Mom's don't wrestle

...and this is why. It would be non-stop wrestle mania 24-7. These kids don't have an off button. If I was fair game I would live in constant booty flex mode. Standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes and all of a sudden...BAM...TC comes at me full fisted right in the ribs. I'm bending over to pick up miniature socks from under the bed...POW...Emma pile drives me to the ground. I'm sitting in the floor folding clothes...WOOF...Tate clobbers me with the couch pillow. Oh no, I'm no dummy. It's all or nothing and I choose to abstain. Besides someone always cries before it's all over and I would be too tempted to go straight to the crying part so that it could be over faster...sheesh...who needs it...I'll leave all the bloody noses and screaming kids to Daddy...he's like Kung Fu Panda...the kids just seem to bounce right off of him no matter how fast they run, how high they jump, or how hard they hit.

Suprise guest

We were thrilled when we learned that GG was coming with Granna to stay with us over the weekend. As the little ones and I were discussing the topic of old people (I don't know why or how we got there), we were comparing the old people we knew. Some were short, some were white headed, all had wrinkles, and some were bald. Well, GG is bald, I said. Emma's mouth gaped open and she gasped, "You mean like Pappy?!" She was scared to death when I told her that GG could take her hair off and under no circumstances did Emma want to touch it, much less look at it. When GG finally came, Emma stood at a distance, checking her out, making sure, I guess, that GG's hair wasn't going to jump off her head and suffocate Emma, like some bad horror movie. After a few minutes Emma finally warmed up but was clearly uncomfortable when GRANNA tried on the "piece". Neither she nor Tennison would touch it. She finally, tentatively, asked GG to please put her hair back on. Funny little creatures, they will pick up the hairiest bug in the yard and touch poop with their bare hands but GG's wig, now that's crossing the line!

Food Jail

Quote of the day from http://thoughtthinkers.wordpress.com/:

I know that I shouldn’t call it a diet, but lifestyle change is really just another way of saying I must have a funeral for all the foods that make “Eat, Drink and be Merry”… merry.

According to scripture“…nothing is better for a man under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and be glad.” Ecclesiastes 8:15
But according to my BMI there is nothing better for me than to get myself to 24 Hour Fitness.

As I dive into the whole Food Jail thing I could use a little prayer; prayer for strength, prayer for self-control and prayer that I don’t maim the Food Police. After all, the opposite of fat and happy is… umm…skinny and rather grumpy.

Glimpse

This was such a strange moment that I had to capture it on camara...this is my life but I am not in it at the moment. Usually I am the one trying to finish mundane tasks with 3 little monkeys hanging on me, sticking fingers where they are not wanted, hauling toys in to surround me, wrestling and bumping me when it is least welcomed...but this day it is Granna, trying to paint the cabinet while stiff arming one and keeping the paint from spilling over due to the kiss fest going on behind her. And see the look on her face? That's the way I imagine I look all the time...except mine comes from frustration, irritation, confusion, befuddlement, and lack of sleep.

The scene is surreal...those are my kids...and that is my life...but it's not...weird

BTW...

I don't really know who reads my blog, I've tried to only give it out to people I am close to and trust but things get around so...when I write, I like to think that those who are reading it know me, because sometimes I get personal, you know, sometimes I vent or get kinda sappy or get all church lady. And believe it or not, sometimes I hesitate before pushing the "publish post...so that everyone can see the ugly" button. Sometimes I may come across as too over the top or too whiny, but it's just where I am at the moment. I wanted something that could chronicle my real life, not the life that I had been sticking into perfect scrapbooks with cute little store-bought die-cuts. That life really doesn't exist, and who cares about perfection anyway. That's boring. I never kept a diary because I always knew, inevitably, it would fall into the wrong hands, and my life would be over. I would have to live under a rock. And really, I do keep a "not by chance" journal, (that I share VERY infrequently) so that I can remember all the ways that my life has been steered by the One who loves me and gave Himself up for me. (See what I mean, there I go again with the over the top stuff) So, if in my ramblings, I say something that strikes you the wrong way, I don't really know who I'm talking to, so in the very least, I would rather not know about it, and at the very most, just don't read it. 'Cause it ain't easy being green..or translucent...or transparent...or whatever...you know what I mean...I hope.

Waiting...

http://www.chattingatthesky.com/2009/09/03/the-hiding/ I could have written this. I have, many times, in my heart. So it makes me wonder, reading it there on the screen, am I not the only one who was confused? All those kids growing up and now all the grown up kids, who seem to have it all but are really just fakes...like me. And then He found me, or I should say, I got quiet enough to hear him, and I finally knew what it meant to trust, to feel loved by someone who knew every thought and intention I have, and in His eyes, I'm beautiful, a Monet in progress. Unlike me, He doesn't shake His head at His child's failures and ask "When are you going to stop being so stubborn, and listen to me?" He just smirks and whispers to the Father, "she's one step closer to completion, isn't she wonderful?" He is patient, when I mess up, He is waiting with forgiveness...every...single...time. He takes an active role in my life and thrills me with tiny glimpses of His works in my life. Tatum is a book all by himself, and mine is still being written. So I guess it's okay that it took me almost 30 years to finally see Him, even though He's been there all along, waiting for me to put down the mask.

He is ready...

Big world, here we come! Armed with his backpack, lunch box, and napmat, TC set out on his new adventure. With barely a backwards glance in my direction he marched his little Spiderman shoes into school, found his classroom, and sat down to start coloring. When I kissed him goodbye, he gave a quick nod and was back to his activity. In kid years, this day has been 15 years coming. He was ready...so why the tears in Mommy's eyes...

TC is the most independent of the three, the biggest risk taker, most adventurous...he will probably grow up to be a pilot or an firefighter or a bull rider...he may move far far away and I will hear stories of his travels...this is the first step...and he is ready...but am I?