Thursday, February 16, 2012

I Am Momma She-Ra

Sometimes I feel like I am a total momma failure.  I yell at my girls.  I don't have plans for dinner.  The clothes are all dirty.  The floors are even dirtier.  I just want to go back to bed.

Today is not that day.  Today I felt like She-Ra.  Princess of Power.  Twin sister of He-Man.  But better.  Momma She-Ra.  Here is my stunning likeness.  Just add five kids.

Yep.  Five kids.  Today I took those five kids on an outing.  No one died and no one got lost.  The hardest part was getting all of them in and out of the van.  After pushing and rearranging seats, they all finally fit.  Piece of cake.  Princess of Power is only slightly perspiring.
We went to church to make a mayhem video for Sunday morning.  Mayhem happens to be these kids' specialty, so they did great.  Oscar worthy.  Then we played in the gym.  Running, screaming, and only mild arguments.  
And how does a super hero get kids to leave a gym full of balls?  Momma She-Ra promises them candy from the bank brandishes her sword with much fanfare and the children happily follow. 
The sidekicks squeezed back into the borrowed van.  All still happy.  Mamma She-Ra gloried in her triumph.  We rolled up to the bank window to make a deposit.  The teller looked in, laughed, and asked how many suckers I needed.  When I told her five, she laughed again and shook her head.

Laugh all you want lady.  But be warned.  If you laugh any harder, I might just take my posse out of this car and bring them inside your peaceful little bank.  Make my deposit in your lobby.  Then we'll be the ones laughing.  I guess she can't see my sword from her pedestal.

The superhero club rounded out the day with a magical car wash, calendar time, Daily News, memory verses, Queen Esther, the letter E, reading, journals, lunch, nap, math, and science.

Learning, errands, and fun all day with no injuries to report.

I am Momma She-Ra.  Hear me roar.

Here's the news from those sweet babies and a few more.
To the parents of Jaycee: Did you know this?
To the parents of Gideon: If anyone can, he can.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Mildly Inappropriate

My love affair with chocolate could definitely be described as mildly inappropriate.  Truly, I consume an insane amount of the deliciousness everyday.  I am not really a nice person without it.

Hence my morning breakdown.  I had an Oreo after my breakfast of donut holes.  It was wonderful.  Double Stuff.  Mmmm.  But, upon devouring said Oreo (in the pantry so the children wouldn't see), I made an unsettling discovery.

Our house was out of chocolate.

This is not an acceptable occurrence, and one I cannot handle with grace or dignity.  Don't judge.  I have a cocoa bean deficiency.  Very rare, but very real.

I searched the freezer.  Ice cream?  Nope.  Finished that off several days ago.  Frozen cookie dough?  Nada.  Ate most of them uncooked.  Who has time when you're craving?

What about the candy dish?  Yuck.   Just a bunch of non-chocolate reject candy.  The pantry?  Finished off the Chips Ahoy yesterday, and you know the sad tale of the Oreos.

I was about to despair when I remembered the cooking cabinet.  I always have chocolate chips.  Empty.  I felt the walls of my house closing in on me.  Six children.  Can't go to the grocery store until Patrick gets home at 4:30.  What if I don't make it that long?

Utter and complete misery.  My wonderful and, might I say, wise husband bought me chocolate last night.  But now the Twix and KitKat wrappers in the bathroom trash can mock me.

Hours later I have given up hope of having a normal life.  Then, the amazing happened.

The doorbell rang.

We all jumped.  It was nap time, and no one comes to my house at nap time.  I opened the door to see this blessing:

A truly wonderful woman gave me a gift card to Godiva after Christmas.  I wished I could kiss her right then.  I had placed an order and forgotten about it.

I shouted, "Thank you!" to the startled UPS man.  I ripped open the package and started taking pictures.  I am pretty sure the awake children thought I was insane.  It is best they learn the truth now.  Maybe I'll even stop hiding in the pantry.

Ahh....chocolaty caramel goodness.  I ate an undisclosed amount.  My smile came back.  The children laughed.

It may sound crazy, but this is how I know God loves me

He is always doing things to surprise me.  To bless me.  To make me walk with a lighter step.

Some days it is a smile.  Others it is children who obey the first time.  It has been a card.  It has been a hug.  Today it was chocolate.  Thank you, Jesus.  I love you, too. 

Here is the Sunrise School news.  Doesn't it pale in comparison to the miracle of chocolate delivered to a doorstep in the middle of a crisis?

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Death of a Fish

Our beloved fish Swimmy has died.  He was a good ole fish who served us well.  He survived a year of second grade - living through weekends and holidays of total isolation and little food.  This summer he retired from second grade and came to live at our house.

He seemed to enjoy his new life.  Then I went out of town for the weekend, entrusting the care of Swimmy and my two daughters to the husband.  Patrick was two for three.

Swimmy was belly up Monday morning.  His tank was in the kitchen.  The sink was right there.  I did what seemed natural and put him down the garbage disposal.  Didn't even think twice about it.  May he rest in pieces. 

My sister was appalled.  Apparently she thought this would have been more appropriate:

What's next?  Funerals for house flies?  Wakes for mosquitoes?  He's a fish, people!  Bless him to bits.

This fish was so beloved by all that his death came to the attention of my oldest daughter after only one week of him being departed.  Because of this, I did not really think she would be very affected by it.

I was wrong.

She cried and cried and cried.  After that, I didn't have the heart to tell her about the garbage disposal.  Maybe my sister was right.

We decided to use this as a teachable moment.  It's good to mourn.  It's ok to cry.  Let's talk about things we loved about Swimmy.  God loves us and is the only one who will never die or leave us.  You know, wise parent stuff.

Then Patrick chimes in with, "Do you want to watch Finding Nemo?  That's a happy fish movie."

Really?  More tears.  More talking.  More holding.

And suddenly the inevitable question, "Is Swimmy in heaven?"

I had no response prepared.  I was like a squirrel frozen in the middle of the road with a truck headed straight for me.  Which way do I go?  My mind froze.

Before I could stop my squirrel self, I ran to one side of the road and told her yes.  Abby's face lit up.  Thud.  Hit the wheel of the truck.  Cannot move to the right side of the road now.  It got worse.  She thinks my Meamaw is taking care of Swimmy.  Great.

Do I go back now, days later, drag my limp squirrel self to the other side, crush Abby's one glimmer of hope, and be hit by the truck's other tire?  Or do I stay flattened on this side of the road and let her keep believing a lie?

Perhaps I'll just wait till she mentions it again.  That sounds wonderfully lazy, and therefore must be the wrong answer.  But what's a squirrel to do?

If I am wrong, and there are animals in heaven, I hope Swimmy doesn't recognize me.