first 564 times I try... none of it works... I've decided this is my curse in life.)

After I FINALLY got him to get out of bed, I got up and started getting Ethan ready. Sometime between 6:30 and 7:15, Laney decides to wake up. I was fixing Ethan's hair in the bathroom, when I hear this really annoyed little voice demanding, "Whah's mah pink banket?!?!"

(Translation: "What did you peons do with my pink blanket, and why isn't it waiting on me when I get up?! Off with your heads!")

The princess has arisen. Let the bowing down begin.

I turn and see her standing on our bed, hands on hips, in a white tank top and a pull-up, hair all askew, pacifier in mouth.

"Uh, is she wearing a wife beater?" I ask.

"I don't know." K answers. He's obviously a morning person.

"Laney. What do you have on?" I ask.

"Shaht, Mommy. Wid pig." (That'd be "A shirt, Mommy. With a pig on it.")

Oh. Um. Ok. Now, she's worn this before, but it has a cute little matching bottom that goes with it -- as in a matching set of pjs. In that context, it is not wife-beaterish, at all.

When paired with a pull-up... it's a little scary... like she's going to be the cover of Gretchen Wilson's next single, "Redneck Princess."

So, knowing my semi-conscious state of shock at her wearing a wife beater, you can imagine how much more shocked I was to come into the den to find her wrapped up in our cheetah print blanket.

Now, I love this blanket, and -- until the kids got a hold of it -- it was a lovely accent piece. Like the cute pig tank, when used in this fashion, it looks a little park-ish.

And I don't mean the kind of park where we go to play.

I'm thinking Laney could be a regular on "My Name is Earl."

It's Me, Again, Margaret...

Did anyone else listen to Ray Stevens growing up? Ah, those were the days... riding to school with my mom and brother, listening to our favorite Ray Stevens' tape... My favorite song was "Clyde the Camel."

Little makes me laugh harder than Ray Stevens making camel sounds.

Anyway, I'm way behind, I know with the whole posting thing, but now... now I'm on maternity leave.

Let the posting begin!

Obviously, a lot has happened since that last post way back in August.

First and foremost, Swimmer has arrived!!! Samuel ("Sam") Keith is here, and Ethan in 2-0 for baby predictions! We're going to pimp his talents on ebay to finance college for our growing brood of children.















Anyway, Sam was the smallest of our three at birth -- 8 lbs. 3 oz. -- but he's gaining weight at an oddly rapid rate, so we're sure he belongs to us. He likes to eat like the rest of the family.

Laney and Ethan are adjusting well to his arrival, as are we. He is a great baby -- sleeps anywhere from 3-5 hours at a time, eats, and then goes back to sleep... loves to snuggle... doesn't cry unless he's hungry or wet. Now if we could only get him to teach the other two those behaviors...



















The hardest thing thus far is explaining certain things. Even with the other two, there are certain things I just haven't been prepared for... like Ethan wanting to feed Sam... from his own chest.

That's a moment they don't cover in the Mommy books.

Fortunately, the vague "Only mommies can feed babies" explanation seems to have worked. I didn't want to scar the kid for life.


Laney, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be too concerned about present technicalities but is more confused by the fact that Swimmer is no longer in my belly.


















She keeps trying to communicate with him via my belly button (which she learned from Ethan, who swears that's how babies hear when they're in the belly), and I'm like, "Hello?!?! He's in the bassinet, not in the belly." She gives me this quizzical look -- "Are you serious?" and then we repeat this at least once a day, every day. I hope she'll give it up before she goes away to college.


Other than minor issues as such, things are going well. On occasion, K & I look at each other and wonder what we've gotten ourselves into... like on Saturday mornings when all twelve kids come bounding in at once and climb in the bed with us... or when we try to go somewhere in public (like Wil's football game last night) because it seemed like a good idea at the time..., but for every "WHOA!" moment, we have many more "Sweet!" moments... like when Laney bumbles over to Sam, kisses him, and proclaims in her best Princess voice, "I wub Sam so!"... or when Ethan tells people that he's going to teach Sam to read and play football and soccer.


All kidding aside, we really are blessed with an incredible family as well as amazing friends and relatives who have gone out of their ways to make Sam's arrival unbelievably special. We thank God every day for our blessings. Since most of the blog readers are also our peeps, that includes you guys. Thanks so much for all of the love, meals, gifts, and well-wishes you all have sent our way. We love you!

Summer

is almost officially over for me.

Boo.

Winds of Change...

I cannot believe I have to go back to school in less than a week.

This is totally stressing me out.

There's actually a lot changing around here, and really, all I want to do is pile up on the couch, go to sleep, and pretend everything is normal.

I'm not against change; I actually like it, most of the time. It's just that there's so much going on. I need to be able to process, and apparently I don't process quit this fast.

For example, Laney is pretty much potty trained, with the exception of an occasional accident... which usually happens in public. I can now say I've been peed on by one of my kids.

For the record, I didn't like it.

I always have a change of clothes for Laney; I don't usually, however, carry one for myself.... little reminds you more that you are grown up and a mommy than walking around the grocery store with a pee stain the size of a beach ball on your shirt.

On the other hand, she is growing very, very, very, very independent.

I should really add a few more "very"s to that.

Her favorite phrase is "I do it myseeefffff!"

This drives me crazy on at least one occasion (usually more like 573 occasions) per day... like when she insists on buckling her own seat belt... at her own pace... which is 754 light years behind my schedule... OR when I try to dress her... Or put her shoes on... OR even pick out her shoes...

You get the idea.

I love that she is independent. It's just that she must realize that I am The Queen, and I make the rules.

Also, Ethan starts 5K in less than 2 weeks.

I had my first good cry over this last night.

I do believe K thinks that I am crazy and/or severely hormonal...

But in fairness to me, I am always this way when it comes to Ethan. I worry about him because he wears his heart on his sleeve, and his little feelings get hurt so easily... unlike his sister, who would just as soon punch you in the eye if you don't agree with her....

Anyway, it's just hard to believe that this time five years ago, he was just 3 1/2 months old... and now he thinks he's pretty much grown...

Sigh.

I know, I know. Moving on.

Of course, there's also the impending arrival of Swimmer... which will be on my birthday.

First, I'm still not sure about how I feel about the whole birthday bit. I, uh, am a bit of a birthday freak... as in, I l.o.v.e. my birthday. Love it. Love it. Love it. Neither being unconscious nor the idea of undergoing major surgery on my birthday ranks high on my list of "Favorite Ways to Celebrate."

Cake, presents, unlimited birthday attention -- YES!
Major incision where they take all of your guts out and make origami out of your insides -- Not so much.

On the other hand, I do think it will be totally cool to share birthdays with Swimmer for the rest of our lives. My dad, the ever-round and cuddly Toad, and my Pop share the same birthday, and I always thought that was really neat.

*For the record, I am very glad this kid isn't sharing K's birthday...which falls on or near Thanksgiving... because I'd never get rid of the whole "Thanksgiving feast @ our house" celebration.

Anyway, I am also so ready to have this pumpkin that I'd agree to any day, as long as it gets here soon. And, of course, it's not every day that you get a kid on your birthday. What an incredible present!

Kind of makes all other gifts pale in comparison....

(Remind me of that when he/she is 3 weeks old, not sleeping through the night, and colicky.)

AND on top of all of this, I go back to school next week, which means no more mid-day naps... no fun trips with the kids... no snuggling on the couch early in the morning...

I should probably be very pleasant next week.

Consider yourself warned. :-)

I'm A Little Disappointed...

that no one else seems to be amused by the mullet picture. :-( I still laugh every time I see it.

Anyway, life is just chugging along here in P-town.

I went to the doctor earlier this week, and all is well in Swimmer's world. He/she is -- as the doctor so politely noted -- "a chubby little thing," weighing in at 4.5 lbs. so far.

That didn't trigger any alarms until I got home and found out via internet that a typical baby at this point weighs about 3 lbs.

Shocking. Our other two kids were 9 lbs. and 8.5 lbs. respectively. I wasn't really expecting this one to be any different, but it's still slightly alarming to hear that your child is already in the 93rd percentile for size before he/she "really starts gaining weight."

On another note, we are trying to potty-train Laney. She has totally immersed herself in the idea.

We have yet to be able to convince her that she does not have to be one with the potty in order to successfully potty train.

This has resulted in a lot of gagging on my part and a lot of baths for her. (Yes, I threw away the comb as well as washed the dress and Laney in hot water with lots of soap. Our toilets are clean, but that doesn't mean we're going to bathe in them.)

Ethan has also chosen this summer to assert his individuality, which he often chooses to express through his choices in clothing.

We haven't been able to convince him, either, that items of the same color should not always be worn together, such as brown socks and brown Chuck Taylor's.

He usually responds to my gentle fashion guidance by saying, "Mommy, it will be fine.Don'tworry."

But I do worry... mostly that people are laughing at my precious little child.

Have I mentioned that two weeks ago he wore his bike helmet to the skating rink? "For protection," he said.

Yes; people did laugh. I was one of them.

Never a dull day...

I am impressed...

by me.

It's been a banner day in J-Town today, and it's only 8:36 a.m.

By the end of the day, I may have figured out the key to world peace.

This morning, bright and early, I saved a bird. It somehow mishapped into our screened-in backporch; by the time I realized it was there, the bird was seriously freaking out.

I am not scared of birds, but I don't really like sudden movements from wild animals that could poke my eyes out... so I've never really tried too hard to do more than appreciate them from afar.

(Random sidenote: we spent hours as children snuggled up in Granny B.'s back den, watching the birds at the bird feeder. We were probably the only people under 50 who could distinguish a goldfinch from a titmouse. Still -- we only looked at them from the window. No interaction.)

Anyway, when K. left for work, he wasn't too concerned. "It'll find it's way out," he said in his wise-sage voice... but it worried me that the bird couldn't seem to figure out that there was a big open space for escape (otherwise known as a door).

So, when he left, I took matters into my own hands.

Literally.

I tried, at first, to talk it out of its frenzy.

Much like my children as well as my students, it didn't listen... and my presence seemed to upset it more.

I tried opening the other door so it would have TWO avenues of escape, but that didn't seem to help, either.

Finally, I took a deep breath and channeled my inner-nature-girl.

At first, I contemplated pulling a Crocodile Hunter-like move: gently scooping it up into my bare hands and carrying it to freedom.

That vision was interrupted by a second vision of the bird tearing the flesh from my bones, so I scrapped that idea.

Finally, I settled on a compromise.

I cornered the bird into one screen pane with the mop, and then I used the dog food scoop to gently trap the frenzied beast while holding onto its tailfeathers (all the while thinking, "I am going to have to wash my hands in scalding water! Birds have all kinds of germs on their feathers!" Please remember I was raised by Mayree who harbors much disdain for all germs everywhere.).

In one swift, cat-like movement, I shoveled the bird from the screen to the open door and set it free!

(Cheers all around!)

At this point, I realized that I was stalking around my backporch in a large tshirt and my undies, so I decided to take the party inside before my neighbors called the police.

Once inside, after scalding the skin off of my arms up to my elbows to remove bird germs and celebrating my second calling as an animal rescuer, I decided to tackle another daunting task: figuring out how to connect my camcorder/digital camera to the computer.

I've been working on this one for a while, but seeing as how I misplaced some important stuff... like the instruction book, driver software, and USB cable... this has been difficult.

As of last night, I'd finally managed to gather what I thought was the right USB cable and the instruction manual.

This morning, fresh off of my bird victory, I marched upstairs to tackle the technological beast.

And I won.

Sort of.

I can at least upload pictures to my computer...

Like this one, which I snapped this weekend while on vacation @ Folly with the fam. Nothing says, "South Carolina beach" like a mullet blowing in the wind.

Now, I just have to figure out how to upload the videos. (The computer keeps saying some program doesn't recognize the video file. Pttthhhttt.)

Still, I feel like today has been a success.

Maybe not so much of a success that I'll clean out the bonus room, but still... a success overall.

Tah-Dahhh!!!!

Yesterday, we loaded up the fam -- both kids and my parents -- into the MV and went to a place called Vision of Life and proceeded to thoroughly invade Swimmer's privacy.


Now, I feel like this is the 50th ultrasound I've had, but really, it's only the 4th. I've already had on 3D-4D, but it's a little different having one done in a sterile doctor's office (although the tech and the doctor were both very nice and gave us pretty pictures). This time, we were able to sit back and relax and just check out Swimmer's behavior in his (or her -- we still don't know) natural habitat.


At first, he/she wouldn't move his/her hands, so it was difficult to get a good shot. (For the record, referring to the baby as a he/she makes me a little uncomfortable, but I guess that's my own fault, eh?)





And here he is, in all of his/her smiling glory. If the weirdness of this photo freaks you out, do not fret. It totally freaks me out, but I like it because he/she is mine.


That crazy stuff around his/her head is the placenta, in which he/she totally likes to burrow his/her head. That thing that could be mistaken for something gender-specific is actually the umbilical cord, which he/she also digs.


Both of these fascinations concern me a little, considering the placenta and cord deliver vital stuff to the kid, but I've been reassured that it's alright. Apparently, God figured the kids might play with that stuff and made both pretty durable.


I will say that Swimmer is currently pretty much folded in half, which was the case with Ethan... so I'm expecting him/her to be of decent size.


I will also say that K and I were kind of taken aback to see how much Swimmer resembles Ethan at birth. We have a picture of E, taken a few weeks after his birth, that we call the "Mad Monkey" picture.


(E spent a good bit of his first months looking like an angry gorilla. Fortunately, he outgrew this.)


Anyway, at one point, Swimmer ducked out from behind his placental hiding place, and my mouth dropped open.


He looks so much like E in the Mad Monkey picture... minus the scowl.


We did confirm that it looks like Baby Swimmer may look more like me (and the other two kids)... as the ultrasound man said, "The baby has a nice broad nose."


Thanks. Like I need any encouragement to be a little insecure about my appearance at this point.


Anyway, he/she has Toad's nose and what appears to be my lips. Since both of the other bambinos are blessed with K's beautiful eyes, I think Swimmer may be, too.


K was not surprised to find this out, although we were both secretly hoping this one would look like him. Not that having three miniature Toads is bad, but I wanted people to say, "Wow! He/she looks so much like K!" instead of "Wow! Your kids look so much like you!" or "That has to be Ken's grandchild! He/She looks just like him!" (Ken is Toad's real name.)


Of course, years down the road, this could be a curse, especially if the kids go to school here. Since most of the teachers that had me are still teaching, the kids may automatically get preferential seating to prevent them from talking....

A Veritable Smorgasboard....

Well.

How many of you are shocked that I haven't blogged in over a month?

Anyway, much excitement since the last entry... pictures will follow as soon as I figure out how to upload them from my new camera.

First and foremost, I am out of school for the summer.

Praise God! Hallelujah!

After much contemplation over the last days of school, I decided that high school students are crazy, as well as that I am insane for thinking that I like them. I am glad that it is summer; otherwise, I might not have been able to withhold the barrage of smart aleck comments that teeter on the tip of my tongue in response to their silly utterances.

Likewise, the district might not be able to withhold the immediate termination of my job were that barrage of comments to escape... thus, it is a fabulous thing that summer vacation came when it did.

Second, Swimmer is getting huge, and I am pretty dang cranky. More on that later.

Third, it is vacation time, which -- for the J-Town inhabitants -- means craziness. K and I took a trip to NYC to see my Yankees play in their final season at historic Yankee Stadium. Despite the drunk people sitting next to us (who weren't even Yank fans!), the game was *sigh* incredible.... as was seeing the city with my fabulous hubby (his first time!) AND not having multiple children in tow (besides Swimmer, who goes everywhere with us at this time...).

The kids and I just got back from the beach with my Clemson girls (as well as our 9! kids), which was -- as always -- lots o' fun. I do think I have heartburn, and I also hope that Laney has 12 kids just like herself when she grows up because I did consider selling her to the highest bidder on a couple of occasions. One of the highlights of this year's trip was NOT having car trouble.

(Feel free to browse blogs from last summer if you missed the short novella on all of the transportation issues we had on last year's trip...)

We have a couple of other trips planned -- including a brief outing with my family, which always promises good stories.... like my dad threatening to go home last year after I dared get bent out of shape that they (as in the rest of the family) were late, causing us to miss our reservation to the famed Lady & Sons restaurant after I had gotten up at the crack of dawn (because no one else wanted to do so) to secure the reservation.

Now anyone who knows me knows that Toad, my cute little round father, is the apple of my eye. As cute and cuddly as he is, Toad is not a man that I talk back to, nor is he a man that I would normally cross, because 1) he is my father, 2) he has a rather vicious temper (I might add that I inherited this from him), and 3) he is just crazy enough that he might do the things he says (like send me to a boarding school for troubled kids -- which was enough, as a teenager, to keep me somewhat in line... even though I wasn't troubled, and I don't think he really would have sent me... but he didn't seem to be kidding...).

When the family finally arrived AFTER our required check-in time, bumping us to the END of the long, long reservation list, I was livid... to say the least. If I could've poked every single person there in the eye, I would have.

And I would've enjoyed it.

(For the record, I didn't care one bit about going to this place, although I am a Paula Deen recipe fan... My mom, sweet Mayree, had been talking about going for months... it was really all that she truly wanted to do on the trip.)

So... after I got up earlier than I even get up for school.... after I traipsed through pre-dawn Savannah by myself while the rest of my family snoozed... after I had to wait in a long, long, long line (which I don't do -- ever -- unless it's for something REALLY good... like a 75% off sale)... I was more than a little irate that the rest of the family (being chauffered by K) didn't get there in time...meaning my entire morning had been a waste.

Now -- had my dad gotten up for this task, things would have been different. First, we wouldn't have been eating there because my dad does not wait in line. Period. Sale or no sale. Second, if the rest of us hadn't shown up at the right time, he would've turned red and ballooned up like a blowfish and possibly gone postal on the entire city of Savannah.

I felt that my seething rage -- which was pretty well contained -- was justified.

The rest of my family didn't seem to understand... which multiplied the rage like water multiplied the Gremlins.

They actually kept asking me what was wrong. My dad kept trying to get me to cheer up.(Valuable sidenote: it is not wise to continue to provoke an obviously angry person.)

Finally, I spouted off some furious blurb from between clenched teeth about how none of them (have I mentioned that?) wanted to listen to me (who had been to the restaurant and experienced the reservation process before) when I told them we all needed to go into Savannah early... and that I hoped they all enjoyed sleeping in because I certainly enjoyed standing in line alone like a beggar at a soup kitchen... and that next time we needed reservations to go somewhere, they could get up and get their own if they couldn't be anymore considerate.

I'm not exactly sure what I said... but it was something like that.

As soon as I said it, I thought, "Oh my gosh. My life, as I know it, is over because my dad is going to rip me apart, limb by limb, for talking to him like that."

It seemed like time froze... and it was on.

He started turning an odd shade of beet red... which morphed into an unhealthy purplish hue... while I waited, in horror, for him to snatch me up in the middle of Savannah in front of my children.

You can imagine my surprise when he just spat, "Fine. I'll pack my things and go home."

I was so surprised, in fact, that my tongue again began to speak without my permission.

"Fine, " I retorted. "Do what you gotta do."

I don't know who was more surprised -- him or me. I've always been much more vocal than my brother, so I don't think he was surprised that I had something to say... it's just that even on my worst day, during our worst disagreement, I've never been brave (or stupid) enough to say something that brazen.

Thankfully, he seems to have mellowed in his, um, older age, and he just stalked off a little ways down the street. I returned to glowering by a street lamp, and the possibilities of atomic hazard dissipated.

Mayree, as usual, was amazed that Toad didn't launch me into the river or at the least yell...

K, on the other hand, made a good point: my dad taught hand-to-hand combat in the Army, for Pete's sake. Why would I intentionally provoke him?!?!? (This might be a good time to add that K has a healthy respect/fear of Toad... or at least what he thinks Toad might do...)

Needless to say, after that, the mood was pretty much shot... compounded by the fact that the air wasn't working in the restaurant... and then that the power went out while we were eating... and then that it was 879 degrees in the shade that day.

Toad and I haven't spoken of that little exchange since, which is kind of our way... neither of us is big on apologies... especially when we don't think we're totally in the wrong... but you can totally see why you should wait with bated breath for stories from our upcoming vacation... right? :-)

Take me out to the ballgame...

One of my favorite activities of spring is going to ballgames.

Don't really care whose game or where it is.

Growing up, we used to traipse to my dad's softball games. As a little kid, going to the playground was the best part. Nothing like 574 turns on a rickety old merry-go-round to make you lose your concession stand dinner.

As I got older, I remember trolling the ballfields with my cousin Jennifer, looking for hot men. We learned quickly that rec ballfields are not the place to look for hot men... well, at least not hot men we could take home to meet Ken and Jimmy (our dads).

I've always had a fascination with baseball players, I guess. My first major teenage crush (sigh) was a guy named Matt. He was a pitcher, and he was H.O.T.

Too bad he was so H.O.T. that he was seeing, like, 6 other girls that summer.

Once I got to college, I didn't date any baseball players at Clemson -- although I did have a one-time disastrous formal date with a rookie second baseman who fell asleep on my couch and refused to leave.

In addition to being a squatter, he was also a mouth breather. Had to let him go.

Instead of dating sketchy ball players, I spent my spring afternoons stretched out on the metal bleachers at Tiger Field next to Toad, my all-time favorite date, watching ballgames, eating ice cream, and getting sunburned.

I did, however, meet an extremely H.O.T. guy post-college (well, my senior year), and as it turns out, he played baseball in college.

When we started dating, he was playing in a rec softball league. I was excited to find, upon attending my first game, that he was pretty good AND that he looked really good in his uniform. (Always a plus!)

Turns out, I wasn't the only one that noticed. A 40+ year-old woman (one of his co-workers) also had the hots for him and was ready to duke it out with me in the parking lot if I didn't give up my seat on the bleachers.

Fortunately for me, her friends (also his co-workers) were able to convince her that she wasn't really his girlfriend (since he'd not even shown the slightest interest in her), and I didn't have to show her my fabulous ninja skills.

After sitting on the bleachers for a season of games, rooting him on, he finally asked me to marry him.

I, of course, said yes.

It's not every day a man who looks that good in baseball pants proposes... :-)

Anyway, K. has continued to play ball here and there, and now Ethan is following in his steps with t-ball. Granted, E resembles my dad (a little short and squatty) more than my hubby, but still, he's pretty good on the field.

Spring for us now includes rec softball for K. and t-ball for E.

We spend a lot of family time at the ball field. From the above pictures, you can tell that a lot of our friends and their families spend quality time at the ball fields, too.

The top picture is of Laney and Reece. Don't mind that scary belly in teal behind them. That's just me and Swimmer.

In Picture #2, Laney and Reece are partaking of one of the variety of snacks in my ballfield cooler. Reece, being a good boy, only had two suckers (unbeknownst to his mother... Sorry, Jenn.). Laney had 4. You'll be seeing her as a candidate for what not to eat on the pedia-dentist's waiting room wall.

The bottom pictures shows the brood of Townville kids; E is the 1/2 kid in a navy shirt on the right side of the picture.

Now, this is what's fun. All of those kids in that bottom picture are on (or related to) someone on E's tball team, and I grew up with all of their parents. I know it probably sounds a little like in-breeding, but it's not... It's just a part of living in a small town.

Now, I'm not saying we aren't a little 'neck.... we yell at the referees -- even in church league, they have to be fair!... we bring our own lawn chairs... our kids eat from the concession stand and/or our never-ending bags o' stuff... but these are the things I loved, loved, loved when I was a kid, and I'm so grateful that my kids have an opportunity to grow up with that same small town atmosphere.

There's nothing like a good ballgame (with a pit stop at Dairy Queen afterward) to announce the arrival of spring...

American Idol

I've never really understood the whole fascination with reality TV.

Now, I did love the first season of MTV's "Real World" back in the day... I wanted to be Julie, the Southern belle dancer who went to New York looking for a dance career but sort of found Eric Nies (hot guy turned MTV veejay). I wanted to be a dancer, and I would have been ecstatic to find someone as hot as Eric Nies when I was in college.

The whole idea of reality TV had just taken off and I thought I might be a good candidate because -- for whatever reason -- the whole "girl from the South" thing seemed to fascinate Hollywood, but like many risque things I've considered, I stopped short of auditioning for the show out of fear of what my dad would say or do.

Those of you who know my dad know that I am not kidding. He wouldn't think twice of showing up on the set and dragging me off into the sunset, spouting off words of wisdom like, "This is assanine, Amy!" No one would dare challenge him because he turns all red and looks a little scary when he gets miffed -- like a poisonous frog ready to shoot venom at anyone who gets in his path.

Anyway, I met K, my hot hunk-o-husband, and I didn't need Eric Nies anymore.... and I stopped dancing, so I didn't want to move to New York anymore (although I am considering auditioning for "So You Think You Can Dance" as incentive for losing the baby weight...).

I really just lost interest in reality TV after that... "Survivor" didn't strike a chord, nor did "The Bachelor." K and I did get kind of hooked into "Joe Millionaire," but we totally blame that on the fact that I was pregnant (with Ethan), sick at night, and didn't want to do much other than lay on the couch.

HOWEVER....

I am sort of an Idol junkie.

Not to the point of checking the website or voting or anything like that (yet)... but I am a faithful watcher, and this year -- for the first time -- I started getting a little antsy waiting for the next season.

It all started in the spring of 2005. K was living/working in A-town with my parents while Ethan and I finished up the school year in Knox-Vegas before making the big move that summer. My friend Amy N. and I started ordering Italian delivery from this little place in West Knoxville and watching the scary audition shows. It was all fun and games (and good food) until I saw one of my kids on there!

I don't know why, but I got so excited -- and I was hooked.

A lot of people say they hate watching those first shows, but really, it's kind of like my train wreck. I'm don't break my neck to look at wrecks and whatnot, but I will camp out on the couch to laugh at the freaks who audition for Idol.

K and I don't like the same kinds of music, so we have a great time intelligently debating the merits of those who make each rounds of cuts...

Me: "She looks like a terodactyl, so I don't think she's going very far."

K: "What does that have to do with her talent?!?"

Me: "Nothing. But how many terodactyls have you ever seen with successful singing careers? There's my point."

All of this brings me to my next revelation.

This season, I have been a big fan of Brooke, but I knew her time was coming to an end. What I don't understand is the fascination with David Archuleta. He's precious and whatnot, but I am not enamored with him or his talent.

Now, David Cook -- he rocks! He's talented, both vocally and instrumentally. I think he deserves to be in the top 4.

David Archuleta, while talented, isn't in the same league... and he looks like Max off of PBS's "Dragon Tales."

Disturbing resemblance, isn't it?

If Brooke and the other Austrailian rocker guy have to go, cute little David needs to go, too. I have a hard time taking him seriously because I keep expecting him to flit off to Dragon Land to visit Weezie and the other dragons.

Drum Roll....

I think my brain is mush.

It's been almost two months since my last post... but I swear, my brain is not functioning in a blogging/writing sort of way.... and on top of that, I can't remember anything. I don't remember being this defunct with the other two, but then again, I probably won't remember this either.

Things -- like writing ideas, thoughts, etc. -- only show up in my mind in snippets... so I do a lot of drifting off in mid-sentence/mid-thought/etc.

Drives K. absolutely crazy.

"Finish your thought!" he'll bellow. I don't think the blank stare I give him in return helps. For someone who is laid back to the point of sometimes being comatose, he gets really agitated when I don't finish what I'm saying.

I've tried to point out that bellowing does not help me find my train of thought. It actually startles me, making the thoughts all jumble together... meaning I'll never remember what I was trying to say. Totally defeats the point of the bellowing to begin with.

Anyway, big news. I just returned from my big ultrasound.... and....

It's a surprise.

We decided early on that we didn't want to find out, and pleasantly enough, the kid cooperated. Wouldn't open his/her legs for anything. He/she has a perfect little profile and round belly... prefers to sleep on his/her belly as well. At this point, he/she is normal size... around the 67th percentile... so no massive bambino, as of yet. As the ultrasound lady was quick to point out, however, babies don't put on the majority of their weight until the third trimester, so there's hope still.

I'm hoping for a 10-pounder. Since I'll have a c-section, I'm not too concerned about how big he/she is.

Anyway, as odd as this is,I love my OB and look forward to my visits. He's really unique... very much his own person. He's from Cali... as in California.... and a little quirky. He is, seriously, one of the nicest people I've ever met in my entire life, and he is genuinely concerned about his patients. I had some blood issues when I had Laney, for example, and he actually came by to check on me while his wife was in surgery upstairs.

Keith and I joked a lot during my pregnancy with Laney that we kept expecting Doc to say things like, "Way cool!" or "Hang 10!".... as in "The little bambina is totally hangin' 10 in there!"

He didn't... but we kept hoping... :-) (I did find out that his brother is indeed a surfer, so at least we were close!)

He didn't totally disappoint us, though. In the delivery room, he gave an impromptu rendition of something from American Idol... until one of the nurses told him to stop. I don't remember what he sang because I was about 3 sheets in the wind... but I remember it being really funny.... and I remember wanting to laugh during most of the delivery because of his constant odd flow of conversation but not being able to... mostly because my brain and my body were totally not communicating under the influence of fabulous hospital drugs.

In fact, one of the few things (aside from the singing escapade) that I remember about the delivery room is that Doc laughed. A lot. At this point, I hope that he wasn't laughing at me... but I wasn't concerned then because he laughs all the time. If he'd been serious, I probably would've been freaked out. (He was very serious when he came to talk to me about the blood issues. Totally gave me the heebeejeebies.)

Back to today. After the ultrasound, K and I meet Doc in his office. He starts talking about my bloodwork, and while he's very serious, he describes issues with my blood by saying things like, "That's what tells the blood vessels to squeesh and stop bleeding."

It's hard to be very serious when your doctor is saying things like "squeesh"... but I figure words like that aren't easy to work into conversation about things that are really serious. On the other hand, neither K nor I know how to explain anything Doc said without using those words... He probably laughs every day, knowing his patients are going around explaining complicated medical things using words like "squoosh" and making funny sound effects.

At any rate, he rocks because he explains things in terms that I can understand and because he makes me laugh... unlike one of my other OBs from Knox-Vegas.

We called him The Big Tall Greek Doctor because, of course, he was huge. He was also the ninny that told me 4 weeks before delivery that my baby was going to be, at best, 6 1/2 lbs.

Whatever.

Ethan was 9 lbs. and ginormous.

Anyway,Big Tall Greek Doctor was nice enough, but I chose the other doctor, Dr. T., for my delivery because he was relatively amusing. It was a close call because Dr. T., despite his funniness, also looked alarmingly like a good friend's dad... and that kind of freaked me out. In the end, however, his humor was much more appealing. Plus, he didn't have freakishly large hands like Big Tall Greek Doctor. And thus the decision was made.

Dr. T. did a fabulous job -- minus the comment about me laying off the biscuits and gravy during my next pregnancy -- and managed to entertain me during the entire delivery (unscheduled c-section) by telling me, minutes before beginning, that I could do anything with my hands (which were laid out on this big cross-bar) except grab his butt.

I'm not kidding.

What did I do for the entire delivery? Try to will my hands to turn toward his butt. I didn't really want to grab it, but because it was my first experience with serious drugs, I was amazed by the fact that I could think things but not make my body or mouth obey. So, my train of thought for the entire delivery was, "Can I grab his butt? Hand, move. Move. Try to squeeze. Why aren't my fingers squeezing. How far away is his butt?"

You get the idea.

Post delivery, Big Tall Greek Doctor came in to check on me. Apparently, he was not pleased that I had not chosen him to deliver the baby/receive my next year's salary... and he was not pleasant. He pushed on my stomach -- hello, moron, I just had a c-section; that hurt! When I moved, he told me in a nasty voice that I'd have to lay still or he couldn't examine me.

I was still heavily medicated at that point, but I believe that was when I took a drunken swing at him.

He didn't seem to notice; apparently he either is used to people trying to hit him or he couldn't tell what I was doing as I had little-to-no control over my arm... but boy, if he could've been inside my head! I'd never been in a fight, but I was ready for my first one!

I didn't have to see him again, for which I was grateful... partly because I didn't like him and partly because I tried to deck him, albeit unsuccessfully.

Anywho, I'm sure this delivery will come with its own set of stories, especially since we don't know what he/she really is. I think we're going to have a 4-D ultrasound done, so hopefully I'll get some pictures to post (even though they are a little creepy). Baby 3 will be the first Jennings' kid to be recorded from announcement to birth into posterity via blog... something for which I'm sure he/she will be forever grateful... Sort of my revenge for all of those embarrassing stories Toad has told about me over the years...

Pictures

Will

Will & Jimmy


Notice the fear on Ethan's face -- Daddy almost capsized the canoe.

Pearle and Laney (with the 14th lollipop of the day...)

Jim, Jay, and Keith (who doesn't fish)

Mary & Laney bonding over lollipops

Emma & Robby doing a little father-daughter bonding...

Pat, Reece, and Pearle

"Maxine" & "Bobby Cox"

Robby's Dinghy & Jim's Pond Boat

Ethan "Opie" Jennings


Ok, these are the pictures I wanted to display on Flickr, but I still haven't gotten that to work.

Why Three Kids Is A Bad Idea

During 1st period, I looked down and realized that the tag of my dress was sticking out.... of the FRONT of my dress.

Apparently, in my hurry to get dressed this morning, I put my dress on backwards... and I actually like it this way. It's pretty comfy. I'm not changing it. Too much effort.

My point is this: If I can't dress myself with 2 kids, I don't think it's going to get any better with three. From this point on, please excuse me if I start wearing seasonal sweaters, get a sensible haircut, or start wearing socks to match my outfits. I never understood bad fashion before I had kids, but today has been a learning experience. Sometimes, it's apparently more what you can get on before a kid smears you with slime than what looks best?

I hope no one submits me to "What Not To Wear"...

I'm getting a little miffed...

I've been playing with Flickr -- an online picture service -- all day, and I can't get the cursed thing to work!

Last week, we buried my Pop, who is one of my all-time Hall of Fame heroes. I've never lost anyone that close to me, and it was truly devastating. To make a long story short, after the funeral the entire family, including my two grandmothers, decided to go fishing at my uncle's pond.

A bit odd, I know, but this is why my family totally rocks.

It was a completely perfect afternoon, and I wanted to share pictures on my blog because some of you know my family and because I think it's a perfect tribute to my Pop... He loved few things more than having us all together.

Plus, there's one picture of my Grandma Pearle where she looks like Maxine (of Hallmark fame) AND she's talking to my Grandma Hazel, who happens to be wearing an Atlanta Braves visor -- which makes me laugh. Not to mention there's a hilarious picture of Ethan with his fishing pole over his shoulder, looking a little Opie Taylor-ish, and another of his fear-stricken face when my dad took him out in the canoe after almost capsizing them.

The pictures -- compliments of my fab cuz-o Julie -- are priceless....

But I can't get the flipping things to upload! Anyone know how to use this thing?

Random Things That Concern Me

I am a terrible housekeeper. Anyone who knows me can probably attest to this. It's not that I don't have good intentions... it's just that I am easily distracted from cleaning.

For example, I was out last week for three days with sick kids. I had one good, focused day of task accomplishing. The other two were pretty well wasted. I had a plan for each of the three days but was seriously derailed on two out of three.

On Day One, I got sucked in a party-planning catalog that I came across while straightening up... and that was the end of my productivity. I realized that I hadn't planned squat for the kids' birthdays... and normally, by now, I'm pretty much through with the planning.

That sent me into panic mode.... As of today, I still haven't figured out where to have Ethan's party nor what kind of theme to use, and I can't find any cute decorations to coordinate with Laney's. This may not seem like a major catastrophe for most, but knowing that birthday party venues are few and far between here (shocking, I know), I'm a little freaked out.

This presents a problem.

Day Two was the productive day. I didn't discover any sort of major undertaking about which I had forgotten.

Day Three was equally unproductive because, in the midst of cleaning out Laney's closet, I found the kids' Easter baskets.

I love their Easter baskets. When Ethan was a wee little tot, I found a store in Knox-Vegas that made hand-painted Easter baskets -- totally cute. I designed one for him -- blue and green with frogs -- totally precious.

When Laney came, I had a friend of mine go back to the store and order one for Laney. Hers is just as precious -- pink and white with ladybugs and polka dots.

There was one problem, though: Laney's is bigger than Ethan's.

Anyone with multiple kids knows how that is going to work out in the long run... "Why is her basket bigger than mine?" "My basket is bigger so Mommy and Daddy love me more."

You get the idea.

When I called the store to order another one for Ethan, they told me they were *gasp* going out of business.

You can imagine where that leaves me for Baby #3.

So.... instead of finishing Laney's closet, I've been looking online for 2 baskets with wooden slats (not woven!) and handles... to no avail.

Anyone with information on how I can solve these crises? I'd appreciate it so I can move on to other more relevant tasks...like the dishes in my sink....

Hope Y'all Are Sitting Down...

First, I do realize that it has been almost two months since I posted anything, and I am so sorry. Y'all know I'm slack, but this time, I sort of have a reason.

I am pregnant.

Might I add that this news is very unexpected to all -- especially me and K. We are thrilled -- but we really, really, really were done with the whole birthing babies process after Laney. I mean, she's a handful... and the thought of having two of her makes me want to relocate in the witness protection program.

Plus, when I named our/my blog address jennings4, I wasn't expecting to change it.

Anyway -- back to not writing...

For the first couple of weeks of the new year, I was trying to get things back together with school, so I was a little preoccupied. Then, we found out about the baby -- which has already garnered a slew of nicknames....

Swimmer and Pitcher -- Ethan says there are two boy babies... which freaks me out, since he was dead-on about Laney. Now, the doctor only saw one.. but the ultrasound picture is a blob, so I don't know. Ethan, on the other hand, explains this whole "one baby" phenomenon this way: "Pitcher was hiding." Great.

Bunco -- or Baby Bunco -- courtesy of my bunco pals... I found out I was pregnant sort of by accident while at bunco last month. Most of the crew had left, and I was just standing around, yapping with my Bridge Run girls (minus Donelle). The conversation turned to kids, and I said (famous last words), "Oh, we're done. No more." Thought pops into my head -- and out of my mouth, "Well, I mean, I'm a week late, but..." Conversation stops. Lindsay, the hostess, offered to let me take a test that she had, so I did --- TOTALLY not thinking it would ever come out positive. I mean, I've been on the pill for almost two years... no recent antibiotics or anything.... so you can imagine my surprise when the second line shows up immediately on the test. The girls were fabulous, though... I could tell they were waiting to see if I was going to freak out... but really, at that point, what good would that do? I just had to let it sink in. They wrapped the test up in a beautiful package for me to take home to K... who promptly asked if I kept the receipt. :-)

Ambrosia Surprise -- My English teacher friends here at school nicknamed Laney "Tallulah" because I love the name but K. wouldn't hear of naming his daughter that. When I told them that I was expecting again, they promptly set about creating an original name for this baby, too... after they had a good laugh about me not heeding their advice to NOT give away all of my baby stuff because I'd turn up pregnant. (I just cleared out the last of the baby stuff in December.) If it's a boy, however, they decided to stay with A.S. as initials but figured that "Ambrosia" (which came from who knows where) would be too feminine... and that's how Anderson Swimmer came about... which incorporates the birth place with Ethan's name. You know we English teachers are all about giving names with meanings...

At any rate, the baby has been nicknamed, and we are preparing for his/her/their arrival. The whole thing has been a bit distracting, and so I figure I'm sort of justified in having not written. I mean, I'm making body parts here. Give me a little bit of a break... ;-)

I'm sure y'all are going to be sitting on the edge of your seats to hear all about how this third pregnancy is going. I will say that I am glad that I have already made the move to the MV because I do believe that a third child, combined with a third time of having lost weight only to get pregnant, plus a mini-van could possibly send me right into an identity crisis.

DISCLAIMER: My normally razor-sharp grammatical skills have gone all to pot in the past few weeks... I'm hoping it's a side effect of the pregnancy. Please excuse any glaring grammatical errors. I don't feel like fixing them.

I Am So Slack

Ok, it's Jan. 29... and I'm just posting the first blog of the year. I am such a slacker!!



Anyway, things are going along just swimmingly here in J-Town. We are trying to muddle through the yuckiest part of the year. I am so ready for spring to be here! I try really hard to be fashionable and reasonably well put-together, but it is a struggle at this point in the year.



I REALLY want to be wearing comfy pants, a tshirt, a hoodie -- even if K. swears that all of my coaching hoodies look like 1970 throwbacks, and tennis shoes.



Obviously, I am not wearing that, as I'm pretty sure I'd be escorted immediately from the building. I have, however, found that leggings and billowy dresses -- paired with flat shoes -- are pretty equivalent. Every now and then -- such as today -- I will throw in something a little different, just to spice things up. Today, for example, I am wearing leggings, a gray tiered dress, and black boots.



One of my co-workers has dubbed me "Jack Sparrow." I'm not terribly sure that's meant as a compliment.



Anyway, I'm not the only one having dressing difficulties in the house. Both of the kids are quite adament about their clothing, and it's really starting to annoy me.



Fashion Rule #1: I am the Mommy. I pick out the clothes and match them. No 4-year old or 20-month old has any sort of fashion sense.



Laney prefers to pick out her shoes. I let her -- as long as they match. She obviously has no concept of what matching means. Yesterday, she wanted to wear white sandals. Hello -- it's cold AND white shoes are out of season.



A huge brouhaha ensued, involving much screaming and gnashing of teeth.



She did not wear the white sandals.



Fashion Rule #2: I am the mommy. I am a bit particular about how you look. You should be, too.



I do concede on some things, like Ethan's hair. His hair is much cuter when spiked a little in front, but he H.A.T.E.S. for his hair to stand up. I have thus far refrained from holding his superheroes hostage until he lets me fix his hair the right way; he currently sports a slightly modern version of my dad's part-and-comb-over style.



I will not, however, allow him to leave the house to go anywhere in clothes that don't match or aren't complimentary. My parents, however, delight in dressing him in odd combinations that make me cringe.



It's a conspiracy, I believe.



Last week, my dad dressed Ethan -- for DINNER OUT, mind you -- in his black Halloween shirt (which reads "Little Devil" or something hokey like that in red sparkly letters), odd colored khakis, and navy blue Crocs.



I almost had a seizure when I saw him, precious little pumpkin, standing in the waiting area of a local restaurant.

My dad was smirking.

I was not amused.

Now I remember why my mom meticulously laid out our clothes, even when she wasn't going to be home to dress us.

Mental note: Must remember to pack clothes for kids when Toad is in charge.

Second mental note: Must remember to pack clothes for kids when Toad and/or Mary are in charge. Mary has been known to send Ethan to school in his pajamas.

Third mental note: Must remember to lay out clothes for Laney when K is in charge. He digs through closet to find clothes she has not worn in months. Usually too small/ out of season/ stained/ mismatched.

K says I'm a bit, a-hem, OCD about the kids' clothes and that no one cares, but I have to beg to differ. It's one thing for Laney to be running around in a diaper and tshirt at the house. It's quite another for her to be running around in public in pants that are too short or a dress with a popsicle stain on the front.

We have to have standards here.

My Own...

Personal Version of Hell is this:

12 hours in the car with the kids.

If, for some unforeseen reason, I end up in the Eternal HotSpot instead of at the Pearly Gates, I have to imagine that I will be sentenced to ride in the car with an 19-month old vicious beast and her overly-grown-up, tattle-tale brother for eternity.

We took off the day after Christmas to visit the fam in Baton Rouge. Now, I am not a good car person, so I dread almost any trip longer than a couple of hours. K, it seems, dreads them more than me... also because I'm not a good car person.

The first trip that K and I took to Baton Rouge was probably the most fun... for me, at least. After eight hours of playing The Question Game, K began to resemble Jack Nicholson's character in "The Shining"... so I stopped talking. That seemed to do the trick.

Needless to say, we don't play The Question Game any more....

Which means that I sleep... a lot. Once Ethan came into the picture, I thought things might change, but he is The Ultimate Child Traveler as long as he has his movies, sufficient snacks, and an occasional potty break.

I didn't think twice about traveling once Princess Laney arrived, but apparently, I should have. She is not a traveler... like her mother. She has a short attention span... like her mother. She likes to eat a lot and stop a lot... like her mother. Unlike her mother, though, she has not learned to suppress these urges in fear of launching her normally-almost-comatose father into a fit of road rage (which, apparently, 8 hours of The Question Game will do).

So, she whines. And cries. And makes a lot of noise.

While I am trying to read. Or sleep. Or tune out life as I know it in the car.

We finally made it, after 12 long hours... the last 2 1/2 of which consisted of:

1) Ethan announcing every five minutes, "I can't wait so long!" For what, we don't know, but dang it, he can't wait so long. We found that out.

2) Laney whining in that ear-splitting screech (that I now realize also sparks that involuntary muscle spasm up the back of my neck) until I would look at her. I also discovered this trip that looking back at her for any extended period of time makes me carsick.

3) Me trying to read while listening to my i-pod (a Valentine's gift from K that I didn't really know what to do with at first but now consider a God-sent blessing for trips because I can turn it up loud enough to drown out the sounds of two kids, two movies, the radio, and a grouchy husband who wants to know why I'm not listening to the 742 demands being made by the kids. Why am I not listening? Because I can't hear them or you. My i-pod is too loud. Sorry.)

4) K trying to deal with the kids (with occasional help from me because I feel guilty that I've left him in the world of the hearing... although I do now understand why my grandparents tried to rebel against getting hearing aids for so long... sometimes, it's wonderful to just not have to listen to the noise pollution) while becoming increasingly irate with me (also easy to ignore by closing my eyes and pretending to sleep... at least until Laney let lose with an ear-piercing shriek that triggers that involuntary spasm, making me jump and thus blowing my "sleeping" cover..)

By the time we got to BR, none of us were in any shape to visit anyone... Ethan was wired like he had been sipping liquid crack. Laney was in Primo Ultimate Diva Mode. K looked like he'd just come off of a 5-day drunk, and I was pretty much mute and unable to conduct any kind of intelligible conversation... always a great first impression with the in-laws...

In the days since, the kids have completely recovered, being resilient and young. K and I are on our way, although we were almost catapulted back to Square 1 after a trip to New Orleans today (the 50 minute trip took over 2 hours... anyone have a plastic spoon??? I'd rather gouge out my eyeballs than do that again...).

I do hold hope that the trip back will be pleasant and uneventful... but that doesn't seem to be the norm for us. (Out of the last three trips, we've managed to rack up two catastrophes, including a really expensive automotive breakdown and a nasty cracked windshield... both occurring in almost the same spot on two different trips... I would like to caution you against traveling anywhere close to Meridian, Mississippi, as I'm pretty sure that The Devil has taken over that town as his earthly headquarters...)

Who knew parenting could be this much fun?!?!?!

I think...

I have writer's block.
I cannot think of anything to write about. I mean, most of the time, the subject pops up, I start writing, and VOILA! a lovely blog appears on my screen.
Not so much right now.
I think it's because I'm distracted by the holidays. It is December 17 as I write this, and we still don't have all of our decorations up.... including those essential ones that go on the tree...
Yes, I know. We have failed mankind in the most serious of ways because we didn't have our tree up and decorated the day after Thanksgiving.
My bad.
On top of it all, I had to go find more decorations (because I can't find all of mine), when apparently everything lovely and attractive was snatched up by those out shopping the day after Thanksgiving...by all of those people who have been able to enjoy their fully decorated trees for several weeks now.
All of this -- my lost decorations, my sluggish start to the holidays -- requires me to go out into the "hustle and bustle" -- which is really more like a preschool free-for-all. Every ridiculous and annoying person on the planet is out, being excessively ridiculous and annoying, while I am just trying to get from Point A to Point B without cursing or killing someone.
Really? That 4th of July lawn decoration was on a 120% off Clearance rack but is ringing up .50 instead of .49, like it should? I will give you the bleepin' penny and wrap it for you to give to your great aunt Hilda if you will just get out of my way and stop holding up the line!
I think the hustle and bustle is zapping my creativity, so... I have -- after this year -- relinquished all Christmas duties to Keith.
I feel it only fair to publish this on a public domain so that you are all aware that you may never receive another picture of the kids, Christmas card, or normal Christmas gift... and our house may be decorated in a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree kind of fashion...
Now this sounds good in theory, but there are a few minor problems here...
1) I don't think that he thinks I'm serious.
2) I am a little bit of a control freak, and I may worry so much about how things are not getting done the way I would do them that it may ruin the whole rest-and-relaxation angle.
3) I don't want the kids' recollections of their early Christmases to be, "We never had decorations when we were little."
4) I wonder what he would send to the kids' Christmas parties for gifts... golf balls? Chips and salsa? Whatever spare change we have laying around the house? And would he wrap it up in brown paper lunch sacks? Would the kids be the laughing stock of preschool and kindergarten or would they think that Ethan and Laney's dad is the coolest?
5) Would he use big bulb lights, and if he did, could I still enjoy Christmas, or would I feel compelled to recite lines from "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" throughout the holidays? ("Say the blessing!")
Ok, well that stresses me out just thinking about it. We'll re-evaluate after this season... Maybe I'll let him start off with something small like Valentine's Day or picking out Easter outfits...

Things I Don't Understand (The Hilarity of It All)

So, I had to run a quick errand during my plan the other day. I relish any opportunity to get out of my concrete cubicle, so I skipped out to the MV, breathing in fresh air, sunshine, and the elixir of life-during-the-day-when-you-are-normally-couped-up-with-germy-kids. It was wonderful.



On the way back from my errand, I pull up behind what appears to be a normal car. I look away... something else caught my eye (shocking, I know, that my attention span is so minimal). I look back, and I think, "Something is odd about that car...." It seems really low to the ground.



About that time, I catch the eye of the odd-looking person in the driver's seat and he gives me the man-nod.



And then the car moves.



I don't mean moves forward. I mean moves up at an odd angle.



For a moment, I know I must've looked much like the RCA dog, head cocked at an unnatural angle.



I know I saw the car move, but it's not moving now..... and still, something isn't right.

Wait -- the front is much higher than the back. It wasn't like that before.... was it? Is my old age causing me to lose my memory?



At this point, I'm staring with my hand over my mouth, thankful I'm wearing sunglasses so it isn't exceptionally obvious that I'm staring while I sit in my non-mobile MV.



And the car moves again. This time, I see it, plain as day, and I realize that I am encountering hydrolics.



My first-ever, real-life experience with hydrolics that don't cause the car to bounce.



And then the show begins.



Just before the light changes, the car begins moving up and then down... rear bumper up... front bumper up... rear bumper down... front bumper down.

It is the craziest thing I have ever seen. The driver apparently sees my mouth gaping open and gives me the manly nod, then drives off as his car finally levels almost to the ground and then raises up to a semi-safe level so the belly of his car won't scrape up any roadkill...

Amazing.

I wonder if my MV can be tricked out like that....

I Take It Back.

My neighbors have issues, but I think their issues are much more complicated than not liking our harmless dogs. I take back the not-so-nice tone in which I wrote and ask that you say a prayer for them. Also, if anyone knows how to create an invisible force field around our house, I'm looking for estimates....

I am also...

A time waster.

I've had a morning of no classes.... and what have I done?

Email. All morning.

I haven't graded one paper. I haven't been the least bit productive.

Do I feel bad?

No.

What is wrong with me?

My parents raised me to be responsible and hard-working, and here I sit, loafing. So sad... so sad...

Does anyone else suffer from this disorder? I know I have a grading deadline next week, but still, here I sit. This is also a problem when it comes to housework... but that's an entirely different story.

Is there a treatment? A solution? Can I hire someone to grade for me?!?!

Any volunteers???

Sigh. I'm going.

Blog Overload

I almost had a serious crisis.

I went to log on to my blog, and the school had blocked the website.

Panic, wheezing included, ensued.

Obviously, they've rethought their stance on blocking my blog because here I am, in all of my wonderous glory, blogging away while my students take a writing test.

I should probably be grading other stuff, but what the heck! I like to live dangerously.

Anyway, once the panic lessened enough for me to breathe, it reminded me of the cell phone blowup of earlier in the year.

I'll make it short, since I can't remember if I blogged about this and am too lazy to look...

My first phone, a lovely Chocolate number of which I was very fond, was apparently highly sensitive to water/condensation... and apparently early morning telephone calls before the first volleyball tournament of the year out in the middle of a grass field next to the school (being the only place I could get reception) don't really agree with highly sensitive technological equipment.

MY solution: make a better phone or get your signal fixed.

VERIZON'S solution: laugh at the peon.

To make a long story short, the phone died, taking with it my contact list. I ordered a new phone, which I was told I qualified to recieve for free.... only I didn't recieve it (or any contact as to why not). When I finally was able to reach someone who could tell me what the problem was, it seemed my phone would not be free. I paid for the phone and then waited another week and a half to receive the phone, during which time I experienced an automotive crisis and had to depend on total strangers to ensure the well-being of my two kids and myself.

After all of that... I got the new phone -- a much lovelier orange thing -- for free.

And was named CEO of Verizon after theirs mysteriously lost his head to a very foul-tempered woman from some small town in the middle of nowhere.

Ok, I'm not CEO, but I did get the phone and some other bonuses for free.

The whole point is that I was completely lost without my cell, and I was about freak out about being out of touch with the outside world via the internet.

Alas, the problem is solved, and my heart beat has returned to normal. I've checked all of my normal blog sites, and they are all working. You, too, can relax and know that, for today at least, the blog is still up and running.

This gives you great peace, I know.

Showing my Rear...

Literally. Well, let me preface this with some background info:

Ethan, who has struggled a bit with the realization that he cannot show his superpowers at school (i.e. You can't hit somebody just because he/she is standing where you want to be), is on the sticker system.

If he has a good day, he gets a sticker. If he collects five stickers in a week, then we do something special, which usually involves Target, as he believes that Target was made specifically for his enjoyment.

Now, back to the funny stuff:

Friday afternoon, we celebrated our first five-sticker week with a trip to Target after dinner. Sounds simple enough, right? We pull into the parking space and start to unload the kids. As usual, we park next to a buggy thingy (because this makes the most sense to me, as I'm usually alone, with two kids and bags to unload... If I'm next to the cart thingy, I can put up my cart with minimal risk that some freak is going to try to steal one of my kids.)

I grab a buggy and roll it back to the car for Laney. Ethan is following close behind me. I'm thinking he's being a good little pumpkin.... He has other ideas.

As I approach K and Laney, a car turns down the aisle. Now my back is to the car, but it's headlights were huge and completely engulfed our little family in light... right about the time Ethan pulls the back of my dress up, fully extending his arms over his head and giggles, "Mommy, I see your hiney!"

Yes, son, so did every customer in the Target parking lot.

I was mortified, of course, because 1) I don't normally show my rearend like that and 2) I was wearing non-show-off quality undies. Not ugly, but definitely more comfy that cute.

At this point, K. was laughing so hard he was about to cry, Ethan thought he'd done something hysterical because his daddy was so tickled, and Laney was shrieking and cackling with no clue as to what was so funny.

I, on the other hand, was contemplating digging to China while wondering if such escapades were included in the Mommy Handbook chapters that I skipped...

My question is, "Why does this always happen to the Mommy?" I mean, I carry you in my belly, get stretch marks and all sorts of grossness, get up with you in the middle of the night and early on Saturday mornings. I take you to the park and to playdates. I buy your clothes and food and toys.

Why can't, for once, you pull your dad's pants down or something instead of lifting my dress or pulling the neck of my sweater down to expose my hoo-hoos to the elderly gentleman in the Brooks Brothers store? Vomit on your dad at work or ask him, while in the public restroom, if he has to go stinky or why the person next to him in the stall is making those silly noises.

Believe me, I'm tallying up the score. You just wait until you're about 15 and realize that we aren't as cool as you once thought.

It's gonna be on like Donkey Kong....

Oh, and...

Nix what I said about our neighbors liking animals. They don't like our dogs, and we are now officially enemies.

How can you not like Boudreaux, king of smelly lapdog boxers? Zelda -- I can understand her. We love her, but she has a princess complex (common in our family, apparently), and thus is very picky about the company she keeps.

Boo for mean neighbors who seem nice but then "anonymously" call animal control on well-loved, immunized, snuggly beasts.

Question

Does anyone else still make a Christmas list?

I've been working on lists for my family for about a month now, and I'm shocked to find that few people (as in ADULTS) actually make lists still.

I'm disturbed by this, as I think we should make lists for every holiday as well as general gift guides so as to avoid awkward/heinous/repeat gifts.

I am a list freak, though, so I don't know if everyone feels the same.

Now, I know it's really the spirit of giving that counts, and I'm not trying to sound greedy here. It's not the quantity of money spent but rather the quality of the gift. I, for example, love pens --specifically the felt tip Flair pens. They aren't terribly expensive, but a 4-pack of Flairs just lights up my life. I once had a co-worker give me a loaf of bread, a jar of creamy peanut butter, and a jar of grape jelly as a going away gift. I loved it and was so excited -- because 1) I love smooth pb & grape jelly sandwiches and 2) he paid attention to detail -- smooth, not crunchy; grape not strawberry.

That's what I'm talking about!

Now, K used to be a bad gift giver, but he has improved tremendously. I recently celebrated my *gasp* 30th birthday, and it was quite traumatic for me. (I loved being a 20-something, even when I was driving a mini-van.)

Before our first Christmas together, I pointed out several page-a-day calendars that I liked. (I'm also a calendar freak.)

I expected one.

He gave me seven.

Seven.

Do you have any idea how long it takes to maintain 7 page-a-day calendars? I put them in my classroom (because I do like calendars), but I had to assign the duty to a student. It was too time-consuming.

Now, there's nothing wrong with excess, but I was shocked. I didn't have enough open surface area in my room. I had to double them up.

And then there was the year that I paid the mortgage twice right before Christmas, and we were flat broke until two days before Christmas. I'd had my Christmas shopping done for a month, but K. had bought nothing.

Over the years, though I didn't think he could top last year. LAST year, I had a volleyball game on my birthday, but when I got home, he had gone all out: pizza from my favorite pizzeria, complete with chocolate chip pizza (which is my favorite food in the entire world) for dessert (4 of them -- one for dessert and three to snack on as I saw fit!). The gifts were thoughtful -- two maroon and black bags for me to use for coaching (one small, one large) and an assortment of other gifts... but the kicker was this: he had my Clemson diploma framed with a beautiful picture of Tillman Hall, the main education building and former residence of Toad where I have so many fond childhood memories of growing up as a Tiger.

It still brings tears to my eyes.

It wouldn't have mattered if he'd laminated the two together -- it was the idea, the thought, the effort behind it that made it so special.

This year, though, he came through again. My birthday was incredible. We celebrated for two days. A friend of mine (Cory, you rock!) planned the party, and Keith helped assemble the details....

And thus, the ultimate Wonder Woman (my childhood hero) 30th birthday bash was given.

He and Cory assembled my Clemson girls for a night of good eats and good times, and it was magical. I got to wear the crown. I got my own Wonder Woman cake. There were Wonder Woman decorations everywhere.... and my girls were there. Life doesn't get much better, as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, several people have commented (upon seeing me slave over my Christmas list) that I am in the minority, but I say there should be a gift list movement!

Register for general holiday and spontaneous gift giving ideas! (How many times have you gone to buy a gift and had no idea what to get? Wouldn't this solve this issue?!?)

Register for sizes and quantities and colors! (That way, if you want 74 place settings of china, you can get them over the next 50 years of your life! If you wear a size 8, you won't get size 24 pajamas!)

Gifts, of course, wouldn't be limited to just the list; the lists should be used as a guide.

Gift givers of the world, UNITE! Bad gift givers can be reformed with a little patience and guided shopping opportunities! No one should have to suffer opening another awkward/heinous/repeat gift again!