Party Favors

I need a favor. You all can help. You really can. Let me explain.

I am not the girl who needs lots of attention. Oh, I am a regular girl and by that I mean I need my fair share of attention, of course. But growing up I was not the drama queen in the family and that is good news because I gave birth to one of my own and two of us in the same house would probably be too much to bear. It would push my husband over the edge, I think. I try not to do that if I can help it. I can't always help it. Anyway, back to the subject at hand.

It isn't the professional sort although, that probably shouldn't be ruled out altogether. We'll see about that later. I am kind of looking forward to being a crazy old lady some day. You know the kind. The ones that wear hats that don't match anything, drink martini's at 10 A.M. and talk about wildly inappropriate things. Doesn't that sound fun? Well, except for the martinis. I guess I will have to be officially crazy first because I don't like martinis. I know, very uncool.

Good grief I am easily distracted!! Okay. Here's what I need. I know who some of you are. I see people frequently who say they read this blog. I am usually surprised by that. Mostly because they don't comment which is, coincidentally, perfectly okay with me. Except for today. I do not need you to comment every time I write something or ever again for that matter. It is truly fine with me.

Here's what is not fine with me. My insane curiosity. Remember the pony tail holders? It's like that. Every time someone new says, "Hey I read your blog" I start thinking "Oh mercy me, who else is out there reading the insane ramblings from me?????"

So I started spying on you. I really did. My son told me I would be a good spy because most of it is just creative, and according to him, I am very creative. Maybe someday I'll be a PI. Probably not but you never know. Ahem, I spied on you. I figured out I could find out how many people viewed this page each day. And to my surprise, there are sort-of alot of you. Alot would be a relative term. There are not thousands of you. Well, I suppose there could be because 1) I am kind-of bad at spying and 2) I am even worse at using computers. But I am guessing there are not thousands of you.

So here's what I am asking. Just leave a comment today. Say "Hi, it's me Sally Jo" or whatever, nothing fancy. And I promise I will never ask you to do it again. And you don't even have to register but if you don't then you need to leave your name in your comment, okay? Pretty please with sugar on top??? Please!

Wild One

Sometimes being the mother of a boy is like going on a wild, once in a lifetime Safari adventure but not being allowed to read any guidebooks first. For example-

Last night as we were headed to bed Caroline began singing the chorus of a song that's one of her daddy's favorites, "Fishin' In The Dark". She sang, "you and me goin' fishin' in the dark, lyin' on our backs......." She didn't get a chance to finish. Duncan, too began to sing at that point. His version?

"You and me go to the bathroom in the dark
'Cept I don't know where the bathroom is
So I pee on you and you think
what is this weird liquid"

Random Thoughts From the Cumby Household

A couple days ago I saw an actual tumbling, tumbleweed out my dining room window.

My entire immediate family know who you are referring to when you say "the Herbal American"

The two youngest members don't know why and they don't question it.

That's the only thing, ever, that they haven't questioned.

The "new" blue toliet water was great cause of concern for my 10 year old.

When playing a game of catch phrase, to describe the word "Alabama" my children did not use the description of the state but rather Sweet Home ____________.

That made me happy.

Donuts also make me happy.

But I am not happy about it.

This is the first season of American Idol I have ever watched. I don't know why I never watched before because I like it.

I continually talk about how life isn't fair, stop teaching our kids that everything is fair, etc. But it makes me beyond mad when someone cuts in line. What does that say about me?

Oreo blizzards are a really easy way to make someone's day better.

It gives me great satisfaction to prepare a meal and serve it to my family. Why does it give me none to clean it up?

License to Drive

Okay, here's my disclaimer before you start- I am going to try as hard as I can to keep this lighthearted and funny and not negative. If it takes a turn, well, I tried.

Yesterday we went on a little excursion. I will try to add some pictures tomorrow or the next day. It was lots of fun and a pleasant day all in all considering we were with oh, about half of Fort Worth. We went to the Zoo. On Spring Break. Hindsight says maybe not the greatest idea I ever had.

Nonetheless, it was fun. And nonetheless, that's not what this post is about.

First things first, I consider the Zoo to be a place mostly for children. That's a pretty common attitude, right? I am not saying adults can't enjoy it but the Zoo itself is aimed at children. So why were 350 lb. men "cutting" in front of my seven year old all day long? It was bizarre. My own husband wasn't there but I can't even begin to think of him trying to get in front of anybody at a Zoo exhibit. Heck, I am 5 feet tall and I can't imagine me trying to get in front of someone at a Zoo exhibit.

For starters, I don't really need to see anything that badly at the Zoo. Secondly, don't most adults come with the automatic response of letting the kids go first? What is up with people?

And this tidbit will end my rant for today, I swear. But if you want to go to a public place where children will be then you should be required to do one of two things- drive either a large stroller or a wheelchair for a full twenty-four hour period everywhere you go. Then you may come out and play with the rest of us. Seriously. They were adults all day long jumping right in front of me (driving the wheelchair) and other Mom's who tried to stop to let us go first simply got trampled. It was just stupid. So, I think if you are an adult person who has never driven one or the other then you need to live that life for a short while and then maybe you will have some compassion. They are heavy, they are hard to drive and they are sometimes filled with cranky, whiny, stinky, uncooperative little folks.

Happy Day

I needed a new, more positive post, so here you go. Not that I don't still feel 100% the way I felt when I wrote The Numbering of The Eggs, because I do. I just felt like it came out pretty negative and that's not really the point of the Blog, right?





And the point of the blog is to share the wacky, bizarre things about our life and well, I've got one for ya. Yesterday the children and I went on adventure. We love it when we do that. Most of you will think we're nuts. Maybe we are. We still have fun.

Check out where we went yesterday-

Um yeah, it's a McDonald's. Actually according to the Travel Channel it's one of the 10 most unique McDonald's. And lucky for us, only a 2 hour drive from our house. Caroline and I saw this on the travel channel Saturday afternoon and I had a vague memory of seeing this particular McDonald's sometime in the past. She really thought we needed to go.

So, yesterday we did. Just for fun. We drove 2 hours to eat a Happy Meal, inside a Happy Meal. Not really as thrilling as it sounds.

We passed about 2,395 McDonald's on the way to this one. I asked the kids if they realized the food was the same at all of them. They did.

Cool adventure all the same. Sometimes, I think, adults way over think fun.

The Numbering of The Eggs

So, I promised to continue my little holiday rant. I know you've been waiting on the edge of your seat.

If you do not have young children or your children are so young that they do not yet hunt Easter eggs then you may not be familiar with this concept. Go ahead and say a prayer of thanksgiving now.

What I am speaking of is the "Numbering of The Eggs". This is implemented differently by different teachers but the basic concept is the same. And that concept would be to keep the egg hunt fair, to make sure everyone gets the same number of eggs. Generally speaking, this involves marking all of the eggs with numbers and then children are given a number to find. For example, Johnny finds only the eggs marked 4, Sally finds only the eggs marked 5, etc.

Now, I should go ahead and issue my disclaimer at this point. Seeing as how I am the-mother-of-a-girl and the-mother-of-a-child-with-a-physical-disability (that one doesn't flow off the tongue quite so easily, literally or figuratively, LOL!) I can appreciate that the "Numbering of The Eggs" keeps my children from being trampled on the playground. That's about all I appreciate about it.

Seriously. We have to mark up the pretty eggs with black sharpie to keep our kids from hurting each other to try and get them first. Am I the only one who sees a problem with this? We didn't have to number our eggs when we were kids. And, gasp!, we didn't all find an equal number of eggs either. And, by the way, we all lived. Some of us became productive members of society. Those that didn't, I don't think had anything to do with the eggs. And if it did, then maybe they just weren't destined to be productive members of society. I'm just saying.

And, heaven forbid that everyone doesn't find an equal number of eggs. I mean what might happen to little Sally's psyche if little Johnny found 2 more eggs than her? What would that do to her? Here's a thought- maybe we should find out. Maybe if we quit teaching our kids that everything was fair then they would quit expecting everything to be fair. Maybe, just maybe, they might quit feeling so entitled to everything that little Johnny has because they don't understand that little Johnny has rich grandparents that invented oil and they can buy him a private Lear jet but they aren't getting one- EVER. Maybe.

Cynical? I'm sure. But seriously. Seriously. I get so very tired of saying "Life isn't Fair". God did not promise us an equitable life. I believe that is what my father said. I agree.

Maybe the answer for this up and coming generation of self-important little people is a real good glimpse of "not fair". Maybe we can start with losing the Numbering of The Eggs. Maybe, we can teach them that how ever many you find, that's how many you get. And maybe then we can teach them that sometimes, even though you could find more, you don't need any more. So, stop hunting and enjoy what you found. And maybe we could then teach them that sometimes you can help somebody else out and find a couple eggs for them. Not because you have to but because they need help and you want to be the one to do it.

Isn't that what their grandparents learned? And their great-grandparents before them? Why, oh why, are we not teaching our kids these same lessons?

I don't get it. I don't have the answers. I am far from a perfect mother. But I can say that my children do not have to have The Numbering of The Eggs to keep from running over the other kids on the Egg Hunt. And they know that whining about someone else getting more eggs than them will most likely result in me taking all of their eggs to the trash. At least that's a start.

Shout Out To Peter Cottontail

Here's a random musing for your Friday. I don't think I like Easter. Which I am pretty sure qualifies me for Worst Mom of the Year. And someone will probably kick me out of church on Sunday, too.

But let me explain- or justify. I just finished my second Easter egg hunt in as many days.

The spiritual aspect of Easter I like very much. It's such a powerful thing- the thought of the Crucifixion. Then the very empowering vision of Christ rising from the grave 3 days later. There are moving songs that literally give me chills when I hear them. That part of Easter I like. Actually, that part of Easter I love.

New clothes and pretty shoes are hard to argue with for any occassion, so that part I'm cool with. My son in a sport coat melts my heart. My son all dolled up in a madras plaid polo, crisp khakis and a sport coat. Well, that makes my ovaries hurt just a little. Don't worry, it goes away with the Mimosas at Easter brunch.

But here's where it goes awry- grown men dressed as a bunny and plastic eggs that will not stay closed worth a darn. How did we end up with that? Seriously, how in the heck did this get started? And why, oh why, do we keep doing it? Scary thing is, I truly don't know why we do it but I'll bet you ten bucks one or both of my kids do.

I'm a crafty kind of mom. We are all about decortaing trees and homemade Valentine cards and carving pumpkins, etc. etc. etc. Even I don't like to color Easter eggs. Does anyone have a child who actually likes to do it? Mine like to for oh, about 3 eggs. Then they're done and I have to color the 3 dozen that are left. It's messy and ruins everything. Don't even get me started on the candy eggs. My mother used to freeze them every year and make us hunt the same ones over and over again. Folks, going to therapy could be my full time job.

And plastic eggs. Oh for pete's sake I think plastic eggs are from satan himself. I do not care for plastic eggs.

So, there's my random thought for today. But watch out, because my little holiday rant is far from over. Next up : Make Sure the Egg Hunt is Fair ( No Matter that Life Ain't) and Don't Leave Home Without Your Camo Windsock Made For Egg Gathering.

Slow Down

I have about four billion things I need to be doing right now. Writing my blog is not one of them. So, of course, that's what I am doing.

I think my issues are multiplying with age. Crap.

Seriously, though. Has Easter just totally snuck up on anyone else? I have to host Duncan's Easter egg hunt at school tomorrow. I think I deserve to say it again. Crap.

We're on spring break the week directly before Easter which means we celebrate, oh, right now. And am I alone in feeling like we just wrapped up Christmas? Valentine's day pretty much just got skipped around here. We bought the kids new Webkinz and called it good.

Ugh, time just flies. It's such a cliche but oh so true. Seems like just a week or two ago the kidlets were back in Preschool and now they are speeding toward "tweenage" years. Wow.

Caroline is now considered an "adult" for Disney tickets. We'll have to make another trip within the next year or so before Duncan is as well. She's beginning to think she's too old to order from the children's menu even though she eats less than most 3 year olds (for real, the kid does not eat). Several of her friends now possess cell phones and she has borrowed mine enough that I am actually going to buy her one of her own before the Fall. She has boys fighting over her at school.

I am sure it'll be summer before we blink and then Fall and then we're back to Christmas again. Sometimes it just seems as though the whole world is on fast forward, doesn't it?

New Toy

I have a new toy. No, besides the new house. This arrived last week in the mail.

And, I LOVE it. Seriously, I do. I realize it's shallow and silly. I realize it's only a handbag. I still love it, I don't care.

Now, I am not in the habit of paying $258 for a purse, which is coincidentally, what this one cost. I need to say that because every once in a while my husband reads my blog. If he, in fact, thought I was in that habit I might have to explain some of my other habits which I prefer not to explain. Habits like Philosophy. Those secrets will die with me.

However, this pretty little pink piece of heaven cost me nothing. It's true. I didn't pay a dime for that beautiful bag. It's a long story- I'll try to sum up. Like two summers ago I did a "Sign up for 3 offers get this Coach bag for free" deal. Mostly because I was bored and someone said that this deal really worked and I totally didn't believe them but decided to try it. And lo and behold my bag never came. And I was not at all surprised. But then, I received some letter stating that I needed to "confirm" my address or identity or some other bull so I did. Still thinking I would never see the bag. And I didn't. But then one day last spring a letter came stating they were out of the bag so they had sent a $400 Coach gift card instead. True story.

So I have been guarding my gift card debating over which bag I would buy. When I saw the signature stripe in pink I knew it was mine. And, did I mention I love it?

I'll admit I have never understood the need to pay that sort of money for a purse. I have a gorgeous turquoise bag from Target that I paid $25 for and I get compliments on every single time I carry it. Why pay 10 times that for a purse?

I have no explanation for it. I can tell you I will own more of them, though. It's exceptionally well made, which is a huge turn on for me, it just is. I like well-crafted things. It's pink which is pretty much enough for me to love it, which I do, by the way. But it's more about the way it makes me feel when I carry it. And that scares the crap out of me. A handbag effects the way I feel? I think I feel important carrying a $250 purse. Yikes, estrogen is some whacked out stuff.

I Will Survive

I'm Baaaaaaaack!!!

We're moved in now. Sort-of. I have no idea when we will be finished unpacking. Or when I will have pictures. Brand new house makes really old furniture look really old. And ugly.

Hopefully, we are settling into a routine and will be unpacked pretty quickly. We are enjoying it very much and are so aware of the blessing it is.

We have already used our fireplace more than we ever used the last one we had. When all you have to do is flip a switch it's really wonderful. At least, for us lazy folk. And I am discovering that I actually like to cook given the right environment. While the new kitchen isn't a gourmet, professional kitchen it's pretty darned fantastic.

Today I'm making a chocolate pie. No, the boxes aren't unpacked. And no, that probably doesn't make sense. But I just go with it folks. When your brain is wired the mine is you expect things to be a bit off. And they are. And that's okay.

The children have discovered the joy of takin' a Jacuzzi. Duncan wants us to put one in his bedroom now. Probably not happening. Especially after he decided it would be funny to stick his hiney in the air and exclaim that the jets were massaging his butt. Then he was giggling so hard I thought he might drown.

All in all not a bad move. I am a seasoned pro at this point and feel it went smoothly. We still have a few things to pick up from the old house and storage building that's full but we'll take care of that slowly. We had just enough help to not kill ourselves but also not have so many people that it was chaos. I prefer the unpacking to be left to me because even though it's a lot of work I am the one that needs to know where everything is anyway so I might as well do it.

I do have funny stories to share and hopefully, there will be some pictures too. Stay tuned.