Dear Hub

Okay, Keeper of My Heart. Here are The Rules Of The Day:

1. Your daughter has been throwing up. Therefore, you must bring home dinner. as One-Who-Usually-Cooks lost her appetite. by 9AM.

2. Your OTHER daughter refuses to sleep. Therefore, you must bring home chocolate...or jewelry. as anything sweet (or shiny) will undoubtedly brighten a day where Nap Mutiny has occurred.

3. Your OTHER daughter turns 6 tomorrow. Therefore, you must go by Target and get predetermined present. as I am being held hostage by aforementioned vomit and insomnia.

4. Your OTHER daughter is 3yrs. Enough said. Therefore, it'd be advised that you also throw in a bookshelf or two in order to help with the overall peace and order of the home since you know me: Organization soothes the savage beast.

No worries, Costco has some. I called to check.

5. Your OTHER daughter is a God-send. and the only reason I am coherent enough to sit up and type out this little ditty.

Okay, so maybe this reads more like a shopping list than house rules, but *shrug* a rose by any other name, right?

ALERT: Jailbreak

We're breaking free today and heading out to spend the day with a friend and her littles.

Email excerpt for memory sake:

"You should have seen the girls when I told them what we were doing tomorrow...they jumped and danced and hugged each other. It was almost sad. Am I that much of a prison warden? keeping them housebound, under lock and key? Pitiful, I tell you.

Can't wait to see you as we attempt Prison Break tomorrow... I'll TRY to leave the coordinating orange jumpsuits at home.

Though, I do have to say it does help in the overall keeping track of them."

If you see us around town, proceed with caution. Apparently my girls haven't been out in a while. They may be slightly scary.

When I return, then I'll invite you to visit my Living Room/School room. Until then...

*Cue Prison Break-esk melo-dramatic music*

In which I add a BIG, FAT Number 11

Maybe you read my "10 things I hate"List. Maybe you didn't. But eh, either way...I have a little...*ahem*...shall we call it Addendum?

Some More things I Rather Hate:

11. When you are so busy focusing on the fact that you are grossly in need of a professional haircut (IE. one that doesn't happen in the privacy of your bathroom) that you spend forevah trying to make your hair not look like Dudley Moore circa 1980 that you completely forget to practice personal hygiene before leaving for church.

12. When you don't realize the slight oversight of not having brushed your teeth until far too late. As in, in the car. on the way to the church. a good distance from the house. forcing you to pop in two very strong, very minty-fresh pieces of gum.

13. When you are busy chomping on your hygiene-aiding wad of gum, in the middle of a conversation with multiple people in the church lobby, when you suddenly realize that you also forgot to shave the prickles from underneath your exposed arm pits. Just about the same time that you forgot to coat those same armpits with Degree deodorant.

14. When, upon said realizations, your body temperature automatically and irreversibly raises 15 degrees. causing you to be immediately be covered in a cold sweat. Something not conducive to a sound, peace of mind when NOT wearing deodorant.

15. When you have to try and track down someone who happens to have deodorant. on hand. at church. (Thank God, if this were to happen to ME, I'm not a shy person)

16. When you do finally track down someone who has a key to the Church Staff's bathroom's fully stocked cabinet.... and find that all they have is Men's Right Guard...clearly not of the unscented variety. Smelling like a man is better than the alternative. Uh, right?

17. When you go into the church's infant nursery, only to find that the person you're sharing Nursery Duty with happens to have an extra deodorant in her purse. the kind that smells like powder and lotion and all things feminine. Only 10 minutes too late.

18. When you realize...hours later as you picnic with a ton of friends in the summer's heat... that men's deodorant doesn't work for you anyway.


Yeah. I think that about covers it. Just add 11-18 to my last list.

NOT that I'm speaking from personal experience or anything. No, this is pure hypothetical musings of some things that I think I would totally hate.

You know, WERE it to happen to me.

Parental Irony

An Irony of Parenthood:

When your first child is born, you carry around a hand-santizer. At all times.

You actually go so far as to place it in the carseat next to the newborn reminding on-lookers of their incriminating germs and your full support of their improved hygiene practices before touching your child.

Fast forward 5 years.

Gone is hand-santizer. Replaced is the plea:

"If the dog licks you in the face, just please make sure to keep your mouth closed."

5 Things

... I'm loving about Spring so far.

Otherwise known as: Reasons why I am a sick sick person...

1. killing flies while they're mating. I'm killing the mommy, the daddy, and all their little potential breedlings in one fell swoop. I'm all about multi-tasking.

2. seeing that our foul fly trap is loading up on all the flies that I didn't catch. watching them squirm their way to a slow death has brought surprising joy to my heart.

3. carrying our prized trophies, by the tail, across the street and dumping their headless carcasses in the bushes. That'd be snakes, in case you're wondering.

4. knowing that when Jet "feeds" the ants (as Charis calls it), they're chomping on a buffet a la poison. *bu-bye*

Yeah. I don't like creepy crawly things. though I love that I am bigger...carry a large hoe, a bag of poison, and a shoe. Mmm. the smell of death in the springtime.

5. Knowing I can let the girls wear the same things over and over again. Without washing it. Just because I feel justified being that they're "outside play clothes".

Ways to avoid mountains of laundry is my specialty. I have been known to take something out of the dirty clothes hamper and wear it as is.

What??? Like you haven't done it! ;)


Ahh. I'm so loving that wintertime seems to have left the premises. (I love every turn of the season). I'm so ready for the smell of rain and freshly mowed lawns, singing birds and brilliant color. Spring has officially sprung.

Though I have to say, I'm somewhat shocked that my beloved Selah hasn't asked to pee in the yard. Yet.

That has been, after all, my telltale Springtime Arrival Notice for the past few years.

*teary-eyed* My baby girl must be growing up.

Mastering the concept.

Not too long back, I was fairly certain that Raegan didn't quite grasp the whole idea behind the potty.

Take note of its doubling as a toy box. housing all of her Fridge Phonics letters.

I mean, yeah...she knew to sit on it. and make the "pssss" sound.

But that's where the understanding seemed to end.

And I was good with that.

I figured Hey, I'm not really ready to go all Potty Commando. not with Lani still waking up in the middle of the night. and me homeschooling two girls. and trying to practice good hygiene. ALL while making sure my girls don't starve.

A mom has got to prioritize, right?

I figured by her Kindergarten year, I'd be all over it.

Except that Raegan has become quite the dangerous little toddler.... Being completely adept at removing all types of clothes, she has become our resident Houdini.

Couple that with the fact that she loves to be naked and you have nothing short of a toddler strip club.

AND when you take into account that she is also trying to potty train herself...and is now if full bootcamp mode... you have a disaster in the making.

For those of you that have not parented toddlers yet, I'd advise you look away. This may cause involuntary retching. Never a good thing.

For the rest of Club Parenthood, I'd imagine you'd just casually say "Uh-huh. Junior did that one too. 'Cept his was worse."

WELL...while the oldest girls of my small brood have been swooning over the Office of Marriage and all it entails, my third daughter has had her sights on other goals.


Unfortunately her aim ain't so good.

Yes. I did just post a picture of poop-gone-astray. I have resorted to becoming one of those parents. The kind of parent that naively thinks other people actually care about the intestinal products of their offspring.

But I'm not posting the picture of Naked Child, if that's any consolation. Does that redeem me?

Yeah, didn't think so.

So there you have it. The start of my day. Right there on the bathroom floor. All before 9AM.

Monkey Business. continued.

Update on the previous post (due to questions I've received).

Yes, that's exactly what was meant in the Little House episode. Charles was away on business. Another man was at their house building on an addition. Mrs. Olson was referring to that scenerio ... Thus, "Monkey Business" introduced to my little ones grid of "understanding".

Believe me, it took me off guard. I tried to distract them. talk loud over the TV conversation playing out on the screen before me. fast forward it a bit. anything to take their attention from the 5 seconds I would have rathered they not see.

But nope. the damage had been done. the seeds of curiousity planted. courtesy of Harriet and Nellie Olson.

AND

Since that last post, I've had a few readers email me. telling me about "God's design for Sex" series.

Bam. Bam. One email right after the other. Thanks guys! I will definitely be looking into that one!

For now, I must go get ready. For a playdate that I think I'd rather avoid if it wasn't for the mom. I LOVE her.

Oh Okay, so her children are amazing as well. Too amazing! For her oldest boy is the one that awakened all this "lovey dovey" stuff in the heart of my daughter.

She even made an "I love you" card. Pop Up style. I kid you not.

I tried to tell her as gently as possible that you don't just go around giving people those kinds of cards. because she doesn't even know him yet.

To which she promptly replied. "Well, I'll ask him all about himself today. and tell him all about myself. And then, I'll give him the card."

Well then. What's left to say? Let the playdate begin...

Stu.t.t.t.errr.ing my way through

Yep. Here we are again. Reporting to you from The Family Dinner Table. where all the action happens these days.

Charis: Mommy? What's "Monkey Business"?

Mommy: *Complete and Shocked Silence*

(Pull it together, girl. You can do this. Don't look too shocked. Kids can smell fear. ...Quick say something. Only don't make a big deal out of it. Breathe. In. Out. Good. Now open your mouth. Speak. Anything!)

I start to say something. I steady my voice. I feign confident and in-charge. and fail.

I stumble. I stuttered. I stop mid-sentence.

Jet, from across the table, put me out of my misery and finally speaks up: Well... you know Curious George?

Charis and Selah switch their gaze from me to him. and smile. Now Curious George, they get.

Jet: He's a monkey, right?

Charis and Selah: Yeah!!

Jet: And he's always getting into trouble. Right?

More emphatic nodding of the heads.

Jet: Well...that's what "monkey business" is. When people do things that get them into trouble.

Yeah. Right. Why didn't I think of that? When in doubt...revert to cartoon characters.

And for the record? Worked like a charm.

Now to rack my brain for any and all cartoon characters that could help me in the inevitable S*ex talk that is bound to happen any. day. now.

For those of you that are following this, can you even believe how fast this is snowballing?! Thank you, Jolanthe, for dropping off the inhaler. I just had my lung spasms under control. When this hit.

Got any Percocet?

*And no, we have not been hanging around the local bar. Cross my heart. That lovely little statement was heard on Little house on the Prairie. And yes, it was referring to 'messing around'. Is nothing safe to watch these days?!* :)

Uh, why do you ask?

*picture of Charis when she was around 2 years old.

I'm becoming more and more acutely aware of how fast my little girls are growing up. There are days where I'm positive that they've matured more than their allotted daily amount.

Take, for instance, the other day. Selah wanted to play "stories". This is a game that they've played for a while now. a game where they make up a story and play-act it out.

But Charis made sure to make one thing clear: "I don't play stories anymore."

Me: How come?
Charis: Because I don't. People change when they get older. And I. have. changed.

Well La Ti.

Of course, this new-found rule is null and void if the story has anything to do with marriage...

Charis: I don't know who the Lord has for me as a husband. but I told him that I want him to be handsome and kind. Like Daddy. ...and strong.

So precious. Though I have to wonder...does the little "strong" addendum mean that she thinks being strong is UNlike Daddy?

Time to hit the gym, Jet. *laughing*

But even though she talks of marriage often, I have to wonder how she interprets it, you know? What exactly does she think it means?

Though she's starting to give me small glimpses as to her thoughts on the subject...

Charis: "Do you hug Daddy?"
Me: Yes
Charis: Every night?
Me: Uh-huh.

Selah (interjecting from her side of the room): They do! I know...I've seen them!

Charis (after pausing and staring off into the distance asks): Well, do you kiss him?
Me (wondering where this was actually headed): Yes.
Charis: Every night?
Me: Uh...yeah.
Charis: Well, will you do it tonight?!
Me (smiling the biggest smile, trying not to laugh outright): "Um. Probably?"

I'm not sure how the conversation ended. though I think it pretty much stopped there. ThanktheLord.

She's 6! She seems so little to me. But then again, I think back to my 6 year old status, and I remember feeling So big.

I remember feeling like I knew "so much" about things I'm not ready to discuss with her yet.

Is it just me or has Charis grown up on me?!! All in the span of a week and a half.

Be forewarned. One of my next post may very well include The Big Question Exchange. the one where she asks "Exactly how babies get in a mommy's belly".

Starting. to. hyperventilate. Must. go. lay. down.

Exhibit 1-A

Dear Daughters,

One day, after I remind you that it's your turn to clean the kitchen, you may ask me why I work your fingers to the bone. Why I seem to take joy in watching you work. And who, pray tell, made me the Slave Driver.

To which I will only say: You did, dear.

...
This conversation is neither a figment of my imagination nor exaggerated for dramatic effect.

Selah: "Can I clean the counters?" She pauses for a whooping 2 seconds before rushing on, completely frantic that I didn't answer an automatic yes. "Charis got to wash dishes...can't I help too? Please??????"

Me: "Alright."




She does a little jig around the kitchen, yelling her excitement. ;)

Who would've thought that I'd have to fight off my girls when trying to clean the house?! Seriously. They're begging to help. Asking me to teach them "chores".

Even thanking me when I let them.

...
So there you have it, Dear Teenage Daughters, the reason why you are now part of the local slave market.

You asked me to enlist you. And I, the ever loving mother, obliged.

What a large mouth you have

No, the point of this picture is not to show you Raegan's bicuspids. nor is it to show off the exceptional size of her 22-month old mouth. Though both are rather impressive. :)

But to give you an insider's view into what our house looks like these days. Why is she screaming, you ask?


To put it plainly...because I put a stop to this.

The na*ked boot-ay.

The one that is not potty-trained. and therefore has no respect for the rather expensive rugs we have scattered throughout our home.

So I harnessed those chubby little cheeks. With a pair of whitey-tighties.

Only they weren't, being a size or two too large.

But that didn't stop her from hysterically screaming "Too Tight! Too Tight!" as she ran around the house. somewhat akin to a puppy trying desparately to rid itself of a leash.

Seriously. This whole potty-training thing is over-rated. There are days I think I'd rather stick my head in the toilet than try and get her to cooperate.

Her idea of potty training is stripping down to nothing and streaking through the house. Somehow I don't think that qualifies for socially acceptable behavior.

But eh. We homeschool. So I suppose that lets us off the hook, being that we're apparently not raising socially "with it" kids anyway. Right? *bwah haha*

So help me, Lady,

If you don't get that camera out of my face....
Have I mentioned I got a new camera for Christmas? (Thank you, hon!)

Nothing fancy. Nothing big. In fact, it resembles a box of cards. thin. sleek. capable of more things than I am aware.

I got it just two days before my other camera died. *ka-put*

And, as you can see by the above picture, the Maternal Paparazzi is driving the kids to do senseless acts of vulgarity.

Anything to make that lady with a camera go away...

Premanufactured. Why not?!

For the record, I neither bought nor assembled this beaut' of a gingerbread house.

And my girls loved every minute it took to put it together.

To them, it is completely normal and even fun to pull out:
1. Cardboard-like stale gingerbread.
2. Frosting, thick enough, that it would kill you on the spot, were you crazy enough to try it
3. Hard little candies that no one with a taste bud would want to try

all from the convenience of a handy-dandy box. designed to aid you in baking building a gingerbread house of your very own.

Awww. Can't you just feel the Christmas cheer just looking at the picture?

Well apparently, my husband...upon viewing said gingerbread house...felt something a tad bit different.

Shall we call it "I-want-to-one-up-you-ism"? Yes, lets! Because I'm not quite sure how else to refer to such...uh, ambition. But you be the judge. Mkay?

*clearing throat...as I prepare to relay a story that still makes me shake my head in awe and wonder*

Jet: "We should make a gingerbread CASTLE next year."

Christin: "Uh. right." I look at him and give him 'that look'. to which he smiles and returns it.

But after completely blowing him off, I try to make amends by offering: "Well, I have a baking kit to make those things."

Jet: "Castles?!"
Christin: "Well. No."

I was thinking of the Pampered Chef Stoneware Gingerbread House Baking Molds. that I have in a box in the closet.

A box that's been set aside for things I had rendered completely useless. things that would most assuredly never be used. things I unsuccessfully tried to sell on Craigslist.

And honestly? I was feeling pretty stinkin' MarthaStewart-esk just confessing that we owned such an oddity.

I mean, really...Walmart sells KITS, people. Why make it from scratch? I scoff.

But Jet wasn't impressed by my confession. Nor was he kidding...or backing down.

Jet: "No really. I could draw it up on AutoCad..."

He lost me after that. My mind went blank.

I hear when extreme shock occurs, your brain sometimes has to shut down. ignoring all stimuli, in order to remain conscious. Especially when confronting that of an excessively talented husband, who is honestly much more Martha than I will ever be.

He bakes. He sews. His poop is gold.

Next year, after my husband has successfully autocad-ed (is that even a word?) us a Gingerbread Castle, I will forever be deemed the Lesser-parent. (like many times before)

Note to self: Must track down a Gingerbread Bill Gate's Estate Making Kit. Call Costco in the morning.

I'm going to wash your mouth out with soap...

Hello Poison Control?

Uh, yes. I have a problem. You see my 21 month old got into the bathroom.

Well, no. She didn't ingest anything. At least not that I'm aware.

Because...I didn't know where else to turn. and you people are supposed to help, right?!

Well...she came out of the bathroom with sopping wet hands. The bathroom that has no sink, mind you.

Uh-huh. That's my guess. She stuck her hands in the toilet.

Well, it's just that... *sigh* when I walked in, those same hands were in...well, they were in her mouth.

I know it's not really a poisonous substance! But you don't understand. I'm a busy woman and that toilet isn't always the most sparkling fresh place in the house. I wasn't planning on someone using it for a punch bowl.

I will from now on. trust me.

But all I want to know from you, Poison Control Dispatcher, is should I try and make her throw up or something? Because if she doesn't, I may.

Because sometimes being one of the youngest

...just plain stinks.

Dear Raegan,

In order to save you the time, I am giving you this picture as a reference... when, later in life, your siblings challenge you to prove that you were, indeed, the least favorite among the crew.

For when we had a round of hot chocolate, your sisters got buckets. And you, my dear one, only got got a wee drop.

in something resembling a shot glass.

But for the record, you loved it. and had three "shots" full.

My humble apologies,

Mommy

My heartfelt thank you...

My days here are very busy as I'm in Holiday Prep Mode and have no time to write... this blog originally published christmas 07, but it's still as true as ever.

... to all of you that so willingly display Christmas-in-the-Form-of-Gaudy on your very own front lawn. Transforming your normal-suburban home to something resembling Disney Land.

Multi-colored, flashing lights. Metallic-tinseled trees. Six-foot tall Snoopies dressed in Santa costumes. Baby Jesus flanked by the Three Stooges in lu of the traditional Three Wisemen. Blow-up snow globes larger than my bedroom.

Yep. Those are the houses to which I refer.

Can I just say...My girls L-O-V-E you! They scream and holler and clap. Loudly announcing which side of the road the Christmas festivities lie. And there you sit, in all your 130,000-watt glory. Twirling, spinning, and Ho-Ho-Hoing.

Yes, that's right. We drive around looking for you. Trying to find your yard so the girls can squeal and laugh and point. You know, getting in a little family entertainment. The free kind.

And I do appreciate this.

For you add a whole new dimension to our holiday season. This family viewing of your house from a far. Because God knows those blinking, multi-colored, frosted lights and Santa-fied cartoon characters will not be seen in our front yard. Ever.

But I, on behalf of my girls, thank you for being so willing to sacrifice the look of yours. Truly.


Though!! I have to say...I do love this house. Though I'm so glad it's not my neighbor. :)

A quick fix?

I admit it. I'm sucked in when I read things like "How to look 10 lbs. thinner".

I figure it's not flaunting some worthless promise of a miraculous breakthrough way to lose weight. Since I'm fairly certain the only tried-and-true method to losing weight is simple: burn-up more calories than you're eating.

No miracle there. Just hard work.

BUT this lovely little promise just said ways to APPEAR thinner. So I had to look. Since I'm still carrying around 15 lbs of baby weight.

And so I clicked on that little icon.

You know the things to which I refer... those alluring little boxes that lead us to places where we're supposed to be filled with educational help. tips from the pros. people who, though have never met us, can somehow empathize with our plight. like a dear friend.

Aw. Don't you just want to hug her for taking the time to help?

But as the page uploaded and the picture popped on my screen, I was horrified to see what my dear friend considered overweight and in need of a good 10-pound slimming via the miracle jeans she's so easily slipping on.

Are you kidding me?! This chick needs to be gaining a few pounds! Those legs look like...well honestly, I'm feeling rather inclined to sing about a chicken.

So if, dear friend, those are the pants that you are advising I put on, I'm thinking we need to have us a good chat. Those would not fit above my knee.

And even then, that may be pushing it. Since I'm not a big fan of cutting off the circulation to my ankles. I'm picky that way.

Yet.

Being the brave soul that I am, I ventured on. Wanting my friend (notice the missing "dear" part...I demoted her) to have a chance to redeem herself.

But you, Friend, disappointed me once again.

by showing me this waif of a woman. and citing her shirt as the example for how to make arms appear thinner.

I'm thinking if her arms got any thinner, they'd be rendered useless. completely inept when it comes to things like...oh, manning a 30 lb. toddler. opening a SUV's hatch. holding a toothbrush.

I'm beginning to think, oh-writer-of-this-article (notice the missing friend title? demoted. once. again) that you obviously need a strong reality check. or kick in the pants.

Because I have to admit, I think you're bound and determined, not to help me. but rather to ruin my day. stomping to bits any remaining self-confidence. silently mocking me from your side of cyberspace.

And then with one click of a button, I knew I was right. For this doozy of a picture appeared.

You're laughing right now. Aren't you, oh-spawn-of-all-things-evil.

The last time a rear view shot of me looked like that I was...oh , 10. and in 4th grade. Though I remember being a lot shorter. and completely incapable of walking around in the stilettos that your 10 year old model is sporting.

So in closing, horrible hateful Internet terr*orist, I have to say the next time you try to advise me on ways to just disguise my "jiggly bellies or chubby hips," you had better post a model who actually weighs more than 90 pounds. who actually has faced puberty and lived to tell about it. and who... maybe, just maybe...has birthed a child.

Instead of using girls who resemble the mannequin I saw in the children's department last weekend.

Sumo Wrestler

And in this corner...

...it's 9 week-old Buddha Baby. Weighing in at 12 lbs. 10 oz.

Effecting raising her into the 75% for weight. Matched with a whooping 25% for height and 75% for head.

Coming soon to a Sumo Wrestling match near you.

(height was 22 inches. though I could see by the mark the nurse made that it wasn't quite accurate. but oh well.)

Birth Order

**the following is not my original writing; I don't know who the author is. I got it from my mom, who read it to me over the phone this morning. all while laughing like a crazed hyena.


"BIRTH ORDER"

YOUR CLOTHES:
1st baby: You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN confirms your pregnancy.
2nd baby: You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.

PREPARING FOR THE BIRTH:
1st baby: You practice your breathing religiously.
2nd baby: You don't bother because you remember that last time, breathing didn't do a thing.
3rd baby: You ask for an epidural in your eighth month.

THE LAYETTE:
1st baby: You pre-wash newborn's clothes, color-coordinate them, and fold them neatly in the baby's little bureau.
2nd baby: You check to make sure that the clothes are clean and discard only the ones with the darkest stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, can't they?

WORRIES:
1st baby: At the first sign of distress...a whimper, a frown...you pick up the baby
2nd baby: You pick the baby up when her wails threaten to wake your firstborn.
3rd baby: You teach your three-year-old how to rewind the mechanical swing

PACIFIER:
1st baby: If the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away until you can go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby: When the pacifier falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice from the baby's bottle.
3rd baby: You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in.

DIAPERING:
1st baby: You change your baby's diapers every hour, whether they need it or not.
2nd baby: You change their diaper every two to three hours, if needed.
3rd baby: You try to change their diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.

ACTIVITIES:
1st baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics, Baby Swing, and Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: You take your infant to the supermarket and the dry cleaner.

GOING OUT:
1st baby: The first time you leave your baby with a sitter, you call home five times.
2nd baby: Just before you walk out the door, you remember to leave a number where you can be reached.
3rd baby: You leave instructions for the sitter to call only if she sees blood.

AT HOME:
1st baby: You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby: You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby.
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.

SWALLOWING COINS:
1st child: When first child swallows a coin, you rush the child to the hospital and demand x-rays.
2nd child: When second child swallows a coin, you carefully watch for the coin to pass.
3rd child: When third child swallows a coin you deduct it from his allowance.

Neck and Neck

I happen to live in one of the "Deciding States" (or Swing States) of this election. At least that's what the news is saying.

Jet came home from work today so I could go to the voting polls without four wild children-in-tow. *thank you, honey*

And all I say is that I voted with the Good Ol' Boys. Just think "Dukes of Hazard".

Men who haven't shaved in ...oh, 30 years. People who think deodorant is optional. Citizens who aren't afraid to unabashedly proclaim their political opinions. loudly.

It was an educational experience.

For an HOUR I stood in line. waiting to cast my vote. listening to my fellow townsmen (that must be read as Professional Rednecks) declare Ob*ama to be the devil himself.

The Election Officials said they'd never seen the turnout like this. The line was LOOONNNGGG. It had been that way, nonstop, since 6 AM. Apparently there are some gun-loving backwoodsmen who are rather fond of their firearms, thankyouverymuch.

Hopefully all those gun-loving men and their votes will help capture our "Swing State" for McCain.

And for the record, I love my small town. and the simple people who live here. I just may take a complimentary case of deodorant to the next town gathering.

In the spirit of being neighborly and all.