Poor Body Image

Tuesday mornings in the Moody household can be hard.

I have the kids ride the school bus in the afternoon every day. I drive them to school in the mornings, except for Tuesdays and Wednesdays because I have Bible Study Fellowship those mornings.

Each munchkin has their own alarm clock, which I set for them the night before the mornings they are to catch the bus. And it's usually enough to get the ball rolling in the mornings.

But yesterday, Allison hopped out of bed, turned off her alarm and jumped right back under the covers. (She gets that from her daddy!) I gave her a few minutes while I got the boys settled with breakfast, and then I went to her room to wake her up.

Everything pretty much went downhill from there.

She got out of bed, grouchy as can be, fussing under her breath. She was tired. She needed more rest.

I had kissed her goodnight the evening before at 8 p.m. The kids' alarm clocks are set for 7 a.m. She shouldn't have been tired. Unless she switched her light back on and played after being tucked in, instead of going to sleep.

Ahh, natural consequences as discipline. I love that. It takes the guess work out of parenting. So she'd go to school tired. It's not the first time; it won't be the last.

We were halfway down the stairs, her muttering, and me telling her to come downstairs to eat breakfast, when she informed me she was not hungry. We've had that fight before. I don't exactly win. If Allison says she's not hungry, she's either sick (and I'll absolutely regret forcing food into her when I see it regurgitated later) or she is stubbornly refusing to eat.

She is normally a compliant child. But sometimes meals and potty breaks bring out in her the Bruce/Tanja combination effect of sheer hard-headedness.

Fine. Another natural consequence. (I felt bad for sending her to school hungry, but the child is not going to die in one four-hour stretch before lunchtime. Not even in an 18 hour-stretch, if you consider when we had supper the night before.)

Tired and hungry, she continued to fuss. She was cold. I sent her to get dressed for school.

Oops. Too late I realized that she was going to find a pair of sweat pants she hates hanging on her closet door, ready to wear for the day.

She balked when I picked it out of her closet the night before. She said someone would make fun of her for wearing them. I assured her that they wouldn't, and if they did... I made a fist and punched my hand... and said I'd take care of it. Then I winked at her, she laughed, and I thought we were done.

But then came Tuesday morning. And those purple sweats brought out the monster in her.

By then I was back downstairs with everyone else. We heard stomping, crying, drawer slamming, screaming. It was ugly.

Judge me if you must... sometimes I spank her for that behavior. But sometimes I let her expend her energy in her room and have at it. I choose the second option if I'm already frustrated with her. It's the safest option for us both at that point.

But Bruce had had enough. When he went upstairs to brush his teeth, he popped in her room and told her she was finished with her fit... or else.

And she was finished with her fit. Sort of.

When she came downstairs, wearing the sweats, she wasn't a demon-child anymore. But she came right up to me and said, "I don't want to wear these pants."

"Sorry. You're wearing them," I said. "Today is P.E., and it's very cold outside. They're better for today than jeans."

And then she looked at me with her most pitiful expression, eyes full of angry tears, and said, "I don't like them. They make my feet look fat."

Yep. Her feet. Fat. Because of purple sweatpants.

I laughed with Bruce about it later. When she didn't know what we were talking about. (I'm not stupid. If I'd have laughed in front of her and looks could kill, I'd be dead.)

And for the record... nobody laughed at her purple sweats.

Third Grade Tales

Today, Clay came home from school and asked about a word that sent us straight to the dictionary. But not because I didn't know what it meant.

Guess the word. Here's the definition:

1. n. female dog; female fox, wolf, or otter; derog. sly or spiteful woman; sl. unpleasant or difficult thing. 2. v. grumble; be spiteful or unfair to.

Evidently, Clay was singing the lyrics to a song on a show that my kids don't watch. But he'd heard another kid singing it, so he copied. The words said something about a "beach," but another kid thought Clay was saying a different word.

What to do?

To take away the mystique of the word, we just opened the cover of my old pocket Oxford dictionary. Who knew the "b" word could apply to a female fox, wolf or otter? I didn't.

I told Clay the only acceptable way to use that word would be in talking about our dog, Dixie. But because the original word has been so polluted, he can't even use it that way.

See, this is where one thing works great for one kid, but won't stand a chance with another kid. Even if the kids are raised by the same parents, in the same household.

Clay will file away that tidbit, and I probably won't hear it again. (I say "probably" because I don't expect perfection from my kids. I try to be realistic. Even if I don't want to be.)

Spencer, on the other hand, won't even get the benefit of an explanation of the meaning. We tried that once in explaining that holding up one's middle finger is not nice. And then I saw him shoot me the bird after I scolded him for something.

Different kids. Totally.

On another topic, all three of our kids have field trips coming up. Spencer and Allison are going to a local high school production of The Wizard of Oz. Parents have not been invited to chaperon. Frankly, I pity the kindergarten teachers. They just aren't paid well enough.

Clay's grade is going to a science museum about an hour and a half away. It's in a town that we visit regularly as a family.

But the trip is leaving about 15 minutes before my younger two can be left at school. And it returns about a half hour later than they get off the bus. I had it worked out with my neighbor, who was willing to let my two get off the bus in the afternoon with her daughter, who is next to gold in their eyes.

And then Bruce "suggested" I let Clay do this field trip without me as a chaperon.

I hate it when he does that. I didn't even ask his opinion.

I think I've only missed one of Clay's field trips. Ever. As far back as preschool.

Right now that town seems way further away than an hour and a half. Do you have any idea all the "what ifs" that are going through my head? (I blame it partially on all the Without a Trace episodes I've seen. But mostly I just think people are bad to the core. Unless they've got Jesus. And sometimes even then.)

Fine. I'll honor Bruce's request. But I'm probably going to drive Clay nuts between now and then.

"Don't ever get separated from your group. Even if you have to pee. Tell your teacher or a parent chaperon before you go to the bathroom. And for pity's sake, don't go pee by yourself. Take a friend."

"Have a buddy. Stick together. Even if he gets on your nerves during the day. Just deal with it."

"Don't talk to any strangers. At all. Ever. Even if they talk to you first. Don't even smile at them. So what if they think you are unfriendly? They're strangers. You'll never see them again."

This mom stuff is hard.

I asked Bruce if it bothered him at all that this field trip is further away than all the others have been.

He really gets on my nerves sometimes. He's not one bit perturbed. What is wrong with him? He watches the same junk I watch on T.V.

Bruce is simply God's way of smiling down on my children. Because they don't have two parents as freakish as their momma.

Still, I make no apologies. God knew me, and still He made me a mom. You can't argue with God's insight.

My Peepers

My lasik surgery was a success.

I've just now been permitted to get back to reading, watching t.v. and computers. Can you imagine how bored I was yesterday? Those are the three things I do when I have free time.

I had a wonderful doctor. I had not met him before the surgery, but had heard great things about him from my current optometrist and my previous optometrist (who I actually called to check up on the lasik doctor).

Dr. Woolfson is based out of Atlanta, not Asheville, which is what I had been telling people. He is a hulk of a man... not hefty so much as tall. He probably has an inch or so advantage over my older brother even.

But he is a calm man and picked up pretty quickly on the state of my nerves.

I had already told the lady on the phone when I was arranging the appointment that I wanted drugs. Not the street kind, but something to make me relax. And she told me then that in all her years of working with Dr. Woolfson, only four patients had insisted on having those kinds of pills.

Fine. I planned to be number five.

That was not to be. When the nurses were doing pre-op exams, I again asked two of them, "Are you going to give me something for nerves?"

And they said, "Dr. Woolfson prefers that you are in control of all your faculties."

I countered immediately with, "I prefer that I am NOT in control of all of my faculties."

But the exam went on without another word about it.

Right around that time, I considered running. Either that or stomping my foot like a two-year-old and whining, "I want my drugs." Seriously, I almost cried.

And then I met the doctor. The first thing he said when he walked in was that he liked my purple sweatshirt. Then he showed me his purple socks, which he said he wears on surgery days, even though he's "not sure how that started."

He shook my hand, plopped my chart on my lap, using it as a desk, and started going over everything with me, making marks on my chart at times. He circled the number 38 on the chart and said, "Because of this number, your age, you know about the reading glasses?"

I didn't correct him that I actually just turned 39. But I said, "Oh, yeah, I know I'll probably need reading glasses."

He smiled and said, "No. That's the wrong answer. You're supposed to say, 'Yes, Dr. Woolfson, I know I will need reading glasses.'"

They stress that because invariably, after surgery, someone will complain because they need to wear reading glasses. I don't care about wearing glasses while reading. It's the active part of life I want to do without glasses.

Then he told me to be sure not to compare the two eyes after the surgery by covering up one and then the other and trying to figure out which eye was better. He said it would drive me nuts and that the eyes heal differently and the brain compensates for differences anyway.

I admitted that I do that all the time with my glasses and contacts. He swatted me with the chart and told me to stop that.

I started to relax.

But the thing that helped me most with my nerves was when he asked if I had any questions. I didn't have any about the procedure because you have to read and sign this thesis-length thing about all the what-ifs beforehand. But I had picked up on a slight accent in the doctor's speaking, so I asked where he was originally from, wondering if it was Europe.

Nope. Africa. Then he told me he went to Vanderbilt for college, then another school near Chattanooga that I wasn't familiar with, and then back to Vandy.

I told him I asked because my mom is German.

And he then told me, in German, that he studied German in school. We carried on a mini conversation in German.

It's funny what familiar thing will trigger a response and calm your nerves.

There were five of us having the surgery that day. We were all seated in a row for pre-op instructions. We received little gauzy surgical footies to put over our shoes, and a cap to match to put on our heads. We also had a neon green dot put on our foreheads stating what surgery exactly we were having done. I made a nervous comment about being ready to trick-or-treat in that outfit.

Dr. Woolfson came back in and told each of us what to expect during the procedure. And he mentioned again some post-surgery eye care. As he was heading into the surgery room, he said, "We stress all this because I'm certain I'll see one of you in Atlanta if you don't listen. And when you come visit me in Atlanta to fix whatever is wrong, be sure to bring my favorite chocolates."

One last comment: "Don't mess up my surgery."

The actual procedure was quicker than I expected. It was a bit uncomfortable, but no actual pain. At one point, it looked like he was painting my eyeball with a fingernail polish brush. Strange.

And then I went to a recovery room where the doctor checked my eyes several minutes later.

Residual nerves hit me afterwards. I was shaking like I was freezing and couldn't keep my teeth from chattering. All I could manage to tell the doctor was another thank you. But I could have hugged the man.

It was so much less scary than what I thought it would be.

Bruce dropped me off at home to unwind and rest while he went to his parent's house for supper. My mother-in-law had met the kids when they got off the school bus and had taken them to her house.

Right about then, the numbing drops wore off and I felt some pain. I popped an Advil and sat in the dark with my eyes closed, tears streaming down my face. I couldn't control them. I wasn't crying. It was just from the eye irritation.

I told Bruce later, it didn't even feel like something was in my eye, like what I'd heard. To me, it felt like I had been crying for hours and my eyes were puffy and tired from that. And they also felt achy and bruised, like after getting a black eye.

Bruce brought me home some supper, I took some pills they gave me, and I was in la-la land in no time.

The next morning, no pain. No discomfort. And I haven't had any since. Just that tired feeling.

I'm putting a couple of types of eye drops in my eyes four times a day. And I've had to wear these huge sunglasses all the time, except when I'm sleeping. When I'm sleeping, I tape these clear plastic lenses to my face. All this so I won't touch my eye and move the corneal flap the doctor made to correct my vision.

The absolute worst part of the whole experience... hands down... is peeling the tape off my cheeks and forehead each morning. Oh. My. Goodness. I'd rather have my brows waxed! Hmmm, with a little strategic placement of the tape, perhaps I can kill two birds with one stone and accomplish that very thing.

This morning, I drove my kids to school. And I told them it was the first time I had ever driven without glasses or contacts.

It's a wonderful thing, that God gave man the intelligence to figure out such a surgery. And that He created our bodies in a way that they recover from such things.

Here's the song I was thinking of all day, whenever I got scared. MercyMe "You Reign".



Praise God... He reigns... regardless of what's happening in our lives... Jesus reigns.

Thanks for all the prayers. I felt them!

Oh, I almost forgot. At my follow-up appointment the next morning, my vision was 20/20. God is so good.

Family Bonding

I've been neglectful of my mii on Wii Fit. Evidently they fall asleep if you don't make them faux sweat on a regular basis.

I like Wii Fit. Really, I do. But who has the time?

I think I've hurt Bruce's feelings that I've not played with my birthday present more often. When he brought it up last time, I said, "Well, what do you want me to do? Play on the Wii when I should be painting or doing laundry? Am I supposed to play it when I'm home alone?"

And he said, "That's the idea."

Duly noted.

But no action was taken.

Until yesterday, when my kids poked fun at my mii, sleepyhead that she is.

So I said, "Okay, let me play. Daddy has been on my case about playing."

I played for eight minutes. It felt longer.

I hula-hooped, I head-butted soccer balls, and I walked a tightrope. Then I ran after some girl who kept turning to wave at me until she got on my nerves. My kids egged me on to pass her, so I did. And then I was running behind a puppy. (This gained the approval of my kids, who insisted the puppy was cuter.)

I learned a few lessons.

You should not do the body test right after eating a bowl of chips 'n dip as a substitute for a missed lunch. Moreover, you should not do the body test in front of small children. They will taunt you for gaining two pounds. It's not cute. Not the two pounds on me, and not the taunting from them.

You should not try your hardest twice in a row to balance on the tightrope and then decide on the third attempt to leap off after walking only two yards. As funny as it seems to you, the kids won't like it. They'll look at you as if you kicked a kitty.

You should not run hard, in place, after washing down chips 'n dip with a very tall glass of iced tea. Your kids will make fun of you for taking a pit stop. And they'll wonder, out loud, if you peed in your pants.

Hula-hooping should be outlawed after you crest the age of 35. Especially if you've had babies and kept a few pounds around for cushioning the blow of growing older. Parts of your body will continue hula-hooping for several minutes after you stop. That's not cute either.

And finally, you should not take offense when your children laugh at your mii as she gets whacked in the head (time and time again) by shoes and the head of a Koala bear, which she is supposed to avoid, while trying to head-butt all soccer balls whizzing by. Yes, it's degrading that your little ones can play better than you. But you'll get over it. Laughter, even at your expense, is good for family bonding.

On that note, I'll mention a couple more family moments we shared yesterday.

While I was making supper (a bit late), the kids were outside playing. One of the times that we peeped on them, both Bruce and I ended up laughing. I asked him to run for the camera to record them.

I tried to download the video here, but I've waited for nine hours now. I think it's safe to assume that it's not working correctly.

Spencer and Clay had climbed the pitiful looking Dogwood tree in our front yard. (This tree has not always been pitiful looking. My children have climbed this tree vigorously in the past few years, and each year a few more branches are broken. Soon, very soon, I'm having Bruce saw the tree down. To put it out of its misery. I'm going to replace it, but I'm not sure what's going in its place yet.)

The boys were up in the tree, standing on branches, while gripping another branch with their hands. They were jumping on the branches beneath their feet and shaking the branches in their hands.

Meanwhile, Allison was on the ground, rake in hand, doing her best to make a pile of leaves. This went on for several minutes before Bruce and I went outside.

"What are you guys doing," Bruce asked.

"We're trying to get off the leaves," Spencer said. "Because we're too excited for winter."

“Yeah, we want every tree bare,” Clay said. “Except the evergreens, or the conifers.”

Allison then pointed at our Pine trees and said, “Except those little pokey kinds.”

“Yeah, those are conifers,” Clay said.

More tree shaking. More leaf raking.

“So, you think that if you get all the leaves out of the trees, it’ll snow faster?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Spencer said.

“Oh.”

So that’s how Mother Nature works. She needs help. Just like all the rest of us mothers.

Finally, after supper last night, we watched this movie:



I really liked the movie. We all did. The animals were cool. I loved Jodie Foster's character; she cracked us up. The only drawback was that "d***" was said twice. It went over my kids' heads, but not ours. I have no appreciation for gratuitous bad language in a movie geared toward kids.

Still, the movie was more of a hit than the one we watched last week, "The Last Mimzy," which had all my kids acting a bit clingy after a scene at the end made them think the main character was going to be taken from her family.

We have a slow weekend planned ahead. And we are all thrilled about that.

Casting

This morning, I'm going to vote.

Have you?

No excuses. Do it. (But, only if you're voting for the person I'm voting for. If you're voting for that other guy, stay home. That'd be alright with me.)

I'm not telling who I'm voting for. If you know me, or have read this blog very long, you can probably guess.

Happy ballot casting!

Second Place

Flag football season came to a halt for us this past Saturday. And not a moment too soon.

We're exhausted from running to practices and games! But we have loved it. Each person in our family enjoyed this sport.

And this is probably the only time that all three of our kids will be on the same team... the Raiders. The boys played football, and Allison was on the cheering squad for their team.

On the way to the championship game, our boys were talkin' some trash.

"We're gonna beat them good."

"Yeah, the score is going to be 99 to zero!"

"Really? Ninety-nine to zero?" I asked.

"Well," Clay replied, "maybe 99 to six."

Way to be generous in your bragging there son.

I felt it necessary to remind them that the team they were playing against included one of their best buddies, Tyler. So if they won, they probably wouldn't want to be poor sportsmen and rub anyone's face in it.

Funny how the Lord teaches lessons. The mighty do fall.

I think the final score was 22-6. And the winning team was the Steelers, not the Raiders.

I'm not sure they grasped the enormity of the lesson though. Because on the way home, I heard Spencer say, "Well, at least we weren't in last place."

Again, I felt it necessary to remind him that in last place was a team that included Spencer's buddy, Cade. So, he probably ought not say anything that would hurt his friend's feelings.

Moreover, their friend Gracie cheered for that team as well.

I think they all got it after that.

I loved this whole experience, our family's first with this sport. The locations of practices and games were great, because they were so close to our home. The football coaches were unnaturally patient and gave out love to our boys while teaching them the sport. (It's completely safe to say our sons understand football much better than their mom.) Allison's cheering coaches included her kindergarten teacher and two previous Sunday school teachers, two sisters who both used to attend our church. The league was organized so that all three of our kids had to be at the field at the same time on game day because Allison cheered for her brothers.

And I love that our kids played and cheered with so many of their friends from school and church. Even if they were on opposing teams or squads. (And maybe because they were, which made good sportsmanship easier to explain.)

At the last game, the emcee in charge of announcing the players' names as they were given their trophies... he prayed. And not some insipid, watered-down junk either. He thanked our risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

In this day, that speaks volumes to me.

Here's a few pictures.



The one day I don't put her hair up in the team-colored ribbon!



Allison is not idol worshipping. She's holding her trophy up next to a friend's trophy, and they were giggling like little girls do.



Spencer, aka Zippy, number 10. That kid is fast!



Spencer has his eyes shut, bracing for the impact of his block.



Just a little pat on the head between teammates.



Trophy, in one hand, liquid refreshment in the other.



Our big boy, number 13.



And Clay also shuts his eyes before impact.



Clay goes down as he blocks for his buddy, Christopher, number 14. They were good friends in first grade, and they're in class again together this year.



Clay with his trophy.



All three little winners.

Right now, I'm filling out the applications for Upward basketball. It'll be Clay's third year, but Spencer and Allison's first. Allison is wavering between playing basketball and cheering. I'm hoping she'll play ball.

For now, we have a lull between sports for the next seven weeks.

And that's something to cheer about!

One last picture. Bruce shot this from across the field, after a cell phone call telling me to pay attention to the game instead of gabbing.



That's me and my friend Carolyn waving to Bruce. (She's in red) And our other friend Kim, one of the blue team cheeering coaches, won't even face the cameraman. (Kim is too cool to wave.)

Seeing Clearly

It hit me yesterday that I have just a bit over a week before I have LASIK surgery.

This is something that I have looked forward to for years. Bruce and I both wanted to have it done before we even had kids. Now, all these years later, I'm finally taking the plunge and having the surgery next Tuesday, Oct. 21.

I'm really excited and hopeful about the outcome.

Our last vacation is probably what encouraged me to finally go through with this. We took our camper to the Outer Banks for a week.

I pretty much exclusively wear glasses now because my allergies have made contacts so uncomfortable. And my eyes will gum up like I have pink eye the morning after I wear them.

But it flat out stinks to wear glasses while playing with your kids in a swimming pool.

And showering in a camper is a contortionist's challenge as it is, without wondering where you should lay your glasses until you're finished.

Remembering the clip-on sunglasses has never been my strong point. When I wore contacts, I'd have various pairs of cheap sunglasses in several different locations: in the van, in Bruce's truck, in my purse, etc.

Once while we were seashell hunting at the beach, the wind blew my glasses straight off my face. I just happened to retrieve them in the shallow waves before they were sucked out to sea.

Can you tell I am really looking forward to having this surgery?

But I am also very nervous. It is my eyes, after all. I've never actually fainted at an eye appointment, but I have had to take measures to prevent it... with head tucked between my knees.

I also have never had any kind of elective surgery. I'm a bit of a medical phobic person. All those needles and blood and stuff. (I am a huge fan of ER and House though. How crazy is that?)

I've noticed that in the last few days, I've got all this nervous junk going on in my belly. And my legs are twitching non-stop, which is what I do when I'm stressed. That and bite the inside of my lips, which are now appropriately gnawed raw.

The bad thing is that stress makes my face break out, so expect to see some pimples in the days to come. On the plus side, I'm really hoping that all the leg movement qualifies as exercise. If I'm really vigorous about it, maybe I'll even lose a pound or two.

I'm not holding my breath though. Because the other thing I do when I'm nervous is eat. And I'm not partial about what I eat either. Sweet or salty, it's all good!

Seriously, will you please pray for me?

For good results from the surgery, quick recovery and for some peace in the days to come.

Bruce told me last night that I was supposed to be excited, not nervous.

I told him, "That's like telling a woman about to go into labor to look forward to that. No, I just want the baby at the end."

Can You Feel the Love?

Not that this has any huge relevance to much of anything, other than the fact that I think it was cool.

Spencer called for me to come to the kitchen the other day. He was eating the remaining chips from his lunch that he didn't finish during the day at school.

Here's what he wanted to show me.

It's not every day that you find a potato chip shaped like a heart. He ate it right after I took his picture.

And now for a little bit more love.

Clay made me the sweetest birthday card yesterday. It's probably my favorite card ever.

Here's the front:



I'm not sure what he was thinking when he put that plethora of candles on that cake. I could be insulted, but I'm choosing not to read into it.

The person talking on the front is Bruce. And he's saying, "Let's light the candles." And the other three people are my children. (I'm featured solo on the inside.)

Here's the inside:



I think it's worth noting that my "light" is the only thing he colored on the whole card. Could have been a simple oversight. Or even a lack of time. But I'm choosing TO read into that one.

And here's the back:



That's me holding him. Sweet!

I like this card much better than the one Spencer made for me early in the week. I'm not being mean or preferential either. The picture was lovely. He had drawn each person in our family, quite nicely, too.

But I made him mad later that day when I spanked him for some bad behavior on his part.

Here's where you'll understand why Clay's artwork holds a special place in my heart, but Spencer's gets mentioned more for constructive use of anger.

In his fit of temper, Spencer found his picture and... erased my head off. And then he taunted me by showing me my headless self.

I let it slide. There was so much other bad behavior that day to address. Any more would have taken me past my breaking point.

Yesterday, on my actual birthday, Spencer brought the picture back to me to show me that he had re-drawn my head.

That made me happy.

It's tough to be headless.

Birthday Funny

Today's my birthday, but since the family celebrated with me early, it doesn't really feel like my birthday.

To celebrate, we went out to eat at Panera Bread. My pick, because I love their Greek salad. And the local restaurant just opened in our town.

We went on Friday afternoon... after I'd kept Clay home from school for two days to recover from strep.

As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, who did we run into? Clay's teacher. She's a mom, though, so she was a good sport about it.

And, technically, Clay had his shot about 26 hours before we went out to eat, so he had just cleared that contagious phase. And even if it was still a close call, hanging around with his buddies at school is likely to infect someone, whereas eating out isn't so likely.

All you medical types out there... if my logic is way wrong, just please let me continue to live in ignorance.

Today has been a great day. Very busy, but a great day.

My friend Kim sent me the following joke. I share it, because, you know, we all have birthdays. And we're not getting any younger.


An 80-year old man goes for a physical. All tests come back with normal results.

The doctor says, "George, everything looks great. How are you doing mentally and emotionally? Are you at peace with God?"

George replies: "God and I are tight. He knows I have poor eyesight, so he's fixed it so when I get in up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, poof! the light goes on. When I'm done, poof! the light goes off."

"Wow, that's incredible," says the doctor.

A little later in the day, the doctor calls George's wife.

"Ethel," he says, "George is doing fine! But I had to call you because I'm in awe of his relationship with God. Is it true that he gets up during the night and poof! the light goes on in the bathroom, and when he's done, poof! the light goes off?"

"Oh my...!" Ethel exclaims. "He's peeing in the fridge again!"




Okay, it ain't highbrow humor, but tell me you didn't either chuckle or groan.

Sidelined!

I got some things done the last two days that I needed to get done, but I didn't really expect to get done. Unfortunately, I got caught up because Clay has been home from school the last two days with strep.

I'm praying this is in no way foreshadowing for the kind of year we can expect to have with our unwelcome acquaintance Streptococcus. But I'd be crazy not to wonder, considering we just finished with Spencer's dose of amoxicillin on Monday.

I don't think Clay got it from Spencer. Because nothing gets me to clean the house quite like strep does. Strep throat and the stomach flu. Bleach and I become BFF... Well, we aren't Best Friends Forever exactly, but at least for a few days.

And, when someone's sick in this house, my kids steer clear of that person. It's like the ill person has a big germy S on their chest. (S for Sicko.)

Plus, strep is already going around at their school.

Why is it that loose teeth need wiggling most often during strep season? Telling my kids to keep their hands out of their mouths does not work when the lure of money from the Tooth Fairy is dancing in their heads like visions of sugar plums and all that.



I think the Tooth Fairy needs to fund our co-pays for awhile.

Oh, wait... she already does! A mom just can't win sometimes.

On a good note, I got Spencer and Allison their flu vaccine yesterday when I took Clay for his throat culture. Clay will go next week, as will I. The kids sniff their vaccine; Bruce and I get poked.

We're big proponents of the flu vaccine. I've had the flu twice since Bruce and I got married 14 years ago. The first time was before we had kids. The second time was two years ago, and life in our household was drastically altered that week. Bruce did great, doing all the stuff I'd normally do, plus taking care of me. It stunk... because it was over Christmas break and the holiday was a blur for me.

Last year when we made plans to go to Disney over Christmas break, I lined us all up for flu vaccines. No way were we shelling out all that cash only to spend a week lying in a hotel bed the whole time.

The vast majority of the past two days I've spent going through the kids closets. Moving things from Clay's closet to Spencer's. Estimating what will still fit the kids next summer. Growling about the stuff I bought new, when it was on sale at the end of last winter, that the kids outgrew without ever wearing. Packing up some stuff for Goodwill or to pass on to friends. And figuring out what needs to be tossed because it'd simply be far too embarrassing to pass on to someone else, even as play clothes. Even though those very clothing items are what my kids wear at play time.

It doesn't bother me for my kids to look like hooligans when they're playing. It keeps me from being a crazy, hovering person. And the kids enjoy mommy, and playing, more that way.

And I have been doing laundry like a mad woman. Because I've been so far behind. This past week, I've often sent the kids to the laundry basket full of clean and dry, but unsorted clothes, so they can dig out their own clean undergarments, socks, pj's, whatever!

It just gets that way sometimes, doesn't it?

Is it bad to be thankful for the down time when it comes at your kid's expense?

Is it crazy to call what's been going on here for two days "down time"?

Ahh, but life is good. I can't help but feel blessed.

Closets are organized. Laundry is nearly done. We've got a great pediatrician, who my kids love. We've got health insurance.

My recovering child has a mountain of make-up work to do. He pounced on it without any prompting from me, and within an hour he was half finished.

And we're going out to eat tonight. To celebrate my birthday a few days early.

I think the best part is that I'm not turning 40.

Yet.