The Mommy Wars

Before I became a mother, I had a vague idea of what parents did. Feed child, clothe child, try to keep child from beating up other children. It was one of those subjects that I was woefully but blissfully ignorant of - I really didn't have much use for information like which brand of diapers was best or how you need to move like a frickin ninja to escape infant projectile vomit.

I am still far from an expert, but after I had kids, I crossed over to the Other Side. No, not Narnia. The Other Side of the gap that separates parents from non-parents. The side filled with tiny onesies and 800 sets of plastic keys (seriously, do they even work in the plastic cars? Then WHAT IS THE POINT) and dogs that whisper "Hug meeee" at four in the morning when you're walking to the bathroom. You can look behind you and see the non-parent side for a little while. Then Dora the Explorer asks you to help her find her map and before you know it the non-parent side is nothing more than a distant memory.

The parent side has lots of surprises. You learn words like "Wubanub" and "cluster feeding" and, in our case, "hyerbilirubenimia." But one of the most unexpected surprises I encountered was the Mommy Wars. If you're not familiar, the Mommy Wars is an ongoing battle between mothers (and occasionally fathers) over various methods of parenting. For example: formula feeding vs. breastfeeding, strollers vs. babywearing, cloth diapers vs. disposables, velociraptor vs. t-rex, etc etc. I tend to bop through life in a cloud of glitter and Skittles and assume everyone does the same, so I was really surprised to see how often these issues popped up, not to mention the intensity of the arguments they caused. Articles are flung left and right; everyone from psychologists to school teachers to children's birthday clowns seems to have a scientific opinion on whether letting your baby sleep in your bed will scar him for life. Sometimes people start snapping their fingers and singing and that's when you know that it just got real.

As much as I love a good argument, I found myself avoiding these particular fights as I delved into research of my own (fine, as I copied every single thing my sister did). Not because I was offended. Not because I wanted to interview those birthday clowns for myself to see if their science was accurate. No, my avoidance was due to something much simpler. Something that I think has the potential to end these Mommy Wars forever. Are you ready for this incredible secret? Here you go:

Apathy.

Yes. Apathy. I do. not. care. I do not care if you feed your child formula. I do not care if you breastfeed your child. I do not care if your child only eats hot sauce. Not because I am a serene, peace-loving person who can rise above such petty conflicts as I practice yoga in my meditation garden. I am just too lazy to care. I am tired. I am busy. I am constantly losing one of my children. So at the end of the day, whether you strap your baby to your back in a pretty wrap or with several socks tied together, I'm cool with it. Just don't drop the kid because that's not cool. I mean, I probably wouldn't turn you in or anything. Actually, just writing about it has pretty much sapped my energy so go ahead and drop little Timmy; I won't tell.

This isn't a humble brag where I toot my own lazy horn and show you how I win all the Mommy Wars due to my lack of judging others and indifference to others' judgment of me. Despite the awkward, chaotic mess that is my daily interaction with people, I do care what other people think of me. I'm only human. But I am a lazy human, and while I have tried hard to get worked up over the fact that Sally Smith doesn't believe in disposable diapers...eh. What do I care? Is Sally at my house, throwing away my diapers and forcing me to use cloth ones? Has she hired Tonya Harding to bash me in the knee so I can say a lot of embarrassing things on national television that will follow me forever? No? Then...eh. Sally can have her cloth diapers and I can have my disposable ones and somehow I think the world will keep turning.

So, parents and people everywhere - join me on the Other Other Side. The side where you always feel accomplished because your kids are alive at the end of the day and that's really all you were going for. The side where all your decisions are right because no one was paying attention to them anyway. You don't even have to put on real pants. Take the plunge. Cross over. Drop your cares and worries at the gate - your toddler or dog will probably eat them and then you won't even have to step over them.

Apathy: The real future of parenting. I'd put that on a t-shirt, but...eh.

Clearly my parenting is superior to yours.

The Long Haul

This week has been a good one overall. I'm getting used to life in the NICU, which is both weird and good at the same time. One of the rocking chairs now has my buttprint on it permanently and that's nice because now no one else will use that chair. I don't like sharing.

We had our awesome nurse Jennifer back this week! We love her. She works so hard to go the extra mile to help us. She is the one who started dressing Joshua up in little outfits - and she color-coordinates them with his bedding. And she helped Josh make a nice card for Daniel's birthday and got Daniel some Mountain Dew! She's been really great and I can't wait to have her back next week. Don't get me wrong - all of the Northside nurses have been phenomenal. We just like Jennifer a lot. We might be in love with her a little.

Daniel got a card from Josh!

We still haven't been able to hold him. We might get to soon. I'm not as sad as I thought I would be. It's only been two weeks but I'm already getting used to not riding the ups and downs. It's hard not to get so excited at every success or really disappointed at every setback but we're learning. Josh did go back to the regular ventilator and that was awesome! He is doing pretty well, all things considered. He is getting milk and he is off his bp meds. And his brain bleed is no longer a cause for concern because he has hit the two week mark. He has been here for two weeks!!! Well, the nurses count today as two weeks. Technically I guess it's tomorrow. Whatever. I'm just pretending it's today AND tomorrow. Anything to get more celebration cake.

The next few weeks are, oddly, what I have been dreading the most: the long haul. The part where Josh isn't so sick anymore, praise the Lord, but where he isn't better enough to leave the hospital. So we wait. And make more buttprints in more rocking chairs. Soon I will own them ALL. But this part is where I think we'll be the most weary. That sounds weird but I think it's started to hit me just how long the next 12 weeks will be. We're blessed to have so much family and so many friends around to support us and that has helped a lot. It's just one of those things that requires a lot of patience. I am not known for my patience. Daniel is so patient that I'm concerned he might have inhaled marijuana by mistake sometimes. Maybe I am supposed to learn patience... meh. Why start now, right? At any rate, the time will pass. Eventually. I'll just buy a lot of books to read between now and then.

This blog used to be fun and hilarious (if I do say so myself). Now it's kind of lame and medical. I blame Josh. That rassa-frassin' baby just isn't funny. But BFF Jen and I were discussing another awesome adventure of ours recently so I'll write about that next. Maybe. I might take a nap instead.

"I enjoy the darkness."

Ten days

I really need to come up with more creative titles for these posts. Pretend this one is called Octopus Socks or something. It's a good thing octopi (right?) don't wear socks because it would get expensive to buy so many. Plus octopi live in the ocean and I hate it when my socks get wet. This post is taking us in all sorts of deep and philosophical directions.

So, onto the good stuff - my fantastically cute baby. Josh is doing well today! He's actually had a great couple of days. He's just chillaxing in baby prison while people fawn over him. I see why he wants to stay until June. Overall he's improving. The big goals for him this week are to continue the feedings, lose some of his excess fluid, and stay steady on his super-special ventilator.

I finally spoke to God. It was weird because it was really hard. It's never been so hard before. It came out kind of disjointed and confusing but I think He got the message. It was actually a relief. I'm still angry and I still hate all of this. But it felt good to pray.

My perspective on prayer has changed throughout this. When I tell someone I will pray for them I really do mean it. But I don't feel the urgency that I should. Sometimes I just add it into my daily prayers and don't spend time really considering who or what I am praying for. But after seeing the many prayers being lifted up on Joshua's behalf, I've realized that if I'm really going to pray for someone, I can't do it casually. Prayer isn't casual. It isn't a way to pass the time or fulfill my Christian duty. It is a powerful way of connecting with God and it's important. I'm glad I've learned that. I hate how I learned it but it's an invaluable lesson.

Another thing I've learned through this is how incredibly blessed Daniel and I are with friends and family. People are praying for my baby boy worldwide. Even more amazing is that strangers are praying for him. People who have never met us and never will are going before the Lord to ask for strength and healing for Josh. That's unbelievably amazing to me. It's so encouraging. When I read that a friend is praying, when I get a card in the mail, when a family member travels thousands of miles to be with us - those times are when I feel the best. When I know that while the road ahead won't be easy, it can at least be traveled. When I realize that no matter how lonely I feel, God has not abandoned me. Or any of us.

So thank you for praying. Please keep praying. And to those who have sent hats and cards and notes and messages, thank you so much. Everyone has been so selfless and generous and I cannot tell you how grateful Daniel and I are for you.

We can do it. Well, God can do it :) Grow, Joshua, grow!!

For Joshua

This week has been a sad one. I know a lot of people who are hurting.

Ever since I found out I was going to be a mom, I've looked at things with a new perspective. I know that perspective will change even more when I get to meet my little guy. I'm looking forward to that because I think this new perspective is for the better. I think it's good to remember what's really important in life. And I think it's good to teach our children what's important in life. So I decided to write a letter to Joshua, the littlest Eleveld-to-be. I will read it to him and print it out and put it in his room. He will get sick of looking at it but it's important and I want him to remember it.

Dear Joshua:

As you grow up and go out into this big world, I want you to remember some things. These things won't guarantee you a perfect life or keep you from feeling sad or angry. I wish that they could but that isn't how it works. Sorry, kid. But these things will - hopefully - help you keep the right perspective, focus, and priorities as you grow up and become your own person.

1) Remember that your dad and I love you. A lot. We might get mad at you and we might ground you and we might not buy you every single thing you want. But we love you. We will love you forever. Grammy and Grandpa and Papa and Nana love you, too. Your aunts and uncles and cousins and great-aunts and great-uncles and great-grandparents and your great-GREAT-grandmother love you with all of their hearts.

2) More importantly, remember that God loves you. He created you for a specific purpose. You may feel like you don't have any talents or gifts when you grow up. But that isn't true. Grammy used to tell me that I could be ANYTHING - and she believed it. I believe you, Joshua, can be ANYTHING. I really do. Just keep Christ as the center of your life and He will lead you to great and wonderful things.

3) Nothing is as bad as it seems. I know it's hard when you're sad or confused. I know people will betray you and I already want to beat those people up (and you're not even born yet... oh, dear). I know no one's life is perfect all the time. But listen to me when I tell you this: I have been there. I get it. I know it's hard. But, as the saying goes, this, too, shall pass. It might take an hour or a day or a month or a year or a decade. But everything will work out.

4) Don't start fights for yourself. It isn't worth it. It won't solve anything. But if you're fighting for someone else, stand up and be brave. Defend the little guy and the boy who seems weird and the girl who gets teased for her looks. Speak the truth and don't be afraid to do the right thing. If you're anything like your dad, I know you will learn this and take it to heart very quickly :) It's scary to stand alone. But I believe that if you stand up for what's right, you won't be standing alone for long.

5) Love with your whole heart. Trust the people who love you. Make fewer friends if it means they are that much closer to you. Sometimes that can open you up to heartbreak. But it also opens you up to love and friendship and joy.

6) Don't beat yourself up over mistakes. What's done is done. But don't forget them - learn from them. Use them to shape the person you want to be.

7) Be respectful. Offer to help a busy mom who has three kids and seven bags of groceries. If someone tells you a story that you think is boring, listen anyway. And really listen - don't just pretend. If you're over 18 and visiting someone's house, their rules still apply. And thank the soldiers you see in the airport. They are fighting especially for you.

8) When you say you'll do something, do it. When you say you'll be somewhere, be there. I guarantee that as soon as you agree to seeing a movie with a friend over the weekend, a party will come up for the same time and you'll really want to go to that instead. You're better than that. Go to the movie. And if you offer to pray for someone, pray for them. Don't forget. It's important.

9) Volunteer a lot. It's good to remember that there are people around you suffering. It's even better to do something about it. Donate your clothes, toys, time and prayers to those less fortunate. Serve lunch at a homeless shelter. Help build a house for a family in need. You can make a huge difference in someone's life in just a few hours.

10) Forgive completely. It's hard to forgive; I know that. But it's harder not to. We forgive because God forgave us, and if your dad and I have done our jobs, you'll know where to find that verse in the Bible :) People will mess up. Dad, me, your friends, your teachers - all of us. Forgive them, even if they don't say they're sorry. And ask for forgiveness, even when it's hard. Even when it's not your fault. We all need to be forgiven, and thanks to Jesus, we can be forgiven forever. Remember that when you're angry with someone.

11) Remember that you never know what someone else going through. Grammy and Grandpa used to tell me that all the time, and it drove. me. insane. But now that I'm older, I'm starting to get it. Sometimes people are mean. But sometimes they're mean because they're hurting. The bully on the playground might be bullied at home. Stand your ground, but always do so in love. It may be you one day who is hurting and who needs a friend like you to help.

12) Above everything else, love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your strength. I put this last not because it's the least important, but because if you remember nothing else, I want you to remember this. Love God. Serve God. Read your Bible and pray every day. I know that getting up early to do your quiet time is hard. I know that the Bible can be confusing, especially when you're young. You're lucky because your dad is a walking Bible encyclopedia, thanks to Papa and Nana. So ask him questions. Ask your pastor questions. Ask your friends questions. Make it your goal to walk with God as closely as you can.

That's all the wisdom I have for now. I love you a million times over. I can't wait to see your little face.

Love,

Mom

Thanksgiving

Turkey Day was yesterday. Did you enjoy it? Did you have fun? Did you wave your hands in the air like you just didn't care?

BFF Jen gets so excited about Thanksgiving that I always sniff her drink to make sure that is the only reason she's excited. I, on the other hand, have never been one to get excited about Thanksgiving. Not that I don't look forward to it - I love getting together with everyone. It's just not something I get YAY YAY YAY IS IT THANKSGIVING YET excited about.

Except for this year. This year, I was so excited about Thanksgiving that I was literally counting down until the end of the day on Wednesday. I couldn't decide why I was so excited. Maybe it was because I didn't get to see my side of the family as much for Thanksgiving last year. Maybe it was because I hadn't been to my grandparents' in a while. Maybe it was because I knew my aunt would make brownies again - and that woman knows how to bake a brownie, let me tell you. 

But otherwise, Thanksgiving was the same as it had been every year. And then it hit me - maybe that was why I was so excited. Maybe I was just looking forward to relaxing and laughing with my family in the same way I have done since I was a baby. And because my family is awesome and I have never fully appreciated them before. 

I've said before (and stand by it) that my grandparents are better than yours.  It's still true. My grandparents open their home to us every year. They are so excited about their two great-grandchildren and that is so fun to see. Just picture my Papaw leaning over 3-month-old Peyton and making kissy noises. Best visual ever and even better to see in real life.

And I love seeing my aunt and uncle and cousins. My cousin Allen wasn't able to come this year, so we poured some cider out in his honor. But I did get to see my other two cousins, who I hadn't seen in ages, and get to know my newest two cousins, Ashleigh and Tenley! Ashleigh is a grown-up; Tenley is a baby. That will assist in future confusion in this post. It was wonderful to catch up and see them and ask about their lives. And, of course, to totally abuse my friendship with Ashleigh to ask her pregnancy and baby tips.

Seeing my aunt Shonda is an experience in itself :) since she always brings the fun and crazy to the party. But it's a good crazy, the kind your children can witness, so don't be alarmed. She's funny and goes with the flow. And I already told you about the brownies. You want to be her friend. My uncle Stan, who is the quietest one (or used to be; we broke him in), always wholeheartedly participates in our crazy, and doesn't even complain when we change our plans 16 times in a row. He needs a medal.

I get to see my immediate family a lot, but it's still fun when we get to see each other at Thanksgiving. It's like when you see a movie you love on TV and you have to watch it, even though you own it and can watch it whenever you want. I am eternally grateful for my parents and siblings. They are weird and funny and ridiculous and I know I am blessed to have my whole family around all the time. When my sister got married, I worried it would be hard to adapt to a new member of the family. But Andy jumped right in and became one of us so fast it was like he was always there. That is partly due to the fact that my entire extended family has the attitude that after we meet you once, you are now related to us and may come to all events. Please bring a dessert to share.

Then, of course, my great-grandmother and great-aunt made the trip to come see everyone like they do every year. They live a little ways away but they came anyway. And it was so fun to see them meet Peyton and Tenley. That made 5 generations of us in one room! Can you imagine that? My great-grandmother was born in 1918 (I think. If that's wrong, someone tell me, quick!!). Peyton and Tenley were born in 2012. Almost 100 years of family, together for Thanksgiving. 100 years of Thanksgivings and Christmases and birthdays and being together as often as possible.

And then there's Daniel. Oh, Daniel. Who sits quietly while my family complains about Yankees and people from "up there." Who not only engages himself in conversation with everyone from my great-grandmother to the babies, but spends his time fixing people's guns and showing them how to make all sorts of dangerous things. He got to know everyone and is genuinely glad to be part of my family. I am so grateful that my family welcomed him right away.

Even though I didn't see them at Thanksgiving this year, I have to give a shout-out to my in-laws. They have welcomed me into their family and have made a sincere and loving effort to get to know me and be my friend. I now have more parents, more sisters, more brothers, more aunts, more uncles, and more cousins to call family. Not to mention all of my cute nieces and nephews.

So this year, I am thankful for my family. I never realized how blessed I was until this year. I grew up with grandparents and great-grandparents and this year it really hit me that a lot of people do not have that opportunity. I get to not only meet but have a relationship with so many people in my family. And while so many people do not get along with their in-laws, I can't wait until Christmas so I can see all of mine again. I am blessed beyond anything I have ever deserved.

I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving and have a Merry Christmas. And if you don't have any family to see this year, or just want to borrow a grandparent, give me a call. You can join us any time. 

But stay away from the brownies. I call dibs.

5 generations of awesome. 

Lock Lock Chain Chain

When Daniel and I were dating, I was on this quest to make his nieces and nephews like me. They tend to like everyone so this wasn't hard but I was determined to be the best aunt ever. So when Christmas came around and we wanted to give his nieces and nephews a gift, I was trying to think of something that would be good for a variety of ages.

"What about stop blocks?!" I said. "Kids love stop blocks!" And before Daniel could even raise both of his eyebrows, I realized my mistake.

In my family, Legos are called stop blocks. I don't know why. All I know is that my sister Mandy started calling them stop blocks when she was little and it stuck. My parents just let us live in a world where the actual names of toys meant nothing. Since my sister also had a doll named Nobody, maybe they figured it was best to just let her figure things out on her own and subsequently misinform her siblings. I don't know.

What I do know is that I had just called Legos, an item so popular that there are entire stores and theme parks centered around it, a name that made absolutely no sense to anyone but my family. And Daniel's eyebrows were getting higher and higher.

I tried to explain. But it was too late. The damage was done. Our relationship was a little rockier after that. And we wound up getting the kids something non-Lego related.

You think I would have learned my lesson about revealing weird childhood secrets. But no. Just a few weeks ago, when Daniel and I were on vacation with my family, it happened again.

We were all sitting in the pool, including my nephew, Peyton, who was just over 8 weeks old at the time. My sister (yes, the stop block creator) was trying to dip Peyton's toes in the pool but he was having none of it and was getting fussy. Can't blame the kid. So then I spoke up:

"Maybe when he's older he'll like playing Lock Lock Chain Chain."

I had done it again. Daniel turned to look at me. "What in the world is Lock Lock Chain Chain?"

Here's the deal with this game: When I was little, I loved for my dad to chase me around the pool pretending to be a bad guy. He would catch me and say he was going to eat me for dinner. (Hang in there; it gets weirder.) When he caught me, he would take me over to a ladder and pretend to secure me to it with a lock and chain. In order to do this, he had to say, "Lock lock chain chain..." as he pretended to make me his prisoner.

But it didn't stop there. Locks and chains were not enough to hold me so I would always escape. Honestly, it was like my dad wasn't even trying. So when my dad would catch me again, he would add things to the security process to keep me there. It would turn into "Lock lock, chain chain, nail nail, hammer hammer, glue glue..." And, yes, everything was said twice, like some kind of very specific obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Trying to explain this to Daniel went a little something like this: "My dad used to chase me and tie me up. Well, not really. I mean, I wanted him to. Wait, back up. We would go swimming. Not like just to play this game but if we were already in the pool we would usually play it. He would chase me and pretend he was going to boil me in a pot and eat me with ketchup. It sounds worse than it is."

Daniel's face now had the expression of someone who had just seen a naked clown juggling babies on an ice rink.

"Did you just say ketchup??"

Apparently, other children did not play this game. Apparently, it was "creepy." Apparently, pretending to be a serial killer with your children is not something every parent promotes.

But look at us! We turned out great!

Okay, so... maybe don't play Lock Lock Chain Chain with your kids.

Hello

Last year I decided to post while on Lortab - I am nothing if not a good decision-maker.

I'm sorry to say I fell off the wagon again. On Saturday night my back muscles began to spasm, leaving me in tears and everlasting sorrow. Also a lot of whining. I went to the doctor and he gave me a happy muscle relaxer. You'd think I'd be familiar with every narcotic out there considering my family's recent history. Alas, no.

Hey, I just used the word alas while on a muscle relaxer. Look at me go.

ANYway, I thought I would bring you another drug-induced post so you can show it to your children to warn them away from doing drugs and/or spasming their muscles. No idea if spasming is a word. If it is, you have to bring me a cookie. If it isn't, you have to bring me a cookie. I don't care about the word as long as I get a cookie out of it.

Recently I was going through old pictures on my phone and found some fun things, including documentation of my dad's burgeoning stripper career.  I have continued my quest of clearing out my phone and stumbled across a few other great items. For instance...

'allo.

That is my cat, Batman. In the words of Ferris Bueller, he is a righteous dude. Except for every picture I have of him makes him look like he is possessed by Satan and/or Michael Jackson. This is one of many attempts to take a nice picture so I can complete my status as crazy cat lady and put a picture of my pets on my wall. Maybe if I put it next to a picture of Nick Nolte this photo won't look so shocking. 

Don't worry - this one wasn't in my phone.

Another great picture I found in my phone was this one:

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from the future. It was sent to me on August 31st at 12:03 pm, but said September 1st instead. It was weird. And for a few minutes my mind ran through all of the possibilities that some time-traveling terrorist was sending me scary messages that contained things like, "At this time tomorrow someone will jump out and scare you. Also they will spill syrup on you and you will not be able to get it off for days. Muahahaaaaa." I was ready to send this picture to the police and request protection.

But this message was blank and Daniel pointed out it was either from a different time zone or their computer was just messed up. He is such a killjoy. But he so cute I don't even care. 

And the very favorite picture I found so far was one that not only sums up mine and Daniel's personalities, but our friendships and marriage as well. Enjoy. 

"Join us."

That's my dad

I was going through old pictures the other day to make some room on my phone so I could take more pictures of my cutie wutie schmoopie face nephew, Peyton.

LOOK AT HIS CUTENESS AND COMMENT ON IT:

Aaaaanyway, while going through my old photos I found a screen shot of a conversation I had with my dad over text messaging after I called him, not knowing he was at a work lunch. It was too good not to share:

So, in a nutshell, that's my dad. Was he really a stripper? I'll leave it to you to decide.

Sorry, Dad :)

Family Reunion

I’ve got three eyes; my mom has nine.
People tease her all the time.
Although I guess that’s not as bad
As the awkward five arms on my dad.

Uncle Jim has one eye straight,
The other’s looking at the lake.
Aunt Marie was his nice wife,
Before she became Uncle Mike.

Then we have my cousin Paul,
Who somehow is his own grandpa.
That’s not as bad as cousin Joe—
He’s still counting all his toes.

Grandma Cat is worse off, too.
She has a hard time finding shoes.
It might be hard for me as well
If I had to wear a men’s size twelve.

Mick and Rick get no respect
Since they’re joined up at the neck.
One leg each, it seems unfair
When each one wants to go somewhere.

And of course let’s not forget
My favorite cousin Margaret.
Her hair glows bright, it is so nice
Since the treatment for the lice.

It is so convenient, too
To be related six ways to Great-Aunt Ruth.
It doesn’t bother me too much;
I think it adds a special touch.

So now you know; it’s not a trick.
For a joke, it’d be quite sick.
But, see, it doesn’t bother me;
This is just my family.

People think that it’s too bad
That our family looks so sad.
But if you haven’t heard by word of mouth
That’s how we do it in the South.

1979

Have you ever seen the "new" Brady Bunch movies, the ones that make fun of the show? They're fabulous and you should totally watch them. One of my favorite parts is that even though the movie is set in present day (or the 90s; same difference), the Bradys are still living in the 70s - same clothes, same home decor, same phrases. And I can relate, because while the rest of the world was living in the 80s, 90s, and 2000s, my family and I were living in 1979.

See, my parents met in the 70s, got engaged in the 70s, and just liked the 70s so much they never left. It was more common to hear the Beatles playing in my house than the Black-Eyed Peas. I didn't even know who Fergie was until she had already rejoined the Black-Eyed Peas. And if you have no idea who I am talking about, don't try to find out - your brain cells are way too valuable to waste them on this.

ANYway, I didn't think much of this until I got to college and had virtually no idea who or what anyone was talking to when it came to music. I've never been a music fanatic or anything (don't tell my dad) so at first I thought I was just a little behind. But when I was literally the only person on my dorm room hallway who had no idea if The Real Housewives of Orange County was the same thing as Desperate Housewives, I realized I had missed more than I thought.

Looking back on it, it all makes sense. My parents raised us on their favorite music and shows - subsequently, I've seen every episode of Happy Days but have still never watched a full season of The Bachelor. And it was so much fun that I just never left my happy little hamlet of grooviness and loving each other, man. This is why I get along with all adults but can't have more than a 6-word conversation with people my own age. This is why Daniel, a self-admitted old man trapped in a young man's body, is perfect for me. And this is why, when in a conversation that I know nothing about, I have developed what I call the Nod And Smile - it appears that I am just as excited as you are about Snooki but inside I am wondering what season of The Waltons is playing on Hallmark this week.

This week on the Waltons: A problem arises that turns out to not be that big of a deal. Stay  tuned. 

But I'm okay with living in the 70s. It was a pretty far-out time, and gas was a lot cheaper. So if you ever have any questions about Journey, Little House on the Prairie, or the war, just give me a call - I do, at least, have a cell phone.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rg56gRJwZOc

Happy Mother's Day!

When I was in middle and high school, my schools sent home progress reports halfway been the semester. The progress reports detailed every single grade you had received in your classes since the beginning of time. Every. Single. Grade. So this was the day where a few kids started sweating bullets because the "A" they told their parents they'd gotten on their math test was really "A few more grades like this and Johnny will never leave school ever."

I particularly hated progress report day, because while I tried not to didn't lie to my parents about my grades, I knew that my mother would take each progress report, sit with me on the couch, and go over every item on that sheet of paper. Every. Single. Grade. It drove me nuts. Then I would go to school the next day and heard about kids whose parents had just signed the report after barely glancing at it, and I wished that my mom would do the same thing.

Fast forward to the end of high school, college, and jobs. All of which I was able to achieve with a reasonable degree of accomplishment. Not because I am a genius, but because without even realizing it, I was learning the value of working hard and wanting to be proud of anything that had my name on it.

It took me a long time to realize that every time my mom went over my progress report with me, she was doing me a great service. And she was showing me how much she loved me. Did the kids whose moms didn't go over their reports still graduate, get jobs, and know they were loved? Definitely. But looking back on it now, I realize that my siblings and I were some of the luckiest kids in the school, because my mom not only asked us to try our best, but she truly believed (and still does) that if we just tried hard we could accomplish anything.

My sister is a elementary school teacher with a masters degree in her field. She can organize like the wind, never forgets a birthday or anniversary, and has a genuine love for people that draws others to her. My brother is one of the best drummers I have ever seen, is willing to help a sister out (see what I did there) whenever he is needed, and worries about getting to work on time because he wants to make sure he doesn't slack on his job. I am not trying to brag; really, I'm not. I am now able to look at these accomplishments and know that none of them would be possible without parents like ours who never accepted less than our best because they knew we could be anything.

What's funny is that my last two years of high school, they stopped sending progress reports home - and I was disappointed. I wanted to show them to my mom so she could see my hard work.

I got blessed with a good mom. One who sings weird songs to me on my birthday, who constantly invites my friends over and treats them like family, and who tells me at least twice a day that she loves me. And if you would like her to be your mom, just give her a call - she'll adopt you :)

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!!

A few simple traffic rules

Most of you know that I have issues with traffic. However, this post is not about what to do to circumvent the horror that is a traffic jam, or how to right an injustice on the highway. This time, I have decided to share some wisdom with you that comes from my experience this evening:

1) Before you honk angrily at someone who cuts you off, make sure they don't have a license plate that denotes they are a war veteran or physically handicapped.

2) Once you realize this, do not tailgate them even longer - they might live in your parents' neighborhood.

3) Always, always resist the urge to give the finger - seriously, that person might live in your parents' neighborhood.

4) As soon as you realize they do live in your parents' neighborhood neighborhood, look for another neighborhood to turn into in case the other driver might recognize you. Try to do this inconspicuously. Which is hard to do in a bright orange car.

5) Do not think you are safe until you see them turn on another street - they might take a sloooooooow riiiiiiiiide dooooooown theeeee streeeeeeeeet and it will look bad if you come zooming up behind them. Again.

6) Finally, when you are safe, never, ever, ever venture into your parents' neighborhood again. At least not until your fake mustache and dark sunglasses arrive.

Sorry, Mom. This is why I don't have a Jesus sticker on my car.

Spot the Savior

My family is not big on traditions (unless you count avoiding Monopoly like the plague), except at Christmas. We have a very specific way of doing things at Christmastime. One such tradition has forever remained a special place in my heart, glowing like a little cartoon flame and filling me with untold joy. That tradition is the one where we sing a song together read the Christmas story tell each other how much we love each other mercilessly mock other people's Christmas lights. 

There are only a few rules:

1) No blue lights. They are ugly. If you have blue lights and you are reading this... sorry. But heed my words.

2) No big lights and small lights mixed in on the same bush/tree/door. Pick a side, people.

3) All bush lights must cover the visible part of the bush - not just the top, one side, or the bottom.

4) Symmetry is key. If you have one half of the porch lit up but the other half is drooping into the yard because your dog enjoys the thrill of being shocked by Christmas lights, that is major points off.

5) Don't put too many blow-up creatures in your yard. Especially if they have nothing to do with Christmas. That is my mom's favorite rule.

The final element of the evening is counting how many Saviors/nativity scenes we can spot. Our record is around 8, I think, and that was after 10 neighborhoods and several crying sessions from everyone.

So last night Daniel and I continued the tradition. The results are below.

We'll start with the good ones*:

*Some of the good ones may break one of the rules above. This is because Daniel is new to the game and liked some things that I would have burned down. He'll learn soon.

Okay, enough of that. On to the good stuff:

SANTA IS DOWN! REPEAT, SANTA IS DOWN!

That is a flamingo. Stuffed with lights.

Even with no neck, Rudolph was determined to shine brightly for the kiddies.

Spongebob. Apparently we weren't the only ones who didn't care for him.

AHHHH MY EYES

"Gee, Carol, you wanna put all the lights up this year?"
"No, Jim - let's just shine a big one on the house. That'll look just as good."

These people even have blow-up items on their porch. They are very dedicated... to the crap in their yard.

These next few are from the same house. A house that had so many Christmas lights I thought I might spontaneously develop epilepsy and have a seizure if nothing more than for the sake of doing anything but staring at the yard with my mouth open.

And, so, friends, that brings us to the real event of the evening: Spotting the Savior. We spotted two real ones and one Woodstock one from Peanuts, so we're calling it 2.5.

Woodstock Jesus is a little washed out.

So there you have it. The good, the bad, and the holy. I do hope you enjoyed the tour of Christmas lights this year, and be sure to join us after the new year for a special edition of Christmas Lights: The Post-Christmas Droop.

Merry Christmas!!

K-R-I-S-T-E-N

My name is Kristen. (Hi, Kristen.) My parents named me this in an attempt to give me a name that was slightly unique but not so unique I never make a friend because other parents are scared of my family's values. And while my birthday is very close to Christmas, and while I know "Kristen" and "Christmas" sound similar, my parents did not take this into consideration when naming me. My dad is very adamant about this point. For the love of all that is holy, please don't ask him if I am named after Christmas. You will regret it. Also, don't ask him about the civil war, but that's unrelated.

However, all this aside, the most aggravating aspect of my name is not that I share it with so many people in spite of my parents' best efforts. (One of my BFFs has been renamed Other Kristen just so we have a way to distinguish ourselves to our friends.) It's the fact that there are so many ways to spell it and pronounce it that no one ever gets mine right, including my great-grandmother. But she gives me presents, so she gets a pass. The rest of you, please continue reading.

The name Kristen is pretty simple. It's only seven letters. And it's phonetic. What you see is what you get. You might find yourself wanting to say Kristine, or Krista, or Kristy, or, on one weird occasion, Kelly. Fight that urge. It's a bad urge. It's the kind of urge that will get you pinched on the arm. And, for the love of everything, please do not ask me if I am sure if I am saying and/or spelling it correctly. It's been 24 years. I'm sure.

And now that I have a grown-up work email address, a Facebook account, a Pinterest, a Gmail account, etc., I find myself eternally baffled by the fact that people constantly misspell my name. Like all others who have my name, I consider my spelling to be the most correct. None of the letters repeat, the "K" gives it that unique flair - not a lot of words start with K, you see. Okay, fine, but not as many as, like, M. But regardless of how you think it should or could or would be spelled in your mind, it doesn't change the actual spelling of my name. If you're writing me a message on Facebook, and you're just not sure how to spell it, you can just look up about two inches and, what's this?? My name is ON my Facebook page?? Quick, write it down, before someone notices and corrects it for me!! The same goes with email... and everything else. I hate to brag, but I am a champion speller. And even if I wasn't, I am 100% sure how to spell my own name.  I know I've said that already. But apparently it's a difficult concept to grasp.

So, in conclusion:
Give me a K! (K!)
Give me an R! (R!)
Give me an I! (I!)
Give me an S! (S!)
Give me a T! (T!)
Give me an E! (E!)
Give me an N! (N!)

What does that spell???  FERNANDO! No, I'm kidding. It spells Kristen!! Yay!!!!!!!!!!!

Go Bay-ack

There is a ride at Six Flags called the Monster Plantation. Most of you have probably ridden it, and if you haven't, what are you waiting for?? Run, be free. I'll wait. And whatever anyone tells you, I am not scared of that ride. And if I was it would be a perfectly reasonable fear of the dark and weird, jerky puppets that sing to you without moving their mouths.

Aaaaaanyway, on that ride, you're supposed to be on a nice, happy tour of the plantation when suddenly you see the "sheriff" of the town waving his arms at you, telling you to go to the right, not to the left! "Go bay-ack," he says (he is supposed to be Southern, hence the two syllables for the word "back"), but since you have no control over the ride, you have no choice but to wave at him sadly and turn into the scary monster forest.

My dad loves the "go bay-ack" so much that it has become a staple in our household. Walk up and say that to any member of my family and they will know what you are talking about immediately. And my dad loves to say it when he thinks we're about to do something dumb/have already done something dumb and are telling him about it/when he wants to go to Six Flags, so it always pops into my head when I make less than sound decisions. So, as I regale you with this tale of my bad decision-making skills, try to picture a big, furry monster puppet with a sheriff's hat on and waving his arms at you to get the full effect, okay?

We recently bought a car back in May. Many of you have heard my adventures with the previous car, the Integra, and if you haven't just picture me screaming for a long time and then something breaking off a car, and you're basically caught up. But now I get to drive the new car! The new car and I get along very well, and the only major difference was that the gas light in the Integra (its one good quality being its infinite gas mileage), was more of a suggestion than a warning. And so far in the new Caliber, the few times the gas light had come on, I had gotten gas the same day and it wasn't an issue.

This brings us to Thursday morning, a morning where I had a choice to make: stop and get gas, or stop and get Starbucks. I only had time for one. I chose Starbucks (cue the first Go Bay-ack), thinking I could just get gas on my lunch break. So I get my S'bucks, drive to work, and almost make it to the light when I notice the car is slowing down. Hmm. That probably isn't normal. Now it's slowing down a lot. Now the steering wheel isn't so much with the turning. I manage to wrestle the car into the Zaxby's parking lot next to my work, but I don't make it into a parking space before the car shuts down completely. Oops.

Okay, no big deal - someone at Zaxby's can probably help. I ran to the door and pulled on it - locked. They don't open until 10:30. Go Bay-ack. Well, that's okay. I can... um... I got nothin'. It's also important to know this about me: I can do CPR, face blood and guts, and clean up vomit like a champion. But in situations that don't allow me to use pre-arranged steps, I don't think so good. So I run into work and see my boss in the hallway. Since I have sprinted there, I tell him in between breaths about the situation and that I planned on just walking to the nearby gas station, and I'm pretty sure I mentioned that I was a fast runner. Smooth. He pointed out that asking someone if they had a gas can might be a better first step. I asked a couple of people - no luck with the gas can. Go Bay-ack.

My friend LeeAnn kindly offered to drive me to the gas station, so off we went, me babbling the entire time about how this has never happened to me and I thought I had more gas and blah blee bloo blah. We get the gas can, fill it, and then come back to my car, still in the middle of the Zaxby's parking lot. I noticed my hazard lights were no longer flashing, but I didn't really care. Go Bay-ack. After a long time spent on trial and error, LeeAnn figures out how the little gas can works and I start to pour it into my car. Then I feel a little liquid on my leg and shoes. Either I've just added incontinence to my list of problems, or I've spilled gas on myself. It was the gas. Go Bay-ack. Erghhhhh. Fine. That's fine. It's all fine.

The gas finished... gassing, or whatever it does, so I get into the car to start it. I turn the key and am greeted with click click click click. The battery had died. In the five minutes it took me to run inside, get to the gas station, and fill up the car, the freaking battery had DIED. Go Bay-ack. I make the trek back to my work again. It actually wasn't that far of a walk but it sounds more dramatic if I say "trek" instead of "quick jaunt." My friend Gino offered to jump my battery, so off we go. The battery is jumped, the car is on, and the villagers were saved. As Gino is driving off, I looked at my dash just in time to see the little gas can light up, accompanied by the cheerful little Ding! that lets me know when I'm screwed. Of course. So I got more gas, and finally wandered into work sometime around 10 - just an hour late. Sheesh. The first thing several helpful people said to me was "Uh - you smell like gas." I had forgotten that I'd spilled gas all over myself. Go Bay-ack.

I'm sure my coworkers were all very enthused about the prospect of spending an entire day trying to stay conscious, but unfortunately for them, I got sick, had to go home, and wasn't able to come into work the next day, either. Nothing like an illness to really round off a crappy day, all before lunch time.

So, in conclusion: Don't ignore the gas light, kids. And always Go Bay-ack.