Tents, Rainstorms, and Dance Parties

There is a 6'x5' dinosaur tent in the middle of our living room that has been there for 3 straight weeks. To make room for the tent, our coffee table is pushed haphazardly against one wall and you have to shimmy sideways between the tent and the TV stand to get through the living room to the kitchen. All because one day Skeeter looked at me with excitement in his eyes and said, "We should build a tent in here and camp out!" I responded with, "Uhhh...no. You can't build a tent in the living room." Everyone knows responsible adults don't do things like that. I started to walk away and then an epiphany hit me like a freight train.

WHAT responsible adults? Whose rule is this!? As the house payment maker, bill payer, cooker, cleaner, and otherwise designated "responsible adult" of this household, who says we can't build a tent inside? So we did.

After my, "I'm the adult here and I can do what I want!" epiphany, we've done a lot of silly, crazy, downright childish things. And it has been AWESOME. 

First, we put both our sleeping bags and every single pillow we own inside the tent. And then we slept in the tent for 3 straight nights in a row...just 'cuz we could. We even moved our alarm clock with nature sounds to the living room so we really felt like we were camping out. 

A few days later Skeeter and I were hurrying to the trash can to try to take the trash out before the impending storm hit when the bottom fell out. We went from dry to SOAKED in a matter of seconds. 

We stood there shocked for a few seconds and then we started running up and down the street dancing like absolute fools. Why? Because we could. That's why. 

Sure, our neighbors think we are weirdos, but we don't care. We danced and played in the rain for a good half hour before we wrapped up our adventure by jumping in the pool fully clothed. BOOM. Take that adulthood!

Our almost daily un-adult ritual is having dance parties. Dance parties happen randomly at our house whenever a good song comes on and they feature all of our absolute worst dance moves. No good dancing allowed! Featured moves include: 

"The Carlton"

"The Napoleon"

Ottis's version of "The Chicken Dance"

And general foolishness...

Anytime life is starting to get you down, come on over and practice being a kid with us. After all, the best part of being a grown up is having the right to act like a kid sometimes!

Not Pei Wei People

"PEE WEE! You brought us to PEE WEE!?" Mom and I stared at Pei Wei in horror as my dad pulled into the closest available spot and parked. "It's Pei Wei, and yes, I told you girls I'd take you to lunch." Declared my dad proudly. Mom and I glanced anxiously at Charlie and Ella sitting in the backseat. "Sure dad, this will be great. Pei Wei is totally kid friendly." 

It was the middle of lunchtime rush and the place was packed. The moment we walked in the door Charlie started actin' a fool. Naturally the line was 30 people deep and 29 of the 30 turned around to stare at us (the other person was on the phone and merely gave us an annoyed glance). As the line progressed Charlie's behavior descended from loud yelling to uncontrolled wailing. 

It seemed like an eternity as the line inched forward like a herd of turtles marching through peanut butter. FINALLY we ordered and were seated. I shamefully had to ask the seating hostess for not one, but TWO highchairs, which she then had to drag across the entire restaurant. 

Finally, the five of us were wedged happily into a corner table. That's when I noticed we were seated next to my former youth pastor and his wife and daughter! They were their celebrating their daughter's 17th birthday. We took a moment to catch up (it's been a looooong time since I was in youth group) and then sat back down to eat. Charlie quietly munched on a piece of chicken while I fed Ella a bite of baby food. And for about 47 seconds it seemed like all was right with the world.

"The Incident" happened just as I took my first bite of sweet and sour chicken. What I can only describe as a TIDAL WAVE of vomit came blowing out of Ella's mouth. A sea of partially digested milk and baby food rolled down her chest, over the edge of her high chair, down her legs, and splattered onto the floor below. I have literally never seen a baby vomit so much liquid. Linda Blair would have been proud.

As soon as the last gallon of vomit rolled out Ella began shrieking uncontrollably as (once again) everyone turned to stare at us...only this time our screamfest was accompanied by the rapidly spreading and unmistakable smell of puke. Other diners were like: 

Mom looked at me horrified and said, "THE SMELL!"

If you've ever eaten at a Pei Wei, you know that the tables are packed in extremely tightly. So our puke smell is your puke smell. 

I snatched Ella (still screaming) out of her highchair as I took the fork away from Charlie so he wouldn't accidentally give himself a tonsillectomy while no one was looking. I dragged the puke covered princess to the bathroom as mom ran to find the seating hostess and begged her for towels, cleaner, bleach, Lysol spray... a new identity and a ticket to a foreign country where no one would recognize her as the inappropriate granny who dragged an infant to Pei Wei, etc.

Finally, mom met me in the bathroom to calm the stinky (and now hungry again) Ella. Mom volunteered to take Ella straight to the car and departed out the side door at an impressibly swift pace. I walked back to the table trying to look apologetic while also avoiding eye contact. 

I slinked into my seat expecting dad and Charlie to be mortified and instead they were just chillin', eating their lunches like Pukefest 2015 had not just occurred at our table. Dad started talking politics while Charlie snatched food from mom's (now abandoned) plate. 

Since the "Pee Wee Incident," we now have a list of questions we answer before deciding to eat at any restaurant with the babies: 

1. Are the highchairs already sticky?

2. Is there a play place?

3. Does the hygiene of the person taking your order look questionable?

4. Will someone be asking "Do you want fries with that?"

5. Do you need to wipe down the table both before and after you eat? 

If the answer to any of these questions is "No" we shouldn't be eating there. We are Burger King people. We are NOT Pei Wei people. 

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

Finally, he was big enough that he asked if he could make his own bedtime snack "without any help!" I was thrilled...for about 45 seconds, until I heard the word every parent dreads, "WHOOPS!" 

I walked into the kitchen to see he had gotten a MIXING BOWL of cereal and filled it with half a gallon of milk. Our kitchen and surrounding area is completely carpet-free except for one small rug...which he managed to nail perfectly. 

This is why we can't have nice things.

I almost asked for a fancy bath salt and candle set for Christmas this year...and then I started thinking and realized I couldn't remember the last time I actually took a relaxing bath...or even went to the bathroom alone. 

Somehow, 30 second bathroom breaks are always interrupted by Skeeter informing me that he is "absolutely starving!" Or informing me that, even though I'd been gone less than 60 seconds, he "misses me." And yes, I have tried locking the bathroom door. That ends like this:

(actual photo)

And this is why we can't have nice things. 

I love the Bumbo Seat. It is very handy! But what is the deal with the Bumbo Seat making kids poop like an upside down volcano!? Is it because it's toilet shaped? Is it so comfy babies just get REALLY relaxed? I don't know, but nearly every use of our Bumbo Seat ends in tragedy. There have been several "Bumbo incidents" where I couldn't decide if we should try to clean it up, or just burn the house down, collect the insurance money, and start from scratch. 

(Despite appearances, yes, there IS a diaper under there! Like it did any good.)

And this is why we can't have nice things.

This past summer I purchased new, beautiful sheer curtains! I was so excited to put them up. Whilst standing on a ladder hanging one set of curtains, I heard Skeeter bouncing up and down stairs singing songs from Frozen. Naturally I thought nothing of it. As I moved to the next window to try to hang the next set of curtains I realized they were missing! Only to discover Skeeter was running up and down the stairs in them "Elsa style," wearing my new curtains while singing "Let It Go."

And this is why we can't have nice things. 

Have you ever had to call the Fire Department to come free a kid from exercise equipment? Luckily, I haven't either. But it was looking likely the day I found Skeeter "getting in a 'lil exercise" on my exercise bike. Because kids manage to get stuck in EVERYTHING, he'd somehow wedged his foot entirely through one pedal and gotten it stuck. We had to take one of the pedals off to get his leg free. 

And this is why we can't have nice things. 

For ages now, I have been pureeing vegetables and sneaking them into our food. Spaghettio's for dinner? Try Spaghettio's and a full serving of (pureed, sneaked in) vegetables! Unfortunately, Skeeter caught me sneaking veggies into his food one day and was absolutely furious. 

Now he has a bit of a trust issue regarding "possible veggie contamination" with his food. Not long after the original discovery he was eating a bag of snack-sized Doritos. He took a bite out of the first chip, then looked at me suspiciously and said, "This tastes like broccoli!" Then he spit the chip out like it was poison...covering himself and our kitchen table with spitty Dorito. (There were OBVIOUSLY no veggies in the Doritos bag. I'm good, but I'm not THAT good). 

And this is why we can't have nice things. 

The Diaper Genie. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. It has been a life saver for my mom. Before the Diaper Genie she was making daily "walks of shame" out to the outside trashcan with poopie diapers, but no more! The Diaper Genie has one giant, long, air-tight trashbag. When you put a diaper in it gets sucked down into the trash bag and then it seals back up, so you can't see or smell the diaper. When you change the Diaper Genie trash bag it is like one giant poop sausage. 

But it is airtight! So you never have to touch or smell the diapers again!...unless you live with this cute little disaster:

This guy likes to take small objects, usually extremely important ones, and toss them into the Diaper Genie. What does this mean you ask? When the object, like MY CAR KEYS, gets put into the Genie, they circle down and become part of the poop sausage. So the only way to get them out is to pull out the entire trash bag and...wait for it...cut it open. This is an AIRTIGHT BAG OF OLD POOP DIAPERS. While it is completely scent free sealed, as soon as you slice it open it releases a smell that can only be akin to one of the following things:

1. 1,000 rotting corpses.

2. A skunk family reunion.

3. An overturned garbage truck, in New York City, during a 110 degree heat wave.

Items Most Likely to be fished from the Diaper Genie:

Keys

Lipgloss

Watch

Ring

One of his shoes

Any toy that will fit

And this is why we can't have nice things. 

BUT, if you asked any one of us if we would give up life with these kids, the answer would be "No!" Yes, they are messy and stinky, but they are our whole world. Our wanted, loved, prayed-for, cared-for, completely adorable, beautiful little monsters.

Our Little Starfish

You have probably heard The Starfish Story:

While you can't save every starfish in the world, you can change the world of one starfish.

Some people don't foster parent because, what difference does taking one or two kids in really matter when there are THOUSANDS that need homes? You're right. But...

It made a difference to this one.

It made a difference to this one. 

It made a difference to this one. 

To all the grandparents who are raising their grandchildren, to all of the foster parents, to all of the parents who adopt a child...you make such a difference to your little starfish. 

McFail

"I need a boy's happy meal with chicken nuggets and apples please. Sprite to drink!"
"Ma'am, we don't serve lunch until 10:30am." The McDonald's employee haughtily replied. I glanced at the dashboard clock...it was 10:28am.
"Um, okay. But I'm the only car in the drive thru...so...I guess I'll just circle around the building?"
She didn't respond. Lovely.

So I drove a slow circle around the building and ended up in the exact same spot.

"Hi. Me again. Boy's chicken nugget happy meal with a Sprite please." I said unenthusiastically. "Ma'am. Lunch isn't ready yet."
"Ooookay. Here's the thing, my kid's school serves lunch at 10:45. I agree that that is ridiculously early. More of a "brunch" really. Nevertheless, it is now 10:31 and I have a six year old waiting for me to bring nuggets." I babbled.
She sighed loud enough that I could hear it through the crappy drive thru speaker and then said, "You'll have to come inside and wait ma'am."

So help me. I circled McDonald's, AGAIN, and parked. In the 20 seconds it took me to walk from the car to the counter inside, a man came up front and changed the menu sign from breakfast to lunch (it turns with a hand crank, in case you're curious).

Praise the Lord! "Hi, I need a boy's chicken nugget happy meal with a Sprite please." 

"No problem ma'am! Can I get anything else for you?" 

Hungry at this point, I said, "Yes actually. Just a 10 piece order of nuggets for me." I got my debit card out, ready to swipe. 

"You should really get the 20 piece." 

"Sorry?" I asked, confused. 

"You should really get the 20 piece. It's only $1.00 more and you get 10 extra nuggets." 

"Oh, thanks I'm fine with 10." I put my debit card up to the swiper and stared at him expectantly. 

"But ma'am, the 20 piece is such a good deal. And then you'll have TWENTY nuggets! It wouldn't hurt you to eat 20 nuggets."

Er...was that a compliment? I feel like it was a Napoleon Dynamite style compliment. 

I checked my phone, 10:38. "Nope. Thanks. I really just need the 10 piece and the happy meal. Really!"

"Okay, if you're sure."

Finally, he gave me my total and I swiped my card. I've never been so thrilled to pay for something IN. MY. LIFE.

As soon as it was ready I grabbed the food and ran to the car. I flew to school and walked into the front office with my head held high. Look at me, a woman who has it all together. Cute shirt on. Cute hair. Lunch for her kid. And I'd made it to school by 10:44. #rockingatlife 

After checking in I walked to the cafeteria and watched as Skeeter lit up. He looked kind of smug as he asked to his class to clear a space on the bench for me. I sat beside him and began unpacking his nuggets and apples.

"Nuggets huh?" Said the cute little girl across the table from us.

"Yes, I usually bring him lunch on Fridays because it is my day off of work." I smiled at her. 

She began to unpack HER lunch. The first container held...a salad. Container number two held carrot sticks and a small cup of homemade greek yogurt dip. Container number three held literally less than a tablespoon of shredded cheese which she sprinkled on her salad with a flourish. As she opened the final container she exclaimed, "Oh goody! Broccoli!" and started biting the raw broccoli with excitement. I looked at Skeeter eating his nuggets and then back to her. 

Suddenly the nuggets and apples didn't look like good parenting at all. Suddenly the happy meal I'd worked so hard for looked like failure and regret! Suddenly I realized what a horrible person I was! 

How on earth did this kid's mom get her to eat salad and carrot sticks?!? And BROCCOLI! Skeeter eats more veggies than he thinks he does, but only because I blend them up and sneak them into his food all the time. Like a vegetable ninja. But if I try to make him eat an outright piece of broccoli his reaction is like: 

So there I sat, munching on my nuggets of shame. Wishing I'd gotten ice cream or maybe that 20 piece because depressed-eating 10 nuggets just isn't enough.

The "F" Word

At Kindergarten this year Skeeter learned lots of new things. Reading, writing, studying different kinds of animals...it was a very educational year!

Unfortunately, during his time in Kindergarten he also learned a new word on the playground. The word "fart." Like most little boys, he thinks saying "fart" is absolutely hilarious. He wouldn't even usually use it in a sentence like, "I farted." He would just yell "FART!" and then start laughing uncontrollably. This summer I finally had to put a ban on saying F-A-R-T. Using this word means an immediate spanking.

Last week we were at the grocery store when Skeeter said, "It smells like a fart in here." I reminded him that he can't say F-A-R-T and then popped him on the bottom. As we turned onto the next (very crowded) aisle he sighed and then loudly proclaimed, "I'm just so tired of getting in trouble for saying the "F" word all the time! I LIKE saying the "F" word!"

Other parents on the aisle whipped around and stared at me in complete horror. They didn't even want their children near me and my horrible parenting skills.

In shock, I started saying, "FART! He means fart! He's not allowed to say fart!" Because he heard me say fart 3 times, and rules are rules, he hopped off the front of the buggy and giggled while he gave me 3 hard spanks on the butt...all while the horrified parents continued to watch. 

There was really nothing to say after that. I couldn't even remember what we were on that aisle for anymore. I randomly threw pickles and peanut butter into my cart and jogged to the self check out in shame. We have since discussed that using "the "F" word" to describe fart is also not good. Now we just say "toot." Sigh.

My Big Beautiful Mess

I think it's a girl thing...some days I wake up feeling thin and fabulous, and other days I wake up feeling like a busted can of biscuits. This particular day was a biscuit day. Sleep deprived and feeling frumpy, my general outlook for the day was "meh."

After an hour of, "PLEASE put your shoes on!" and "Does anyone else smell poop? Who just pooped? Charlie, come let me sniff your butt." and "No, you can't have gummy bears for breakfast. Please stop whining." and "Ella just threw up down my back didn't she?" we were finally ready for our trip to Walmart. 

(an actual back puke photo...one of many)

After hauling the whole crew to Walmart I discovered that whoever designed shopping carts did not think about shopping with a 5 year old, a 1 year old, and a newborn. The five year old rode standing on the front of the cart (you know, the way all of the signs and warning labels on the cart tell you not to let your kid ride? Yeah, THAT way). Charlie rode in the kid seat, and Ella's infant carrier went down in the cart itself...but after loading the cart full of children I realized I didn't have any cart space left! There is only enough cart space for a half gallon of milk and a roll of toilet paper...thus defeating the entire purpose of coming to the store. I briefly considered being this lady...

But then I changed my mind. 

After that waste of a trip, I decided I deserved a pick-me-up. After all, we were all already out and dressed and still relatively clean! Time for a trip to Starbucks!

I pulled into Starbucks only to discover that the drive thru line was horrendous! 

(not actual photo)

Well, we'd come this far, may as well park and go in. I stepped through the door with a baby on one hip and an infant in a carrier (which somehow takes a 10 pound baby and makes it feel like 40 pounds) and a five year old begging non-stop for chocolate milk. I can't say for sure, but at this point I imagine I looked pretty haggard. As we stood in line I noticed a woman staring at us. I figured she was staring at my hair, which at this point looked like I'd brushed it with a Weed-Eater. Or maybe she was trying to figure out where that poopie smell was wafting from. Or maybe she was sitting there feeling grateful she didn't own a single shirt with spit-up stains. Feeling her eyes on me I looked at her and shrugged as I smiled and said, "I know, we're a mess!" 

She smiled the saddest smile and said, "But you have such a beautiful mess." Suddenly I realized she hadn't been staring at us thinking what a train wreck we were. She was staring because I was with three beautiful kids that I adore who, by God's grace, love me too. I could plainly see the longing in her eyes. She would have gladly traded her perfectly coiffed hair, and her unstained shirt, and her quiet cup of coffee for my mess. My loud, crazy, probably poopie, whiny, crumb covered, lovable mess. 

So on the "biscuit" days, when I have chewed up vanilla wafers wiped on my jeans and 3 day old milk puddled in the bottom of my purse, and kids crawling all over me as I try to work...

I remember that somewhere out there there are people who would gladly trade everything they have for this "mess." Somewhere there is a woman crying on her bathroom floor because she doesn't have any kids, and here I sit having just tucked in a five year old boy who tells me I am his "favorite lady in the world!" I have amazing parents who, at 60, are diving back into the crazy world of sleepless nights and  toddler parenting. I have a church family (and I do mean FAMILY) that constantly surrounds us with love and support (and clothes...and baby wipes...). 

Ecclesiastes says "For everything there is a season." This season is big, and messy, and beautiful.