Curses!!!

I knew I'd flub it up.

*Sigh.*

I'm please that I posted 8 days in a row, but by the time I remembered last night, it was after midnight... which technically counts as a Saturday post. Pbbbbllllllllttttttt.

I'm not giving up, though, because I am determined to make it through all year... so I'll just post two separate lists of 5 today.


Friday's List:
1. Laney's Flying Monkey hat
2. Ethan in his old man pajamas
3. Sam's crazy hair mohawk
4. Jennifer's imitation of my dog Zelda. This probably isn't funny to anyone else, but if you could just see her do it.. So funny! Make me laugh until I cry every time!
5. Boudreaux the Miracle Gift dog. Came to us house-broken and kid-friendly. Has terrible gas and a really gross tendency to vomit foam because he eats too much too fast... but he is such a gentle, sweet beast. Even though he smells.



Saturday's List:
1. my students. Sometimes, they make me want to say bad words, but y'all... I love them. A lot. I hate getting up early, and I hate grading papers, and I hate when they are surly and nasty and mean... but I love them like nobody's business. I'd love to stay home with my flesh-and-blood kids, but I just can't seem to give up my school kids.
2. early dismissal days. I mean, I do love my students, but I also love a little free time...
3. my ELMO. After 74 years of using a prehistoric overhead, my ELMO is amazing. Plus, I love how everybody feels the irresistible need to stick his/her hand under the light to see if it really will show up looking like their hand on the screen. Makes me laugh every time.
4. making a dent in my mountain o' papers to grade.
5. getting my grades exported on time. :-)

Day 8

1. Chocolate-dipped strawberries from Godiva. I'd kill for one right now, by the way.
2. Diet Coke floats when the Diet Coke is cold and makes the ice cream kinda ice-y
3. Homemade banana pudding
4. Almost any kind of ice cream on a sugar cone*
5. My friend Lindsay's red velvet cupcakes that make me want to hide in a locked closet until I am able to eat them all myself.

*Disclaimer on the ice cream -- nothing with nuts (except Praline Pecan), marshmallows (no Rocky Road, no thank you), coconut, mint or chocolate chips (mint chocolate chip is of the devil and makes me want to vomit. I don't like Butter Pecan or any kind of fruit ice cream with chunks, like strawberry or peach, although I do like strawberries as well as peaches in their natural states. I love sherbets, too, specifically orange and raspberry and mango... but not so much lime. Overall, I prefer smooth ice cream with no major chunks (unless you're talking Sweet Cream from Marble Slab mixed with Heath Bar Chunks) in a sugar cone. It REALLY makes me happy.

Day 7?

1. Tiger Rag
2. Watching my Tigers run down the hill... gives me chills thinking about it :-)
3. Saturday afternoons in Death Valley with Toad
4. C-L-E-M in Cadence Count!
5. The old scoreboard where the tiger tail moved when points were scored...

Day 6 of 365

1. making lists
2. the way Sam often stops crying immediately when I pick him up so that he can nuzzle into my neck
3. the way my Uncle Jimmy cracks himself up
4. Page-A-Day calendars
5. Flair pens in bright, happy colors

Day 5

I have terrible number memory, so unless I start remembering to look before I start typing these, I'm afraid this "DayX" thing is going to go by the wayside pretty quickly. I think it's Day 5... but I'm not really sure.

1. little blue boxes from Tiffany
2. NYC at night with all the lights and the buzz
3. taking the cheesy red bus just to hear all the cool, fascinating facts that the tour guides know
4. seeing my college roommate running on the streets of New York -- random but TOTALLY made my trip
5. getting to go inside a NYPD station... nevermind that someone lifted my driver's license and there are probably 50 of me running around the streets of NYC, committing crimes... it was awesome to go in and see that Law & Order isn't really made up...

Laney the Ladybug Killer

An odd recent occurrence in our house:

Ethan comes flying down the stairs, screeching like a hoot owl being chased by a coyote. I hear Laney's evil laugh (yes, she has an evil laugh... very deep and scary compared to her normal loud belly-laugh) following behind... and then the tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump of her sliding down the stairs.

*I've got to figure out how to post a video to this thing so that I can show you what I mean. Laney comes down the stairs at break-neck speed on her rump... and I'm pretty sure she's set a new world record. It's absolutely hilarious!

Anyway, they are running from room to room, with Ethan screaming like a girl and Laney laughing like a mad scientist. I figure they're just being silly, playing some game until FINALLY Ethan screeches, "MOMMY! MAKE HER STOP!"

I put my arm out and hook Laney, who is still laughing like a maniac and looks like Charles Manson with her stringy hair all in her face.

I ask what the problem is, and Ethan (trying to milk the situation for sympathy and get his sister in trouble) says in his best pitiful voice, "Laney's chasing me!"

Really. Hadn't noticed.

Me: "Why is she chasing you?"

Ethan: "Because she has the ladybug."

Me: "The ladybug?"

Ethan: "Yes. The one she squooshed."

About this time, Laney/Charles sticks her chubby little arm out, and I notice something pinched between her fingers.

Can you see that?

Yep. It's a ladybug.

I'm not sure which is more disturbing... that my oldest son was screaming like a girl because he was being chased with a tee-niny ladybug... or that my sweet, precious daughter is a notorious ladybug killer.

I may need to revisit my parenting philosophies...

Day 4...

1. getting into a nicely made-up bed
2. waking up and looking out over the beach
3. tomatoes
4. Christmas breakfast at my aunt's
5. laughing until my sides hurt and my eyes water

Day 3...

1. The first warm day of spring.
2. Fresh flowers.
3. Curling up with a good book and a blanket and plenty of uninterrupted time to read.
4. New stationery.
5. Driving into Charleston.

The Brighter Side of Motherhood...

Ok, so while I'm waxing poetic about what I love about my kids, let me give you a brief run-down of one of the not-so-beautiful moments of motherhood.

We've been sick at our house for, like, the past 12.4 years, ok? That means Mommy & Daddy, and we haven't felt like doing much other than the basics. Now, we're starting to recover, so today we decided to have a little family time tonight.

It starts with pizza for dinner -- the nightly request of the older 2 kids (since Sam doesn't have any teeth and has yet to discover the incredible delight called Chocolate Chip Pizza).

That, of course, is a hit. They'd eat pizza every day if I'd let them and didn't insist on them trying and eating new things.

*Side note: I do think I might be up for Mom-O'-The-Year because I got every teeth-carrying member of my family to eat collard greens yesterday. Granted, I made grits-stuffed greens instead of traditional collards, but hey -- collard greens are collard greens, regardless of whether they're stewed in broth or wrapped around cheese grits.

Anyway, next on the docket: Movie Night.

Like their father, our kids are movie freaks, and we haven't watched all of the new movies they got for Christmas. K picks "Ironman."

Now, I could've told him that maybe an adult version of a comic book hero might not be the best choice for a 5-year old and a 2-year old, but my subtle attempt at bringing that up was dismissed with a "It's 'Ironman.' He'll love it!"

Yeah.

Five minutes into it, Ethan and Laney are running around, shrieking and demanding drinks and doing their best to tear up the place while K bellows at them to be quiet so he can hear the movie.

Hm.

Maybe Movie Night wasn't really about family time as much as about getting to watch a movie that I'd probably never agree to watch on free time.

Anyway, back to it.

So... Movie Night's a bust, but we decide to play CandyLand. Works for me because I still love CandyLand. K isn't quite as enthusiastic, but he gets down on the floor with us, and we complete the game in record time with optimal results (meaning Ethan won fair-and-square so we wouldn't have to witness the phenomenal meltdown that occurs when he loses).

Bedtime!

The kids, of course, start coming up with 72 fool-proof plans to NOT go to bed, but we send them upstairs, regardless. Ethan asks me to read a bedtime story, and being a bad mom, I tell him I'll read to him in the morning because my eyes are tired.

Seriously, they really are. I read an entire book -- 447 pages -- between 3 pm & 9 pm, with breaks for dinner, CandyLand, and various feedings/changings/tendings to kids. Lots of reading in a little time = tired eyes.

Anyway, after I send them upstairs, I start to feel bad because I sort of decided early on in motherhood that I want my kids to be literacy freaks... and part of that decision means not turning down an opportunity to read with them unless absolutely, positively necessary.

BUT -- my eyes are tired.

So... I decide to compromise. I go upstairs and snuggle Laney and Ethan up in Ethan's bed and announce that I am going to tell them a bedtime story.

Now, Ethan loves my stories. He used to beg me every night to tell him about how he kept the pumas from attacking our family. (He went through a crazy animal stage when he was obsessed with Diego.) Laney doesn't have much patience for any kind of story, but she loves to be a part of things... so I figured she'd bite.

I start crafting this master tale of a prince named Ethan and a princess named Laney, weaving in threads of our everyday life so that they would identify with their namesake characters. I draw them in by bringing in their superhero capes and masks, which give the prince and princess superhero powers.

I even let each choose his/her own superhero power.

Right as I'm getting ready to describe in vivid, breathtaking detail the first battle against the evil villain, Ethan pipes in.

"Um, Mommy. Can you stop there and unblock the TV? "The PowerPuff Girls" are about to come on and I don't want to miss them."

Shocked silence.

"Mommy?"

My reaction is a little less than mature. "Wait. I'm telling you this awesome story, and you want me to shut it so you can watch 'PowerPuff Girls'?!?!"

I am incredulous.

This is a dang good story I'm whipping out here!

"Yeah. You can tell me the story later, but 'PowerPuff Girls' won't be on all night."

I contemplate a biting retort like, "I'll remember that next time you want me to answer 54 questions while my favorite song is on the radio!" but I realize that 1 -- I am the Mommy, 2 -- it is in my job description to be the bigger person, and 3 -- he totally won't care and/or remember.

Sighing, I slide off the bed to enter the code to unblock the TV... just about the time that Laney pipes in:

"Mommy? Can I get off of Efan's bed now? I weally don't wike being up he-ah."

You know... I love my kids more than my own life. I really do. I never thought I could love anything -- let alone three things -- the way I love my children... but I think Sam just moved to the top of the list in my will...

Day 2...

1. 30 years with my granddad. I miss him so much, but I am so thankful that I had him for so long... that he was able to marry us (sort of -- that's another hilarious story in itself)... see two of my children born... let me tell him every chance I got that I loved him... and always said it back... you know... that kind of stuff.

2. My grandma Pearle's sassiness which I inherited and sometimes gets me in trouble... her zest for life that spills over into everything she does and lights up our family... her generous spirit that always let me have the last choc-o-gel (or 6, if I wanted) and taught me so much a giving with a cheerful heart.

3. My grandma Hazel's willingness to spend hours in the kitchen, teaching me to cook even though I made huge messes... her fostering of my love to read with trips to the bookmobile and lazy afternoons reading... her love of gardening that caused me much misery as a child (I hated watering those dang plants!) but now I wish I had inherited her green thumb (and patience).

4. Afternoon naps with the windows open in the spring.

5. The funny little bodies that kids have. I love Laney's round tummy and Ethan's long giraffe legs and Sam's little round bean head. *Sigh*

Happy New Year!

I can't believe it's already 2009! I mean, it seems like just yesterday that it was The Millenium, and everyone was freaking out about Y2K...

Much like this year for New Year's, I was sick for that one, too. Can't wait to tell that story later...

"What was I doing when the turn of the century came about, kids? Well, let me tell you. I had a nasty case of the flu. Your father and I weren't married, so I was still living at home with Nana and Papa. I spent the afternoon curled up in my mother's lap in the urgent care clinic (no lie -- I was 22. People stared.), and your dad came over that night. We rang in the New Year in style -- laid out in my bed amongst boxes of Kleenex and magazines, watching the Dick Clark Rockin' New Year's Eve special on Toad's -7-inch television that I only got to put in my room on special occasions like being sick on New Year's, with the door cracked because my parents didn't want me to contaminate their party but were completely opposed to having visitors of the opposite sex secluded in a room alone with me, even if I was on my death bed."

They'll be so excited and grossed out, all at once. :-)

Anyway, I haven't made any resolutions, but as I was logging in tonight, I noticed an update from one of my favorite blogs, http://www.whoorl.com, and I was intrigued, so I had to read it. Apparently, this person (not Whoorl, but another person's blog she reads) is launching this gratitude journal, of sorts, on her blog. I like the idea, so I think I'm going to do it, too.

The point is to post 5 things for which I am grateful every day for a year.

Now, we all know that daily postings aren't my forte. I'm a little scatterbrained at times... Let me give you a recent example.

I ordered a book from Overstock.com for myself for Christmas because 1) I hadn't read it, 2) it was written by Dorothea Benton Frank, one of my favorite authors, and 3) it was on sale, cheap. I was sooo excited when it arrived... and soooo anticipating a good holiday read-fest.

Until I opened it up, two days after Christmas. As I started reading it, I started having a serious sense of deja-vu... it all seemed so familiar... oh wait!

I already read it.

Merry Christmas to me.

Anyway, I think I'm going to try this 365 Days of Grace in Small Things. I might miss a day here or there due to the craziness that is my life, but I'm really going to try. I think it's so easy to get wrapped up in what isn't going right or the latest drama, but I am constantly thinking -- especially with my kids -- how blessed I am.

I also love lists... like, obsessively. I am one of probably 100 listmakers who actually buy and read books like "1,000 Things To Be Happy About" or "500 Questions" (K's personal favorite... he keeps hiding it so I'll stop asking him questions...).

So... here it goes:
1- Laney's great love of jumping out from behind furniture or walls and yelling, "Thu-pwize!" or (my personal favorite) "Happy Birt-day!" when there is no thupwize or birtday to be had...
2- My funny friends. Reading their comments and/or emails make me laugh out loud, which makes me happy...
3- A cold Diet Coke first thing in the morning...
4- Sam's lopsided smile...
5- Ethan's obsessions... like locking the car doors immediately and trying to be sneaky like a ninja...

Here's to all the possibilities of a new year, including me blogging daily... :-)

If you're interested in reading more about this movement, check out http://www.schmutzie.com/2008/11/grace-in-small-things.html. Never mind the odd ad on the sidebar about the suicide note -- it's just an ad... but I wasn't sure what was going on, at first. Just wanted to warn you ahead of time.

Whew...

Holy cow, kids... Christmas is over!

Now, I love Christmas. It is, along with my birthday, one of my favorite holidays. This year, however, I felt like I was a little behind all season long... and I hate that feeling. I wasn't through with my shopping until late; my Christmas cards went out late.

Let's not even talk about Sam's birth announcements that are sitting, addressed, on the table.

We did have a lovely Christmas, though, in spite of my belatedness.

The pictures are of the kids in their superhero capes & masks (http://www.etsy.com/ -- seller name: superflykidz). Ethan and Laney love theirs... Sam, maybe not so much now... but he'll grow into it. If Santa had brought them nothing else this year, I am so glad he brought these because I laugh every time I see their little round bodies running through the house, capes flying, crashing into things because neither of the mobile ones know how to put the masks on without somehow impeding their eyesight. (Check out the pictures closely, and you'll see what I mean.)

Anyway, we coasted through a gaggle of family get-togethers and moved on to having my in-laws come for the weekend.

We also had an unexpected visitor.

The Virus.

I don't know what kind of creation this thing is, but it has hit all three of my kids -- Sam and Laney twice! --, Keith, and his mom. And let me tell you -- it's not pretty.

On Monday, I got a bit of advice from my girlfriend Azure to boil some Pine Sol on the stove to disinfect the air.

Now, if you read my little "About Me" section, you will notice that one of the first things that I am not is a good housekeeper. And I will readily admit that math and science are not my strengths either... but based on my limited knowledge of these areas, this suggestion immediately brought a couple of thoughts to the forefront of my brain:

1 -- Pine Sol cleans everything. This has to be a good idea.

2 -- Cleaning chemicals + extreme heat = blown-up house.

Now, I trust Azure, but I had to ask her, to be safe. She assured me that there was nothing to worry about... she had done the same at her house, and they were all still in one piece.

So I broke out my trusty bottle of Pine Sol, only to realize that I was almost out. I've been cleaning bathrooms and wiping down surfaces like a mad woman since we've been out of school, so I guess I used it all.

Hmph. Well, that's a first.

Anyway, I asked K to bring home a bottle on his lunch break, and being the well-mannered husband that he is, he did so... but not without asking me a bunch of questions first. Our texts went something like this:

Me: Can u pick up a bottle of Pine Sol on your lunch & bring it home?

K: Sure. Why? (Translation: Is this really something I have to do at lunch? Can't it wait until I'm coming home for the day?)

Me: I need it to disinfect the house. Azure says to boil it on the stove.

K: That doesnt sound like a good idea. (Translation: H-no! You've got to be kidding.)

Me: I know. I asked her tho & she said its fine. No worries.

K: I dont know. Kind of like our house as it is. (Translation: Whatever, crazy woman. I'm not going to do it.)

Me: Bring me the Pine Sol. (Translation: I'm about to go medieval on your tail. Would you rather me blow up the house or suffer my wrath?)

K: Ok. But I still dont think this is a good idea. (Translation: Ok. I'll do it... but you're going to blow up the house, and I'm going to say "I told you so" every day for the rest of our lives.)

So, a couple of hours and one massive low-country boil pot later, I get the stuff on the stove. It seems to be going well, until K looks in the pot and said, "What's this stuff growing on top?"

Hold up there, Tonto. What stuff?!?!
Sure enough, there's this foamy mass growing on top of the Pine Sol... kind of like mutated pond scum.

About this time, we also notice that the pleasant scent wafting through the air has gone from "essence de pine" to "pine forest in the house."

Oh my gosh - it was ridiculous. I have visions of the kids losing consciousness and me having to explain to the doctor that they are unconscious due to overexposure to Pine Sol.

I don't imagine that would go over well, so we start opening doors.

I text Azure, and she reminds me to turn it down to simmer after it reaches a boil.

Oh. I must've missed that part. Reason #776 that I should never have to use cleaning products.

So, I turn it down, and the smell abates a little... with the help of a pleasant breeze and 4 open doors.

By the end of the afternoon, I am so pleased with myself because I have disinfected the house AND the air that I voluntarily let K talk me in to beginning this crazy-A workout program that he did last year (with great results) in hopes of getting this body back into some sort of shape post-baby.

After the workout, we go to bed because I am pooped (cleaning and working out are not normally in my schedule these days).

I wake up yesterday morning, and guess what!

I'm sick.

I don't have The Virus, but I feel like crap, nonetheless.

I must've let something in while I was letting the Pine Sol out.

*Sigh.*
Such is the story of my life...

Early Morning Ramblings...

So, here I sit, at 5:21 a.m.

I think I may have posted that Sam often wakes up almost an hour or so -- to the minute -- before my alarm goes off, which totally starts my day with the unpleasant feeling of being gypped of an hour's sleep.

I dislike the feeling so much that I actually started setting my clock 30 minutes faster so I could maybe throw his evil baby mastermind off.

Guess what.

Sam now wakes up at 4 am instead of 4:30.

Sneaky kid.

Anyway, it's now 5:23 a.m., and I am awake because I just finished feeding Sam and my alarm will be going off for real in about 7 minutes.

While I'm trying to pass time until I feel like it's an appropriate time to get in the shower, let me tell you what happened to me last night.

I thought I was about to die.

K put Sam down kind of early, and by the time 11 pm rolled around, I was worn slap out. I briefly considered waking Sam up and feeding him, but that seemed like a much less appealing idea than actually just going to sleep myself.

So I did.

And Sam woke up around 1:30.... right about the time I hit a fat pocket of good sleep.

Nice.

I dragged myself out of bed, finally, and made a bottle for the screaming meanie. Seriously, it was one of the worst nights of babyhood I've ever experienced. Sam wasn't bad, of course, because he is the perfect child, but I was so exhausted that I could not stay awake, even though I was sitting up.

If we had a hidden camera in our den, the YouTube post would be hysterical because I was trying so hard to stay awake but kept failing miserably with some of those pretty impressive neck-snapping, bottle-propelling body jerks that happen when you fall asleep so suddenly that you lose all control of your limbs.

Sidenote: Watching people fall asleep TOTALLY cracks me up because usually, it's kind of a gradual thing where the person starts kind of slumping over until he/she reaches a point where the body might fall over, and that's when the jerk occurs, waking him/her back up temporarily. This was not the case with me last night. I was falling into deep sleep in about 1/10 of a second, so my torso kept pitching forward, simultaneously giving me whiplash and sending Sam's bottle flying across the room.

Anyway, Sam finally finished his bottle, and I put him down in the bassinet in the den. Seriously, I was so tired that I couldn't even make it back to the bedroom.

I had to lay down right. then.

Just about the time I rolled into Dream Land in my new Sleep 5.0, it happened.

The French doors leading from the breakfast area to the screened in porch blew open with a forceful gust -- only the deadbolt was latched, so they just really arched open into the house while sounding like the entire back wall of the kitchen was ripping apart.

Wind was whistling, the doors were blowing in and out, and I thought Armageddon had come and Jesus couldn't get the deadbolt unlatched.

I'm not kidding.

Ever been woken up from a dead sleep to what sounds like Attila the Hun attacking through your back door?

It's beyond terrifying.

In the split second that followed the stopping of my heart, I bolted up right, thinking 1,574,692 things all at once.

Can I get to Sam before whoever that is?

Why is my gun in the bedroom?

Holy cow! What do I do?

What if this person is bigger than me and I can't take him?

I think I'm going to pee on myself.

Can I get to my gun?

Is my gun loaded?

What if I shoot myself by accident?

How do I get Keith up?

Who am I kidding? Keith is going to sleep right through my slaughter.

I hope he remembers I don't want a funeral -- only a quick graveside and one mean party afterward...

"So," you're wondering, "what did you do?!?!"

I screamed, "OHMYGOSH!" and remained frozen in my just-woke-up-to-something-really-scary pose on the couch.

Good thing I'm not a superhero. My reflexes leave much to be desired.

After a few seconds, I finally -- like a moron -- ran to the doors. Now, if Roberto the Robber had really been trying to steal my impressive collection of laundry by the back door, me running to the doors probably wouldn't have been a good idea.

What was I going to do? Welcome him with open arms and remind him to wipe his feet before he came in?

Like I said... good thing I'm not a superhero.

Anyway, about this time, I realized that a small-scale hurricane was ripping through my backyard, and that Roberto the Robber was actually just Hurricane Roberto, blowing my doors in with one heck of a gust.

Apparently, we forgot to bolt the French doors back into place when we brought the Christmas tree in.

Sweet.

The thing is, you have to understand that someone breaking in is one of my irrational fears. We have an alarm system, and I have a gun, but my worst fear is just what happened -- that I will be so stupid with sleep that I won't be able to react.

I mean, you are reading the blog of a girl who used to lay in her bed when she was little and talk really loudly about going to rob other houses so that the (imagined) robbers lurking outside her open window would think that some really hard-core criminal -- much scarier than they ever had time to think about being -- was inside and that they should find another place to carry out their evil plans.

Thanks, Mom & Dad, for making me leave my windows open so that air could circulate for the attic fan. I'm sure that hearing a 6 year old girl's voice talking tough about knocking off the neighbors houses was probably a pretty-darn-effective burglary prevention system to scare off those ferocious criminals crouched outside our house.

Anyway, like I thought, K did not wake up, despite my rousing "OHMYGOSH!", and I had to resort to my really-angry-wife voice to rouse him from his sleep to get him to come lock the doors into place while I held them shut.

Meanwhile, my heart is beating, like, 42 million times per minute, and he comes stumbling out of the hallway, rubbing his eyes, mumbling stuff like, "Whasthebigdeal?" and "Whyyougotthedooropen?"

Um. Well. I thought that we were all about to perish at the hands of Bob the Burglar, thanks. Glad you're sleeping through the back of our house being bashed in.

We finally battened down the hatches and went back to bed.

As I crawled under the covers, I'm just chattering away about how my heart is racing and how I think my heart really may have stopped for like a full minute and do you think that could cause brain damage? and what if that had really been a burglar? would we have been able to tag team him?

K lay in bed silently until my chattering died down and said, "I don't know why you're so worked up. It was just the wind."

I seriously contemplated karate-chopping him in the throat.

Wow

Pardon the past two months of blog format craziness. I chose this morning to finally, actually, closely read the directions, and VOILA! Miraculously, my blog isn't hard to read any more.

My bad.

It's been a busy month around the Jennings house. I went back to work. Keith left for two weeks on a business trip, leaving me with three small children for the two weeks before we were to host Thanksgiving dinner.

I'll pause while you fill in the blanks with the mean things I thought but, of course, didn't say... :-)
Seriously, it wasn't too bad. I mean, other than spending two weeks sleeping upstairs in E's double bed sandwiched in between him and Laney -- as opposed to sleeping downstairs in my king-sized bed, still sandwiched in between them--, there really wasn't much difference... other than, obviously, K being gone.

I spent the weekend after his return in Charleston with my girl Melissa. Let me give you a little background on my friend M.

M and I met @ Clemson back in the day when we were both recruiting hostesses for our beloved Tigers.

Side note -- before you smirk and think that we were those kind of girls -- we became recruiting hostesses because of our love for football, not because of our love for big muscular men in tight pants. Seriously. I mean, those of you who know my dad know I wasn't allowed to date until I turned 30.

Nevermind the husband of almost 9 years and the three kids.

Anyway, I gave her a ride back to the football office (from where, I don't recall), and we struck up a conversation about one of our favorite topics -- Clemson football. (Shocking, I know.) During the course of the conversation, we discovered that we both *L.O.V.E.* Danny Ford.

It's almost like an obsession, but not quite.

And thus, our friendship was born -- kindred hearts bound by a slight obsession with a good ol' boy football coach who led our sweet Tigers to win the National Championship.

It's really a fairy tale-kind of start, I think.

Fast-forward more years than I care to admit have passed, and here we are today. M lives in Charleston, which is probably my favorite place on the planet. I look for any excuse to visit her... such as a much needed break after two straight weeks with the kids.

A few weeks ago, she messaged me about this upcoming party for a friend of hers... 30th birthday... fun people... like I'd need any kind of arm-twisting to get me on board for a weekend of fun times in my favorite city with one of my favorite friends.

The more I found out about the party, though, the more I knew I had to go. Turned out there was a theme involved... and wigs.

I love a good costume party.

I especially love a good funny costume party... like a redneck trailer trash 30th birthday party. Which, as it turned out, this one was.

My friend Lindsay loaned me her Amy Winehouse wig from Halloween, and I started putting together my costume.

Add one cut-up Tony Stewart racing shirt, one black tank top, one orange bra, one hot pair of jean shorts (otherwise known as jorts), one pair of tan pantyhose, one pair of black high heeled boots, a white leather patchwork purse, and one really hot, pink, flaming heart tattoo.

Throw on some blue eyeshadow, metallic blue liquid eyeliner, hot pink lipgloss, hoop earrings the size of a softball, and one big puffy white jacket, and you have the recipe for pictures that are going to embarrass my kids and husband for years to come.

Like these:

I know that, at some point, my kids are going to see these pictures and say, "Mom! What were you thinking?!?!"... at which time I will venture to explain that just because I am their mommy does not mean that I am not also a person with interests and friends and a life... which means that I have turned into my mother.

Now, I'm pretty sure Mary has never dressed up in any sort of racing shirt... or jean shorts... or sported a fake tat... but she did have black knee boots when I was growing up... (I know this because they were THE staple item in my Wonder Woman costume when I was little... that, a set of Wonder Woman underoos, and some tin foil...)

I find this disturbing.

I will say -- to her credit -- that she has pretty much let me talk her out of wearing any sort of seasonal sweater... but still...

Anyway, despite the fact that I am posting these pictures here and on my Facebook page, Melissa and I took great care to avoid any public appearances while in costume. Obviously, it wasn't quite so awkward once we arrived; the costumes were hysterical! (Think Hannah Montana wig cut into a mullet.)

The party was fabulous and absolutely hilarious (minus getting called out about driving a mini-van -- nothing says "Not a regular party goer" like pulling up to the bash in the MV), but on the way home, we were faced with a major delimma.

I was hungry.

After much debate, we decided to hit the drive through @ Taco Bell.

In line, we caused a little bit of a stir... Two hot redneck women belted into an even hotter mini-van, complete with a school magnet on the back... but this is truly what I found alarming.

The lady at the drive through window didn't bat an eye when we came through.

She didn't even give us a second glance, despite the fact that my wig was seriously almost as tall as I am.

Apparently, hotties like us are par for the course on the islands around Charleston...

Hi-ho, Hi-ho... It's Back to Work I Go....

which means blog postings will take for-flippin'-ever to finish. :-)

First, I am sooooo glad that this was a short week because I am soooo tired. My kids -- my school children, not my biological ones -- were so excited to see me, which makes what I do worthwhile... but still... a day full of very active teenagers followed by an evening of very active children makes me one tired and cranky SuperMom.

Speaking of Super Moms, I just got the capes and masks I ordered for the kids for Christmas, and they are freakin' hilarious. Can't wait to let them loose in the yard wearing nothing but their capes, masks, and under-roos... the neighbors will be totally alarmed...

Anyway... there are some adjustments to be made. First, I have to get up at the first hint of the butt crack of dawn (pardon the strong imagery there, but really -- it is earlier than I ever imagined I would voluntarily get up unless I was going somewhere fabulous...). I mean, the option has always been there for me to get up that early, but there just didn't seem to be a point in it when I could get another hour's sleep... until now.

Sam, who already pretty much sleeps through the night (from around 11 pm to 6 am... yes, thank you, he is the perfect child...), decided after my first day back on Wednesday that he'd start waking up at crazy hours of the night and keeping me up until literally minutes before my alarm was set to go off.

There's not really any feeling in the world like finally getting your child to sleep after a fun-filled two hours of nursing and baby talk only to realize that it is 5:29 AM... and you get up at 5:30 AM.

Moments like those are the reasons curse words were invented.

Second, I am trying to figure out this nursing thing. Gentlemen readers, please excuse, but this really is a conundrum. (I love that word, by the way.)

Ethan and Laney were both born in the spring, so I didn't go back to school until the following year... and by then, they were both on formula. I nursed Ethan for 6 weeks before getting sick with a vicious case of poison oak that required really strong steroids. Laney just wasn't having any of that nursing business, period. The Princess was much too impatient to wait for her meals to be delivered naturally; she preferred the bottle from the get-go.

Sam, of course, being the perfect child, is all about his mom, and so we're giving this nursing thing another shot.

So far, he has done incredibly well, but I've never had to actually pump at school... which I have to do now... which totally freaks me out, as the idea of that probably does most of you all.

The thing is, my room is practically a palace, so I don't have to go hide in the faculty bathroom or lock myself in the janitor's closet, like a lot of my friends have had to do... but still... there's something quite disconcerting about hooking yourself up to a machine in the middle of your classroom.

There are so many various and embarrassing options as to how this could turn out.
1 - Someone, like a co-worker, could let himself/herself in to get something out of my room. Now, I lock my door and cover all the windows (a little paranoid), but if you need a stapler, and you know I have a stapler, you're probably going to try to come in and get it. It's not like I want to post a big ol' sign that says "PUMPING!!! ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!" I mean, I do teach teenagers... No sense in asking for trouble.
2 - Someone, like one of my students, could try to get the door unlocked... I am a nazi about not letting people leaving things in my room, but on occasion, I have a soft moment and will let a kid leave books or a bag in my room. It would totally be my luck that one of those kids would have a desperate emergency that required retrieving possessions from my room while I'm exposed.
3 - The construction workers outside could somehow be able to see through the closed blinds and be getting a daily peep show. We have major construction going on at our school, and my room is right at the front corner of the building... which is right where one of the major building sites begins. Nothing says "Thanks for building our new addition!" like a full frontal flash...

A dozen other possibilities run through my brain on a daily basis as I sit there, trying to think about anything but whether or not there are hidden cameras in my room broadcasting this to the far corners of the earth....

Another adjustment is the sheer amount of stuff I have to do/have/plan in order to get through the day and still have any shred of sanity left.

I have to make sure lunches are made and coffee is set... clothes are laid out and bags are packed... cell is charged and plan is set for the next day....

There's a lot to think about...

and I am ADD...

meaning I foul things up on a daily basis.

So far, I've sent Ethan to school with a lunch that did not have an ice-pack in it... which sent him over his uptight, OCD edge... forgotten to set the coffee for K... and left my pump stuff @ home on the counter... which makes adjustment #2 very hard to take care of.

I'm sure that, at some point, this will get easier, like if I had a full-time maid, nanny, and personal assistant...

Boo. Hiss.

I have to go back to work tomorrow, and I am protesting.

You know, three kids really hasn't been so bad so far.

Now, there have been moments... like the week after we came home from the hospital and went to pick up Ethan at school... I had a horrible migraine-like headache, so my MIL (that'd be mother-in-law) was driving. About five minutes from school, Sam started crying... which made my head start ripping apart at the seams... and then Laney started crying... which made the skin peel off my face... and then Laney threw up because she got so upset -- about nothing serious, may I point out, because she just didn't want to put her drink in her cupholder... WHAT?!?! -- which made my gag reflex kick into super-turbo-overdrive.

On top of all of that, we still had to sit in line for 20 minutes with two screaming kids (one which reeked of barely digested Chick-Fil-A).

That was possibly one of the worst moments of my life.

Anyway, so far it has been relatively peaceful. Sam is growing so fast -- I can hardly believe he'll be five weeks old tomorrow!

Thankfully, he hasn't lost his sweet, laid back temperament yet... unlike his sister, who is, at this moment, flipping out -- full-on screaming and crying -- because it's not time for Dora yet.

Like I can help that.

Anyway, Laney and Ethan have been in rare form lately, and I'm beginning to wonder if, somehow, their bizarre behavior is not because we're their parents.

Now, some behavior, I will not take responsibility for. This morning, for example, at 7:45 a.m., Laney and I were driving back from dropping E off at school, and Laney starts chanting like Rainman that she wants to moo.

This is all my dad.

It seems that when my dad took Ethan to school, they would drive by the big cow fields (like there aren't fifty of those around our house). Toad would roll down the windows, so Ethan could hang his head out and yell, "MOOOOO!!!" at the cows.

When we'd pass the big fields on our way to or from anywhere, E would clamor about wanting to moo, and so finally, I caved... and it was hilarious!

Cows make me laugh anyway because they're kind of wall-eyed and bumbly... but their reaction to this big-headed kid hanging out the window of my MV yelling "MMMOOOOO!!!!" at the top of his lungs was so funny. They definitely didn't know what to think and were extremely concerned.

I imagine those cows on the California cheese commercials talking...

Since then, the kids -- both Ethan and Laney -- are obsessed with mooing... so much so that every time we get in the car, one of them mentions going to moo.

Now, we've probably single-handedly reduced the milk production around here by 50% -- the cows look absolutely disturbed and probably don't give any milk.

Anyway, here we are @ 7:45 a.m., and Laney is hanging out the window like a happy dog, hair unbrushed and wearing only a summer pajama shirt and pull-up because she changed her clothes in the middle of the night, yelling "MOOOOOO! MMMOOOOO!!!" at the top of her lungs.

I take no responsibility for teaching them that.

On the other hand, some things are my fault, like their incredible silliness, which I encourage because it makes me laugh.

Take a gander at these pictures:

These are Ethan & Laney's sketch-o Halloween costumes. This year, they are going as Velma and Freddy of Scooby Doo fame while Emma and Reece, their beloved cousins are dressing up as Daphne and Scooby. Sam, because no one makes Scrappy Doo or Shaggy costumes for babies, is going as the proverbial monster that must be apprehended.

Now, I knew it would be funny, but I had no idea how funny. Laney (aside from the dirty face) actually kind of looks like Velma, and while Ethan doesn't look anything like Freddy, the wig in itself is enough to crack me up for days.

I can't wait to see the whole gang together!

(And yes -- the MV is going to be the Mystery Machine... well, at least a modern version without the crazy paint job BUT including a nice ding on the side from the mailbox that I hit this summer. :-))

When I dress them up like this and laugh, I can't help but think they may be the way they are because of my distorted sense of humor...

The First Step...

I hear, is admitting that you have a problem.

My name is Amy, and I am a Facebooker.

Holy cow. I don't think I've ever been so addicted to anything besides that chocolate cake that my girl Kelley brought last week.

I didn't even have a FB account until this summer. After a dinner with my peeps Tanya (who lives in one of those states with lots of tornadoes) and Laura (who lives here with me -- well, not in my house, but in the area) and I decided that we were going to do a better job of keeping in touch.

They both had FB pages at the time, while I did not.

I tried to get in on the MySpace thing, but I never really got it up and going... too much work for me.

Sidenote to panic attack: The last time I got on my MySpace page, my cousin Lindsey (who is the apple of my eye) tried to help me find a background to suit. Since I l.o.v.e. shoes, I thought I'd find one with cute shoes.... and I did -- a leg/foot in a red stiletto on a black & white background -- very chic....

Or at least, I thought it was... until I posted it to my page and realized it was more Hooker-in-Red-Stilettos than I-Love-My-Red-Stilettos. When it posted, the little bitty thumbnail picture turned out to be a large picture of a lady's leg encased in fishnet stockings, standing in what appeared to be a very sassy pose in front of a man's pants legs.

About the time that I recovered from my shock and tried to delete it, the connection was lost, and I didn't get to take it down.

When I started this post, I remembered that, so I tried to log on. My school kids use MySpace all the time, and the last thing I need is for them to think their English teacher is some kind of dominatrix.

The problem started when I pulled up my page -- and the background was gone.

Now, that means one of two things:
1 -- I took the background off.
2 -- I have two MySpace pages, and I can only remember the log in to one.

I'm thinking it may be the latter because I am prone to forgetting log in info and then creating another account.

This makes me panic because you hear horror stories about companies and employers searching MySpace for their employees. Now, there's nothing on my page, but still... it's not like I want my students or co-workers or -- Heaven forbid -- my principal or superintendent to pull up my page and see that.

ANYWAY -- back to Facebook.

So, Laura and Tanya tell me I need to get a FB page, and I oblige. At first, because I didn't know how it worked, I wasn't too obsessed.

I checked it pretty much every day and doodled around here and there with games, but it all exploded when I got home from the hospital on maternity leave.

I think it's because I have had very little contact with adults other than K or my parents -- but I'm not really sure.

I also don't think it helped that we moved the computer downstairs... so now, while K watches 74 hours straight of TV, I can Facebook for 74 straight hours as well... and again when he goes to work... and again when the kids are napping... and again while dinner is cooking....

K, for the record, is annoyed. He has lodged minor complaints like, "Do you think you can get off Facebook long enough to help me load the dishwasher?"

No. Probably not. I might miss a chat.

To be fair, my contribution to household chores has significantly decreased since my obsession with Facebook began... not that my contribution was great, anyway.

I hate housework.

With a passion.

But still -- I don't see much difference between my obsession with Facebook and his obsession with TV... and movies he's already seen 97 times... or sleep.

I think we may have to sell our worldly possessions and become Amish in order to settle this fairly.

So, as it stands, I am addicted to just about everything. Gaming. Chatting. Messaging. So much so that I'm starting to recruit people to join FB just so I can talk to them.

Sigh.

I think it might be time for me to go back to school.

Excuses & Embarrassment

Well, I was going for a bigger record than 5 days, but then things started getting crazy...

On Monday, Clemson fired our head coach, Tommy Bowden, right about the time I started working on my blog. Needless to say, I totally got sidetracked and didn't make it past logging in.

On Tuesday, I went shopping with Mary, Laney, and Sam. By the time we got back and picked up Ethan from school, it was time to get ready for soccer. By the time that was over and the kids were in bed, I wasn't very coherent.

On Wednesday, Mary and I took Sam and Laney shopping again in order to finish picking up what I didn't get on Tuesday. Shopping with Mom & 2 kids sometimes takes longer than anticipated.

So here it is. Thursday. Let me tell you how my morning has started.

First, my house looks like one of those you see on "Clean House" or another of those intervention-type shows. After two days of shopping -- which involved carrying Sam in one of those baby-backpack type things and managing Laney the Diva--, I didn't feel like doing much... so I didn't. Last night, I decided that today would be cleaning day.

I intended for it to start early, but I fell asleep on the couch last night around 9:30. K apparently fell asleep shortly thereafter because at 3:30 this morning, Sam woke both of us up... and we were still on the couches.

K went to bed. I, having gotten 6 hours of sleep, was wide awake.

For the record, there's not much going on here at that time of night/morning.

So...I research nursery bedding (as we still haven't done anything to Sam's nursery) until my eyes cross and finally fall asleep somewhere around 5 am... only to have the cursed alarm clock go off at 5:30.

Have I mentioned that the alarm clock is on my side of the bed? That means I have to turn it off because nothing wakes up Narcalepto, my insanely sleep-talented husband.

About that time, Laney starts bellowing from the top of the stairs. She -- after a year of climbing up and down the stairs just fine -- picks this morning to develop a crippling fear of coming downstairs by herself.

BUT -- she fully intends to have someone come get her and bring her downstairs to get in our bed.

Any guesses who that someone might be?

I'll give you a hint: It was not Narcalepto.

Once we finally get settled, she snuggles up next to me and falls asleep (which totally makes me forget that she is a voracious beast because she is so precious when she sleeps)...right about the time I realize my arm is pinned underneath her.

I have no other choice but to try to fall asleep before my arm does because I know better than to risk awakening the sleeping goblin unless I want to wake the rest of the house as well.

I drift off to sleep, my sweet girl in my arms, only to wake up approximately 2.5 seconds later to the sound of the alarm, signaling time to begin the morning mission of ejecting Narcalepto from the bed.

I am only semi-conscious at this point, so I don't know if I said the nasty things running through my head or just thought them.

To make a long story a little shorter, I realize moments later that I had done nothing to get ready for today... so I had to squeeze last night's prep into this morning's lack of time and patience. After getting Ethan up, I proceed to break out my Super-Mom cape and find suitable clothes, make breakfast & lunch & coffee, sign papers, accomplish homework tasks, pack bags, brush hair & teeth, corral younger siblings, and get into the car.

Proud of myself, I glance at the clock as I pull out of the driveway to take E to school... and realize we may be late.

Unless I engage the turbo-boosters.

So I floor it.

The MV roars off into the sunrise as I try to dodge squirrels and morning walkers, and I think we may have made it as we careen into the school parking lot on two wheels, barely missing the crossing guard.

When we pull up to the drop-off area, other kids are getting out of their cars and going in... but the doors are closed and there are no adults there to greet them.

Ethan, the ever-eager beaver, hops out of the car and takes off for the door right about the time my inner-honor student kicks in, and I start to panic.

Should I walk him in? Is he going to get in trouble? Oh my gosh -- is he late or not?!?!

Still, other kids are skipping in with no parents, but Ethan is little. He's in kindergarten. What if he gets lost? Should I go in, just to make sure he's ok?

I cruise slowly by the front door, craning my neck to see if he's crying in the office or something while simultaneously holding up traffic. Finally, my inner-honor student wins, and I pull into a parking space to go check on him. I know he's already gone to class, but I just have to make sure I don't need to sign him in or something.

It is at this moment that I realize being late is only the beginning of my problems.

1-- I let Laney pick out her own clothes because we weren't going to be getting out of the car -- or so I thought. I can't, of course, leave her in the car while I run into the school. Not because I am responsible but because she follows directions about as well as the tree in our backyard, and I have no doubt that she would wait until I got in the school to let herself out of the van and go play in traffic.

I say all of that to say that Laney is wearing a long-sleeved, multi-colored, striped, velour shirt embellished with a butterfly. The top itself is cute, but when paired with plaid shorts that are too small so her belly hangs out over the top and scuffed white tennis shoes with no socks -- not to mention her CRAZY morning hair-- the look is not flattering.

2 -- Sam's blanket does not match his outfit. (While not a big deal to most, please remember that I am a little OCD about things matching or at least complementing... and the outfit/blanket faux pas is bad -- navy on the outfit while there's black on the blanket -- huge problem for me. I am president of the Black and Navy Do Not Go Together club.)

3 -- I have not brushed my teeth.

4 -- I have a ball cap jammed on top of my unbrushed hair...which I wore curly yesterday... which translates to a rat's nest today.

5 -- (This is by far the worst.)
I am wearing a Tiger Town Tavern tshirt.
Leftover from my 21st birthday.
Which was 10 years ago.

Now, I love this tshirt. It is one of the most comfortable items of clothing that I own. It is not, however, something I wear out in public. First, it is ragged. Second, it has holes. Third, the back is decorated with a large tiger lounging in an even bigger beer mug framed by the words "21st BIRTHDAY! I'M LEGAL!!!"

This is not the way I want to present myself to the office staff at my son's school.

I have no choice, however, because I am paranoid that he won't be admitted to school because we were late.

I take a deep (unbrushed teeth) breath and get out of the van. After I unbuckle Sam, who is unable to defend himself in light of the outfit/blanket fashion disaster, I get Laney the Ultimate Fashion Victim out of the car and start across the parking lot.

I'm pretty sure the other parents were staring, pointing, and taking pictures with their cell phones to forward to their friends.

I am mortified.

While I have relaxed my personal appearance standards since becoming a mom, I am not a sloth, and I do not make public appearances while inappropriately groomed. I brush my teeth. I at least pull my hair up in a casual-yet-somewhat-chic bun or ponytail. I don't put on full make-up, but I at least throw on some clear gloss and powder.

And I don't wear shirts with big beer mugs on them to any sort of school function.

Not only that, but my children look like I just picked them up from the homeless shelter... which is where I probably left them while I went out trolling bars and picking up ratty tshirts.

The walk across the parking lot is bad enough. I hope that I can just duck in and duck out without garnering any more attention, but of course, that would be too easy.

And, so, it gets worse.

The first set of doors of the school lead into a small foyer, where there are a second set of doors and a door to the office. The second set of doors stays locked during the school hours, so all visitors really have to go to the front office.... meaning there are about 10 people in the front office at this point.

We walk in, and all of them -- including the kids -- turn around and stare.

I'm not kidding.

After waiting in line for what seems like hours, it is my turn to talk to the staff.

I can almost see the fright on their faces.

I start explaining why I am there and, in typical Amy fashion, become totally flustered because a) I realize I sound crazy and b) I know that I -- as well as my kids -- look crazy... and the women behind the counter are looking at me like they are ready to call the police while using the tones of voice that crisis negotiators use to keep crazy hostage-takers from going over the edge.

I try to explain that I dropped Ethan off in the drop-off zone right around 7:50 and watched him walk into the school, only to realize I might need to sign him in... but I don't see him, so I'm assuming that he's made it into school...

And I realize that I sound like I pushed him out of the car while driving by but came back to make sure he actually went into school instead of playing hooky to burn down a local barn or something.

The secretary gives the school nurse a look, and they both start looking through their sign-in sheets and pass booklets, saying they don't think they signed him in.

I know they didn't sign him in because he went on into the school; I just want to know if I need to sign him in anyway.

So I start trying to re-explain, which only makes matters worse, and Laney is standing there, making loud sucking noises on her pacifier (which I didn't take away from her before we left because she'd just gotten up), looking like the poster child for a charity case next to her me, her mother, who looks like an illustration out of the Bad Mom manual that DSS gives out... and finally I just stop talking.

I realize that people in the office are looking at Laney and Sam and thinking, "It's not their fault, bless them. Look at their mama!" (In my head, I hear them saying this in Mary's voice because Mary has much sympathy and compassion for disadvantaged children and much disdain for lazy, good-for-nothing parents... and I'm pretty sure these people think we fall into these categories.)

I want to say, "Look. I wasn't planning on getting out of the car. I dressed in ratty clothes because I'm going home to clean house. My kids are not homeless or disadvantaged. I am a clothes-nazi, and they've never made public appearances before today in mismatched clothes or with unbrushed hair. I don't drink excessively in college bars while my kids sit outside in the car. I am a teacher, with a college education, on maternity leave because I just had my third child in 5 years because I am Fertile Myrtle, and I've been up all hours of the night because I couldn't sleep, and I am not irresponsible or a bad parent or a social derelict! I'm just having a bad morning!"

Right before I open my mouth to begin my tirade, I realize that saying all of this will only make me look more guilty... and so finally, with the school nurse looking at me with concern from behind the counter, I just mumble my thanks, back out of the office (so as not to give anyone behind the counter a full view of the Tiger in a Beer Mug graphic), and practically run to the car, Sam and Laney tow, cheeks aflame.

I'm not sure, but I'm thinking I won't be asked to be a class mom this year...

Things I Am Not Prepared to Deal With...

There are some things for which one can find little-to-no guidance in the parenting books.

Ethan, being the astute age of 5, is starting to notice and/or comment on sometimes funny, sometimes awkward things that catch us off guard.

I started noticing this around the time that Pop died.

I wasn't sure what, if anything, Ethan would understand or remember. As it turns out, he remembers a lot, and in the months that followed, he would ask questions or make comments about memories of Pop, the wake, or the funeral.

As it happens, I don't have great in-the-moment reflexes, so I'd start crying (because 1) that seems to be the one emotional reaction I really cannot control and 2) I really miss my Pop), and then K would have to explain all kinds of fun stuff about why Mommy acts like a moron.

I hoped he would outgrow this stage -- and he has stopped asking about Pop -- but now it manifests in different ways... like last night at bath time:

"Daddy, I think there's a hole in my hiney. I'm pretty sure that's where poop comes from."

Correct -- Yes.
Awkward -- Um hmm.

Thank goodness he addressed this one to K.

Sometimes, though, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing... like this morning.

Ethan and Laney got up around 6:30 (see yesterday's post for important background). Sam woke up around the same time... which meant that I got up, too, while K slept.

Impressive talent, I know. I think he's part sloth because he's able to sleep for 47 straight hours.

Finally, after much breakfasting, cartooning, and talking, K joined us in the den.

Ethan: "Daddy, why don't you get up with the rest of us?"

K: (Momentary pause.)

E: (Staring at Daddy expectantly, waiting for an answer.)

K: (Finally) Because I'm lazy.

I, meanwhile, tried not to laugh out loud but wasn't terribly successful. I ended up having to fake a coughing fit.

The thing is, I need warning. I have what I call "Inappropriate Response Syndrome," meaning I usually react in the exact opposite way that I should... like when K practically dislocated his knee-cap on the foot board of the bed last week.

He doubled over in pain while I, again, tried to disguise my laughter as a coughing fit.

Didn't work.

I should mention that it absolutely infuriates K when my IRS shows up when he hurts himself. Two of the maybe three times I saw K lose his temper before we got married involved me laughing at the wrong time... once when he whacked his head on a nail at a public picnic shelter and once when he spilled an entire bowl of salsa in his lap at a restaurant.

I should also mention that the more angry he gets, the harder I laugh.

I really do try to stop, but it's like laughing in church or at a funeral. I just cannot control it.

This got me in a heap of trouble growing up... especially in church or when I got in trouble. Something -- usually absurd, like Fanny J. Crosby's name in the hymnal or the way my dad's eyebrow hair sometimes grows over his glasses-- would strike me as hysterical, and the laughter would just have to come out.

I thought maybe I would grow out of it, but it really seems to be getting worse and extending to other areas, such as saying things that I shouldn't... like telling Ethan to "clobber that kid next time he grabs your jersey."

I, uh, don't like for people to pick on Ethan. It makes me angry.

You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

(Sorry. I couldn't resist. I loved The Incredible Hulk when I was growing.)

Anyway, I'm really not that scary when I'm angry, but I do have a little trouble controlling what I say -- or sometimes even coming up with something to say -- if I'm caught off guard. I think Laney may have inherited this from me because she, too, doesn't respond appropriately when angry or upset or startled.

Me: "Laney, would you rather eat your dinner or go to bed?"

Laney: "Go to bed."

Who chooses that option?

Me: "Laney, if you don't put these clothes on right now, I'm going to pop your hiney!"

Laney: "Pop me."

Hello?!?!? No one is supposed to ask for that!

Sigh. It's going to be a long rest of my life...